As soon as he had moved out, the decorators had removed any trace of his occupancy. The striped wallpaper was stripped and the walls painted a soft off-white. His second-hand bookcases went to the tip and in their place four long thick shelves were fixed to the wall, manuscripts on the lowest and books above. Having finally persuaded him to take away his antique pine partner’s desk, Bea chose oak trestles with a glass top instead. On it, in stark contrast to her office desk, sat her laptop, a phone and a Bestlite desk lamp, nothing more. She’d put in recessed ceiling lights on dimmer switches that she rarely used, and four discreet Artemide wall lights that washed the walls with a soft glow. The manky blue carpet had given way to seagrass with a couple of strategically placed deep red wool rugs. The only other notable piece of furniture, apart from her office chair, was a chrome and black Corbusier chaise longue. How arty she felt when reclining to read, a standard Anglepoise behind her, the read pages of a manuscript turned onto the coffee-table at her side, a chocolate or two within easy reach.
