A Hopeless Romantic (29 page)

chapter twenty-five

L
aura dreamed that she was back at home in her flat with Yorky. He was walking toward her, smiling, pleased to see her, and behind him were Jo and Chris, Simon plonking his backpack down on the ground, Hilary and Hamish. Rachel was there with a picnic hamper, looking overjoyed, and they all had a picnic, until Dan appeared with Amy and three small children; and suddenly all their friends dispersed like pale, insubstantial ghosts, leaving her alone in the sitting room as Amy advanced toward her, holding a child in each arm, screaming at her, while Laura called out for help, but no one came, and Dan stood in the background, wringing his hands….

She woke with a start, for the second time, in Nick’s sparse, bright bachelor bedroom. She sat up, realizing where she was, and her heart lifted at the view of sunlight out the window. Nick wasn’t there. She lay back again, remembering the previous evening, the night, Nick’s hands on her body, all over her, the two of them together, and she stretched again, smiling. Funny to be alone in the bed, when the two of them together…Almost the perfect date, she thought, and she put her hand to her breast to calm her heart, which was fluttering most alarmingly.

She sat up again and bit her lip, turning her thoughts to more pragmatic matters, to the day ahead. She was in charge of meeting and greeting when the relatives arrived for Mary’s lunch, handing out drinks and crisps, almost like a maitre d’. She looked at her watch. It was ten, she realized with horror. At this very moment, the Sandersons were on their way, getting closer and closer. As was Simon—she was going to see Simon, hurrah. She had to go, she had to help Mum. Right, she told herself. Get dressed, find Nick, and say goodbye.

Say goodbye. At the thought of doing just that, her heart turned over and sank. Goodbye. She couldn’t. She wished he were here, so she could ask him—so she could convince herself it was the same with him, that she wasn’t this convenient fling. That this whole sleeping-with-a-marquis thing wasn’t a really bad idea. It didn’t seem like it, here in the relatively comforting surroundings of his room. It hadn’t seemed like it the previous night, as they lay together, tightly entwined, his hands stroking her hair, Nick whispering softly to her as she fell asleep. But today…

There was no point in reliving it, not just yet, she told herself. She got dressed, pulling on her sundress and gathering her things together. She opened the window, straightened the duvet cover. She was pragmatic, organized. It was what Mrs. Danvers would do. Then she sat on the edge of the bed to wait for him to come back, feeling rather marooned, not knowing why she wanted to cry, why suddenly this all seemed much sharper, more real, with more potential to hurt, to give her pain.

She was just admiring her post-bed hair, which looked like a tousled bird’s nest, in the mirror when there was a knock at the door. Laura grimaced. What should she do? Pretend there was no one there? She was silent, hoping the person would go away.

The knock came again, and there was a pause. She could hear a light cough. “Nick?” came a low, tentative male voice.

The door opened slowly. Laura froze on the other side of the room, not sure where to go or what to do, feeling insanely English all of a sudden.

It was Charles. He caught sight of her and stopped on the threshold, looking horrified. “Ah. Oh, my goodness. Laura? I’m so dreadfully sorry. I had no idea.”

“Hello,” said Laura, feeling very unsure of herself. Had Charles known she was here? Did he know anything about the situation? Argh! It was embarrassing, she thought, then collected herself. Was it against the law? No, of course not.

Charles advanced a little way in and leaned against the thin edge of the door in an attempt to look natural and casual. It didn’t really work. He was nervous, she noticed.

“I was—I was just going,” said Laura, picking up her things.

“No, no,” said Charles, looking alarmed. “Please, don’t go on my account. I was looking for—for Nick. Do you know where he is?”

“No,” said Laura, shoving her knickers into her bag and standing up straight. “I don’t, I’m sorry. I woke up—er, he was gone. I was wondering where he was, too. Shall I give him…give him a message?”

She leaned nonchalantly against the side of the bed, misjudged its height, and nearly fell over. “Ah,” said Charles, somewhat discomposed, as she flailed around trying to right herself. “Well, it’s a couple of things, really, that’s why I thought I’d better…” He looked at her, his pale blue eyes smiling shyly at her. “His sister’s looking for him. Lady Rose, you know, she’s staying here.”

“Right,” said Laura. “I don’t really want to—” She looked up at him rather helplessly.

“Stay there,” said Charles decisively. “He is useless, abandoning his—er, guests. I’ll go and find him. You must want to—be on your way. Er.” He coughed, mortified. “Not that I mean you’re not welcome—ah.”

Laura laughed. “Please don’t worry, Charles. I do need to be off, though, I should find him.”

“Of course,” said Charles. “You know what he’s like, starts talking to someone about something and he has to listen to all their problems for hours. That’s Nick, though. You know how passionate he is about it all. The estate.” He waved his arms vaguely.

“Yes,” said Laura, not feeling she could tell the truth, which was, No, I don’t, actually.

“It’s the big dinner tonight,” Charles confided, relaxing slightly. He folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “Phew. That’s why Lady Rose is down. Hordes of Needhams gathering from all round the country.”

“Oh,” said Laura. “Why? What’s the occasion?”

“Well,” Charles said with enthusiasm, “Sir Guillibert Danvers, in—gosh, thirteen-something—anyway, some ancestor of Nick’s, a knight in service to Eleanor of Aquitaine. Old boy got stabbed in some plot to oust the king. They got the pope to make him a saint by way of thanks. It’s his feast day today. The whole family always gathers for it. It’s a great evening.”

Laura suddenly felt as if she were having a conversation with her father, so she said politely, “How interesting.”

“Yes,” said Charles. “Yes, yes. And it’s rather a big do. Lady Rose does like everything just so. You know how these family gatherings can be—it’s the same the world over.”

Since there was no way Laura could reply “It bloody well is not the same, I’m telling you,” she smiled instead. “Well,” she said, “I bet they couldn’t do it without you.”

Charles looked shocked. “Oh, yes, they could,” he said. “Absolutely. It’s Nick, you know. He takes it all very seriously, the tradition of the thing. He’s been up since the crack of dawn, discussing it with Mrs. Hillyard, sorting out everything.”

“Oh,” said Laura.

Charles coughed delicately. “Are you—er, are you coming tonight?”

“God, no!” said Laura. She looked around her wildly. “I mean—you know. This is—just a casual thing, you know. We’ve only just met, I don’t think he’d invite me tonight, seriously.”

“He asked for another place setting at his table,” said Charles doubtfully. “That was yesterday. Perhaps—”

Perhaps Cecilia Thorson’s suddenly available, Laura thought miserably, assailed by doubt and fear and hating it. This had to stop, it was ridiculous. She looked up at Charles. “Well, if you’re off to look for him, then…”

“Yes,” said Charles, collecting himself. “Sorry to have kept you. Laura, it’s so nice to see you again.” He walked to the door. “I’ll send Nick up to you. Ah—see you soon, I’m sure.”

“Thanks,” said Laura.

Outside, a wood pigeon cooed softly. She walked to the window and looked out, taking in the view, thinking how beautiful, how unreal it all was, and she was actually here, it wasn’t some film. Which was why it was so awful that it was all starting to feel so wrong. She closed the window, slung her bag over her shoulder, and left the room.

She walked quietly down the stairs, trying to remember in this huge labyrinthine maze of doors and corridors how best to find her way out without bumping into a tour party, a relative, or the man himself. She didn’t want to go without saying goodbye, but what else could she do? It was the coward’s way out—but then, she was a coward, not up to living this life. She reached the bottom of the stairs and opened the door that she was sure led out to the rose garden at the side, when suddenly a voice called from above her, “Laura!”

It was Nick, coming down the stairs toward her, breathing hard as though he had been running. “Where are you going?”

“I’m—I have to go,” said Laura, standing in the doorway.

“You were going to leave without saying bye?” he said, his tone light but his eyes dark in his tanned face. He stepped outside, motioning her to come with him, and shut the door. “You know, it’s polite to thank the host for the lovely evening.”

“I know,” said Laura, blushing in the sudden sunlight and feeling horrible. “I know, thank you, thank you so much.” She allowed her eyes meet his. “I didn’t know where to find you—and I didn’t want to come barging in—then Charles said you were busy—I thought I’d…” She trailed off, knowing it sounded pathetic.

“Laura,” Nick said. He took her hands in his, folding them into his clasp. “I’m so sorry. You were asleep. I tried to wake you, but you turned over and ignored me. Then you hit the pillow and said something, and I thought I’d better clear out in case you tried to attack me in your sleep. I had a few things to do, boring things to sort out for tonight. So I came downstairs. I checked on you, but you were still out—I should have come back earlier, I’m sorry. Do you have to go right now?”

“Yes,” said Laura. “I really do, I’m afraid. The relatives are descending any moment now—and from what Charles tells me, the same’s true of you.”

“Yes,” he said. “Look—”

“Thanks,” said Laura. “Thanks again, Nick, it was a wonderful night. All of it.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Look, I hope—it’d be nice to…”

He didn’t say anything, just stood there staring at her. A muscle ticked in his cheek. Her heart sank, though she didn’t really know what would be best.

At that moment, a sturdy blonde with rigid hair appeared from around a corner, talking to Charles. “Nick must know I wanted to discuss the apples with him—good God! Hello?” She glared at Laura as if Laura were wearing a stripy top and an eye mask and carrying a bag labeled
SWAG
.

“Nick!” she said, still staring at Laura. “There you are. I’ve been looking absolutely bloody everywhere for you.”

“Rose,” said Charles, collecting himself. “Rose, this is Laura. She’s a friend of Nick’s. She’s just—are you going?”

Rose’s eyes bulged, and she smoothed her rather strained, correct shift dress over her hips. “And how do you do?” she said, nodding at Laura.

Not having been addressed like that by anyone since she had met Father Christmas on a Brownies trip in 1983, Laura let out an involuntary snort of laughter, which she tried to disguise as a sneeze. Nick was staring at her in bemusement, and she realized how strong the family resemblance was as she turned from brother to sister and said, “I’m so sorry—lovely to meet you. I must go, I’m afraid.”

“Laura,” said Nick. “I’ll—”

“Nick, the roses really
are
a frightful mess,” said Rose, turning to her brother and almost blocking Laura out. “Sam says he’s started on them, but how, I want to know. And about the apples, I have a good jelly recipe from someone. And Great-aunt Teresa’s arriving by train, can someone please be sent to pick her up? I particularly asked, but no one seems to know anything about it.”

Laura was waiting for him to say something else to her, but he didn’t. He stared distractedly at her, and then at his sister, and said, “Oh, God, Rose. I don’t know. I—”

“Bye, then,” said Laura. “Thanks again, Nick. Bye, Charles. Bye—er, Rose,” she added uncertainly, not sure how you addressed someone like Lady Rose Balmore; and that, if anything, was surely reason enough that she shouldn’t stick around much longer. She raised her hand in a gesture of farewell and walked briskly around the back of the house, up toward the woods and her car, and she didn’t look back once.

chapter twenty-six

B
y the time Laura pulled up in front of Seavale, it was after eleven, and there were two new cars in the drive. She sat in the car for a moment, pulled the mirror over, and looked at herself. She didn’t look any different. Tired, maybe, with dark smudges under her eyes. Not older or wiser, which wasn’t surprising, since she still hadn’t learned anything, it would seem. She rested her head on the steering wheel briefly, her mind racing back over the past eighteen hours or so.

Was she
so
stupid that she still hadn’t learned a thing, despite everything she’d been through? The dreadful thought that Nick was just another one to add to the list, the most spectacular cock-up of all Laura’s failed romantic endeavors, was almost too much to handle. It looked like it could be, she had to admit. Meet some guy, fail to spot he’s the ideal romantic hero to beat them all, spend your holiday with him, fall for him, sleep with him, and never mind that a) he’s one of the richest people in the country; b) he owns more land than is covered by the distance from Mum and Dad’s house to your titchy flat in North London; c) you have nothing in common—he’s a marquis, for God’s sake, and you’re a reading coordinator for a local council; and d) he has a girlfriend. Well, he claims he doesn’t, but really—Laura banged her head against the steering wheel softly—it’s clear that’s what
she
thinks she is.

No, she thought. Best that it ends like this, a lovely memory, a beautiful summer interlude, like something out of a book. Leave it there, recognize it for what it is. And now, go inside, smile brightly, and help your mother with the Foster family’s equivalent to Nick and his Sir Elephant Something-or-Other evening. At the thought of how hilariously disparate those two gatherings were, she smiled, realizing she was right to be putting it behind her, and pulled the keys out of the ignition. Her heart ached, a stab of something, but she said briskly out loud, “Indigestion,” and got out of the car.