Close Encounter with a Crumpet (2 page)

“With you? Where?”

Simon grinned and, finding his amusement contagious, she found herself smiling back.

“Well, first of all, I’d say, to a shop over in Mayfair where you can find a dry bit or two to wear.” His sharp glance made her more conscious of her loose sweater and damp skirt. “Something suitable for spending a Saturday with a man who’d like to show you the city isn’t limited to cold churches and tea with the vicar.”

Somehow, with Simon’s urging, Gill found herself in the maze of shops that lined the streets of the Mayfair district. She couldn’t bring herself to return to the hotel where her travel companions would delight in comparing notes on the Queen’s parade, and where she’d become an unwilling audience for the older women, reminding her of all she’d missed. Simon’s appraisal of her blue skirt and sagging sweater convinced her that a change was mandatory. And so, an hour after her unexpected encounter with the engaging coach driver, Gill enjoyed the guilty pleasure of comparing the merits of a wisp of a skirt to a slinky pair of skinny jeans.

“The skirt is a flirty thing and would make a man look twice,” the voice behind her said.

“Simon, I don’t need that kind of attention, not with the ladies watching every move I make. And I couldn’t wear something that short at home, not with students and their families nearby.” She put the tempting skirt aside.

“Then it’s the jeans, is it? Not so quick to draw attention, but I’m thinking the last look will be a long one.”

“That’s almost as bad. But at least they’ll be acceptable at home, maybe only when I’m tending the flowerbeds, but I can wear them again.” With the help of a pretty salesclerk, who seemed to take a greater interest in pleasing Simon than in assisting Gill, a suitable outfit came together.

After changing in the dressing room, Gill gave another glance at the reflection in the mirror. She couldn’t help feeling a certain satisfaction in what she saw. Tight jeans, far tighter than she’d ever worn at home, made her long legs elegant and graceful. The coral sweater, styled to be loose and floaty, gave a warm contrast to her short dark hair and brought out the light gold flecks in her brown eyes. Bloused over a cream camisole by a wide leather belt, the sheer sweater looked dressy and smart. A new bag, large and in the same bold coral color, would carry everything.

Her hair had dried, but the unruly curls she normally kept under rigid control sprang up in a nimbus cloud about her face. Nothing she could do with the hair right now, she knew. Only serious application of conditioner, blow dryer, and hair spray would put the riot of curls in order.

“Now isn’t that a girl a man would be proud to show off to his mates?” Simon stood back as she returned from changing, an appreciative gleam in his eyes. “Found these while you were in the back. Thought they’d look good with the sweater.” He held out a pair of silk flowers, button mums that matched the coral of her new top and bag. “Your hair, all curly like that, would look grand with these in it.”

Gill fastened the blooms in her hair and tilted her head, trying to judge the effect in the tiny hand mirror. She’d seen a number of young women in London wearing artificial flowers in their hair and thought it charming, but she’d never considered doing so herself. “Do they look all right?”

“Like you should be wearing them every day.” Simon took the shopping bag that held her damp sweater and skirt and gestured toward the door. “Let’s go out and let London take a look at you. You’ll want to tell your friends you saw something more than a bit of the parade on the telly. What do you want to see first?”

Gill didn’t know where to start. Her “must-see” list was long, far too long to fit into a single afternoon. “Oh, Big Ben and the Thames. Trafalgar Square and St. Paul’s. Waterloo Bridge and the Tower of London. The Victoria and Albert Museum. And, and—I don’t know. All of it. Everything.”

Simon laughed, put an arm around her, and turned her toward a red double-decker bus with an open top. “All right, Miss Wants-It-All. Let’s try for the big picture and work down to specifics.” As the bus door slid open, he stepped in and held out a hand to her. “Well, come on, then. We haven’t much time, and this magic carpet won’t wait.”

Gill caught his grasp and took the long step up to stand beside him. He flicked a two-fingered salute to the driver and led Gill up the narrow stairwell to the top deck. It was almost empty; only two other people filled a bench at the far end.

“You just get on, no fare to pay or ticket to buy?”

Simon pressed a thin card into her hand. “I got this while you were shopping. It’s a transportation pass and good on busses and the tube. You can use it while you’re here, go about and never pay a fare.”

“Thank you, Simon.”
What a thoughtful man.
Gill clutched the pass in gratitude, stowing it carefully in her bag as they sat down.

“Now, you wanted to see it all? This is a good way to start.”

As the bus wound through the city, Simon pointed out the landmarks she’d mentioned. He seemed to enjoy her enthusiasm, but once in a while Gill caught a wistful look in his eyes. The third time she noticed him looking at her with one eyebrow lifted and a wry twist to his lips, she had to know the reason.

“Am I being too much the tourist? Is that what that look is for?”

“And what look would that be?”

“You know what look. The one you have now, halfway laughing at me and halfway embarrassed because I’m bouncing around like a tennis ball.” She stopped, almost ashamed of her own enthusiasm. “I know I sound like the eternal American schoolgirl, but I’ve waited so long to see all this. I’m just trying to take it in. I don’t seem to be able hold back or preserve any dignity at all.”

Simon leaned over and responded in a lowered voice. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a girl light up like a candle over something as simple as a bus ride through the city. Don’t hold yourself back, Gill. Don’t turn into one of those dried-up sticks—the ones who used to be women till they shut out life and became bored, too bottled up to feel anything.”

The smile faded from his face. He stared out at the passing traffic. “The world has a full share of those, darlin’ Gill. It needs more pretty girls, like you, who look with eyes wide open and take in all they see. At least I think it does.” He squeezed her hand and released it. “And if I’m wearin’ a look that makes you think different, you just forget I’m here and enjoy every minute. When you go flying off to your school full of rowdy boys, I want you to take as much of this day with you as your heart can carry.”

Gill found her heart full, and her eyes could barely stop looking as the red bus slipped through narrow streets and cobbled lanes. Intense traffic came at them from what to her was the wrong direction, and she was glad she wasn’t the one driving the behemoth through the congested byways.

“If you want to get off for a closer look,” Simon suggested, “just tell me. We can always catch the next bus. Or the one after.”

The wind, chilly against her face, had risen, and she shivered under her thin sweater. “I don’t know where I’d stop. It’s glorious, but I can’t hope to see it all.”

“I’m thinkin’ you’re cold and might need a place to warm up.” He pointed to a deep red building tucked into a side street. “There’s a pub up the way, where we can have a bite and get you out of the wind. After, we can have a bit of a walk about and see what’s going on in the theaters here in the West End.” His arm was cozy around her shoulders as he steadied her down the steep stairs. The bus came to a swaying stop, and a mechanical voice followed them out the door, suggesting they “mind the gap” between the bus and the sidewalk.

“You’ll like this place, I think. Belongs to a friend of mine. Not that he started the business, you know. Been a pub here for three hundred years, more or less. He’s just the latest in a long line.” He led the way along the narrow cobbled street.

Gill wasn’t about to admit she’d not been in a pub the entire time she’d been in England. The ladies of the tour group had been most specific in selecting tea rooms and hotel restaurants for their meals, keeping well away from people “not quite our kind.” The ancient door Simon opened spilled out a buzz of mixed conversation and showed a place of tiny tables, tall stools, and low light. She caught a half-dozen different accents, a number of foreign words, and a general feeling of wholehearted comfort.

“Fancy a beer, Gill? Nobody does beer as well as an English pub.”

She waved away his suggestion. “Not unless they have one on ice. No matter how good you make it in this country, I can’t abide it unless it’s cold.”

“Can’t promise that, but they’ll have a ginger beer and a glass of ice. Would that tempt you?” Thinking of a crisp ginger ale, pleasant and non-alcoholic, Gill agreed. “And a nice plate of fish and chips?” Simon added as he headed toward the bar to place the order.

Ginger beer, she quickly found, had nothing in common with her American ginger ale. The ginger had bite and, moreover, it was not a harmless soft drink. A beer would have been milder. “Good,” she decided after a second swallow. “I could make this a habit, especially after a long day with the boys.”

Simon seemed to hesitate before he responded. “And the boys, your young students, will they be the only men to come into your life now? You said it had been, what, more than six years? A long time since your Gary passed and the life you planned went with him.”

For an instant Gill was back in Boston, standing beside a flag-draped coffin, hearing her mother’s words.
“Tragic that this should happen to you so young, Gillian. At least I was older and had a number of years with your father. You girls filled my time. No one else could take his place in our lives. I couldn’t think of it. That would have been disloyal. You’ll never find someone to take Gary’s place either, my dear.”

Gill came back to the present, brushing away the cobweb of memory. “Yes, six years is a long time.” She felt some surprise that Simon had remembered a name and a time span she’d mentioned only once. “But I’m very busy, and I have two sisters who live nearby, so I’m not really alone. My life isn’t what I planned, but whose is?”

“You might meet someone one day and change all that.” The words were softly suggestive.

Gill was quick to curb the idea, though it didn’t seem as impossible as it once had. “No, I don’t think so. I’m afraid I’d always be comparing anyone else to Gary and coming up short. That wouldn’t be fair. Or very loyal, either.”

Simon was silent for a while, then put aside his fork. “Look, Gill Banks, it’s not my business, but if I loved a girl and something happened, maybe I got run down by a lorry on the macadam, I wouldn’t want her to be spending her life mourning what she’d lost.” He brushed a curl back and touched her cheek. “I’d want her out in the world living for the two of us, like she counted every minute against the dreams that we’d never make real.” He picked up his fork again. “But I guess that doesn’t answer for every situation. It’s just how I’d see it.”

“No,” Gill agreed, a small pain of regret stabbing her. “Sometimes it doesn’t come out that way.”

The silence threatened to become a barrier. Simon pushed his plate aside. “Well, then, it’s Saturday night, and we’re in the heart of the West End. I think I can scare up a pair of tickets to a show. How do you feel about our Fab Four? Any Beatlemania in your make-up?
Let It Be
is still making a stir over at the Savoy.”

The breeze in the open bus had raised a small cowlick in Simon’s blond hair. Gill resisted the urge to reach over and smooth it, firmly focusing on his suggestion. “I’d never admit it to the people at home,” Gill confessed, “but I’m a secret fan of every song the Beatles ever sang. I’d love to see that show.”

Simon’s face lit up, his smile wide and merry. “We’re on, then.”

Gill gave another look at the man across from her and thought how graciously he’d salvaged her lonely outing. He’d stepped into her afternoon and turned a miserable day into an adventure. In Boston she’d never let a man who was almost a stranger whisk her off like this, but Simon, oh, Simon was a different thing entirely. And he wasn’t a stranger, not really. A very attractive acquaintance who wanted a visitor to have a better impression of his city. That was Simon. So Gill told herself.

Ignoring her quickened breath and the warm tingle that floated somewhere near her heart, she consciously discounted how appealing she found him. Though her glance wandered down to the tabletop, she wasn’t really studying those square, neat, competent hands that could be so gentle. Only in passing did she note the strength in them. But she couldn’t disregard those endearing, darting dimples at the corners of his mouth, no matter how she tried.

A brisk walk through streets filled with milling crowds helped clear her head. After a brief wait in the tiny bar, Gill found herself in a dress circle seat looking down at a stage filled with icons of the sixties. It was the period of her mother’s youth, not her own, but something about the “flower power, love and peace” era held magic for Gill. Scraps of news stories, bits of old television shows, medleys of half-remembered songs filled the monitors scattered over the stage. Then the house lights went down. Four young men took the stage and filled it with the beat, the sound, and the essence of the most popular group ever to cross the Atlantic.

Two hours later, as the last encore ended and the cheers began to subside, she could still feel the energy.

“You liked it, did you, Miss Boston Librarian?” Simon put his jacket over her shoulders against the sudden chill of the night. “Not too wild for your Puritan ears?”

She spun around as if embracing the night. “Loved it! Loved every note of every song, and all the gaudy costumes and the screaming audience. I went back in time for a little bit.”

“You’ve seen the panorama of London from a bus, eaten fish and chips in a pub, and spent the evening with the Beatles.” The jacket threatened to slide away with her whirl of enthusiasm, and he slipped it back over her shoulders. “What would the American girl like to see next?”