A Hopeless Romantic (25 page)

“Well, I love her,” said Nick firmly, as they turned their backs on the view and walked south toward the gate.

“Don’t.”

“I owe her a lot. Thanks to her, I’m your best Norfolk friend. Right,” he said, walking swiftly on.

They walked across the high, wide downs at the top of the park, then through a gate that led them out of the grounds onto the road, Nick chewing bits of grass and telling Laura the names of the various flowers along the banks. Laura picked a bouquet of flowers in the hedgerows, some hedge parsley, vetch, goosegrass, and pale pink dog roses, already in bloom. They chatted, not really saying much, walking easily, soaking up the sun as they approached Chartley, skirted the edge of the village, and came to the Needham Arms at the top end of the High Street.

The interior of the pub was small and dark, and though it was nearly empty, Laura noted, impressed and amused at the same time, that Nick was greeted like a young prince, rather than the bloke from the estate.

“What do you want?” he asked Laura, looking down at her as they stood by the bar.

“I’ll have a pint, please,” said Laura firmly.

“You don’t want any—”

“No, thanks,” said Laura. He nudged her. “Oh, all right, then,” she said, giving in.

Nick turned to the barman. “Sorry. A Pimm’s, please. No, make that two.”

“Good choice,” said Laura, and they nodded at each other, smiling, as the barman watched them curiously.

They were ushered to a quiet parlor at the back, and Laura was touched to be given a wet napkin by the barman in which to wrap her flowers.

“Does Charles ever come in here?” Laura asked, once they were settled. She was more and more curious about the elusive, shy marquis and how he coped with his role. He seemed too, well,
old-fashioned
to actually be able to keep up to speed with the needs of the estate, more like someone who’d be happier in the library deciphering obscure Latin texts.

“No,” said Nick. “Not really his scene.”

“It must be difficult for him.”

“How?” said Nick.

“Well,” said Laura. “Because he’s…” She trailed off.

“Tall? Got pustulating boils on his face? Two noses?” said Nick. “What?”

“Well, because of who he is. The
marquis.
” Laura spoke in a whisper.

“Why should it make any difference?” said Nick. He sounded impatient. “Why shouldn’t he come in here?”

“All right, all right, don’t get shirty with me,” said Laura, trying to make a joke out of it.

“Well, he’s a person,” said Nick, his voice still sharp. “He’s not an alien, you know. It says
NO DOGS
outside. It doesn’t say
DON’T COME IN, YOU’RE TOO POSH
, does it?”

“You’re impossible,” said Laura.

He relaxed and smiled at her. “You’re right. One more drink?” he said.

“One more. I’ll go,” Laura said, standing up. “I’ll watch out for any aristocratic-looking people trying to get in and eject them. Don’t worry.”

“Thanks,” said Nick. “That’s a weight off my mind.”

She came back bearing the drinks and sat down. Nick took a sip from his and said suddenly, “So, Laura. Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” said Laura recklessly.

Nick paused. “Well…” He looked carefully at her, and put his glass down on the table. “What’s your favorite film?”

“Ha,” said Laura. Her heart, which had been beating loudly, slowed down again. “That’s a hard one, you know. What’s yours?”

“
Raiders of the Lost Ark
,” said Nick. “Seriously,” he added, as Laura looked surprised.

“I agree,” said Laura. “I’m just surprised you think so.”

“Why?”

“Well…” She paused. “I’d have thought you were more of a…
Godfather
,
Citizen Kane
kind of guy. You know—films with themes.”

Nick obviously found this amusing. “I like that. You think of me as this serious, grown-up man who relaxes by reading biographies of Hitler, don’t you?”

“Er, a bit,” said Laura. “And I don’t know why, when—” She broke off, not wanting to sound rude. When your life on the estate is quite easygoing, even if it is hard work, and Charles is obviously a good boss, and you seem to have quite a nice life, so why are you so closed-off and prickly about so many things? Why don’t I know your surname?

“When what?” said Nick.

“Nothing,” she said, smiling at him. “Nothing.” She put her hand on his arm impulsively. “It’s my favorite film, too.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” said Laura. “Didn’t used to be. It used to be, er—
The Sound of Music
or
Four Weddings and a Funeral.
When I was into all of that.”

“All of what?” said Nick. “It’s not crack cocaine, they’re just films.”

She shook her head, trying to explain without explaining, not wanting to give herself away—and then realized she was doing exactly the same thing as he was, closing herself off, and it was weird but okay. “Ah…” she said. “When I was younger. And more stupid. Than I am now.” She looked down.

“Okay,” said Nick, nodding as if he understood. He stroked her arm gently, just once. “I’m going to ask you something else, then.”

“Yes?” said Laura, staring at the table.

“So…why are you here?”

“What do you mean?” Laura looked at him over her Pimm’s.

“I mean, here on holiday. I still don’t quite understand it. Yesterday you said something about how your job was weird at the moment. And you keep darkly mentioning how you’ve apparently fallen out with various people, which I don’t get either—you don’t seem like someone who’s constantly making enemies.”

“I…” Laura began, but she didn’t know what to say.

Nick said lightly, “So—what happened?”

“Ah.” Laura looked at him, not sure how to answer. She said tentatively, “Well…it’s complicated.”

“Complicated. I see,” said Nick. He paused. “Don’t tell me if you don’t want to. I don’t mean to stick my nose in.”

“No, no,” said Laura, relieved that his curiosity was only that, nothing more. “Well—it was…well, it was just this bloke—this bloke I was seeing. That’s all.”

“Right,” said Nick. He drained his drink. “It is none of my business, don’t worry.”

There was silence.

“He had a girlfriend,” Laura said in a rush, unable to bear it. “We had an affair, he was—Dan—he was still with his girlfriend. I got it wrong, I got a bit—er, ah—I fucked it up, basically. Big-time. Kind of got everything out of proportion.” She cleared her throat and said in a small voice, “I thought he loved me. It’s stupid. Anyway, that’s it. It’s over.”

“And where’s Dan now?” said Nick in a neutral tone.

Laura chewed a fingernail, looked up, and said, “With his girlfriend. Pregnant girlfriend. On holiday in Miami. We were…supposed to go away together. But I found out about her…being pregnant.”

“When?”

“Two weeks ago,” Laura said, smiling ruefully. “Lost the money on the holiday. Been suspended from my job, too. Oh, yes,” she said, meeting his eye, almost enjoying the surprise on his face, “I’ve really screwed it up. For the moment, anyway.”

“So you came here to get away from it all,” Nick said.

“And so I came here.” She looked up and said definitely, “It’s over. That’s it, end of story. I’m getting over him.”

She smiled at him over her glass. And suddenly, something clicked inside her. She
was
getting over Dan. She wasn’t there yet, but it didn’t really hurt so much—the whole thing didn’t, suddenly. She hadn’t thought about it, couldn’t bear to, and now that she said it, she realized she was. It seemed…a million years away.

“Good for you,” said Nick, and he smiled at her, the hard lines of his face softening as he patted her arm. “Sounds pretty rough.”

“It was—a bit.” Laura looked at him gratefully, surprised at how much the gesture meant; he knew she didn’t want sympathy, just a bit of human understanding. “But you’re right. I’m here to get over it. This is the turn-over-a-new-leaf approach, this week. So far, not too bad. Well, now I’ve met you, that is. So, thanks.”

“Well,” Nick said, raising his glass, “thank you, too. Here’s to the new-leaf approach. Or the Norfolk Outreach Program for Mental People. After you leave, I’m going to start hanging around the station waiting for the London train, to pal up with the next unstable person on holiday and in need of a friend.”

“Well, that’s really kind of you,” said Laura.

They were silent; both took sips of their drinks. Laura looked at her companion under her eyelashes until his eyes flicked up toward her, and she looked elsewhere, at the old photos, the dried flowers in baskets on the windowsill, the clock on the wall. It was getting on for nine-thirty. But she could still see his face in her mind’s eye, like she had taken a snapshot. The close-cropped, curling black hair; the bony face with its rather harsh expression, tanned by the summer sun. The expression in the eyes that gave away so little, and occasionally so much. It was strangely familiar, that face, and he reminded her of something, someone; but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember what.

“When do you go?” he said suddenly.

“What?” said Laura, still lost in a dream. “Oh.”

“When do you go?”

“Saturday evening,” she said. “But I have the birthday lunch all day on Saturday, so—”

“So…what are you doing tomorrow?” he said, shifting in his seat on the wooden bench.

“Evening?”

He nodded, his expression inscrutable.

“Nothing,” said Laura. “Well…” She felt a bit guilty suddenly. Shouldn’t she be spending more time with her parents? With Mary? But she saw them all the time, a voice inside her said. And there was the lunch on Saturday, after all—she’d see them then. Surely that was—

Laura jumped and glanced down. Nick had put his hand on hers. He said quietly, “I know you have to go. But tomorrow—do you fancy a picnic at the beach? Since it’s your last night?”

Suddenly Laura didn’t know what to say, which was weird because, up till now, she’d felt she could say almost anything to him. She looked anxiously up at him, into his eyes. They were narrowed, watching her almost fiercely, the old expression of kindness, humor, arrogance, and sarcasm mixed with…something else, something undefinable. His grip tightened slightly; then he released her hand and sat back.

Laura said slowly, “Yes, of course.”

He nodded, and they looked at each other again, rather blankly, until he said, “Meet me there at seven. I’ll bring the picnic.”

“Really?” said Laura. “No, I’ll bring something, too.”

“No, it’s my pleasure. Someone in the kitchens owes me a favor.”

“Right,” said Laura.

“How are you getting home tonight?” said Nick as he took another sip of his drink, watching her over the glass.

“I’m getting the bus.” She laughed at his bemused expression. “Seriously. There’s a timetable at home. I checked it before I left. The bus goes from just outside here, every half hour. So I won’t have to force you out of your bedroom again. I’ve planned ahead.”

“Great,” said Nick. “Well—that’s great.”

There was silence between them, and this time it was awkward. Something had shifted imperceptibly. Nick said nothing. He looked down at the table. Laura wanted to say something, but she couldn’t.

In the end, she said, “So, I’d better go soon….”

“You don’t have to,” he said abruptly. “You could—”

“No,” said Laura softly. She drummed her fingers on the table. “I…”

They were alone in their tiny alcove; the murmur of the other drinkers in the pub was faint. Nick slid his thumb under her hand and wrapped his fingers around hers, stopping the tattoo she was beating on the table. They stayed like that for a few seconds, her hand in his. Laura looked up at him, her heart beating so loudly she was sure he could hear it. He was watching her with that strange, familiar expression. His face was pale under his tan. She noticed how plump his bottom lip was, how biteable it was, compared to the sharp lines of the rest of his face. And then he put his other hand behind her neck and gently pulled her toward him, and kissed her.

His lips were soft, his arm was wrapped around her, and she could taste fine, salty sweat on his skin as she kissed him back. They pulled apart. She looked at him, drinking in the sight of him, and they said nothing again, but smiled at each other in understanding. Nick was still holding her hand; he squeezed it, and then put his other hand up to her mouth. He touched her lips gently with his fingers, and his hand dropped to his side again.

“Well,” he said, his tone noncommittal, but he was smiling at her.

Laura smiled. A feeling of happiness was washing through her, like sunshine after a cloudy day. She looked into his eyes. “Well,” she said, and tightened her grasp on his hand, as they stared at one another.

“What’s your surname?” she said suddenly.

He laughed, and stroked her cheek with his index finger. “How very Victorian of you, Laura. I didn’t know you were so old-fashioned.”

She blushed. “I just meant…”

“It’s Needham,” said Nick. He paused, his eyes on hers. “Better now? Any more questions?”

“No,” said Laura dreamily. “Not at the moment.”

So he kissed her again.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” said Nick, as they walked along Chartley High Street. It was a warm evening, the sky a deep royal blue, not quite night yet. “Are you sure you—”

“I’m sure,” said Laura firmly. Mrs. Danvers had told her in no uncertain terms she had to get on that bus, much as she wanted to stay in the Needham Arms and carry on making out with Nick for the rest of the night. She looked at her watch. It was nearly ten. She was suddenly tired, and moreover, she’d promised her mother she’d help with the shopping bright and early the next morning (it was one of Angela’s great obsessions, going to the supermarket at the crack of dawn, to avoid any possible danger of having to queue). And she couldn’t hang around two nights in a row and invade this poor man’s house, which wasn’t even his. No, with regret, she knew she ought to leave him, and whatever this unexpected, lovely thing was between them.

“So.” Nick took her hands in his so she was facing him, still clutching her rather bedraggled posy of flowers. The air was still, the horse chestnuts lining the road heavy and scented, stirring faintly.