Blue with Black Dots (The Caprice Trilogy Book 2) (23 page)

“It’s good to see you,” said Owen.

              “You too stranger,” said Georgia.  Georgia climbed in the car, as Owen started the engine.

              “Are you hungry at all?” asked Owen.

              “I could definitely eat,” said Georgia.

“I thought so,” said Owen.

              “I wanted to take you for a little ride through the main area and then there’s a restaurant where we already have a reservation for 10:30.”

              “Let’s see it,” said Georgia.

              “I like your attitude,” said Owen.  The drive was stop-and-go.  It was late evening and the traffic in Leeds wasn’t much to speak of.  The restaurant was an Italian restaurant on the edge of town.

              “I know it’s kind of late for pasta,” said Owen, “But we didn’t come here for the pasta.  We came for the steak.”

              “I’ll have a go either way,” said Georgia.

“Team player,” said Owen.  The steak was rare, sitting in a plate of red juices.  A large chunk of butter pesto sat on top, with hopes to melt and form a sauce.  Owen ordered wine to wash the meal down with.  It was a ’67
Chianti
.  Georgia had a feeling the place was expensive but she couldn’t verify because Owen picked up the tab.  It left her in an awkward position.  She knew Owen was a bit reserved but within her first few hours he had pulled out the stops.  He ordered wine by the bottle not the glass.  He ordered the most expensive cut of meat for each of them and he gave her a tour.  At the line between hospitality and trying to impress, she didn’t know where she stood.  She always took him for a tender soul.  But she didn’t know if he was trying to make an impression or not.  She wasn’t a man but she put herself in his shoes, substituting her own judgment for any variables.  She told herself she would be trying to impress, if she went through so much trouble.  But she fixed her resolve to stay with the plan she brought with her to Leeds.  She didn’t want to come on strong.  She was sure that Owen had a separate room prepared for her.  She decided she would take it, for the first night.  It left her in an awkward position.  Something had to happen the second night.  She didn’t know if weekends in Leeds would become a regular thing.  She had to make this one weekend count. 

              After dinner, Owen asked if she wanted to see anything else.  There wasn’t much else to see.  It was nearly midnight.  She opted to see his flat.  Owen had his own parking spot and the building had an underground parking garage.  Owen wheeled the
Kapitän
into its designated spot with some slight display of skill.  The car was long with a wide body.  The parking spot wasn’t small but didn’t anticipate the shape of the
Kapitän
.  Still, the car fit.

“So what’s the story behind this car?” said Georgia, “I know there must be one.”

              “Do you know this model?” asked Owen.

              “Not at all,” said Georgia laughing, “I don’t even have notes.”

              “I actually bought this when I was still an MP,” said Owen handing Georgia her rucksack bag from the boot of the car.

“What model is it?” asked Georgia.

              “It’s a ’68
Opel Kapitän
,” said Owen, “It’s a German company owned by General Motors.”

“Is it really?” said Georgia.

              “It is indeed,” said Owen, “There’s no real mystery with it.  My dad had an older model, a ’38 I think.  He bought it because he liked the styling of it and he got a lot of flack for it because people said
why buy a German car?
  He had to educate people that
Opel
was owned by the Americans, in which case no one gave him problems.  But yeah, I guess you could say I grew up in a
Kapitän
.  I can’t remember what my dad was driving before the
Kapitän
.  I learned to drive on it when I was fourteen or fifteen.  It was a little 3-speed manual transmission.  It was just a cool car.  Dad had lots of style, still does.”

“I like how you speak about your dad,” said Georgia.

              “Why?” asked Owen.

              “It’s reverent,” said Georgia, “So many Americans are quite disparaging when they talk about their parents.  I just don’t like that.”

              “Wait,” said Owen, “I always thought of you as a Brit.  I thought I heard you speak about family in Britain.”

“You can continue to think of me as a Brit if you like,” said Georgia, “I was born States-side making me de facto American but my parents are from England so my family on both sides is English.”

“Your accent seems mostly British,” said Owen, “Are you adopting that for my benefit?”

              “You want an honest answer?” said Georgia.

              “Well,” said Owen, “It was an honest question.”

              “Truth be told, I don’t know,” said Georgia, “I’ve had people in the States tell me I speak with a transatlantic accent.  Like I said, my parents are English so my brother and I grew up with it at home but we went to American schools and all our friends were American so we got stuck in both nets.  I guess.  But being in Britain, I suppose I’ve leaned back into the British way of speaking.  I’m so very used to it.  I mean we’d come back once a year around Christmas time to see Nan and Gran and play with our cousins.  We were actually much beloved as the American cousins.  We were from so far away and yet still family.  It made us popular.  Our cousins always wanted to introduce us to their friends.”

“That sounds like a happy childhood,” said Owen, the conversation went up literally.  They were standing in the elevator leading from the garage to the building.

“I have no regrets,” said Georgia, “I loved being a kid.”

              “So did I,” said Owen.

              “Yeah, what was the thing that made the biggest impact on you as a kid?” asked Georgia.

“That’s an interesting question,” said Owen.

              “I specialize in interesting questions,” said Georgia.

              “So you do,” said Owen, “I guess you mean besides the
Kapitän
.  I think you can guess it made an impact on me when I was a kid.  Let me think.”  The elevator arrived on the eighth floor.

“To the left,” said Owen.  Georgia headed out of the elevator and went left.

              “It’s number 810,” said Owen.  Owen made his way up to the door to unlock it, letting Georgia walk through first.

“If I had to say the biggest thing that impacted my childhood I’d say my dad’s business,” said Owen.

              “Your dad was a businessman?” said Georgia.

              “Yeah,” said Owen, “He owned a textiles business, producing and wholesaling.  Employed about thirty-to-forty people.  It’s actually what he did during the Second World War.  He was making sheets for hospitals and blankets to send to the frontline.  The government actually paid him to repurpose his production and they bought all his stock.  It was one of the things about driving the
Kapitän
.  Ok,
Opel
is a German brand but our family wasn’t so much affected by the wars because we were born between.  My dad was eighteen by the time World War I ended so he was really too young to serve.  Then he was already in his late thirties by the time World War II broke out so he just kept running his business and that was his way of doing his part.  I was born in October of ’31 so I was too young for the war.  I suppose if we had lost family in either of the wars we’d have been as anti-German as so many other English families and dad wouldn’t have bought the
Opel
.  But he stood resolute that he made his contribution.  He still didn’t mind driving his
Opel
.  He stood firm that
Opel
was an American-owned company and he liked the car.  But Dad’s buisness was good to our family.  I remember doing schoolwork in my dad’s office.  I don’t know if you could say we were so rich.  But we certainly weren’t poor.  Would you like an Italian soda?”

The lights were on, which gave Georgia a good look at the apartment. She could hear the sound of her shoes on the tile floor. The apartment was big or at least it was made to look big.  There was no division between the dining room, living room and kitchen.  It was all one large room.  The oriental rugs denoted where the living room was.  There was a TV box sitting on a solid wood TV stand.  There was a glass door cabinet that displayed a vinyl record player.  A large navy colored leather sofa was across from the TV.  A big metallic globe stood on its own behind the sofa.  The globe resembled a one-of-a-kind art piece.  There was a bonsai bush in the far corner.  It was fake.  A large window with sliding glass door gave a view of the city across the River Aire.  The dining room was an oak table with six chairs.  It was standard, nothing special.  The room that got the most attention was the kitchen.  It was fully loaded.  There was a stainless steel
FAEMA E61
espresso machine.  A would-be wine rack that contained flavored syrups.  A soda siphon sat on the far edge of the counter.  There was a coffee percolator and a microwave oven.  The refrigerator was tall and thin. 

“I’ve readied the guestroom for you,” said Owen, “You can put your bag down.”  Georgia walked passed the dining room table and the closed door that clearly lead to the master bedroom.  There was a short hallway.  At the end of the hallway, was what Georgia believed was the guest bathroom.  Before the bathroom, was the guest bedroom.  Georgia walked in and found the light switch.  There was a queen bed with foot facing the opposite wall.  The room had a window but it faced the opposite direction, away from the river.  George left her bag next to the bed and returned to the living room.”

“What do you say?” said Owen, “Italian soda?”  Georgia nodded.

“There’s gelato, as well, if you like,” said Owen.

“I’m going to gain two stone in one weekend,” said Georgia.

“That’s alright,” said Owen, “You can turn right around and lose it in the rat race that is London.”

“I don’t doubt that,” said Georgia, “Ok, give me an Italian soda.”

“What flavor?” asked Owen.

“What do you have?” asked Georgia.

“I’ve got the basics,” said Owen, “Strawberry, Blueberry, Banana, Cherry and Vanilla.  Then I have Butterscotch, Bubblegum and Toffee.  Take your pick.”

“I’m in a mood for Toffee,” said Georgia.

“What?” said Owen, “No Bubblegum?”

“I was leaning in that direction,” said Georgia.

“Good to know,” said Owen.

“Why?” asked Georgia.

“Because I’m choosing bubblegum,” said Owen, “Notice how this bottle is that much lower than the others.”

“Your favorite?” asked Georgia.

“You’ve got good instincts,” said Owen.

“How’s that?” asked Georgia.

“You just do,” said Owen, “It’s written all over you.  Even in my lectures you seemed to always know where I was going.”

“Then I’d better cover myself up,” said Georgia, “I don’t want to be too much an open book.”

“You get used to it,” said Owen, “Being in the spotlight, having you’re life being an open book.  You learn to manage it.”

“Is that a recommendation?” asked Georgia.

“For what?” asked Owen, “For public office?  No certainly not.  I’d never tell anyone to do that.”

“Then why did you?” asked Georgia.

“Probably because I was young and stupid,” said Owen, “I guess like any young lad, I wanted to prove my muster.”

“Why did public office appeal to you as a way to prove your muster?” asked Georgia.