On the other hand, she was also competitive and narcissistic, which made her the sort of woman who rarely turned down a bet.
“How about this?” Cath asked. “If I correctly predict the next two people up those steps, you give me the jacket.” It was possible. Just. Greenwich was way out in Zone Four on the London transport map, far enough from the city center to avoid being a true commuter suburb. The station platform never got too crowded, even during rush hour. Most of the regulars for this particular train had already arrived. The question was, Who was missing?
Amanda’s eyes narrowed. “What do I get if you’re wrong?”
“I’ll stop bugging you about the straitjacket.”
This was a lie, but no lapsed Catholic from Chicago’s South Side was above lying for a good cause, and Cath considered her career a good cause.
Amanda leaned forward, all excitement now, and said, “Make it three and you’re on.”
The first one was easy. Cath heard the musical clang of the ticket machine dispensing change down at street level and knew it had to be the dog guy from the park, because he always took the 7:09 from Greenwich to Bank on Fridays, and he bought his single ticket from the vending machine with cash.
“Old guy in a fedora,” she said.
He came up the steps and made his way to the empty bench next to them.
Amanda inclined her head, acknowledging one down.
Next up was tricky. Normally, it would be the girl with the two-tone hair, but it was late summer, and people took vacations. The girl had been missing all week. Cath imagined her on a beach in Spain, soaking up the sun in a red bikini. What if she was back, though?
The booming laugh of Bill at the ticket window carried up the stairs. The Merry Widow, then. Bill was a friendly guy, but he pulled out all the stops for the Widow.
“Redhead with three inches of cleavage,” Cath said.
The Merry Widow rose into view, proud bosom bobbing.
Amanda gave a low whistle of appreciation.
Cath glanced at the station’s clock and repressed a smile. She only needed one more to complete the hat trick, and you could set your watch by the next guy.
“Tall blond man in an expensive suit, Financial Times under his arm,” she said, then added, “Possibly a cyborg.”
Thirty seconds ticked by, and City rose into view, punctual as ever and way too good looking to be human.
Cath had a soft spot for City. From the moment she’d spotted him waiting for the train to Bank last winter, he’d intrigued her. She’d given him the nickname as a nod to his profession, because everything about him announced he worked in the City of London, the square-mile financial district at the center of the metropolis: the dignified wool overcoat and scarf he’d worn all winter, the shined shoes, the ever-present newspaper. Aristocratically remote, he was Prince Charming in a suit.
Amanda applauded, whether for her or for City, Cath couldn’t tell. She suppressed a triumphant grin and allowed herself a moment to watch him pass. He gave her his usual stiff nod, the greeting they’d long since settled on for their semi-regular encounters.
She’d never heard City talk or seen him crack a smile. He didn’t even fidget, just stood stoically in place until the train pulled up, then stared straight ahead once seated in the car. Cool as a cucumber and veddy, veddy English. At least, that’s how she imagined him when she wrote about him in her journal. She’d bet her next paltry paycheck he had a posh accent, an expensive education, and a boring job moving piles of money around. He was her polar opposite.
Still, she always kept an eye out for him. She saw City two or three mornings a week, either here or at Greenwich Park, where both of them liked to run. In motion, he was a beautiful thing, a Scandinavian god with flushed cheeks. She loved that flash of pink on his face—such an endearing crack in his cool perfection. It made her want to muss his hair and tie his shoelaces together when he wasn’t looking, just to see what would happen.
And now he’d helped her win access to the piece she so badly wanted for the exhibit. You really had to love him.
“When can I pick that jacket up?” she asked Amanda, turning back to face her.
“Hmm?” Amanda was still staring at City. “Oh, right.” Her mouth tightened, her eyes growing cagey. “That was a good trick. How long have you been practicing?”
“First time,” she answered honestly. Far from impressive, her ability to predict who’d arrive next on the train platform was evidence of how sad her life had become. She was a people-watcher by nature, and now that she’d cleaned up her act, she had nothing better to do than make up stories about the strangers who shared her morning commute.
The saddest part was, she didn’t always take this train. If she’d run into Amanda while waiting for the 6:43 or the 7:43 instead of the 7:09, Cath still would have stood a good chance of pulling off the trick, predicting the arrival of an entirely different set of familiar strangers.
She didn’t have to tell Amanda that, though.
“You really want that jacket,” Amanda said. “It’s important to you.”
Cath stared at City’s broad shoulders beneath his suit coat and shrugged, feigning a nonchalance she didn’t feel.