A Hopeless Romantic (21 page)

She pinched herself on the arm, hard, to remind herself as Nick got waylaid again, then looked up to find him staring at her as he listened to the old wizened farmer who was droning on about something to do with his family. His eyes met hers, and he jerked his head toward the stairs. “Come on, Laura,” he said. “Sorry, Mr. Withers. I’d better get on,” and he took Laura’s arm and steered her lightly upstairs.

Mr. Withers glanced happily at Laura, looking super-pleased for her, muttered something about how grateful he was, and crept backward, almost bowing, toward the door.

“Nice old chap,” said Nick, holding the door open as they reached the upper floor.

“He seemed very keen on you,” said Laura, impressed.

“He said he was glad I was having supper with such a pretty girl,” said Nick. He nodded as Laura looked at him skeptically. “It’s true,” he said lightly.

“Aah,” said Laura, self-conscious. “That’s nice.”

“It is nice,” said Nick. “Very—er—nice. Right, let’s get some drinks. And the menu. I’m hungry, aren’t you?”

“God, yes,” said Laura. “I’m completely starving.”

She was glad she’d given herself a stern talking-to just now, and thought with relief how relaxing it was to
not
be thinking of this as a mega-serious date, worrying about whether it was seemly to be quite so eager to wolf down some food. She was hungry. She wanted to eat. That was it.

Nick smiled at her. “Steak okay? They do a great one here. Fantastic béarnaise sauce. With chips.”

“Thin chips?” asked Laura.

“Absolutely,” said Nick. “I wouldn’t come here if they weren’t. Fat chips are wrong, I think.”

“Me too,” said Laura. “Like half a potato each. They’re impossible to eat. And they’re always cold in the middle.”

“Yet again we agree,” said Nick. “Never trust someone who says they prefer fat chips to thin chips. That’s my motto.”

“I concur,” said Laura. “Strongly concur.”

“Great,” he said.

Nick ordered a bottle of wine, and soon the food arrived. The steaks were, as he had predicted, delicious: tender, melting, juicy, drizzled with garlic and parsley butter.

“God, I love garlic butter,” said Laura. She rubbed her hands together. “I could drink it.”

“Please don’t,” said Nick. “And I sincerely hope you’re not going out on the pull later if you’re planning to scarf garlic all evening.”

“Why?” said Laura. “Where does one go on the pull around here?”

“Well,” said Nick, “there’s a nightclub about thirty miles away from here. Champagne’s, it’s called. There’s usually a fight there about eleven-thirty every Saturday night. If you eat quickly, you can get there in time to pull
and
watch a fight.”

“There was a club like that in Harrow, where I grew up,” said Laura. “Called Ballyhoo. I used to love it there. Till it got shut down.”

“No, really?” said Nick. “Why?”

“The loos got blocked one night and it flooded and the electrics fused. Permanently.” Nick raised his eyebrows. “I’m sorry. We’re eating.”

“Well, if you want a trip down memory lane, I’d be more than happy to drive you to Champagne’s and leave you outside, so you can revisit your misspent youth,” said Nick politely. “Sound nice?”

“I’m okay, I think,” said Laura, laughing. “I’m going to scarf away instead.”

“Good,” said Nick. “Right decision.”

Laura
was
starving, and she ate happily away, genuinely enjoying herself for the first time in ages. Nick was good company—compared to the company she’d been keeping all week, most people would have been to her by then, but she couldn’t help thinking he really was. He was his own man; he wasn’t in Charles’s pocket. They found common ground almost immediately, as any two strangers can if the basic ingredients are right. They discovered that they both loved
The Sopranos
, that they had both stayed in the same hotel in Edinburgh, a day apart, and that both their birthdays were in May.

“So, Laura Foster,” said Nick, several glasses of rich, velvety red wine later. “Why did you come tonight? I’m curious.” He wrapped his long fingers around the stem of his glass and smiled at her. “I must say, I didn’t think you would.”

“Why not?” said Laura curiously.

“Just thought you’d think it was weird.”

“I know,” Laura agreed. She opened her hands to him in a gesture of disclosure. “But I just thought, well, why the hell not. It’s got to be better than another evening at home with the parents.”

“Well, thank you.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Actually,” he said, “I don’t, really, no.”

“Well. Have you ever been on holiday with your parents?” Laura said. “After the age of sixteen, it’s a pretty terrible idea.”

“So—why are you on holiday with yours, then?” Nick said, taking a sip of wine. “If it’s such a bad idea.”

“Long story,” said Laura. “I—ah.” She looked down, not really knowing how to go on.

Nick poured her another glass of wine. “Doesn’t matter, though, does it?” he said, his voice light. “Right. Do you want some pudding?”

Laura looked up gratefully. “Oh, I’d love to. But I shouldn’t, really.”

He laughed, and said, “Go on. Have one if you want to. No one’s going to stop you.”

“No, I know,” said Laura. “But I won’t, honestly.”

“You sound like my sisters,” said Nick. “Women! You go mad if someone tries to say you’re all the same, but that’s the exact same response my sisters always give if anyone asks them if they want pudding. And they couldn’t be more different. You’d barely know they were related.”

“You’ve got two sisters, haven’t you?” asked Laura.

“Yes. One of them lives in London. She—ha.” A cloud passed over Nick’s face. “She used to be rather wild. Quite good fun, always turning up off her head on something, with someone. She—yes. Anyway, now she’s married to a very uptight businessman. She’s gone all grown-up and boring. Wears suits, sits on committees, that kind of thing. She’s a real snob these days. Whereas Lavinia—God.”

“Why, what’s wrong with her?”

“Oh, she’s a liability,” said Nick. “She moved back here a few months ago, and she’s shagging this bloke on the estate. Does the tickets. Sean. She basically stalked him into submission. He has no choice in the matter. Not that he seems to care that much, he’s—God, he’s almost as thick as her.”

Laura thought of the red-haired beauty they’d encountered on their way in to the Hall earlier that day. “Do you know, I think I met her today,” she said.

Nick groaned. “Oh, God. Where?”

“In the ticket box. With Sean. They—”

“Don’t tell me,” said Nick, holding up his hands. “Oh, God, they’re the lunatics having sex in the kiosk you were complaining about earlier. Aren’t they?”

“No,” said Laura, blushing. “I was just being rude.”

“Don’t spare my feelings, Laura.” He looked resigned. “She’s a nightmare, and I’ve got to do something about it now she’s living back at the Hall. At some point.”

“It’s very nice of Charles to let her stay there,” said Laura.

“What? Oh, yes,” said Nick. “He’s always been fond of Lavinia. Think he has a crush on her, actually.”

“He seems lovely,” said Laura. “Really nice. It must be a weird life for him, I suppose.”

“Why do you say that?” There was a note of defensiveness in Nick’s voice.

“Well,” she said carefully, “I just mean it’s a big responsibility, that house, all those people. And it’s not like he’s married with loads of kids and a wife, or he has someone to share it all with. It must be weird.”

“It is,” said Nick.

“Would you want to be him?” said Laura. Nick looked blank for a second. “I mean,” she went on, trying to explain, “would you want to swap places, be the marquis? Do you ever think about that?”

“No,” said Nick slowly. “You know, I sometimes think I wouldn’t be him, not for all the money and estates in the world.”

“Well, he’s lucky to have you as his friend,” said Laura.

Nick was silent. Then he cleared his throat and said, “I’m not so sure about that. More wine? Here, have the rest.” He poured the last of the wine into her glass, and his hand touched hers momentarily as he set the bottle down again. Their eyes met, and they smiled at each other. Laura sat back in her chair, relaxing a little more. There was something so comfortable about him, about his company. Her mind flew back to the mess of tangled friendships and relationships she had left behind in London, and she thought suddenly that it was funny, but here in this pub, with this nice, strange man, she felt calmer, like she was breathing properly, like she could see the vista of her life stretching out over the next few months more clearly than she had for—she didn’t know how long. That for the first time she was looking forward to it.

“So, when do you go back to London?” said Nick.

“Saturday,” said Laura. “Yeah.” She gazed reflectively into her glass. “Got a big birthday lunch for my grandmother on Saturday. All the relatives coming up.”

“Oh, God,” he said, looking at her with amused sympathy. “If they’re anything like mine…” He trailed off.

“They’re a bit grim, to be honest,” said Laura. She finished her glass of wine. “They mean well, I’m sure.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well—take my aunt Annabel. I’m sure she’s not
evil
, but if you were stranded on a desert island and she rescued you after six months, she’d criticize you for not tidying up the grains of sand. And she’d say the jungle was out of control and you should have pruned it back.”

Nick looked at her, trying not to laugh. “Right,” he said. “That’s some aunt.”

“She’s not really my aunt, really,” said Laura. “Actually, she’s like my stepaunt. You know.”

“Er,” said Nick politely, after a pause in which Laura thought, Oh, no, I’m gabbling. She opened her mouth to ask about his family, but he said suddenly, “So. Do you have brothers and sisters?”

“A brother,” said Laura. “Just me and him. He’s called Simon.”

“Are you close?”

“Yes, we are,” said Laura. “I miss him. He’s been away, in”—she scrunched up her face, trying to remember the location of the last postcard—“some mountain village in Peru, anyway. I haven’t seen him since March. But he’s coming back for Granny’s lunch on Saturday. Hurrah!”

He smiled at her enthusiasm. “Hurrah, indeed. You sound like a close family.”

“Well,” said Laura. She looked at him. “We are, but—you know.”

“What?”

“Well, families. It’s all complicated, isn’t it? We are close, but we’re all quite weird at the same time.”

“How so?”

“My aunt, and her brood. That’s why I…”—she fiddled with her napkin—“I’m not looking forward to it much. We’re all quite different.” She was silent then, and twirled the stem of her glass between her fingers. “Sorry,” she said, meeting his gaze. His eyes were warm, understanding. “I don’t mean to gabble on.”

“You’re not,” said Nick. “Really, you’re not. That’s families for you. It is, as you say, complicated.”

“How about yours?” said Laura. “Same thing?”

“Yes,” he said, standing up. “All very complicated, and it’s not on the surface, is it? Give me a moment, I’ll settle the bill, and then I’ll walk you to your car.”

He left her, and Laura watched him go. She felt as if he were holding her at arm’s length, and she didn’t know why. She looked around the pub, frowning. Then she told herself not to be so silly, not to jump ahead again. She’d only just met him. And it was strange, how she felt she could tell him anything and it wouldn’t matter. For the first time in ages, no judging, no agenda, nothing. Just a friendly stranger on a warm summer’s night, a glass of wine, and a proper conversation.

chapter nineteen

T
hey walked outside, onto the moonlit gravel path, out of the floodlighting. As Laura approached the car, she had the sensation of two sides of her brain, the subconscious and the conscious, rushing together for the first time that evening. The subconscious had been hiding something from her, and it suddenly hit her, with the full force of an oncoming train.

“Shit!” she said suddenly.

The violence in her voice made Nick stop in his tracks. “What?” he said. “Laura?”

“Shit, shit,” said Laura, turning around and banging her fist on top of the nearest car. Luckily, it was her car. She turned back to face him. “I can’t drive!”

“You can’t drive?” Nick said, perplexed.

“No, not that! I completely forgot. I’ve had…” She quickly added up how many glasses of wine she’d had, and gave up in despair at three. “I’ve had far too much to drink. At least three glasses. Argh.” She banged her forehead gently on the roof of the car and let out a muffled groan.

How could she have been so
stupid
? How could she have forgotten she had the car outside? She’d relaxed, let herself enjoy the evening—and this was what happened.

“It’s okay,” said Nick calmly. “Don’t worry. You can stay with me.”

“No!” said Laura, so loudly both of them took a step back. “Sorry,” she continued in a quieter voice. “Oh, stupid! Stupid me! How could I have forgotten I drove here?”

“Do you make a habit of this kind of thing?” asked Nick. “Drinking nearly a bottle of wine and forgetting you drove to the pub?”

“No, never,” said Laura. She was cold all of a sudden in the night air. “I don’t, in London. I don’t have a car. So I always drink when I go to the pub.”

“Well, there you are, then,” said Nick. “It’s different up here, you know.”

“I know,” said Laura miserably. “I was—enjoying myself, that’s all.”

Nick watched her for a moment. “Don’t look so tragic about it, Laura. It’s not a crime to enjoy yourself, you know.”

“Yes, it is,” muttered Laura, feeling as if she were in some biblical parable, the one where the Lord wreaks vengeance on the stupid girl who is a foolish wanton by removing the last shred of common sense in her brain.

“No,” said Nick firmly, “it’s not. But it will be if you drive. Look, Laura, come back to the Hall with me. It’s five minutes away. You can either stay the night or call a cab. But at this time of night, a cab’s going to take over an hour to get here.” Laura shifted from one foot to the other, unsure of what to say. “Which is why you might as well stay the night.”