Page 266 - harryDEC12_clean.iba

I am almost alone of the platform when I became aware from afar of the rattling and screeching noise of the incoming train. I sit down on one of the velour-covered benches, and during my wobbling trip under the streets of London I make a decision to give up the flat in Belsize Park. I decide to move into another flat, into a shared flat, as I had lived in my student years. Like the fellow travelers in the tube I study the Evening Standard every morning. Finally I come across an announcement that suits me:
„High standard SF, two women one man, want a fourth, well-situated sharer. 11 Cromwell Gardens, tel. ... (The number had slipped out of my memory.)
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Cromwell Gardens No. 11 was a good address in South Kensington, Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea, a suburb of the better type, populated by young, mostly successful people or those who pretended to be such, and with an abundant offer of bars and restaurants. The sort of area where you could leave the house late in the evening and encounter life, fleeing from loneliness. I grabbed my telephone. At the other end a husky female voice came on:
„Sylvie – ah, you‘re calling about the advertisement! Tell me about yourself.“
I described my situation and what I was looking for, and we spoke of the conditions. The rent was relatively high, but I would have a big room to myself and my own bathroom. Sylvie invited me for the next evening „for an appraisal“ The other flatmates would also be there. I decided on casual clothing: a sweatshirt, jeans, and Gucci loafers.
Cromwell Gardens No. 11 was a restored Victorian building of five floors with columned portal. At 8 p.m I rang the doorbell to flat no. 2. The door was opened and I went up to the second floor. Sylvie opened the door, a straw blonde slim Englishwoman with manicured finger nails, she was wearing sneakers and an expensive jogging suit.
Sylvie led me into the living room, a large room with a hearth and voluminous armchairs. The two other flatmates were sitting there, Malcolm Stewart-Smith and Lian Sophia. They introduced themselves. Malcolm was 45, (an ex-SAS Special Forces) haughty guy, now working in the security area, responsible for government buildings and Sylvie had a beauty salon for the upper classes, just round the corner.
„So you’re a City boy?“
Said Malcolm in a mixture of sarcasm and respect. Whoever was a director of a well-known Lloyd’s brokers was regarded as serious (how little they knew)! Reliable, and financially well-off.
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