When I Was 21

'Oh. How long for?' I asked.

'Not sure,' she said. 'I've been offered a temp position at The University of New South Wales. But if it all works out, it could become permanent.'

'I see. When do you have to go?'

'Not for another three weeks.'

I must confess that, for a few days after that, I did consider whether perhaps I too should go out to Australia. We had a couple of Aussie guys working at CDP, and they certainly made it sound like a great place. But then I thought: If Australia is that great, what are these guys doing here in London? No, moving to Australia wasn't really an option. Not a serious one. The Vanessa chapter of my life was going to have to come to an end.

And if it was going to come to an end, at least it should come to an end on a high. It should end in style. I made a Friday-night booking for two at Scrivano's, the Michelin-starred restaurant in the then not-so-fashionable Notting Hill.

'Will I have to wear a tiara?' Vanessa said.

'Well, up to you,' I said. 'My only suggestion would be: don't wear knickers.'

'It's a deal,' she said.

In some ways, dinner at Scrivano's was not that different from supper at Vanessa's. We started with a couple of glasses of Veurve Clicqot. (Vanessa chose it for the dark yellow label.) Then we moved on to some oysters, followed by calf's liver with sweet and sour onions and polenta. To wash it down, a glass or two of schiava.

'I'm going to miss our Friday nights,' I said.

'Yes. I'm sure that I will miss them too. But life is life, and life goes on. And, anyway, I'm sure that you will find someone else with whom you can picnic on Friday nights.'

In the back of the cab, on our way home from the restaurant, Vanessa sat prim and upright, looking out the window as though she was seeing London's West End for the very first time. She also discreetly reached out and took my hand, which she placed between her slightly parted thighs. I had forgotten all about 'no knickers' - until, that is, my fingers discovered unguarded access to her soft, furry honeypot.

Back at the flat we made sure that we got our money's worth from the oysters - starting with a frantic fuck up against the wardrobe door. (It seemed a pity not to take advantage of the height-equalising properties of Vanessa's high-heeled shoes.) And then, the following morning, Vanessa and I took the train to Gatwick.

'You don't have to come,' she said. 'I've been on aeroplanes before you know.'

'I do know,' I said. 'But I'm sure that you've never had this much luggage before.'

Vanessa just smiled her little smile.

The following week was all go at CDP. We had two big new business pitches going on; and, somehow, I had managed to get involved in both of them. We had late nights on Monday and Tuesday, and on Wednesday night I didn't even manage to make it home. But, by mid-afternoon on Friday, it was all over. About a dozen of us headed off to The Duke for a restorative ale and a bag of crisps. And then, somewhere about five o'clock I walked back over to Marylebone.

My intention had been to go home and maybe even go straight to bed. But, probably out of habit, I ended up popping into The Barley Mow. There was no sign of Charlene, but the new girl, Morag, seemed nice enough. I ordered a pint of Pedigree and set up camp at one end of the bar. I'd probably been there for the best part of three-quarters of an hour when a voice behind me said: 'Oh, good. Vanessa said that I'd probably find you here.' It was Alison.

'Hello,' I said. 'Can I get you a drink?'

'Thank you. A white wine spritzer. Yes. That would be perfect. Oh, and by the way, I picked up some Quiche Lorraine and some potato salad. I hope that's OK.'

Quiche Lorraine? Potato salad? Why was she asking...? And then the penny dropped. Vanessa had said that she was sure that I would find someone else with whom to picnic on Friday nights. 'Yes. Yes, perfect,' I said. 'I'll pop into the off licence on the way back and grab a bottle of wine.'

Yes, Frank, you got it spot on.

'When I was twenty one, it was a very good year,

A very good year for city girls who lived up the stairs.'

When I was 21.