A Hopeless Romantic (28 page)

Laura felt a rush of admiration for him, again. “It’s only been two years?”

“Yes,” Nick said. He waved it aside. “Anyway. Cecilia. They set us up, and we went out on a few dates, to a few parties in town, that sort of thing. Charity dos, you know. But that’s it.”

Charity dos. Parties in town. It sounded hilariously unlike Laura’s life; the gap was so wide, she could have laughed—perhaps that would have got rid of the sick feeling she had. “So you haven’t slept together or anything,” she said, trying to be calm.

Nick looked uncertain. “Well,” he said. “Yes, we slept together, of course.”

Boys, Laura thought. I love the way their idea of not going out with people is completely different from girls’. “Right,” she said.

“But she’s—um. I finished it with her, last month. Not that there was anything to finish, but I didn’t want her getting the wrong idea.”

“The wrong idea?”

“We’re not compatible,” Nick said. “She’s obsessed with the house, all that. Having a title. And I can’t stand that kind of stuff. It’s tacky.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Laura said, feeling some sympathy for Cecilia. “The old me—wow, I’d have loved that.”

“Who’s the old me?” said Nick. He topped up her glass. “Is this something else you haven’t told me? Do you have two personalities?”

“No,” said Laura, trying to think how best to explain herself. “No, it’s stupid. Just—the old me, well…” She ran her hand through her hair. “Nothing.”

“Go on,” said Nick. “I won’t laugh, I promise.”

“Well, I was a bit…head in the clouds,” Laura said. “Fairy tales and all that. I wanted to meet Prince Charming. It got me into a lot of trouble.”

“Really.”

“Yes, it did. Well, not anymore. I threw away all my videos. There,” she said fervently. “I haven’t told anyone that.”

“What videos?” said Nick, bewildered.

Laura reddened. “Forget it. Just…stupid films and stuff. And books and things. I only read improving books now. And I watch interesting foreign-language films.”

“You do?” said Nick. “What interesting foreign-language films have you seen recently?”

“Er. I haven’t yet. But I’m going to when I get back to town. You know what it’s like. Well, you don’t,” she said, wondering if Nick ever went to the cinema. Perhaps he had his own private cinema. No, he didn’t seem the type, really. Suddenly a mental image of him dressed like the postcard of his ancestor, all medals and morning dress, striding into the King’s Lynn multiplex popped into her head, and she laughed. The wine in her glass slopped over onto the blanket and her arm. “Sorry,” she said, and knelt up to reach for a napkin.

“Here,” Nick said. He leaned over her, caught her arm, and wiped it with a tea towel, rubbing the bare skin gently. They looked at each other, saying nothing, and Laura sat back down again.

“So,” he said. “We’re okay, then? The Cecilia thing? I’m not avoiding it, it’s just that it’s nothing.”

“No, I know,” said Laura. “It’s just a bit weird. I don’t want you to think I’m making a big deal about it either. It’s just, there’s lots I don’t know about.”

“I know,” he said after a moment’s pause. “And I’m sorry. For being uncommunicative. I don’t like talking about myself much. As you may have noticed.”

“Just a bit,” said Laura.

“Even to you,” he said.

“But—” Laura was taken aback. “I hardly know you.”

“Yes and no,” said Nick. “Does that make sense?”

“It makes a lot of sense,” said Laura. “When I think that a week ago I’d never met you—that’s weird.”

“It is,” he said. “It’s almost unbelievable.”

They looked at each other, and fell silent.

Nick produced a bottle of whisky as it grew colder, and poured some into Laura’s glass.

“Here, have this, it’s getting chilly,” he said, and threw her his sweater.

Laura took it gratefully and put it on. She didn’t want to move or dispel the magic charm of the evening, knowing that when they left more things would be said, things would change; wanting to leave it like this, perfect, suspended in a bubble. She wrapped her hands round the glass, gazing contemplatively across the sand.

“It’s getting late,” said Nick after a while.

“Yes,” said Laura, looking out at the dark petrol gray of the sea in the night.

“You’re not driving, are you?” he said, laughter in his voice.

“I brought the car, yes,” said Laura. She rolled over on the blanket, so she was facing him.

“So…” Nick said. He put his hand on her shoulder. His skin felt warm against hers.

She said, “But I don’t think I can drive it home.”

“Ah,” said Nick softly, and she could feel his breath in her ear, on her neck. “I was kind of hoping you’d say that.”

“So…”

He sat up and leaned over Laura in one fluid motion, his hands on either side of her arms. She said nothing, just lay there and looked up at him, watching him and, behind him, the stars in the black sky.

“Laura—” he said. “God.”

“Yes?” she said softly.

“You are coming back with me, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she said, reaching up and putting her arms around him. He lowered himself gently onto her and kissed her once. Then he groaned and sat back.

“Let’s go home,” he said. “Let’s not waste any more time, Laura. Let’s get back.” He stood up and held out his hand, pulling her up. “It’s definitely your last night, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Laura. “Nick—don’t let’s—”

“I know.” He nodded. “No big deal. You can’t stay for one more night, can you? It’s just—”

“No,” she said firmly. “I can’t.” They were still for a moment, and Laura felt incredibly sad, and she didn’t know why.

“Here,” he said, suddenly practical. “Take this blanket. And, oh, I’d better warn you. Just—watch out for my sister.”

“Lavinia?” said Laura.

“I’m not worried about Lavinia so much. No, Rose. We don’t want to bump into her. Disaster if she saw us.”

“Right,” said Laura, feeling like a sluttish scullery maid being seduced by the master in
Upstairs Downstairs.
“I’ll be careful,” she said, brushing the sand off her dress.

chapter twenty-four

T
hey walked back, talking quietly, until they reached the edge of the house again, as they had done two nights earlier. Laura felt as if she were in
Groundhog Day
, or
Groundhog Day
meets
Gosford Park
. She said so to Nick, who laughed. He reached over to kiss her, but broke away, looked up, and said under his breath, “Damn.”

“What?”

“Rose is still up—look, there’s her light.”

“I don’t mind—” Laura began, but Nick took her hand.

“It’ll be a real pain if she sees us.”

“Yes, of course,” Laura said automatically, wondering if she should offer to fold herself up and climb into the cooler box.

“I know,” said Nick suddenly. “I’ve got an idea. Come with me.”

He led her down the path and through the trees, so that they skirted the house, which was almost entirely in darkness. This was his
home,
Laura thought as she followed him, shaking her head in disbelief at what she was doing.

Finally they came to the front of the house, their feet crunching quietly on the gravel.

“We’ll go in through the front door,” said Nick. “Rose is at the back, she won’t hear, and the people who live on this side won’t notice. They’ll just think it’s Sam, one of the footmen, doing his rounds.”

“Er…through the front door? Right,” said Laura, bemused by the mention of footmen.

They walked up to the center of the great façade and up the stairs, which Laura had climbed only two days before, dragging her heels behind her mother’s exclamations of pleasure and her father’s comments about Doric columns. On the small, balustraded terrace before the black-paneled door, almost twice the size of Laura’s whole sitting room, Nick paused and rummaged in his jacket.

“Keys. Ah, here they are.”

He slid a huge brass key into the lock, turned it smoothly, and pushed the door open. He smiled sardonically, as if he were aware of the strangeness of the situation, and inclined his head.

“After you, madam.”

Through the ghostly, dark house they walked, as quietly as possible. Through the great hall, where Laura looked at the huge map of the county and smiled; past the ballroom, where George had got his digital camera stuck on pause, precipitating a mini-crisis; up the great staircase, where their feet slapped on the cold, hard marble, and under the immense chandelier that hung over them dead and still, its crystal pendants dull.

They reached the library in silence, and Nick stopped, put his hand on her arm. “Nearly there,” he whispered in her ear. “I’m sorry about this, this is ridiculous, but we’ll have to go through the house. Quietly—I don’t want James to hear. He’s Sam’s nighttime partner in crime. Or not.”

“It’s fine,” hissed Laura in a stage whisper that made both of them jump apart a little. “It’s fine,” she repeated.

Nick gave her a strange look. “You okay?” he said. “Not having second thoughts?”

Laura wasn’t having second thoughts; she rarely did once she’d got to this stage with someone. She was, however, trying not to freak out about everything else to do with the situation. Normally, when she was climbing the stairs of someone’s house in silence, it was to avoid a sleeping flatmate, or a drunk friend passed out on the sofa.

“No, no,” Laura whispered again. “I’m not very good at whispering, that’s all. Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” said Nick. “I’m not surprised, knowing you as well as I do. You’re a bit too much of a ranter to be able to whisper particularly well.” He smiled and took her hand. “Hold my hand. I’ve just got to check they’ve locked up.”

He walked toward the library door, Laura following. She watched as he grasped the old brass handle and looked in. His gaze ran down the long room, where moonlight was starting to creep onto the carpet through the slivers left by the blinds.

“
The Happy Marriage,
” she said out loud, looking toward the lonely painting at the end of the great room.

“Yes,” said Nick, almost to himself. “It was my mother’s favorite.”

“Really?” said Laura.

“Yes. She loved it. She used to dance along the room with me when I was little, doing a jig. And then my sisters used to make me reenact it with them when we were small. I had to be the bridesmaid.”

Laura laughed quietly.

He smiled. “And now we’re advised that we can’t afford the insurance to have the whole series out on display during the summer. Pathetic, isn’t it.”

“It’s beautiful,” said Laura inadequately, feeling foolish.

“Beautiful,” Nick said slowly, looking around him, leading her into the library. “Do you think so? Yes. Of course it is.”

She caught the fleeting expression on his face, and it disturbed her. It was dark, ugly, his mouth curling in an unhappy smile.

“It’s all yours,” said Laura impulsively, saying something to break the silence. “Isn’t that weird?”

“It’s very weird, especially when you find yourself getting used to it,” said Nick quietly. “You start to think this is what a normal life’s like. It’s not. I have to keep reminding myself of that; otherwise I’d go insane.”

Laura didn’t know what to say. She agreed with him.

“I’m sorry I lied,” he said frankly, almost to himself. “It’s just you get in here, and
this
becomes the big deal.” His gesture encompassed the room, the fields outside. “Not the important stuff, and I don’t want you to think—”

“Stop worrying,” said Laura. “I mean it. I’m not here because of all of this. I’m here because of you.”

She looked around the big, beautiful room. It was completely still, not a sound within or outside. As if it were just the two of them, nothing more in the world, in this room alone. Nick took her hand and held it. She watched him; the skin on her palm was creamy white in the moonlight streaming through the great windows. He raised her hand to his lips, and kissed the tips of her fingers gently.

“I just keep thinking perhaps you’re made-up,” he said softly.

“Me too,” said Laura. “Me too.”

They stayed like that in complete silence, staring at each other, in the center of the long, silvery room.

“Are we still friends, then?” he said, his voice light.

Laura looked up at him. “Oh, Nick, I don’t think we’re friends anymore, do you?”

No one disturbed them as they continued on their way through the corridors, and it was almost a relief to reach the strangely familiar surroundings of his room, a comparative haven of normality tucked inside this great shell of a home.

Nick dumped the cooler box and the blanket on the floor, then took off his jacket, his back to her, while Laura took off her shoes. She felt suddenly ill at ease, and the white noise of questions she had about all this and him, how strange it was, how something was bothering her about it but she didn’t know what, started to rise within her. But then he turned around, and she wondered how she could have thought he was anyone else but him, how she could have thought she didn’t know him, because she did.

He walked toward her. “I’ve wanted to do this since the moment I laid eyes on you, you know that?” he said, and he calmly put his hands on her hips and kissed her again. As his lips met hers, Laura felt as if she were melting into him. He kissed her slowly, wrapping his arms around her, so that he held her tightly. As she returned his kiss more urgently, his tongue inside her mouth, pushing, sliding slowly into her, she could feel the strength of his body against hers, as if they were breathing together, as if they were in their own world. She stopped thinking, for the first time in days, weeks. She simply felt, in her heart and head, and soon she barely knew where she was.

Nick’s eyes were black. He gave her that old, sweetly familiar smile, half mocking, half comforting. She knelt on the edge of the bed and wrapped her arms around his neck, and he buried his face in her skin.

“Don’t go tomorrow,” he said, his voice husky. “Laura—don’t go….”

Laura put her finger to his lips, and he pushed her back. They fell on the bed together, and Laura remembered fleetingly how big it had felt when she had got into it alone, two nights ago. How strange that seemed now. Nick was on top of her; she could feel that he was hard already, and her last thought before she gave herself up to it, to him, was how strange it was, too, that it should feel so right, as if she had known him for years. Her very own romantic hero—yet it turned out that who he was couldn’t matter less to her; all she wanted was to feel him, to be joined to him, to stay like that forever.