Excerpt from The Lost Ticket by Freya Sampson, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Libby looked at the old man and saw he was lost in thought too, his eyes misty as he stared out the window. He must have sensed her looking at him as he shook his head, as if waking himself from a dream.

"You know, someone once told me you didn't need to go to art school to learn how to draw. She said all you needed was to spend time here, at the National Gallery, and it was like studying under the greatest artists in the world."

"Really?"

"She used to practice sketching on the bus too. She said it was the perfect place to learn life drawing because there's always a choice of interesting models."

"I think I'd find it impossible-far too bumpy."

The man turned to look at Libby. "Have you ever been to the National Gallery?"

"Once, when I was a teenager. I've always meant to go back."

"Well, in that case, why don't we go now? We can start your art education right away!" He reached to the pole behind his seat and hit the stop button with force.

"I'm sorry. I can't," Libby said, and she saw his shoulders sag.

"Of course, silly me."

"I have somewhere I need to be. Plus, I've got these beasts." She indicated her two bags.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what's got into me. I'm behaving very strangely today."

"Not at all. And I will go another time, I promise."

But the man had stopped listening to her, staring back toward the gallery. The bus pulled up at a stop, letting out a low moan as its doors opened. He was still looking out the window.

"You know, I think I'll get off here," he said, pulling himself up into a standing position. "There's a painting I'd like to go and see."

Libby watched as he shuffled out from his seat, clinging to the pole for support. He looked as though he might topple over at any moment.

"Do you need a hand on the stairs?"

"No, thank you. I'll be fine." The man looked down at her. "My name is Frank, by the way."

"It was nice to meet you, Frank. I'm Libby."

"Libby." He smiled as he repeated her name. "Why don't you give drawing on the bus a go? I have a feeling it might suit you." And with that he turned and made his way slowly down the stairs.

Chapter 2

Libby stood outside her sister's house, looking up at the tall, imposing Georgian building, then took a deep breath and climbed the steep steps. A moment after she rang the bell, the front door swung open and there was her older sister, dressed in yoga leggings and an expensive-looking gym top, eyeing Libby up and down.

"Wow, you look knackered." Rebecca leaned forward and gave her a bony hug.

"Yeah, it's all a bit of a shock." Libby tried to hand one of her bags to Rebecca, but she'd already turned and swept back into the house.

"Take your shoes off, will you?" she called as Libby struggled in.

Libby dumped her bags on the floor and kicked off her shoes, then headed down the hallway into the large open-plan kitchen, which occupied the back of the house. Everything in here was bright white, down to the identical china mugs hanging in a row on hooks and the crisp white tea towels folded over the oven handle. Libby was amazed Rebecca allowed bananas to sit in the fruit bowl, given they didn't match the color scheme.

Libby perched on a narrow stool at the central island, awaiting the inevitable.

"So, tell me everything," Rebecca said. "Mum gave me a brief outline but I want to hear it all from you."

"Okay." Libby swallowed. "So, Simon had suggested we go out for dinner last night to this new Italian place. I thought it was a bit strange, because we usually have takeaway on a Friday, and we haven't been out for a meal for ages. But he'd booked the table, so I got dressed up and out we went."

"And?"

"We had a nice meal, but I could tell Simon was distracted-he kept checking his phone and he went to the toilet three times. I thought ..." She trailed off, embarrassed to say it out loud.

Excerpted from The Lost Ticket by Freya Sampson. Copyright © 2022 by Freya Sampson. Excerpted by permission of Berkley Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.