In Love with a Gentleman (18 page)

A short time later, a cluster of houses appears ahead of us. As we approach, I realize that we’re headed into another fishing village.

“I thought Thorpeness would be relatively modern,” I say. “This doesn’t look modern at all.”

“That is exactly what makes Thorpeness such an attraction. Ogilvie wanted an old fishing village, so he built one himself. Every single house in Thorpeness fits this concept.”

We drive through the village. I’m amazed—it’s not like Disneyland at all. It’s just perfect. I feel like I’m in a historical village dating back centuries. The slightly crooked cottages crowd around a small lake with ducks and rowboats. A very strange house, built atop some sort of tower, is situated by the lakeshore.

I point at it. “That looks very Disney-like to me. What kind of strange building is that?”

“That’s the famous House in the Clouds. The building was formerly a water tower. It was no longer needed, so Ogilvie made it into vacation rentals.”

“It looks crazy, but also quite lovely.”

Ethan slows down and pulls up in front of a wood-frame building. It’s much larger than the small houses beside it. Above the entrance is a sign that says “The Dolphin Inn.”

“We’re here,” he says. “This is the end of the line.”

End of the line? What a curious thing to say. I’d rather think it’s the beginning of something new—for me, for us.

We get out and stretch our legs. Although it’s a beautiful autumn Saturday, there aren’t too many people on the road. I bet all hell breaks loose here in the summer.

“This Ogilvie must have been a very special person,” I reflect. “He obviously was a man of strong character. He knew exactly what he wanted to do, then did it. Quite impressive, isn’t it?”

“Yes, such people exist,” Ethan says. The corners of his mouth twitch almost imperceptibly, as if he finds my remark kind of funny. I look askance at him; he’s staring at me with intensity. Then I understand. He’s thinking how he wants me. At this thought, I become warm all over. Ethan puts an arm around my shoulders. I feel a bit like I’m his captured prey and he’s taking me into his cave. If it were anyone else, I’d be furious; but when I’m this close to him, I feel as though I’m melting.

We enter the hotel, and a friendly host rushes up to us. “You must be the Derby couple,” he says. “We spoke earlier, Mr. Derby. It’s lovely that you’ve come to visit us. Welcome!”

“The Derby couple” sounds good. Lea Derby. Not too bad. As the host turns to lead us up to our room, Ethan winks at me and smiles. I smile back. The Derby couple follows the host to a spacious room on the second floor. It has giant lattice windows with wide, low windowsills and overlooks a radiant field and a colorful autumn forest. The view is unbelievably beautiful. The carpet, wallpaper, and curtains are color coordinated in warm golden tones. A magnificent autumn bouquet is set out on a table to greet us. Behind a white wooden door with a playful brass handle is a lovely bathroom, complete with a claw-foot bathtub.

The host hovers nearby for a moment. “Do you like it?”

I exhale. “Yes, very much! I’m sure we’ll be very happy here.”

The host nods briefly and mentions the mealtimes and the excellent dining options they offer. Then he disappears.

Ethan turns me toward him. “How can you be so sure of that?” he asks coyly.

I’m flaming red. “I didn’t mean it like that,” I stutter in embarrassment.

“Oh, I think that’s exactly what you meant, dear Lea,” he says gently. “Now we’ll see if we can make that happen.”

He takes my bag and puts it on the floor. Then he calmly and purposefully starts to undress me. I stand there perfectly still and let it happen. My heart is beating so violently it feels as if it might burst out of my chest. On the surface, Ethan seems cool and calm, but I notice that his fingers are shaking and his breathing is erratic, so he really isn’t very calm at all.
Lea König
, I think,
what a dream come true that you can get such a reaction out of this beautiful man
! The thought excites me even more.

After he takes my clothes off, he again eyes me with that hungry look of desire. I close my eyes and feel how cool the room is. I wait. Ethan whispers, “I will now remove this exceedingly tasteful bedspread, dear Lea, and pull the blankets aside, so you can lie down. I want to see your beautiful body stretched out on the bed. You think this room is so perfect, but I first need to see you lying there before it will be completely perfect for me.”

Ethan is an Ogilvie type of guy
, I suddenly think. He is self-confident and knows exactly what he wants. I find it so insanely erotic it makes me dizzy. With trembling legs, I walk over to the bed and lie down. The sheet is cool underneath me and smells like lavender. The autumn sunlight streams through the window and touches me with its warmth. I’m no longer quite so cold.

Ethan unbuckles his belt and quickly strips. “Your skin is like gold in the sunlight,” he whispers. “Everything is now perfect.”

I close my eyes and wait. My eyelids glow red from the sun. I don’t know whether I want this moment of unfulfilled passion to last as long as possible, or if I want to finally give in to my longing for him. He comes to me like a wave breaking on the beach. I’m carried away by the force of the wave and let myself become completely immersed in it. I feel how he lets his hunger become more powerful and merciless. I don’t mind; it’s exactly what I’d been waiting for. I, Lea, am having sex with my dream man, and my body responds passionately. We briefly rest before we give ourselves over to desire again . . . and again. Finally, we lie side by side, completely exhausted.

Ethan holds a lock of my hair against the light. He smiles and says, “You’re taking good care of it. Good job, keep it up.” Then he lies back and is silent again. He’s a man of few words. He doesn’t comment on what just happened between us. He’s very cool instead.

I feel pleasantly tired and pull the duvet over my naked body. I roll onto my side so I can see his profile. He’s so handsome; I’d like to seduce him. I haven’t had a chance to pounce on him like he did. What would he say if I initiated sex? Gently, I reach out a finger and stroke his angular, stubbly chin. I slide it down over his neck, his chest, and on down . . .

Ethan grabs my hand and squeezes it. “Enough, Lea,” he says. “I want us to get dressed and stroll through the village. Then we’ll eat here at the inn.”

“Agreed,” I say, springing to my feet and heading to the bathroom.

“Lie down again,” Ethan says. “I’ll go to the bathroom first.”

I hesitate. “Why?”

“Because I said so, Lea.”

Okay
, I think,
that works, too
. I lie down and snuggle under the covers. I hear the purr of Ethan’s razor and doze off.

Ethan stirs me awake. “Get up. And please be so kind as to not leave any hair in the sink when you’re done. So many women do that, I think it’s a nasty habit.”

I smile at him. “Of course not. I feel the same way.” While I get ready, I consider that one of the things I love about Ethan is how he states what he wants so clearly. He doesn’t beat around the bush. He says right from the start what he likes and dislikes. It is so refreshing how honest he is.
I furrow my brow. He said “so many women,” and I’m secretly curious how many women he’s been with. I catch myself wondering whether he was satisfied with my performance, considering his experience. I tell myself it’s dumb to think that after such a passionate time. We had great sex. It was good.

And yet it gnaws at me. Was Ethan satisfied with me? Will we continue to be lovers, or was that it? Did he push my hand away because I didn’t really fulfill his expectations? I forcefully brush my hair, as if I could brush the disturbing thoughts away. But it doesn’t help. Brush in hand, I peek out of the bathroom at Ethan. He is sitting on the edge of the bed, concentrating on tying his shoes. I put the brush aside, walk over to him, sit in his lap, and kiss his forehead.

He takes me by the waist and shifts me over onto the bed. “Lea, what are you doing? I don’t appreciate being attacked.”

“Sorry, something simply came over me. It’s your own fault for being so handsome.”

“Okay,” he mutters and turns to his other shoe, as if I am some sort of annoying mosquito. Around him, I always feel small and helpless, while he seems so strong and sure of himself. It turns me on.

“Now if you would stop all this nonsense and get dressed perhaps,” Ethan says.

“Sure,” I answer. Then I burst out, “Do you think I’m good in bed?”

Ethan looks at me with astonishment. “What a typical question coming from you. How fitting. An airhead is an airhead. You’re a grown woman, Lea. Answer the question yourself.”

Oh great
,
I think,
I’m as much in the dark as I was before
. “Okay, fine,” I say, and look directly at him to monitor his reaction. “I’d say I was good.”

Ethan now stands up and shakes his head. “Oh man, Lea. Let me tell you something—you weren’t good at all! I was the only one who did anything. But I don’t ask myself whether I am good. Because I’m an experienced adult, I know exactly how ridiculous such self-doubts are. We had sex, and the sex with you was very good. That’s all that counts, right?”

He said the sex with you was very good
, I say to myself. Hurray! I needed to hear that. I breathe a sigh of relief. Now that that’s settled, I can be happy and relaxed about the rest of the weekend.

Half an hour later, we are strolling arm in arm through the narrow streets of Thorpeness. I am delighted. The village is wonderfully British—each house has its own character and its own lovingly tended garden. Eye-catching wreaths or glass beads hang in the windows, and there are pots filled with lavender or autumn asters by the front doors. Benches invite you to relax and chat. The houses have quaint names like Fisherman’s Cottage, The Widow’s Den, and Poppy House. I can’t get enough of it. I read them aloud and comment on them. Ethan seems satisfied; as always, he is silent. Then he says, “Maybe you shouldn’t squeal with such excitement, Lea. Not all people in Thorpeness want to participate.”

I pull myself together immediately. He’s right, of course. We complement each other so well. Although there are not many tourists around, I occasionally notice women admiring Ethan. It’s so exciting. Ethan is my lover—this tall, good-looking man with his broad shoulders, narrow hips, and gorgeous curls is mine. I feel like I’ve grown two inches taller with pride. I’m sure everyone envies me.

In the evening, we return to the hotel. In the best English tradition, we are asked to wait at the bar until our table is ready. The bartender asks us if we want an aperitif.

I open my mouth, but Ethan cuts in quickly and says, “Two sherries, please.”

“Whoops,” I say cheerfully. “My companion is mistaken. I’m in the mood for a mimosa, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all,” the bartender replies. “I can’t deny the wishes of a beautiful young woman.” He selects a bottle of champagne, pours it into a glass, mixes it with orange juice, and hands it to me.

I giggle at the compliment. “Thank you,” I say. “I believe I know why he ordered for me. He was afraid I would order a malt whiskey again.”

The bartender raises an eyebrow. “And what would anyone have against that?”

“Because it’s not a proper drink for a young woman. Apparently, I must renounce it for the rest of my life. I imagine it’s not proper for old women, either, just old men.”

The bartender laughs and says, “I could easily believe that you will never age. Some women stay beautiful forever.”

Again I giggle. He’s a charming man. I like that the English are so relaxed and humorous, not uptight like most Germans I know. I turn around to see whether Ethan’s amused, too. But he looks like he always does, maybe even a bit more serious than usual. He probably didn’t catch the gist of our lively banter.

We are led to our table, and the waiter brings us the menu. “We’ll take the mussel soup and the steamed plaice,” Ethan says.

I decide not to be obstinate this time and concede to him, although I really love to browse menus. Maybe I would have rather eaten the smoked mackerel, if they have it. I love smoked fish. But Ethan is my host. If he wants to make the decisions, then he can do just that. He didn’t seem very pleased when I rejected the sherry and ordered something else.

While we wait for our food, Ethan leans over and gazes deep into my eyes. My heart beats faster. His gaze always does that to me. His eyes are so wonderfully brown and expressive. “What happened earlier wasn’t nice,” he says.

Oh! What does he mean? I wince. Does he mean that the sex wasn’t . . . ? I exhale, and he continues, “I mean earlier at the bar.”

“What exactly?” I ask.

“Your unbridled flirtation with the bartender. I thought you were going to stop this kind of unseemly behavior.”

Oh yeah. He’s right. I fell back into my old habits. I lower my head and stare at the tablecloth. “I agree, Ethan, that wasn’t good. I’m sorry, my mouth sometimes has a mind of its own and says things I don’t want it to say. But I promise I’ll work harder to be better.”

“Okay, Lea. While we’re at it, let me tell you something else. I can’t stand it when you flirt and joke with other men in my presence. As your partner, I should have the privilege of your undivided attention. I feel as if I’m carrying on with some sort of floozy.”

I sigh. Of course. Ethan has again pinpointed something I must address. I love him and him alone. It’s true; I send out mixed signals when I joke around with other men. I look at him earnestly.

Ethan softens up a bit. “Don’t get bent out of shape about it. We’ll work on it together. We’re already on our way. You told me in Cambridge that you appreciate my honesty. I think that’s a good foundation for a relationship.”

I nod vehemently. “That’s exactly what I think. I’m so thankful that you give me such good advice.”

“You’re a lovable thing,” Ethan says warmly. “It’s a lot of fun to be with you.” I feel his hand on my knee under the table. He softly massages my thigh.

“If you keep that up, we’ll have to cancel our meal and go back to the room right away,” I murmur.