In Love with a Gentleman (12 page)

Of course, he’s right. I suggest that we go to the museum Ethan told me about. As it turns out, it is well worth seeing. Jens and I spend almost two hours admiring the many exhibits and learning about the city and the surrounding area’s history.

“This is so exciting,” I say. “So much that I’ve read about in English literature makes sense to me now thanks to this museum. For example, I read a book by Thomas Hardy, who lived at the end of the nineteenth century. He was concerned that industrialization threatened the customs and traditions of the era. He wrote his book to preserve those traditions, which I now understand.”

Jens looks at me. “You’re very smart, Lea,” he says. “I really admire how you immerse yourself in your work. Unfortunately, I’m not well acquainted with English literature. My English was never good enough.”

It’s good to hear his sincere admiration. I’ve sometimes wondered if my love of English literature isn’t somewhat antiquated. Jens’s response makes it feel like a noble pursuit again. I point out pictures hanging on the walls and objects in the display cases that are mentioned in some old books I’ve read. He listens attentively and seems to be really interested. If he’s not, he’s doing a very convincing job of pretending to be.

On the way from the museum back to the center of town, we come across a small church on a hill.

“Look, what kind of odd, little church is that?” I say. “Come on. Let’s check if it’s open.”

The tiny church has enough room for only three pews. A sign on the wall explains that the church, dedicated to St. Peter, is a historic site and no longer used for church services. It also says that in exchange for a small donation, visitors can tug on the bell rope and make a wish.

“Oh, that’s great, we’ve got to do that,” I say immediately. I dig around for a coin, but Jens beats me to it.

“One ring is on me,” he says.

I toss the coin into the offertory box and go to the church bell’s small bay area. I hold the rope tightly in both hands, close my eyes, and pull, silently making a wish:
Dear God, please help me find the right man to spend my life with. Someone who can make me happy, and who’ll be happy with me, too
. The sound of the bell is louder and deeper than I would have expected. It’s beautiful.

Jens asks, “Well? What did you wish for?”

“I can’t tell you, otherwise the wish won’t come true,” I say.

Jens then wishes for something and pulls the rope. As he rings the bell, he looks quite thoughtful, almost overly serious. I don’t ask what he wished for, because I can already imagine what it is. Too bad for him.
Our desires simply clash
, I think stubbornly.

We step back outside and blink in the sunlight. “Shouldn’t we grab a bite to eat?” Jens asks.

Uh-oh. This means we’ll have to sit at a table together, looking into each other’s eyes. But my stomach growls, so I nod and say, “Yes.” We discover a cute café in the city center where we can get a light lunch. We sit at a round table covered with a white tablecloth, and through the crown glass, we watch pedestrians hurry down the street. Jens and I are too busy people watching to gaze into one another’s eyes. We both enjoy thinking about what people are doing and imagining where they’re going. We also participate in a little good-natured teasing about our little misadventure on the punt. We both eat a bowl of soup, then have a cup of coffee. We feel so comfortable we end up ordering another cup of coffee and, later, scones with strawberry jam and clotted cream.

Finally I look at my watch and say, “I need to head home soon.”

Jens asks sadly, “Really? Why? What do you have to do there?”

To tell you the truth, nothing. There’s still plenty of time before my date this evening. I’m not really that crazy about going back to that messy, little broom closet, anyway. So I say, “Let’s take a little stroll through the town.”

We pay—that is, Jens pays. It’s quite touching how he’s making every effort to ensure that his presence isn’t a burden to me. After we leave the restaurant, we stroll past the colleges along the River Cam and admire their magnificent façades. They are especially exquisite with their images reflected in the water. Narrow medieval streets run between the buildings, and the sound of students from the music college practicing their instruments spills out from the open windows. I hear the sparkling notes of a harp and the cool tones of a clarinet. We wander through the courtyards of the colleges, cross a bridge, and find ourselves back on the banks of the River Cam. We walk along the river and enjoy the views of the old buildings from a distance. Finally, we reach Jens’s car.

“We could round off the day with a nice dinner,” Jens says hopefully.

“No, I can’t,” I say. “I have a date tonight, Jens.”

“A date?” Jens looks disappointed. “Oh.” Then he says coolly, “Well, I don’t want to get in your way. It seems I’m a bit superfluous here, but I’ll drive you back to your place, anyway.”

It would have shown more character on my behalf to refuse his kind offer of a ride, but I have no burning desire to walk forty minutes on a concrete sidewalk back to Somerset Close. So I get in the car.

As Jens starts the engine, I say softly, “Please, Jens, don’t be mad. Your visit caught me off guard. How could you expect me to jump up and down with excitement? Today was a lot of fun, but nothing more. To suggest anything else would be dishonest.”

Jens is morose and silent all the way back to the house, and I decide to let the matter rest. I know that I’ve hurt him, but what else could I do? He’s not the first admirer I’ve had to reject. He pulls up to the curb in front of my place, and I glance at him. He really is a nice guy. I would like to be friends with him. On impulse, I say, “We don’t have to say good-bye forever. Maybe we can get together again as friends.”

Jens turns away and says sharply, “No, Lea, I’d rather not. I admit, I fell for you. But it means nothing if it’s one-sided. Let’s just say good-bye. I hope you find someone who you feel as strongly about as I do for you.” He hastily rubs his hand over his face. I climb out of the car, and he pulls the passenger door closed from the inside, restarts the engine, and drives away.

I watch his car as it disappears down the road and think about what he said. What poor Jens doesn’t know, but might suspect, is that I’ve already found the man I desire the way Jens desires me. My heart skips a beat as a thought occurs to me: I’m almost sure that the man of my dreams feels the same way about me.

I decide to suppress all thoughts of Jens and his broken heart. I don’t want to spoil my evening with Ethan. I glance at my watch—he’s coming in about an hour to pick me up, and I want to look stunning. I still have a lot to do.

At six sharp, I’m standing in the entrance hall of the house, waiting for Ethan. The front door opens, and I meet a dark-haired version of my hairdresser.

“Oh, hi, you must be Lea,” she says, greeting me amiably. “Wow, you look very chic. Are you going somewhere this evening?”

“Hi, Emmy, thank you so much for letting me stay here,” I say.

“It’s okay,” she says, waving me off. “We always have guests in that little chamber. I’m sorry to have to say this, though, but you’ll have to leave the day after tomorrow.”

I look at her incredulously. What! Why? Did I do something wrong?

Emmy sees my confused expression and quickly explains, “All my roommates are gone, and I’m going to stay with my boyfriend’s family. I’m sorry, but I can’t let you stay without anyone here.”

Great! This is definitely a dreadful turn of events. I’ve been looking forward to a beautiful week in Cambridge, and now I’m getting kicked out. I wrack my brain for a solution, but I’m interrupted by a car pulling up out front. Emmy curiously pokes her head outside and says, “
Ooo
!
What a fabulous car and an even more fabulous man! I won’t stop you, love.”

Love? At the moment I’m not feeling any love at all.

“Have a nice evening,” Emmy says, then disappears upstairs.

I hurry outside, pulling the door closed behind me. Ethan is waiting in the car. I get in quickly and buckle myself up.

“Hello, Ethan,” I say.

“Hello.” He looks me over carefully from the top of my carefully coiffed head—I pinned my hair up—to my new ballerina flats. Of course, he can’t see the dress because I have my coat on. His gaze gives me goose bumps. Ethan is wearing black jeans, a white T-shirt, and a dark blazer. His casually elegant look is quite attractive, and my clothes go very nicely with his style.

Ethan is silent and acting mysterious again, so as we drive I ask, “Have you had a nice day? Did you have a nice time with your brother?”

He responds, “I’d rather hear about your day.”

“Cambridge is a beautiful city—and I’ve seen a whole lot of them,” I say. “I even visited the museum you told me about. It was really worth it. Thanks for the tip.”

Now surely Ethan will tell me something about his day, but instead he’s silent. After a while, he says, “You’re doing it again.”

“What?”

“You’re biting your fingernails.”

Damn, he’s right. I immediately stop. “Sorry,” I say. “I’m a little nervous. I’ve never dined at a fancy dining hall before.”

A slight smile flits across his face. “It’s nothing special. Actually, it’s not unlike any other university dining hall, except the people wear funny clothes and behave strangely.”

“What do you mean by ‘strangely’?” I ask.

“Oh, let’s just let it be a surprise.” Ethan falls silent again.

We park outside the old city center, get out, and walk to Trinity College. I’d like to hold Ethan’s arm so everybody knows that we’re together, but he doesn’t seem to share the same sentiments. I shove my hands into my coat pockets, which feels good. It’s very cold. Maybe I should have worn jeans.

We enter the college, and I follow Ethan upstairs. I look at his strong back and broad shoulders and think for the thousandth time tonight what a lucky girl I am to be on a date with this beautiful man. Ethan knocks on a door, and we find ourselves in a very English-looking living room. A warm, lively fire burns in a stone fireplace. Ethan helps me out of my coat, and I turn around. Only men are present, some wearing long black robes. They’re facing the fireplace and holding sherry glasses. Someone offers me a full glass from a tray, and I gratefully accept it. Another man shakes my hand and tells me he’s the host. He’s older and has graying temples and bushy eyebrows. Ethan introduces him as Mr. Binsby, his brother’s tutor. His brother’s also here and resembles Ethan, but he’s smaller and slight. He has the same curly hair, but it’s cut shorter. He’s wearing a dark gown.

“My brother Theo,” Ethan introduces him.

“Hi, Lea,” Theo says. “Nice to meet you. My brother told me you wanted to look beyond the walls of our college. I hope you like it.”

I look around enthusiastically and say, “Oh, yes, it’s wonderful. I’m so happy to have been invited.” Secretly, I feel a little pang. As far as Theo knows, this is just a little sojourn for a curious student from abroad; it’s definitely not a date. I sip my sherry to hide my disappointment. It’s delicious and warms me up quite pleasantly.

Theo looks at me with amusement and says, “I think I’ve seen you before.”

“Oh, really?” I say. “I can’t imagine where. I’ve only been in Cambridge for two days.”

“This morning,” Theo says mischievously. Suddenly, I get a sinking feeling. “From the bridge behind the college. You and your companion had quite the tussle.”

Oh dear! My face turns crimson. I had hoped and prayed that those weren’t Ethan’s dark curls I had seen on the bridge. That the episode has come up at all is absolutely the worst-case scenario. Mortified, I have no idea what to say. Theo good-naturedly describes what he saw from the bridge to everybody within earshot, including his brother. All the gentlemen enjoy the story immensely, which is hardly surprising since I would, too, if I were in their place. I curse myself for suggesting the stupid boat ride. Jens would be so delighted to know that my little revenge plot backfired. Only as the general merriment fades, and someone thankfully raises another topic of conversation, do I dare look at Ethan. He looks very pensive and definitely not amused.

Damn! That’s the end of us
, I think, my heart sinking. He must think I have a secret boyfriend or that I’m a silly little floozy who will take up with any guy. I feel miserable. I’d like to say good-bye right now and go straight home—maybe even on foot—and mope. I’m desperate for Ethan to think well of me.

It’s time to head to the dining hall. We empty our sherry glasses and put them on a low side table in front of the tufted Chesterfield sofa. Ethan wordlessly brings me my coat, and I drape it over my arm. We’re not going outside; we return downstairs and go through a large engraved door. I wish Ethan would whisper something comforting, like,
Don’t let it bother you, Lea, we’ve all been through an embarrassing situation on a punt
,
but I wish in vain. He seems quite irritated.
Maybe, just maybe
, I think in my usual optimistic way,
that’s a good sign
. He’s so in love with me that he’s jealous. That wouldn’t be so bad, would it? But what will happen next remains to be seen.

The dining hall is beautiful. Oil paintings, all portraits, hang on the dark-paneled walls. Large votive candleholders, emitting a soft, elegant light, are set out on the long, dark tables. The tables match the simple long benches. At the front of the dining hall is a raised platform where the college’s professors and selected lecturers sit on ornate chairs at a separate table. I later learn that this table is called, appropriately, the “high table.” The original of Hans Holbein’s famous painting of Henry VIII hangs above it. I feel as though I am Harry Potter in the Hogwarts dining hall—except the food doesn’t fly through the air.

I take a seat next to Ethan. We’re almost as close as we were that time at the pub in Gatingstone. “I wonder what they’re serving,” I whisper to him.

He pushes a piece of thick paper that was already on the table toward me:

Spicy Red Lentil Soup