A Hopeless Romantic (37 page)

Laura said nothing.

“We all were, a bit.” Mary looked at her from under her eyelashes.

“It’s fine now,” said Laura after a while. “The job’s okay, and all that stuff with Dan—it’s over, honestly.”

“I don’t mean that,” said Mary. “I mean that handsome young man who appeared so dramatically at lunch and was clearly so terribly, terribly keen on you.”

Laura sometimes wanted to tell her grandmother to lay off sounding like someone at a film dialogue school run by Noël Coward, and never more so than now. She peered into her glass. “Don’t worry,” she said, sticking her plastic swizzle stick into her slice of lemon. “It’s nothing.”

“Really?” Mary said. “Hm. It didn’t seem like nothing.”

“Holiday fling,” said Laura. She felt that if she said as few words as possible, she might be able to convince her grandmother, she might not have to stop and take a deep breath.

“Well. It doesn’t seem like nothing when you come back at ten o’clock at night, go straight to your room, and lock the door,” Mary said frankly, knocking back her drink. “And when your mother knocks on the door, you tell her you’ve gone to bed and are very tired. And it doesn’t seem like nothing when you leave the next morning at the crack of dawn, without saying goodbye to anyone.”

“I’m sorry, Gran,” she said honestly. “I really am.”

“Don’t apologize, darling,” said Mary. “You missed your aunt’s face at breakfast, and that was something quite special.”

Laura loved it when Mary was rude about her stepdaughter; it was all too rare, considering how rude Annabel was 98 percent of the time. She grinned. “Really?”

“Absolutely,” said Mary. “Your mother did her best, you know. She told Annabel you had severe hayfever and had to go home early before the pollen count rose during the day, and that you had to get back for a very important birthday lunch in town.”

Laura thought of her mother, chiding her gently for using too many excuses to get out of going to Chartley, and laughed. “Seriously?”

“Yes, I quite admired her for it. But I fear your aunt will have told everyone she knows that her niece is going to be a marchioness anyway.”

Laura looked down at her drink again.

Mary pushed her large sunglasses into her hair. “So, Laura. Tell me, darling. Why did you leave so early?”

“I had to,” Laura said quietly, viciously jabbing the lemon slice.

“Why?” Mary asked.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“I would,” said Mary. “More than I think you know.”

“You always find these things easy,” said Laura in a rush. “You know the right thing to say, Gran, you get it right. I just—screw it up. I wish…Oh, never mind.”

“What are you talking about?” said Mary with asperity. “What exactly happened? What did he do?”

“I can’t explain it,” said Laura. She knew it sounded weak. To set out exactly why she had to leave that night would take too long; it was too complicated, too bound up in everything to do with the past and the person she had been. She shook her head. “Gran, it was never going to work, that’s all. Trust me.”

Mary didn’t say anything for a moment. She pulled her glasses back over her eyes. “Was it the title? Did all of that rather scare you off?”

“Yes,” said Laura fervently. She wished she could tell her grandmother about it, about all of it. “We’re too different. I—oh, let’s not talk about it.”

“But,” said Mary, “those days before, when you were supposedly dancing off to see that girl in the marshes. You were with him then, weren’t you?” Laura nodded. “Just the two of you?” She nodded again. “And, well, it was jolly good then, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” Laura smiled despite herself. “It was…perfect. When it was just us. Oh, Gran…” she said, and she felt sunshine flood over her again at the memory of it, until she clenched her fist and said, “It was perfect. He was perfect. But we realized it was never going to work in the real world. It’s just too hard. He’s too different. I’m not what he needs. And he’s—” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

“That’s what you think, is it?” said Mary.

“Yes,” said Laura, looking at her grandmother, hoping for her approval, praying she would understand.

“What rubbish,” said Mary.

Laura stared at her in shock. “What?”

“What total rubbish, Laura. I didn’t think you’d ever be like this. Not you,” Mary said, waving her glass at her. “Darling, you fall in love all the time. You can’t run away just because it doesn’t quite fit into your exact romantic dreamworld, you know.”

“I’m not,” said Laura, so surprised she didn’t know what to say. “Gran, don’t say that. Please.”

“I mean it,” said Mary. “Honestly, I’m surprised at you. If you love him, it’s worth it. And from the way you were acting about him, it seems to me it is worth it.” She laughed. “Good grief. It’s not as if he’s a warder on a convict ship bound for Australia, or a vivisectionist, or anything. He’s a marquis, for God’s sake! I know it’s a little different from what you’re used to, but, goodness! He’s a multimillionaire, he’s got a beautiful house, and—well, even an idiot like your uncle Robert could see he was mad about you, darling. So what if you’re a bit different?” she said, impersonating Laura. “So what if his family was stuck-up? Who cares? If you loved him enough, it wouldn’t matter.”

Laura put her hand to her throat and sucked air into her lungs, slowly, calmly. “Well,” she said. She looked sadly at her grandmother. “You may think I fall in love all the time. I obviously didn’t this time, did I? Because I’m always screwing this kind of thing up, and it
does
matter, and that’s why it’s over.”

“Let me say something,” said Mary. “Just one more thing, and then I shall stop, and we’ll finish our drinks and go into Persephone Books and buy something nice to read.”

“Yes,” said Laura.

“I nearly didn’t have your grandfather. Xan, I mean. When we met, it was all…rather complicated. During the war, and all of that.” She coughed. “I’ll tell you, one day. Not now. But you know, don’t you, darling, that he was the great love of my life.”

Laura nodded.

There was silence for a moment, nothing to be heard but a bird calling in a young tree behind the pub. Mary said softly, “If I imagine how life would have been without him, Laura—what would have happened to me, carrying on living for all these years, not knowing what it feels like to be with the one person you love….” She leaned forward and put her sunglasses on the table. Her beautiful eyes were bright with tears; Laura thought, with shock, how old she looked all of a sudden. Mary clutched Laura’s hand. “I’ve never said this to you before. Now I say it to you. Don’t run away from it, just because it’s difficult. Don’t.”

Ever since she was little, she had been getting it wrong, Laura knew, because all she’d ever wanted was the perfect romantic hero, the man who would rescue her from everything. She couldn’t tell her grandmother why it wasn’t that it was difficult, or too hard, or that Nick wasn’t right for her. It was that, on that evening not even a week ago, as she had watched him with his relatives in that vast ballroom, she had realized that they couldn’t be together. She didn’t want to make a romantic drama out of it; she didn’t want to sigh and mope or scream hysterically to impress others with how awful it all was, even though she felt as if something fundamental, deep within her, had been taken from her. She was simply trying to cope, to get on with her own normal life. Which, she knew, was something he could not be part of.

So she smiled, and squeezed her grandmother’s hand. “Thanks, Gran,” she said. “I promise you, I’m not running away. Not this time. It’s not this one.”

Mary gave her a look as if she didn’t understand her, and swallowed the rest of her drink. “I need a present for your aunt,” she said eventually. “It’s her birthday next week. Shall we go?”

“Yes,” said Laura. She felt she should try to qualify the conversation a bit. “It’s good it happened, you know,” she said. “I needed to get it out of my system.”

“Get what out of your system?” said Mary, sounding rather imperious.

“My Mr. Darcy/Prince Charming complex,” said Laura. “And now I have.” She faced down her grandmother, who was pushing her bag onto her arm. But her grandmother didn’t look at her.

“If you think so, darling,” she said.

Later, after she had deposited her grandmother back at Crecy Court and walked on to Baker Street, Laura stopped and looked around her. It was early evening, and there was a freshness in the air that belied the summer heat. She didn’t want to get into a cramped, airless Tube carriage, not on this, her last day of freedom. She crossed busy, hectic Marylebone Road, walking briskly, and headed into Regent’s Park. She would walk home.

Half an hour later, when she reached the row of shops near her flat, Laura went into the mini-market and bought some lemons and a fat, frothing bunch of coriander. She was making supper. She climbed the steps to her flat, tired but happy, swinging her string bag beside her.

When she opened the door, the stereo was on, and she could hear the sound of low conversation. Yorky said, “Is that you?” and appeared in the hallway, breathless, his feet bare, a strange expression on his face.

“You okay, loverboy?” said Laura, putting her keys on the table. “Did you get my message? I turned my phone off. I got the job back! Hey. Did Becky call you?”

“I got your message, yes, yes,” said Yorky, looking agitated. “I tried calling you—Laura—I thought you wouldn’t be back till later—”

“Laura?”

A voice came from the sitting room, so familiar to her, yet so alien, but Laura knew exactly who it was. Her hand flew to her mouth and she dropped the string bag. The lemons rolled out and trundled across the floor.

Dan appeared in the doorway. “Hello, Laura,” he said, and he smiled that same old smile. “I’m back.”

chapter thirty-five

T
he only noise for a few seconds was the sound of one breakaway lemon coasting across the floorboards. Yorky bent and picked it up.

“Laura, mate,” he said, as if Dan weren’t there, “I’m really sorry. He turned up about an hour ago, I couldn’t get him to go. He wouldn’t leave.”

“Right, right,” said Laura in a detached tone. She looked at Dan, drinking in the sight of him again. It wasn’t possible that it was less than three weeks since she’d seen him. It seemed like a lifetime. Here he was in front of her, this onetime figure of myth, this fantasy, this “ideal man,” every detail of him familiar to her, as obsessed over by her as anyone could ever have been, and she felt nothing, just curiosity. How fickle she was. If anything was proof of that, this was.

“Er—hi. Why are you here?” she said, in what she hoped was a polite voice.

Dan flicked a glance up and down at her. “You look amazing. Have you been away?”

Laura was suddenly overtaken by the urge to laugh. She nodded, and said again, “Dan—why are you here?”

Yorky was hovering in the doorway to the kitchen. He said, “I’ll get a beer…” and disappeared.

“Come and sit down,” said Dan.

“I will,” said Laura. She couldn’t help feeling slightly annoyed that she was being made to feel like a guest in her own home.

She sat down on the sofa, Dan next to her, and she stared at him as if he were an alien. He was tanned, but there were dark circles under his eyes. He cleared his throat, rather awkwardly, and sat up. “Listen. Laura. This isn’t a big deal, and I tried to call you, but your phone was off.”

“Okay,” she said, looking at him, trying to remind herself of how she’d felt about him. Nothing.

“I felt shitty that I haven’t spoken to you. Since—you know. I came because I just think I should pay you back. For the holiday.”

“What?” said Laura.

“The holiday. You must have had to lose the booking, me dropping out like that.” He said it as if he’d been prevented from going because of the flu, rather than because of the termination of the relationship and the appearance on the scene/ultrasound screen of his firstborn by another woman.

She said, “Oh, well—you know. There’s no need.”

“There is,” said Dan. “Seriously, Laura, I won’t take no for an answer.”

Since Laura had had, the day before, a fairly unpleasant conversation with her credit card company, she had to admit this was welcome news. “That’s really kind of you,” she said practically. “It’d be—helpful, let’s say.”

“Of course. I mean it,” said Dan. “The whole thing. I’ll pay.”

“No, no,” said Laura. “Honestly. Just your half, that’d be great.”

“I want to.” He pulled his checkbook out of the back pocket of his jeans. “Look, I’ve been a complete dick.”

“You have,” said Laura, handing him a pen from the table.

Dan laughed. He took the pen and started scribbling. “I’ll make it blank, so you can work out what it cost. The whole thing. Please, Laura. Let me pay for it all. It was my fault, totally my fault.”

Laura said slowly, “No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t all your fault, you know.” She patted his hand. “Just half. That’s all. You need the money for the baby, for God’s sake. It was me, too. I should have—been a bit wiser.” She stared out the window. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

Things are different now, she wanted to say. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I lose my heart to you again or get hurt by you again. Or someone like you. And, by the way, your girlfriend’s a complete psycho.

He signed the check with a flourish, tore it off, and gave it to her. “Here,” he said. “And let’s—let’s be friends, shall we?”

“Right,” said Laura, taking the check. “So…how’s Amy doing? How’s she feeling?” she asked politely, wanting to sound as if they were fellow parents outside the school gates, not people who a month ago were in the throes of a torrid affair.

Dan shifted on the sofa. He said blankly, “She’s fine, thanks. Fine. Yes—Miami was, er, great, thanks. We had—a great time.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” said Dan. “We—I don’t know if you heard? We had to come home a few days early. Amy not feeling so good, you know.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” said Laura.

Dan said in a rush, “It’s an amazing place, South Beach. The Art Deco hotels, wow. They’re wonderful.” Laura nodded politely. “The weather was great, too—we were lucky, apparently. And the food’s incredible.” His voice rose a little. “And loads and loads of designer shops and boutiques. So Amy was delirious, as you can imagine. God, I’m dreading the next credit card bill. I kept saying to her, ‘What’s the fucking point when you won’t be able to
wear
any of this stuff for the next six months?’ But apparently, that’s the wrong thing to say. You know how touchy she is.”