A Hopeless Romantic (58 page)
Read A Hopeless Romantic Online
Authors: Harriet Evans
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Romantic Comedy, #Contemporary Women, #Contemporary, #General
“No!” yelled Laura again. She collected herself. “Sorry. Wow. Where are you going?”
“Some corporate thing at the Opera House,” said Rachel uncertainly. “It’s through his work, some German bank. We’re meeting for a glass of something beforehand.”
Laura’s heart sank, recognizing the signs. “Oh,” she said.
“Yes,” said Rachel. She looked solemn. “I can’t believe he’s asked me. Lucky me.”
“Lucky you,” echoed Laura, smiling, and she felt her throat constrict with emotion, though she didn’t really understand why. “Well, we—er, we love Marcus. I’m sorry, by the way,” she said. “Can you tell him I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch? Since he got back? You know, Granny’s funeral and everything. I hope he got my letter, saying thank you for the money.”
“I don’t know,” said Rachel. “That’s the funny thing. I mentioned the donation last time. Tried to say something about it. You know what he said?”
“No,” said Laura.
“He said he didn’t know anything about it.”
“What?”
“Yeah.” Rachel brushed some bronzer onto her cheek. “I keep meaning to ask someone about it, actually. Haven’t done. I mean, the money’s there, it’s all fine. So I just never thought…”
“That’s weird,” said Laura.
“It is weird, isn’t it?” said Rachel, her face clouding momentarily. “But I think Clare must have sorted it out, off her own bat. Not Marcus. Which means…”
Which means my date with him actually was a total waste of time, thought Laura, smiling to herself. It seemed like a long time ago now. Funny.
“Have a lovely weekend,” Rachel called as she left.
Laura walked out onto the street, into the cold December air, and caught a bus, which she didn’t usually, but she wanted to see the Christmas lights across town. Yorky was staying the night with Becky, and she was having Jo and Hilary over for supper. So, Marcus Sussman and Rachel. Yorky moving in with Becky. Well, well, well. She sat on the bus as it bumped slowly up Tottenham Court Road and looked out the window, drinking in the bustling, energetic, aggravating sea of humanity below her, people on their way home, people on their way out. She was happy just to gaze and plan the menu for tonight in her head, happy to let the week’s events, the day at work wash over her.
When she got back to her dark, cold flat, Laura turned on all the lights, unpacked the food, put on a CD, and started cooking. Soon the kitchen was filled with a warm, spicy fug, as Laura absorbed herself in what she was doing, chopped and fried and sautéed and mixed in complete happiness. She was just finishing off and thinking she should start to set the table, when she dropped a spoon into the casseroled sauce of the lamb shanks by mistake; it splashed everywhere, and Laura cursed, feeling some of it hit her face.
“Ouch,” she said, licking her cheek experimentally and grabbing a tea towel. “Bollocks,” she said, as she looked at the clock and realized it was seven-thirty and they’d be here soon. Jo was always, always bang on time. The downstairs doorbell rang. “Shit!” she said, dabbing her face with the towel and walking toward the intercom; this wasn’t working out and she’d wanted it to, just for once.
“Hello,” she said, licking her lips as she spoke into the intercom.
There was a crackle, then silence. Then a low, familiar voice said, “Laura. It’s Nick. Can I come up?”
chapter fifty-four
W
hat?” said Laura, her hand flying to her cheek. “Who?”
“It’s me, Nick. I’m coming up.”
“You—”
“Thanks,” came Nick’s voice more indistinctly, and she heard someone in the background say, “You want come in, boy? Come in.”
“Mr. Kenzo!” Laura said loudly into the speaker. She dropped the phone so it hung off the wall, and opened the door. She stood there for what seemed like hours, but of course it was only a few seconds, hearing voices growing louder as they approached; and eventually, Mr. Kenzo and Nick appeared together on Laura’s landing.
“Hello, Laura!” said Mr. Kenzo happily. “Your friend, he was outside, I’ve let him in! Good evening, sir.”
“Good evening,” said Nick. “Thank you for the recommendation.”
“What?” said Laura, standing aside to usher him into the flat, as Mr. Kenzo unlocked his door.
“I want to go to Marmaris, and your neighbor was kindly explaining when is the best time to go,” said Nick imperturbably.
“You want to go to…?” Laura said helplessly. “Get in.”
“Bye,” said Mr. Kenzo loudly as she shut the door. “Goodbye!”
“Hello,” said Nick, as Laura shut the door and leaned against it, staring at him.
“You’re in my flat,” said Laura, not knowing what else to say.
“Well spotted,” said Nick. “Is this the sitting room?”
“No,” said Laura. “Oh. I—yes. I mean, yes.”
“It’s really nice,” said Nick.
“I’m moving out, actually,” said Laura. “I’m being kicked out.”
“Well, it’s not that nice, then,” he said. “Right. Aren’t you going to offer me a drink or anything?”
Laura said nothing, just carried on looking at him, leaning against the door. “What are you doing here?” she said after a while.
“You told me to come and collect my dinner jacket, Laura.”
“That was over a month ago,” said Laura. “And I didn’t tell you. I told your mother to tell you.”
“Well, I had to discuss it with her. Think about it for a while.” His eyes were warm, full of laughter. “Can I have a drink? Just water, if you don’t have anything else? It’s been a long drive.”
She didn’t know what to say, was unable to process the request. She said stupidly, “Why are you here?”
“Well, this isn’t quite the way I wanted to say it, but—I wanted to talk to you.” He was looking at her, determined.
“About what?” said Laura, and then she remembered the lamb shanks, bubbling on the stove. “Argh,” she cried, and ran into the kitchen. “Oh, dear. Open the door again, would you?”
The meat was caramelizing somewhat, a little crusty and fried around the edges. A moment later and it would have burned. Laura turned it off, and sat down at the kitchen table. Nick was in the doorway.
“You’re here,” she said again, helplessly.
“Oh, God, Laura,” said Nick slightly impatiently. “If you’re going to act like someone with learning difficulties, I’m going to wait outside.”
“Okay, okay,” said Laura. “Tell me, then. Tell me why you’re here.”
There was a pile of tea towels on the table; Yorky had taken them out of the washing machine and dumped them there. She started smoothing them out, folding them over and over.
Nick watched her and said nothing for a moment; then he walked toward her and leaned against the counter. He cleared his throat.
“I’m here to tell you I love you,” he said matter-of-factly.
“What?” said Laura.
“Yep,” Nick said. He nodded. “I wish I didn’t, most of the time. But I do.”
“You—”
“Yes,” said Nick calmly. “It’s a real pain.” He pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her. “You are a thorn in my side, Laura.” He bent his head and kissed her. After a few seconds he lifted his head, still holding her tightly. “An annoying, gorgeous thorn in my side. And I can’t seem to get rid of you, of feeling like this. So that’s why I’m here. I’m in love with you, and I know whatever you say, I always will be.”
He kissed her again.
“I thought you should know,” he said, his voice a little hoarse.
“My God,” said Laura, struggling to know what to say. “We’re in the kitchen.”
Nick laughed, and held her tighter. He looked down at her and kissed her gently. “Oh, Laura.”
She lolled against him, pressing her body against his, feeling as if she was coming alive as she touched him. Nick, here, in front of her, holding her.
“Laura, I know you think us together is going to be hard. I know you think we’re too different, that it’s all too odd. But it’s not. There was something my mother said to me when I saw her: If you find someone you love, you have to do something about it. I tried to do something about it before, you know. To help you, to make things better for you. But it wasn’t the right thing to do. I should have come down here straight after you left me.”
“Why?” said Laura, intrigued. “What did you do?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Nick kissed her again. “Does not matter at all.”
She pressed her hands on his chest and stepped back. “You,” she said, nodding. “You gave the money. Didn’t you? You gave the money to the program at work!”
“No,” said Nick.
“Yes, you did,” said Laura, staring up at him. He grimaced, then inclined his head slightly, looking uncomfortable. “Oh, Nick. I knew it wasn’t Marcus! It was you! Why did you do it?”
“I wanted…” he said, shaking his head. “Laura, you were so upset, that night in the car. I just wanted everything to be better for you. I thought I couldn’t have you, that we were never going to work out, and it really got to me, seeing you like that. You were so mysterious about work and everything—and then when you left, Charles explained what had happened with Marcus. So”—he bent his head—“I thought, Well, if we can’t be together, I can still do something to make her life better. And other people’s, too,” he added disingenuously. “But yours most of all.
“This is what my mother said to me,” he went on. “She said I was a fool if I let you get away. She told me to stop making odd gestures like bailing you out at work anonymously. She told me to get down here and tell you I love you. Myself. In person. Because if you love someone, you have to be brave and tell them. Don’t let them go.”
“That’s what someone said to me,” said Laura, thinking of Mary and her letter.
“And if you say no, I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to convince you I’m right. I promise. I won’t leave you alone. Because it’s not about who’s what or where or anything. We should be together. The other stuff doesn’t matter. That’s all.”
“We should,” Laura echoed. She was feeling faint. She never felt faint. Her head was spinning; she felt light-headed, weightless in Nick’s arms. She leaned against him again. “Yes,” she said. “We should. And you’re right, God! You’re right. Who cares about the other stuff?”
“You mean it?” he said.
“I do,” Laura said, looking up into his face. “You know something?”
“What?”
“I’ve always seen us at Chartley. Not here. I tried to picture it, but I always thought this”—she gestured around the kitchen—“might be weird, having you here.”
“And?”
“And it’s not,” said Laura, smiling up at him. “It makes perfect sense. I like your house better, though.”
“Shall I take you up there tomorrow?” he said. “For the weekend? Would you like that?”
“I can’t think of anything I’d like more,” she said. “Is—there anyone there?”
“No,” he said. “Mum left last week, but she’s coming back for Christmas. No sisters, either. Just you, me, and Chartley.”
“And all the ghosts of relatives past,” said Laura.
“Yes,” said Nick. “But they don’t matter, do they?”
“No, they don’t,” said Laura. “They just don’t. You and me. That’s what matters.”
Then he kissed her again, her head in his hands, just the two of them, wrapped around each other, clinging desperately to each other; and Laura gave herself up to the sheer enjoyment of it for several minutes, or it could have been hours, days, she had no idea, for once it was just the two of them, alone in time and space, nothing else to bother them, no geological layers of mistrust and anger and exes and stupid things like class and money—
“Er…Laura?”
Laura and Nick sprang apart, and looked into the hallway. There in the corridor, looking completely shell-shocked, were Jo and Hilary, each clutching her handbag and a bottle of wine. They said simultaneously:
“The front door was open….”
“The entry phone was off the hook….”
Then both trailed off into silence as Laura looked at them, not sure what to say.
Nick coughed, and stood up straight. “Er, hello,” he said.
“Hi,” said Jo and Hilary in unison. Hilary raised her hand weakly. Jo’s mouth was wide open.
Laura looked at them, then back to Nick. She smiled at him, a small, definite smile. He looked down at her and smiled back, his eyes full of understanding and warmth and the amusement she knew they shared, which was why she loved him and knew him, better than anyone else. She stepped forward, holding his hand.
“Jo, Hilary,” she said. “I’d like you to meet Nick. The Marquis of Ranelagh. Er…he’s staying for supper. Aren’t you?”
“Yes, if that’s all right with you two,” said Nick. Hilary and Jo nodded mutely, and Nick looked around the kitchen. “Right,” he said, taking off his jacket. “Why don’t I set the table?”
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