A Hopeless Romantic (34 page)

“Yes,” said Rose, almost purring. “You’re quite right. So.” She smiled and waved at someone farther down the table. “Ah, there’s Emily. Dear thing. I must say hello to her afterward.” She cleared her throat, as if drawing the line under the conversation, now her point was made. “Well, I’m glad you’re enjoying your time here.”

“Thank you,” Laura said.

“We’re all family here tonight,” Rose said. She ran a short, plump finger around the rim of her glass. “Except you, of course.”

“I’m very lucky.”

“Yes,” said Rose. “I’d say you were.”

And with that, she turned back to her neighbor, leaving Laura staring down at her plate, not knowing what to say.

It’s almost impossible to have a relaxed conversation with someone when you know everyone else is looking at you, appraising you, judging you. And, in Rose’s case, wishing you weren’t there. After this, Laura felt even more exposed, and when Nick turned to ask her how it was all going, she found herself making small talk with him, as if he were one of Mum and Dad’s neighbors at a barbecue in Harrow. She didn’t know what to say to him, all of a sudden, how to talk to him. She wanted to be alone with him on the beach, or in his room. As if it were last night, or the night before, or before that. Before real life got in the way—and what a reality it was.

Because it was different now, all different. Among Laura’s opening salvos to Nick were:

“Do you have job-share schemes on the estate?”

“Is the soil good for growing potatoes, then?”

“Who handles the insurance for the paintings?”

“That’s an interesting chandelier, how old is it?”

What she didn’t say was:

“Can I punch both your sisters?”

“How do you cope with this, all the time?”

“Why can’t it be the two of us, like it was before?”

And,

“Do you realize I’ve fallen for you?”

Eventually, the plates were cleared away after the first course, and Charles stood up to announce, in his polite, soft voice, that there would be a break and then the toasts to Sir Guillibert Danvers would begin. Nick turned to her, and put his napkin on the table.

“Why don’t we go for a walk?” he said, smiling at her, just her. “Outside, for a couple of minutes. I don’t really feel like I’ve been a very good host to you tonight.”

“I’d love that,” she said, gazing up at him, thinking how perfect he was to her in that moment, with his long, bony face, tanned skin, kind, clever eyes. How much she wished they could just leave this evening behind, forget it. Perhaps they could—perhaps the feeling that was growing inside her, this feeling of doom, perhaps she was wrong about it. Perhaps it would be okay.

He touched her hand lightly. “Right. Let’s go. I’ll—”

“Nick! M’boy! Damn good to see you.”

“Leo, hello,” said Nick, turning around and standing up. Laura turned to see a large, purple-faced man whose dinner jacket strained alarmingly at the buttons. “Leo, this is Laura,” Nick said, holding Laura’s elbow and urging her forward.

Laura shook Leo’s hand. “Nice to meet you,” she said.

“And you,” said Leo, looking at her breasts and not at her face. “And you, m’dear. Good that you’re here,” he said to the breasts again, before coming to with a start. “Before I forget, Nick. Need a small word with you in private. Now?”

“Now?” said Nick. “I just—”

“Can’t stay afterward, m’boy. It’s about Pickleton. The cottages. Now Ned’s dead. Really think we should discuss it.” Leo looked rather anxious. “Not sure what to do, if the truth be known.”

“Of course, of course,” Nick said, patting his shoulder. “Laura, do you mind? Why don’t you wait here? I’ll only be a minute.”

“I’ll go outside and wait,” said Laura, who didn’t particularly want to be left alone. “I’d love some fresh air. See you on the steps.”

He raised his hand and smiled briefly, turned away, and walked out. She could see his retreating back and Leo’s as they disappeared through the great hall into a room off to the side.

Laura sat down, and drained her drink. She looked for Charles, but couldn’t see him. Across the way from her, various old ladies chattered happily amongst themselves; she thought how like her grandmother they were, and how Mary would get on beautifully in this situation, would take to it like a duck to water, in fact. She stood up, trying to look inconspicuous, and headed out to the great hall. She didn’t feel inconspicuous, though. She’d never felt more out of place in her life.

She went outside and waited on the steps. The landscaped grounds were in near darkness now, with only the glow from the floodlit house illuminating the gravel, the drive, a little of the way beyond down to the fountain in the distance. A few people from the dinner—she didn’t know their names—walked past her or came out and saw her, but they didn’t bother her. The stone was warm from the heat of the day.

So she sat and waited, and thought about the last four days, and how she had come to be there. She thought about Mary’s birthday, about how stressful family affairs were, but how it was worth it to see her grandmother surrounded by her family and friends, to realize how lucky she was to have her parents as her parents. How funny this afternoon had been; she suddenly saw Lulu and Aunt Annabel’s incredulous faces as Laura said goodbye to the assembled group and drove off in her black dress to Chartley Hall. She thought about Yorky on his date, how it was going, and felt a sharp pang as she found herself wishing she were there waiting for him to come back, so they could sit up and chat about it over a late-night drink. About popping round to Jo’s; sitting at her and Chris’s kitchen table reading the Sunday papers, laughing and drinking coffee, being normal. Tomorrow was Sunday; when she got home, she knew there would be a letter waiting from Rachel confirming her meeting about coming back to work. A job. A life again, on an even keel, now that the madness of the previous few months was over. She thought about Dan, and shook her head, her hand pressed to her heart when she remembered how blindly she had loved him, wanted to love him, to be with him, and how utterly different the reality was, the cold hard facts of daily life.

She looked behind her, to the house. It was funny, wasn’t it. This was reality now, right this minute. The last few days with Nick, just being with him, just the two of them, walking, talking, kissing, making love—they hadn’t been real, because they weren’t the truth. This was real, sitting on the steps now, waiting for her romantic hero to come out the door to meet her; and the irony was it was like something out of one of the novels she’d wanted so much to live in.

As she sat thinking, sifting all these thoughts through and through, gradually Laura realized what she had to do; and the idea of it was awful, she didn’t know how she would get through it, but she knew it had to be done. She looked down at her dress, her feet in their strappy sandals, shimmering silver against the dark stone. She wanted to remember it, remember being here, preserve it, so she would always know what it felt like to know he was here, on his way out to find her, that he wanted her.

It seemed as if hours had gone by, but it was only a few minutes later that she heard his footsteps behind her, and he came and sat down next to her.

“Hello,” he said, and he slid his arm around her waist. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” He kissed her. “Leo does go on rather a lot. He’s a great chap—he was my dad’s cousin, you know. He runs the estates in Lincolnshire, does a fantastic job. But he’s rather…wordy, you know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry,” said Laura. “Honestly.”

There was silence between them.

“We should go back in in a minute,” said Nick. “I have to propose the toast, and wear this ridiculous hat. I’m sorry. And there’s a rhyme thing. God, it’s ridiculous, but it keeps them happy for another year, and…” He trailed off as Laura stood up.

“I’m going, Nick,” she said, trying to keep her voice neutral.

“What?” said Nick blankly. He looked up at her. “Inside?”

“No,” said Laura. “I’m going. Going home.”

“But it’s—” He stood up. “What are you talking about?”

She knew she had to play a part. “I’m not staying here,” said Laura in the tone of an offended, stroppy girlfriend. She stood and started to walk down the steps, clutching her bag. “I’ll get the car myself. Thanks for a lovely evening.”

“Laura!” Nick caught her by the arms. He was almost laughing, but there was panic in his eyes. “What are you talking about? You can’t leave, it’s—we haven’t had pudding yet.” He shook his head, as if aware of how silly that sounded. “You know what I mean. We haven’t spent any time together. I want—I thought you were staying with me. Tonight, I mean.”

She shook free from his grasp, looked away, took a deep breath, and then faced him.

“Stay here? And be treated like this? You must be joking.” Her voice was shriller than usual. She let the muscles in her face form an ugly expression, and she smiled at him spitefully. “Who are you kidding, Nick? I’ve had a crap evening, and you’ve treated me like dirt. You’ve barely spoken a word to me! You let your sisters be rude to me!” Her voice rose. “I’m not used to it, okay? I’m used to being treated politely by my date. Like a lady.” She thought, feeling sick, that might be going a bit too far; she didn’t want to sound like Sybil Fawlty. But he had to believe her. She put her evening bag over her shoulder. “I’m really sorry, Nick,” she said. “We had a laugh, didn’t we? But I’m going to go now.”

Nick was staring at her, shaking his head. “No—no,” he said. He moved closer to her. “Laura? Why are you being like this? I don’t—aren’t you glad to be here? I thought you wanted to—I thought you didn’t mind all this…” He trailed off, his eyes beseeching her.

“What, you think I’m going to be on my knees with gratitude because the big lord’s invited little old me to his stately home? Eh? Like a fucking geisha, is that what you think? Thanks so much, sir, I’m nothing and I’m so grateful.” Laura was trembling, shouting as she said it. It was horrible. She hadn’t imagined it could hurt this much. “Well, I’m not. So perhaps you’d better look around for someone else who’s more up your street. Okay?” She ran down the last two steps.

“Is this about Cecilia?” said Nick, coming after her. “Rose just cornered me and asked me lots of stupid questions about her, about why we broke up. I’m
not
seeing her, Laura. Rose is just trying to bully me into marrying some fucking millionaire’s daughter just so she and Malcolm can have the proprieties observed. Is that it? What did she say to you?”

Laura saw her chance and took it. “How am I supposed to believe you?” she said, making sure she kept her voice shrill. “Your sister didn’t know you’d broken up with her—how am I to know if you’re still seeing her or not? You lied to me about being a marquis, Nick, you could lie to me again.”

He was staring at her, his expression totally bewildered. “I don’t understand you, Laura. I thought we—I thought you…”

Laura turned and walked away so she didn’t have to look at him anymore, because she was on the verge of losing her resolve, and she was nearly there, it was nearly done, and she couldn’t believe how much it was hurting her.

“Just leave me alone, Nick,” she said, her voice breaking.

He followed her, around the house, toward the stables at the back, and grabbed her hand. She snatched it away as he swung her round to face him. They were standing on the gravel in the shadow of the huge, dark stables. The trees behind them sighed in the nighttime breeze.

“This isn’t you,” he said quietly. “Laura, why are you doing this?”

She looked at him, and her shoulders heaved. A sob welled up in her throat. “I can’t do this,” she said softly, her voice breaking.

He drew her to him, holding her tightly. His buttons pressed into the thin fabric of her dress, digging into her ribs. He kissed her hair and murmured, “Laura, oh, Laura. What’s wrong?”

She drew back from him slowly, wiping a tear from her cheek. “Nick,” she said. “Please. Don’t try to stop me. Just let me go. I’m not pissed off, I’m not pretending anymore.”

“Good,” he said with a glimmer of humor. “I didn’t know who you’d turned into back there. I thought—”

“Nick, I mean it. This is never going to work.”

Two lines of annoyance appeared between his dark brows. “Come on, Laura. We’ve talked about this. It can work.”

“No,” Laura said, her voice rising. “We
haven’t
talked about this, Nick. And it can’t work. Look at us. Look at tonight.”

“Why?” he said. “Come on, I know they’re a bit hard to take, but—”

“You don’t get it, do you?” said Laura, trying not to shout at him, to cry, to hit him. “Can’t you see? You’re them. They’re you. You’re part of this.” She waved her arms around her. “The whole thing, the house, the history, all of your family. All of it. It’s massive. And you’re trying to pretend it doesn’t matter, but it
does,
Nick. You talk about it as if it’s something abstract, or as if it’s a condition, like being allergic to apples, or having a fear of spiders, as if it’s just a vague inconvenience. And it’s not, it’s the whole damn thing with you.”

“It’s not,” he said, taking her hands, folding them in his like he always did. He shook his head blindly. “Laura. If I can’t have a normal life outside it, I’m doomed. Of course all this is important to me, it has been since Dad died and I had to come back here and start looking after things. It’s been the most important thing. But there are other things, too,” he said, and he leaned forward and kissed her.

His lips were on hers, insistent, hot against her cool skin, and her heart physically ached; she hadn’t realized it could. She would never forget how it felt when he kissed her, what it was like. How it felt to hold him, to feel him on top of her, inside her, his hands on hers. Perhaps that was all that mattered. But then she remembered the expressions on the faces of his relatives as they walked in. She remembered the portrait of the seventh marquis, proud and handsome. Cynthia, the tour guide, telling her rapt audience that the Needhams had fought in the Wars of the Roses. Nick and his sisters, reenacting their own personal Hogarth paintings as children. The gardeners, the servants, the houses, the lands…it all whirled around in her mind, Rose’s voice telling her how lucky she was when Laura knew she wasn’t, she’d probably just got it wrong. Again. And she had to get out, before she hurt Nick more than she’d already hurt herself.