In Love with a Gentleman (17 page)

I go upstairs, drag my luggage out of the closet, and start to throw my clothes in the suitcase. Glen interrupts by gently knocking on the door. I open it a crack and ask, “Yes?”

“You shouldn’t take it personally, dear. She loves you like a daughter.”

“That may be so, but enough is enough,” I reply.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were so strapped for cash?” he asks. “We could have renegotiated the rent.”

I place my hands on my hips and gaze at Glen sadly. I can’t bear to tell him face-to-face that his house is small, drafty, and uncomfortable, that every night I freeze to the bone until I finally fall asleep, that his blaring television brings me to the edge of despair, and that it drives me crazy to eat on a small, rickety camping table every day.

But I can tell him one thing. I say, “Abby’s maternal instincts are driving me around the bend. I’m not used to being treated like a little girl. She’s smothering me.”

Glen immediately understands what I mean. He says, “Oh, there’s nothing you can do about that, dear. That’s just how she is.”

“I know, but that’s why I have to get out of here.”

He looks at me with sad, puppy-dog eyes. “It’s a pity. We’re going to miss you. Abby is sitting downstairs crying.” Then he turns and walks away.

I didn’t mean to make her cry. Should I run downstairs, apologize, and agree to stay? But I can’t. I don’t want to have to deal with the same problems. Also, her angry, poisonous words about Germans are still ringing in my ears. If anybody needs to apologize, it’s Abby.

I finish packing, then look around the room and under the bed to make sure I don’t forget anything. I put my house key on the bed, close the bedroom door, carry my luggage downstairs, and leave the house.

Way to go, Lea
, I say to myself sardonically. Outside, it’s cold and windy. To make matters worse, it’s starting to rain again.
Now what? What should I do? Maura doesn’t move out for another two weeks. I fish out my phone and call Alice’s cell phone.

“Hunstead.” The voice sounds cool and distant.

“This is Lea,” I say. “I’m in kind of a tricky situation.”

“Lea! Hello.” She sounds significantly warmer. “What kind of tricky situation?”

It spills out of me, and poor Alice must endure my entire tale of woe. She listens patiently, then says, “The solution is perfectly clear. You must move in immediately. You can sleep on the couch in the office. Pick up the house key at the neighbors’ to the left. They have a duplicate key so they can water my flowers when I travel.”

I’m overwhelmed with gratitude, but Alice interrupts me. “I must go back to work now. Sorry, Lea. We’ll see each other this evening. If you want, you can cook something. Look and see what you can find in the fridge.” Then she hangs up.

I haul my heavy bags through the drizzle to Weaver’s Mews. Fortunately, Alice had the presence of mind to call her neighbor, so she’s already waiting with the key. I let myself in, put my luggage in the hallway, and go into the living room. I sit down on the beautiful sofa and look around. Once again, I notice how pretty and tasteful everything is. It’s perfectly quiet until a blackbird trills in the garden. The garden is small but well kept, and there is a terrace, which looks like an Italian garden with red terra-cotta pots. Autumn flowers—bright asters and chrysanthemums—are in bloom. A small lawn ends at the brick wall of an adjacent house. A climbing vine covers the wall.

I sigh. I feel so wonderful here. I feel sorry for Abby from the bottom of my heart, but one thing is crystal clear: Ethan was right. She did me no good. I’m glad he pointed it out to me. It was high time to move out and start afresh. In the future, I need to listen to what Ethan says. His discernment is impressive. I wonder what he’ll think when he returns from Cambridge and hears that I followed his advice so quickly. Will he recognize it for what it actually is, a declaration of my love for him? I think about how he reacted to my offer to join me in the dreadful broom closet. I remember his words about
“our first night together.”
They
sounded so incredibly promising.

A noise at the front door startles me. Someone’s coming in. Who can it be? Did Alice come back from London early because of me? I suddenly feel like an intruder and quickly jump to my feet. A young woman stands in front of me. Although she’s small, her tight sheath dress shows off her lush curves. English girls use way too much makeup for my taste. Under lashes thick with mascara, her green eyes flash with surprise when she sees me.

“Hello. May I ask what you’re doing here?” she asks, not very affably.

Then it hits me. “Hello, you must be Maura. Alice told me about you—you’re her tenant.”

“True, but it’s still not clear who you are.”

Her harsh tone repels me, but I answer, anyway. “My name is Lea. I’m your replacement.”

Maura raises a narrow, plucked eyebrow. “Are those your bags at the entrance?” I nod. She scowls. “Then I must disappoint you. You’re too early. In case Alice has forgotten, I’m not moving out for another fourteen days. That’s the deal. I sincerely hope you two aren’t planning on showing me the door before then. Bye, it was nice to meet you.” Her face says the exact opposite. She turns around and disappears. Considering how small she is, she stomps upstairs rather noisily.

I swallow. Oh my goodness! What’s the matter with her? She doesn’t come off as very personable at all. I let myself fall back onto the sofa. I no longer feel very comfortable here. Now I feel as if I’m in the waiting room of a doctor’s office. I pull the book I’m reading out of my purse, but I can’t focus on the text. I remember what little information I know about this strange Maura. She was once nice, but because of her new boyfriend and his influence on her, she completely changed. Alice said that she’d planned to give Maura her notice, anyway, which doesn’t surprise me now—not one bit. What kind of weird boyfriend would change her from a nice, approachable girl to such an obnoxious person? I shake my head.

Then it occurs to me that I should get off my high horse. Didn’t I let the Lanes push me around? Didn’t I become a different person, little by little, under their influence? It’s a good thing that I have a boyfriend—well, almost—who’s good for me and has a positive influence on me. I can only imagine how much better everything will be when we’re actually together. Wow!

I read until the natural light in the living room is no longer sufficient, and my growling stomach reminds me that Alice proposed that I cook something. I decide to do exactly that. I can show her how grateful I am for her offering me refuge so last minute and not leaving me out on the street. There’s not much in the fridge except for a withered head of cauliflower. I pull open a drawer and find a block of cheddar cheese, and in the fridge door I find an open carton of cream from our dessert yesterday.

Impulsively, I tie on an apron and get to work. I steam the cauliflower in salt water and find a cheese grater. Twenty minutes later, it smells like cooked cauliflower. A delicious cheese sauce is bubbling gently on low temperature. I sprinkle the sauce with salt, pepper, and freshly grated nutmeg, then turn the stove off. I find a slightly stale baguette in the bread box and bake it in the oven until it’s crispy. With everything finished, I set the table in the living room for three people. I untie my apron and wait.

It doesn’t take long until the key rattles in the door again. Alice comes rushing in, throws her purse on a table, places her high heels underneath the coatrack, and removes her thick gold earrings. “I can’t wait to get rid of these things each evening,” she says, rubbing her aching earlobes. Then she wrinkles her nose and sniffs. “You’ve really done it! You’ve cooked something! Today is my lucky day.” She beams at me in a way that warms my heart. For the first time since I entered the house with my luggage, I feel welcome.

“I’ll run upstairs quickly and freshen up. Then we’ll eat. It smells so fantastic,” she says, and disappears.

I pull the baguette out of the oven, slice it up, and put it in the bread basket.

Less than two minutes later, Alice is back downstairs. “I notice you set the table for three people,” she says. “Is Maura here? Have you already met?”

“I suspect she’s upstairs in her room.”

“Maura,” Alice calls up the stairs, “time to eat!”

An uncombed head appears above the railing. “Go ahead and eat without me. I can’t stand cauliflower—the entire floor up here stinks! I’m leaving soon, Ron’s picking me up in half an hour.”

Alice presses her lips together as if she would like to reply but forces herself not to. Wordlessly, she removes one of the place settings and brings it into the kitchen. She returns with two wineglasses and a bottle of ice-cold Chablis. She turns the corkscrew with a vengeance, as though she’s imagining that the cork is Maura’s head.

“It’s better this way,” Alice says. “She would have only ruined our meal with her sour attitude.” She pours a drink for each of us, then lifts her glass. “Welcome to Rose Cottage, Lea. I’m very happy you’re already here. I think we’ll be quite comfortable.”

I pass her the bowl of steaming cauliflower. “It’s just unfortunate that Maura doesn’t think so.”

Alice scrutinizes me closely. “Oh, so she’s already made that clear to you?”

“I’m afraid so, yes. On the other hand, I can understand her position. After all, she’s paying full rent and has to share the bathroom with me for fourteen days. Plus I’m hogging the TV room.”

Alice waves dismissively. “Oh, she’ll calm down when I give her back half the rent and you pay me the other half. Then she’ll realize your presence isn’t a complete disadvantage.” She tastes the cheese sauce and rolls her eyes with pleasure. “Mmm,” she says. “If you were a man, Lea König, I’d marry you on the spot. It tastes even better than it smells. I feel like this is the beginning of a whole new era.”

“Could be—I just love to cook. It bothered me a bit that Abby ruled the kitchen at the Lanes’. It never would have occurred to her to let me near the stove. I don’t believe that she knew I can cook at all.”

“That’s pretty mindless of her,” Alice says, reaching into the bread basket for a piece of baguette to dip into the sauce. “You have free rein here. You don’t know how tired and hungry I am when I get back from London, and then I still have to cook! By the way, feel free to go grocery shopping at my expense and just present the bill to me afterward.”

“And Maura? Does she cook?”

Again, Alice makes a dismissive gesture. “Oh, her! That would have been nice. Her boyfriend isn’t bringing a housewife into his life, believe me. I don’t know what he sees in her. They probably have great sex, that’s all.” She sounds pretty resentful. I decide not to push the subject.

After dinner, I clear the table and wash the dishes. Alice disappears upstairs and takes a bath. I hear the front door close. Maura has apparently gone out, as she said she would. I carry my bags upstairs into the small office, also called the TV room. It’s not really worth unpacking at this point—there’s no closet space at my disposal. On the couch, Alice has laid out two pink sheets, a pillowcase, a quilt, and a pillow for me. I make my bed and watch a little TV. Then I open my laptop, enter the Wi-Fi password, and browse the web for a while. Nothing exciting is happening on Facebook. I don’t see a green dot next to Jens’s name, so no chatting with him. He didn’t send me a message, either. Wistfully, I think,
It doesn’t take very long for people back home to forget all about you
. It doesn’t matter. I’m pretty tired, anyway.

Alice pokes her head in and wishes me a good night. Then it’s quiet in Rose Cottage. I turn off the light and listen to the distant traffic on the main road. I quickly fall asleep—without my hot-water bottle. What luxury!

Chapter 9

For the remainder of autumn break, I do more studying than I did the whole time I spent with the Lanes. I also sleep in. Each morning I wake up when the blackbirds begin to sing in the garden. I know the house will soon be mine and mine alone. Though I’m still half asleep, I hear water running from the bathroom taps as well as the urgent pitter-patter of my roommates’ feet while they prepare for their day. The front door slams twice in a row, first Alice and then Maura setting off for work. I stretch out luxuriously, turn onto my side, pull the blanket over my ears, then fall back asleep. No one bursts in with a cup of tea to “pamper” me.

I then eat a leisurely breakfast, propping open my book next to my plate. Eventually, I get dressed and tackle a bit of housework. My rent is very affordable, and I want to show my appreciation.
Had I known my financial situation would improve so suddenly, I could have spent another week in Cambridge
! I think. I’m a whirlwind of activity. I didn’t scrutinize every corner of the house during my first visit, but now, from the sharp-eyed perspective of a diligent housewife, I realize there’s a ton of work to be done. I roll up my sleeves and have at it.

I start in the downstairs guest bathroom. I wonder whether the cleanliness standards in England aren’t a couple notches lower than they are back home. In the bathroom sink, decades-old lime deposits have formed around the faucet. I polish and scrub with detergent and plenty of elbow grease until the lime completely disappears and the basin shines like new. Then I tackle the toilet. Next, I vacuum all the carpets throughout the house. Every day, I seek out a new task, whether it’s ironing the linens or cleaning the windows. The work is fun, and the physical activity clears my head. I no longer feel like a spoiled child like I did at the Lanes’. Instead, I feel like a self-confident adult who helps keep up her shared living space.

On Friday, I go shopping, and each evening I have a meal ready for Alice. Maura comes down to have a bite to eat with us only once. Alice is thrilled by my contributions. She praises my diligence, which spurs me on to do other tasks. It’s actually quite clever of her. She openly expresses what I secretly think. “Your people are so neat and clean. We could learn a lot from the Germans. I’m glad you’re my tenant.”

When Maura overhears her comment, she grimaces and leaves the room. There’s a lot of negative energy between us, and I have the feeling she thinks I’m a troublemaker. Through little comments and gestures, she insinuates that I have no business being here and treats me like a cuckoo that’s made herself at home in a foreign nest, displacing the actual residents. Everything I put out on the shelf under the mirror in our shared blue-gray bathroom ends up in the bathtub. That said, I suspect that Alice is pitting her against me. Occasionally she praises me in Maura’s presence so emphatically that I can only assume she wants to get back at Maura. Despite everything, I feel much more comfortable at Rose Cottage than I did with the Lanes.

On Friday evening, I borrow Alice’s bike—naturally, I left the one that Glen fixed up for me at the Lanes’—and bike to the Seafields’. Melissa welcomes me with open arms and urges me to stay for dinner. I do so quite gladly. When I tell the family that I moved, they congratulate me.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Melissa says, “but staying with the old couple wasn’t the best place for a student to learn proper English.”

I open my eyes wide. I hadn’t thought of that at all.

Melissa laughs when she sees my surprise. “Indeed, it’s true. The Lanes are simple people; she was a cook, and he was a truck driver. They don’t exactly speak the Queen’s English. You’ve become accustomed to a lot of ‘Glen and Abby’ expressions. Did you notice that they use ‘good’ instead of ‘well’ as an adverb? That’s a big mistake. I could mention a bunch of other examples.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.

“Well,” Melissa says, “you seemed to be quite comfortable there. Nevertheless, Lea, this is just between you and me. I don’t want you to quote me. It’s true, but it sounds terribly snobbish.”

I’m pensive. “Even though I left there under less than ideal circumstances, I think it’s good I got to know such simple, humble people. I believe you should acquaint yourself with all classes of society in a foreign country, even people you wouldn’t normally socialize with.”

“Thanks to us, you get an inside look into the world of the English native,” Morris says wryly. “We’re conceited snobs who think that our neighbors on the other side of the Channel wear pointed helmets and run around screaming, ‘
Achtung
,’
when they’re not leaning over tables loaded down with beer and wearing lederhosen or a dirndl.”

I look at him seriously. “But that’s exactly how it is in Germany.”

Everyone breaks into uproarious laughter.

“And what was it like in Cambridge?” Melissa asks.

“Wonderful,” I say.

“What did you do there? Did you visit some of the colleges?” she asks.

“A pity that I wasn’t there,” Morris says. “As a Fellow at Trinity, I would have taken you to the Master’s Lodge. You could have gotten to know the real Cambridge. You haven’t really lived until you’ve gone to a dinner there.”

“But I did go,” I say.

Everyone stares at me in disbelief. “What? You? How is this possible? With whom?”

I blush and say, “One of the teachers at school took me.”

Linda lets her fork drop just as she is getting ready to put a bite of food in her mouth. She says sternly, “With whom?”

“Oh, it’s not important,” I say. “In any case, it was great.”

But Linda won’t let it go. “It was Mr. Derby, wasn’t it? Otherwise you wouldn’t be blushing.”

Darn! Why am I blushing? It’s really none of her business.

Melissa notices my embarrassment and says, “Linda, it’s not proper to interrogate our guest.”

“I need to know,” Linda says stubbornly. “Somebody needs to look after Lea.”

“Very funny,” her father says. “First you need to look after yourself. It’s really none of your concern who Lea chooses to socialize with. She is an adult woman and can decide these things for herself.”

“Mr. Derby is a chauvinistic asshole,” Linda says. “Lea is much too good for him. He’ll only make her unhappy.”

Melissa has had enough. “Linda, I don’t want to hear such language at our table. Whomever Lea chooses to spend time with is up to her. She’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

“Thank you, Melissa,” I say. Then Morris changes the subject, and Ethan no longer comes up. As I spoon my dessert, I wonder,
What’s the matter with Linda
?
Why would she say something so mean about Ethan? Is she maybe a teeny bit jealous? It’s the only explanation I can think of for her outburst.

On Saturday morning, Alice and I enjoy a late breakfast alone. Maura stayed overnight with her boyfriend. To repay me for the last few days of chores around the house, Alice cooks a classic English breakfast, complete with stewed tomatoes, little sautéed sausages, and poached eggs.

Afterward, as we chat comfortably over a cup of tea, Alice suggests we take a little trip. She wants to show me some of Gatingstone’s environs. She’s aghast when I tell her that the Lanes didn’t take me to the neighboring village, where Glen always purchases chicken feed from a farmer (“You and Abby can take a nice little trip there sometime,” he used to say), or to Basildon, where they did their weekly grocery shopping at the large supermarket. I did become quite good at helping them heave the heavy shopping bags out of the car, though.

“That’s unacceptable,” Alice says. “You have to see some of our beautiful countryside before your year in England is over.”

The front doorbell rings, and Alice flinches. Unlike me, she’s still in her robe. “Lea, I can’t get the door right now. Can you see who it is?”

I eagerly jump to my feet and go to the front door, carefully cracking it open a bit. I look out. What I see takes my breath away, and my heart instantly begins to pound like crazy. It’s Ethan. I take a step back and look at him.

“Ethan,” I whisper. “Is that you? I thought you were still in Cambridge.”

Ethan grabs my shoulders with his powerful hands and looks me right in the eye. “I couldn’t do it,” he says. “I couldn’t take it. I’ve been thinking of you constantly. I left early this morning. I went by your house, and the old couple told me you moved out. At last, I’ve found you.”

Alice stands up and calls from the entrance to the living room, “Good morning! Whoever you are, please come in. I guess you’re the young man Lea’s told me about. Would you like a cup of tea? I can make a fresh cup; it will only take a second.”

But Ethan shakes his head violently. “No, thank you. I came to kidnap Lea. Lea, go to your room and pack a few things. I want to take you to Thorpeness.”

Alice sighs. “Thorpeness! How heavenly romantic. Oh, to be young again. How I envy you, Lea.”

I’m unfamiliar with Thorpeness. Is it some sort of destination for elopers like Las Vegas or Gretna Green? Do I really want Ethan to kidnap me?
Oh, yes
, I think,
I want this very much
. On my way to the TV room, my heart is pounding with excitement and joy. Ethan came here because of me, and he wants to spend the weekend in some famously romantic place. I rummage through my suitcase, my hands trembling. I wonder frantically what I should pack for a romantic weekend. Crap! If only he’d warned me, I would have bought some seductive lingerie and a ravishing nightgown. I should just tell Ethan that I can’t go right now; I have to prepare first. But that would be the dumbest thing I could possibly do. My excitement pushes aside any uncertainty about my wardrobe. Ethan can’t be without me! Ethan longs for me the way I long for him! Life is so beautiful! After grabbing the bare necessities—after all, it’s only for one night, since school starts on Monday—I hurry downstairs with my bag.

“Too bad, I was looking forward to a trip with you, Lea,” Alice says. “But when I look at your boyfriend, I absolutely understand that I cannot compete.” She gazes at him with undisguised admiration. It occurs to me that she may have a higher opinion of me after meeting my handsome admirer.

Ethan looks fantastic, as usual. He didn’t shave this morning (maybe because he couldn’t wait to come?), and the slight shadow on his cheeks makes him look more masculine than ever. He follows me with his eyes, as if he were a hungry animal and I his prey. It’s more than thrilling.

After we drive off, Ethan glances at me. “Well, that is quite an improvement over your old accommodations. I’m amazed how quickly you took my advice.” He smiles. “Good girl!” He places his hand on the back of my neck and rubs it gently. I feel a shiver go down my spine.

“I got lucky,” I say. “I met Alice on the train ride back from Cambridge, and she made me an offer. But without your advice, I never would have thought to take advantage of it. I’m glad you forced me to see how much the Lanes stifled me.”

We stop at a traffic light, and Ethan gazes deeply into my eyes. In his deep, velvety voice, he says, “Dearest Lea, if you’re smart, in the future you’ll only let yourself be pampered by one person—me.”

The light changes to green, and Ethan must pay attention to the road again. I’d give myself to him gladly, body and soul. To hide my insecurity, I say, “Tell me where we’re going. I’ve never heard of this Thorpeness. Where and what is this place?”

“Thorpeness is the successful product of one man’s active imagination,” Ethan says.

Great, now I’m no wiser than I was before. “Whose imagination?”

“A certain Glencairn Stuart Ogilvie.”

“A certain who?” I start to giggle—it sounds so funny.

Ethan looks at me with irritation. I bite my lip and immediately stop giggling. After all, I want to act more grown-up.

“That’s really the man’s name,” he says. “Ogilvie lived at the turn of the century. He must have been a tremendously clever fellow. Although he was a lawyer by profession, he designed trains the world over, which made him fabulously wealthy. He purchased a considerable piece of land along the coast of Suffolk, where he built a vacation villa for his employees and relatives. They spent entire summers there.”

I try not to look too disappointed. Warily, I say, “It sounds a bit like Disney World. I can’t imagine it would be that romantic.”

Ethan says, “Just wait.” Nothing more. In any case, he doesn’t mention an express wedding or anything of the sort. That’s all right with me. I mean, I’m crazy about him, but I don’t know him well enough to marry him . . . yet. Or maybe I would. When would I ever get another opportunity to meet such an awesome man?

We head north. Luckily, the rain of the last few days has cleared, and we’re having magnificent autumn weather again, just like the day we drove to Cambridge. Again we wind our way through quaint, little villages, and I gaze happily out the window. Ethan and I are on the way to a romantic weekend. It’s so exciting! To think: a few days ago, I was just a passenger hitching a ride. Now the whole purpose of our trip is to spend time together. I can’t believe my luck.

After a while, Ethan turns to drive east toward the coast. Although the landscape is flat, when we briefly drive up a hill, I can see the sea stretching into the distance. I feel as blissful as I did the first time I saw the ocean on one of my childhood trips to Denmark. Ahead of us lies the fishing village of Aldeburgh. We are soon driving north again, this time along the coast. Now the sparkling sea accompanies us on our drive. I can’t take my eyes off it.

Ethan says, “You’re doing it again.”

I check my hands. No, I’m not chewing on my fingernails—I quit for Ethan’s sake. “What?” I ask.

“Are you checking me out?”

I laugh. “No, I have to look past you to admire the sea.”

“A pity,” Ethan says. “We’re almost there, by the way. And did I tell you I regularly donate blood?”
Huh? Why is he telling me this now?
This man is full of surprises. He looks at me and adds, “So you don’t have to worry.”

It suddenly hits me. I realize that he’s basically trying to tell me that, although he’s slept around, he doesn’t have AIDS. I think of how we’ll be alone together in our hotel room tonight, and my heart beats faster. How considerate of him to reassure me!