A Hopeless Romantic (33 page)

“Really?”

“Oh,” said Charles. “No, not at all. I’m very lucky. Don’t really want any spare time, to be honest.”

Laura didn’t believe him. That didn’t sound like luck; it sounded like about as much fun as botulism. She pressed him again, genuinely curious. “No,” she said. “I mean, if you had a night off, could do anything? What would you do?”

“Well, I’d potter around the garden, I suppose,” said Charles. “I’ve got my own bit, out the back, by the kitchen garden.”

Oh, good grief. This was awful. Laura nodded politely. “Still,” she said gently. “Like a night out. If you could do anything at all.”

“American sitcoms,” said Charles unexpectedly. “I’d watch them all day if I could.”

“Really?” Laura said incredulously.

“Yup,” said Charles. “Love ’em. I’ve got a digital box in my room.
Seinfeld. Larry Sanders. Curb Your Enthusiasm. Arrested Development.
”

“Seriously?” said Laura, feeling as if she were on a weird trip. “Wow. I love
Arrested Development.
”

Charles’s face lit up. “Isn’t it amazing?” he said. “So clever. So hilarious! Did you know, Ron Howard’s the person who narrates it?”

“No!” said Laura. “Really? I always thought he sounded familiar. That’s so cool! I must tell Yorky that.”

“Yorky?” said Charles.

“My flatmate,” Laura explained. “He…” She trailed off, suddenly remembering that at this moment, Yorky would be having a drink in the sitting room, on A Date with Downstairs Becky. How she wished she could be there…. She looked around the room, thinking again that this was odd. This was effectively Nick’s sitting room. She cleared her throat. “Anyway. Ron Howard’s the executive producer, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” said Charles seriously, and Laura realized she was the only one finding it at all incongruous, out of place, this conversation. In fact, this whole situation. Perhaps because it was just her who was out of place. Incongruous.

chapter thirty

F
ive minutes later, the gong sounded for supper, and Laura felt unease creep over her again. She could talk about telly for hours, and she enjoyed talking to Charles, who was so lovely and whom she genuinely liked, with his pink and white face and sweetly intelligent, shy manner. But she knew he was looking after her, and that he probably had things to do or people he wanted to talk to. She knew he’d rather be talking to Lavinia than to her, or discussing the harvest or something, rather than having to be her bodyguard.

Charles said, “We should go through, ah, just here,” as a swarm of unknown relatives bustled past them, seemingly unconcerned with Laura and Charles, though a couple looked back at her as they passed and gave her rather appraising stares, as if to say “You stand out. What are you doing here?” Charles put his hand gently on her back and steered her toward the ballroom.

Suddenly she felt another arm steal around her waist, and Nick kissed her lightly on the neck and murmured, “I am so sorry, Laura. Here you are. You look beautiful. Thanks, Charles.”

He took her hand and they walked in to dinner together, and Laura’s heart sang at the feel of his fingers entwined with hers, the reassuring press of his heavy dinner jacket against her bare arm. The crowd parted as if they were Cleopatra and Mark Antony, and people stared and whispered, heads bent together, as the combined Needham family suddenly realized who that bland, uninteresting, unglamorous girl talking to Charles was. She was Nick’s date. From the look of openmouthed shock on some people’s faces, she could tell this news wasn’t exactly welcome.

They entered the ballroom, and Laura glanced around, thinking how strange it was that the last time she’d been in there, her father had been asking Cynthia about dynastic successions, and her mother had been saying, “Do you think they have a lampshade similar to that in the shop? I should ask, shouldn’t I,” and Laura had never even met Nick; and here she was now, standing next to him, his hand squeezing hers. It all felt slightly unreal, as if she were watching a film about someone else.

The room was a mass of dinner jackets and brightly colored taffeta. Scanning the long table, set in the middle of the room and laden with glittering crystal and flowers, silver cutlery, snowy white tablecloths, Laura looked at the row of Needham relatives ranged opposite her, and saw there was a family resemblance; a faint one, but there nonetheless. It was something in the cheekbones; the high, rather narrow faces; the dark hair. It was extraordinary, she thought—centuries of interbreeding, all in one room; and she looked down at her hand, tangled with his. He squeezed it again reassuringly, and then held out her chair for her to sit down.

“Thank you,” said Laura formally. He touched the bare skin of her shoulder lightly, and sat down next to her.

“So,” he said. “Bearing up okay?”

“Yes,” said Laura, smiling at him. “Just about.”

“I kept meaning to come over and introduce you to people, but every time I made a move, someone would annex me,” Nick said. He turned toward her and smiled, the Nick she knew, even in a dinner jacket. “And then you looked like you were having such a good time with Great-aunt Teresa and Lavinia—I’m glad.”

“Yes,” said Laura. She stared at her lap, feeling rather helpless. Strange though it was to think it, when he’d lied to her for most of the time she’d known him, she hated lying to him about this now. It felt…like everything was wrong. But she had to, so she did. “Yes,” she said again, as he stole his hand onto her lap and squeezed her thigh gently. “It’s been just great, Nick, thank you.”

A waiter unfolded a napkin and waved it gracefully onto Laura’s lap. Nick moved his hand, and they were both silent until he’d moved on.

“Well,” he said, “I don’t know about that. I don’t really like these things, you know. But I have to do them, and we all actually quite enjoy seeing each other.” He scratched his head, and a shadow crossed his face briefly. “The one thing to watch out for is…”

“What?” said Laura.

“Well, someone’s bound to bring up my mother. They always do, after a few glasses, and then…” He shook his head. “Forget it. That’s an even longer story. Do you—” He looked unsure, then angry. “I hate this. It’s so stupid, asking someone you—if they know about how your mother ran off with your uncle. Because it was in the paper every day for about a year.”

“I know,” said Laura. “My grandmother told me yesterday. She met them.”

Nick looked amazed. “My mother?” he said rather loudly, and next to him his cousins Clare and Oliver stopped talking and looked appalled, as if Nick had just made a Nazi salute or punched a waiter or something.

“Yes,” said Laura. She added softly, thinking she sounded like
her
mother, “Shall we talk about it later?”

“Yes, let’s. You’re right,” said Nick. His fingers gripped his napkin, screwing it into a ball, and he looked up and down the room impatiently, his gaze traveling the length of the table until it came to rest on her. “Oh, Laura. I’m sorry. This—perhaps this was a bad idea.”

“What?” said Laura, feeling sick again.

“Asking you tonight,” said Nick. “Thank you. White, please,” he said to the waiter. “I don’t mean—you know. I just mean, perhaps it’s a bit rich, expecting you to get all of this so soon.”

Feeling slightly like a disease-ridden barefoot chimney sweep, Laura tried to smile reassuringly at him, but his attention was claimed by an old lady across the table and he turned away from her. The last of the guests were being seated. Across the table, Charles sat down opposite her. And next to her, a chair was drawn back, and a voice said, “Good evening. It’s nice to see you back at Chartley so soon.”

It was Lady Rose, corseted in pale brown lace and silk, looking exactly like Queen Mary, a cool smile on her face. She caught sight of her place card next to Laura’s; Laura saw the look on her face. Laura looked back at the table and concentrated on the huge bowl of flowers in front of her, trying not to eavesdrop.

“Nick,” Rose said softly to her brother. “I wasn’t supposed to be sitting here.”

Nick smiled. “Hello, Rose. Well, you are now,” he said. “I moved things around a little, hope that’s okay. Malcolm’s next to Lavinia, he’s fine. You’re next to Laura.”

“But—” said Rose. Her voice grew louder. “I always sit next to you.”

“Rose,” said Nick firmly. “Sit down, please.”

Laura, unable to avoid listening to this exchange, was torn between wanting to stand up and offer Rose her seat back and wanting to slide gently under the table and crawl out of the room.

There was a pause; the tension was palpable. And then Rose sat down next to her, and smiled graciously.

The doors closed behind them, and Nick stood up, and waited for the babble to subside. Down the long room, the noise fell, and fifty or so faces turned to look at him expectantly. The only movement was the glint of diamonds in the light of the chandeliers.

“Just a minute, please. Thank you. Hey!” Laura jumped as Nick banged his hand on the table. He called down the room to two old men who were still talking, “Alec! Geoffrey! This won’t take long. I just want to welcome you all. All of you.”

He paused infinitessimally. His voice was softer, and she did not dare look up at him, but she felt as if he was talking to her.

“We’re all family, aren’t we? And it’s rare that we are all together. So perhaps we should drink to that. To this evening. I’m so glad you’re all here tonight. To the Needham family.”

There was a shuffling of chairs as the assembled company stood up. “The Needham family,” they chorused.

Laura looked around the room. If my friends could see me now, she thought. Imagine if I called Jo and told her where I was. Or Yorky. They’d never believe it. She looked at the offending Geoffrey and Alec, stout and bespectacled; at Great-aunt Teresa, leaning heavily on a stick, staring beadily into space; at Charles, Lavinia, and Malcolm Balmore, who was short and squat and looked very disgruntled about something. At the massed ranks of Needhams, scanning along the row until her eye rested on Rose, stately and gracious, nodding at someone opposite her; and then she turned to Nick, her Nick, so tall and grave in his dinner jacket, and felt overwhelmed. She didn’t know what she was doing there at all.

chapter thirty-one

D
inner was not a nine-course gourmet affair; it was a huge roast dinner for all, with the toast to Sir Guillibert Danvers scheduled to happen halfway through the evening, followed by more wine and pudding. Laura smiled inanely at no one as the roast beef was served, as if she were having a simply fantastic time. Around her the Clan Needham talked amongst itself, and Rose inclined her head graciously toward her from time to time. And, of course, Nick was next to her, chatting politely to some ancient aunt and uncle opposite him, occasionally turning to her to see if she was okay, and looking so pleased when she would smile and simply say, “Yes, I’m having a great time, thank you.”

As seconds were being served, Rose swiveled her attention around to Laura. She leaned forward and reached for her glass. “So, Laura. I hope you’re enjoying yourself tonight?” she asked in polite tones.

“Oh, yes, thank you,” said Laura. “I’m very glad to be here.”

Rose said nothing, but inclined her head graciously.

“It’s beautiful here,” said Laura, knowing this was a pathetic thing to say, but not sure how else to break the silence.

“Yes. Yes, it is,” said Rose. “Tell me something, Laura.” Laura nodded. “How did you meet my brother? I’m so curious.”

“Er, well,” said Laura. She toyed with the idea of saying “At the Sandy Lane Resort in Barbados” or “St. Tropez last year.” What did it matter how she’d met him? Why was it important?

“I was here on Wednesday with my parents, for the day,” she said. “I bumped into him then—we got talking, and we ended up going out for a drink in the evening.”

Rose’s expression was undefinable. “Your parents?”

“Yes,” Laura said carefully. “We’re here on holiday. We were going round the house.” She took a deep breath.

“How nice,” Rose said eventually.

“Yes,” Laura said. “I go back to London tomorrow, so Nick was kind enough to ask me tonight.”

Rose nodded. “I see.” And then she was silent.

Laura found herself gabbling. “Which is rather weird, because I know it’s a family night, and I’m a complete stranger! But I’m incredibly touched to be asked.” She knew she sounded like a fourteen-year-old, that she wasn’t saying the right thing, but with no idea of what that might be, she thought she’d better keep talking.

Rose raised her glass. “Well, so here you are, then.” She paused, then smiled brightly. “Forgive me. It’s rather a surprise, that’s all. My little brother is rather useless, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” said Laura, blindly agreeing. “Well,” she amended hurriedly, “no, I don’t think—”

“You see,” Rose said, unheeding, “I rather thought he had a girlfriend. That’s why I’m surprised. He
was
seeing a girl called Cecilia.”

“Yes, he told me,” said Laura, refusing to be ruffled.

“Oh, you know? Of course,” said Rose. ‘She’s terribly nice. I don’t know if you know her. Her father’s a very good friend of Sir Malcolm’s. We’ve known the family for ages. The Thorsons.”

“Right,” said Laura.

“They were terribly kind when…my father died.” Rose cleared her throat. “You see, there were debts, when Nick inherited two years ago. And the Thorsons have been so helpful, advising him, all of that. So kind. We thought he and Cecilia would get on. It was going rather well, I’d heard.”

“They’re not seeing each other anymore,” said Laura. “We talked about it.”

She sounded rather gauche, schoolgirlish, she realized. Rose looked pleased, like a cat.

“Oh you did, did you? Well,” she said, and her tongue darted out of her mouth; she looked like her sister, Lavinia, for a fleeting second. “I’m sure if that’s what he told you…”

“Yes, it is,” said Laura. She felt she ought to distance herself a little from this. She didn’t want to sound like a stalker. “But, of course, I have only known him for a very short time, so…”