A Hopeless Romantic (57 page)

“Yes,” said Laura, amazed.

“She used to talk about you all so fondly. Ah, and here you are.”

“Come and have a drink with us,” said Laura. “Come and say hello to my parents, and…the others. I’m sure they’d love to meet you.”

“No, no,” said Vivienne Lash, still smiling but backing away. “I won’t intrude. I wanted to come to the funeral, that was all. No fuss. Now I must get going, darling. Oh, it’s so nice to have met you at last.” She kissed Laura on the cheek and darted away, bal-lerinalike.

“Can I get you a cab?” Laura called. “Are you sure you don’t want to come back?”

“No, darling.” Vivienne Lash stopped still in the middle of the road and turned around. “I’ll go straight to the station, thank you. Thank you!” She waved.

“Where are you going?” said Laura.

“I’m going to see my son,” said Vivienne Lash. A huge smile curled around her face, and she caught her hands together. “I’m going to see Nick, my son.”

Laura nodded numbly, and Vivienne Lash said in a low voice, “Yes. My son.”

Her voice broke, and one little hand flew to her mouth. She cleared her throat, breathing in rapidly through her nostrils.

“I’m sorry,” she said, looking back up at Laura, with an expression so like her son’s, yet so poignantly maternal that Laura was overwhelmed by the force of it. “It’s rather important to me,” she said simply. “I haven’t seen him for—for a long time.”

“Yes,” said Laura.

“I’ve been very stupid. For far too long.” She tightened the belt around her waist. “Far too long. Waste of time. All that time.” Laura watched her shyly underneath her lashes, not sure what to say. “So, then,” said Vivienne Lash. “I really must go.”

She waved to Laura again, and turned away. Laura stood still and watched her; suddenly she called out, “Mrs. Needham?”

Vivienne Lash turned around. “Yes, darling?”

A car drove past; she was on the other side of the street. Laura crossed hurriedly, fearing she might have vanished by the time she reached her.

“Can you do me a favor?” she said.

“Of course,” said Vivienne. “What is it?”

“It’s a long story,” said Laura. “But I know your son.” She put her hand on some railings; she felt suddenly light-headed, the shock of the day’s various events catching up with her.

“Do you?” Vivienne’s face lit up. “How wonderful. Nick? How do you know him?”

Laura said, smiling, “It really is a very long story. Can you just tell him something from me? Can you tell him—tell him—”

She paused, not knowing what to say, and Vivienne Lash watched her expectantly.

“Tell him,” Laura said eventually, “that you saw Laura. And that she still has his dinner jacket, and she thinks he ought to come to her flat and collect it, since he wears it such an awful lot.”

Vivienne mouthed the words to herself. She nodded, and looked at Laura thoughtfully. “Mary’s granddaughter,” she said quietly. “Well, well.”

“Is that all right?” said Laura.

“Of course, darling. I’m an actress, I can remember my lines, you know.” She kissed Laura again. “I am very glad to have met you, my dear. I’ll see you soon, I think. Now”—she threw her umbrella lightly from one hand to the other—“I must go.” And she flew down the street, one hand on her hair, looking about fourteen.

Laura leaned against the railings, lost in a world of her own. After a few moments, she realized Cedric was calling her name, and she ran toward him, toward the others, turning once to see if Vivienne was still there, but she had vanished like a puff of smoke.

chapter fifty-three

A
utumn had come and gone in a flash, and now winter was here. It whistled through the bare branches outside Laura’s window, clacking on the glass in the night and causing her to wake up with a start. It crept in through the gap under the front door, through the sash windows of their sitting room. It glittered and sparkled on the frost on the cars in the morning. It coughed and wheezed on the Tube, randomly spreading seasonal malaise. Suddenly it was dark, all the time. Through the streets, on her way to the Tube station each morning, Laura stomped her feet in her boots, hugging herself and shivering in the bitter cold. Yorky had bought a ridiculous, loudly patterned tweed coat, which he said made him look like Sherlock Holmes, but which Laura felt privately made him look like a down-and-out. They would walk together, swooshing the leaves out of the way, chatting about the day ahead of them.

One day, when winter had fully set in, Yorky and Laura were walking down the road together, and Laura was trying to look interested while Yorky agonized about what he should buy Becky for a Christmas present.

It was nearly December, a month after Mary’s funeral. Laura’s parents were, astonishingly, on a really rather adventurous holiday. George had booked a trip to the Galápagos Islands for them, asserting his role as head of the family so boldly that Laura and Simon had spontaneously broken into a round of applause when their parents announced it to them. Annabel, of course, was a little sniffy, calling it a ridiculous waste of money; it was a sign that perhaps things were starting to settle down, that Annabel felt able to start being a disagreeable old cow again, as Simon had put it to his sister afterward.

Simon was living in Mary’s flat for the time being, sorting out things, keeping the place occupied. He was going to see Jorgia in the New Year; Laura didn’t know what would come of it, but she was glad he wasn’t giving up just yet. His job at the upmarket garden center was going really well; he obviously had a flair for it. Laura suspected he rather liked being the young man in amongst a lot of rather older men (with trim mustaches and creased slacks) and women (wearing those sweatshirts that said things like
LONDON * PARIS * WINDSOR!
). She also worried that he was turning into an old man, since he seemed to spend most of his evenings with Cedric and Jasper at Crecy Court, smoking panatelas and drinking whisky, listening to Jasper’s tales of love and betrayal among the artistic community in postwar Cornwall and Cedric’s increasingly fantastical ramblings amongst the film sets, theaters, dressing rooms, and premieres of the British film industry during its 1950s peak.

Laura missed her grandmother much more than she had expected. She knew why, she knew it would pass; but as the weeks went by and she carried on in her own life, she realized she had so many questions she’d never asked her grandmother. About her life, about how much she had loved Xan, about all of that. She felt as if a light had gone out of her life, someone who understood her had gone; and she felt that she had never really tried to talk to her own grandmother, otherwise she would have found all this out. Now it was too late.

A month had passed since Mary’s funeral, and she had heard nothing from Nick. What had happened when his mother arrived? How had they been together? Was it awful for him or wonderful, was he glad? She wanted to know if he’d got her message, but she realized that was a slender thread to hang a relationship on. The two of them were better off apart, perhaps, and as her life settled back to normal, it grew easier to persuade herself of that.

Laura hugged herself as she walked next to Yorky and, realizing her thoughts had drifted, as they did more than she would like these days, she nodded intelligently and tried to pretend she had been listening all along.

“Anyway, Becky says she doesn’t want an expensive handbag, but does that mean that’s actually what she
does
want?”

“I don’t know,” said Laura, trying to concentrate. “I think, knowing Becky, that means she doesn’t want one.”

“Do you think?” said Yorky.

“Absolutely,” said Laura. “She’s a sensible girl, you know. She’s not like—like…” She was going to say “Amy,” but stopped herself.

“Were you going to say Amy?” said Yorky, smiling at her.

“Well, yes,” said Laura. “God.”

“They’re getting married, you know,” Yorky said suddenly.

“Seriously?” said Laura. “When?”

“After the baby’s born. Chris told me. I didn’t know if you’d want to know or not.”

“Oh, Yorks,” said Laura. She patted his Sherlock Holmes–like sleeve. “Bless you. I think that’s great. Good for them.”

“Well, I hope so,” said Yorky. “You okay?”

“Honestly, I am,” said Laura. “I can’t believe it was a year ago, you know. Almost exactly a year, that it all started up. Gosh, I was stupid.”

“He was stupid, too,” Yorky said loyally; as Laura made to protest, he added, “Yes, but you were pretty dim about it all.”

“Hah,” said Laura. “Oh, well.”

There was a pause; they both kept on walking.

“Laura,” said Yorky after a while. “I’ve been—want to ask you something.”

“What?” said Laura.

“Well…” Yorky appeared to be in the early stage of a nervous tic. His face was twitching solemnly. They stood by the curb. “Look. The thing is…I want to ask Becky to move in with me.”

“Oh,” said Laura, and nearly walked out in front of a car.

Yorky grabbed her arm and pulled her back. “I’m sorry to spring it on you like this. I haven’t asked her yet, you know. Wanted to see what you thought.”

“Hm,” said Laura, nodding.

“I know it’s a bit soon,” said Yorky. “It’s only five months. But, you know something? I know it’s right.”

Laura nodded again. Yorky stood up straight.

“I keep thinking, all these years I’ve been mooning around after girls, hoping to get them to notice me, and Becky’s been downstairs for the past two years, right under my nose, and I almost didn’t do anything about it. And that’s ridiculous. I’m sorry, it’s awful to be kicking your best friend out into the street, but—can you see what I mean?”

“It’s a bit of a shocker,” she said eventually. “But that’s great! Just great.” She hugged Yorky. “I’m really pleased for you, man.”

“It’s not going to be for a couple of months,” Yorky said. “She could say no, too—so don’t pack your bags just yet.”

“I won’t,” said Laura. “But I’m pretty sure she’s not going to say no, Yorks.”

He kissed her on the cheek. “You’re the best, Laura. Thank you. I’m sorry, this is a bit of a crap time to spring this on you, but—” His face brightened suddenly. “Hey! Simon’s going to Peru in February, isn’t he?” Laura nodded. “Couldn’t you stay in your grandmother’s flat for a bit?”

“I could,” said Laura. They crossed the road. “But you know, I think it’s time I moved on somewhere else. Grew up a bit. Bought a place of my own, maybe.”

“Well,” said Yorky.

“Or I could just move into Becky’s flat,” said Laura, half joking, but Yorky thought it was a great idea, the simplest solution to the problem, and Laura spent the rest of the walk to the station persuading him that if she needed a change, moving downstairs wasn’t necessarily it.

When they reached the Tube, they went their separate ways. “Thanks again,” said Yorky, patting her arm. “Just for being pleased for me, even if you’re not.”

“I am pleased for you,” Laura said honestly. “I really am.” She took her book out of her bag. “Right. You’d better go, isn’t that your train?”

“What’s this?” said Yorky, holding up her copy of
Regency Buck
. “Back on the Georgette Heyers again, Laura? Oh, no….” His face paled, and Laura snatched the book back.

“I know what I’m doing this time,” she said, nodding wisely. “Seriously! Everything in moderation.”

Yorky nodded, unconvinced.

“I’m reading
Trainspotting
next, for a bit of balance,” said Laura, pushing him away. “Now, go! You’ll be late!”

She watched him run down the tunnel, and smiled as she walked to her own platform, shivering in the cold. She thought of Dan and Amy, engaged. Dan, on this platform months ago, waiting for her, and it could have been for another person. It was, really. She was older. Not necessarily wiser, not necessarily fundamentally different. But…she’d changed, she knew that. Whether for the better or not, she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t necessarily happier than she had been, she thought, as she sat down on the bench she and Dan used to share. Then she considered it again. Yes, she
was
happier, she realized. Happy by herself, happy not to depend on the heady rush of a new crush to buoy her up. She laughed a little to herself—how boring that sounded for a girl who’d loved and lost one of the most eligible men in the country—and picked up
Regency Buck.
Sometimes fantasy was better than reality. In moderation, as she’d assured Yorky. Obviously.

It was a Friday. All through the day, as Laura fielded calls and tapped away at her computer, she kept thinking about Yorky, about leaving the flat. It made her feel sad, but at the same time she knew it was time to move on, for both of them. To have thought, a year ago, Yorky would be about to ask a girl to move in with him—and she might say yes. Laura couldn’t wait to discuss it with Jo. It was wonderful—but weird at the same time.

Laura left work on the dot of five-thirty. She poked her head into Rachel’s office on the way out. “I’m off,” she said, waving. “Have a lovely weekend. I e-mailed you next year’s school term dates.”

Rachel looked up from her desk, where she was applying some lipstick. “Are you going, already?” she said, astonished.

Laura came farther into the office. “Yes. I’m sorry—I hope that’s okay?”

“Of course it is!” Rachel said, pleased. She smacked her lips together, and smoothed down her dark mulberry-colored shirt. “Laura, you haven’t left before seven for weeks. This is great!”

“Oh,” said Laura. “Phew.” She eyed her boss curiously. “What are you–oh, my God. You’ve got a date, haven’t you?”

“Yes…” Rachel said, blushing rosily. “Maybe…not sure.”

“It’s with Marcus!” said Laura. “It is! Oh, my God! Is it tonight? Second date?”

Rachel and Marcus had been on a date the week before. Laura had not had particularly high hopes, given her previous experience with him, but she’d encouraged Rachel to go. She clapped her hands in excitement. “Oh, my God. Wow! You never said, you just said it went okay and you weren’t sure!”

“Well,” said Rachel crossly. “It was okay. It was really nice, actually. I just didn’t want to go around yelling about it. Now, shush, stop getting overexcited.”