In Love with a Gentleman (20 page)

Ethan continues, “You don’t have to clutter your little mosquito brain with so much learned stuff, Lea. Come on, let’s go shopping for some jewelry. How about a pretty necklace?”

He gazes at me so imploringly that I surrender. I can go to Colchester by myself to search for a book, or I can buy one on the Internet. I won’t refuse a necklace from my boyfriend. We find a small jewelry store, and the seller sets a velvet tray with several necklaces on the counter. My eyes fall immediately on a pretty silver chain whose links are fashioned in a way that catches the light. I start to point it out, but Ethan grabs a totally different necklace.

“We’ll take this,” he says. The seller nods with pleasure. The chain is made of gold and is much more expensive. I don’t like it—it looks too pretentious. Filigree jewelry is much more to my taste.

“Does it have to be that one?” I ask. “I prefer silver.”

“Silver is too cheap,” Ethan says without compromise. “Anyway, gold suits your skin tone better.”

I give in. He’s probably right, as usual. I’ll just have to get used to the new chain.

When I get home later, I examine myself critically in the mirror. The necklace really doesn’t suit me, and on top of that, it cost three times as much as the one I wanted. How annoying. I should have insisted on my preference. Now I have to wear it even though all my other jewelry is made of silver. Before leaving for England, I’d had my ears pierced, and my entire collection of earrings is silver. I can’t wear a gold necklace with silver earrings. How stupid would that look? Sighing, I pick up my favorite earrings—small, delicate hoops—and put them in my jewelry box.

On the weekend we drive to a country inn called The Three Lions in the nearby village of Stock. Of course, it doesn’t take long before we jump into bed. Ethan can hardly wait. It’s so exhilarating! His passion rolls over me again like a wave. Afterward we lie there, exhausted and happy, just like we did in Thorpeness. Apparently my worries that I wasn’t good in bed were completely unfounded. We’re perfect together. It’s like a dream.

At night, I listen to his regular breathing after he falls asleep. I’m still awake because something rankles me. Of course, I think it’s really great that he’s so wild about me—I’m wild about him, too. But I’d prefer if we could take things a little more slowly and be more tender with each other. I wish he’d engage in a bit of foreplay—he wouldn’t have to do much. Ethan rushes into sex like a gladiator who is sure of victory. He’s certainly not plagued by any doubts in this regard. I wonder whether I should share my wishes with him. I don’t want to offend him or be misunderstood. Will he think that I’m trying to criticize him? That’s the last thing I would want to do. I would never criticize Ethan; I love him too much. No, it’s better to just hold my tongue and wait. Maybe once things calm down and we get into a bit of a rhythm, he’ll start to be a little more sensitive to my needs.

Weeks become months. Ethan and I meet regularly, usually at the same inn. Word eventually spreads that we’re a couple. It’s no longer a secret we have to hide from the villagers and the school. I’m quite sure everyone envies me.

I’m trying to prepare for my exam, but for some reason I’m not motivated. It’s strange, because I have plenty of peace and quiet. Maura moved out, and Alice is usually away. I have the whole house to myself, yet I have to force myself to study. The exam becomes a necessary evil—something to get through, nothing more.

Christmas is fast approaching. In the village and throughout Essex, colorful Christmas lights hang everywhere. The first snow falls. The more ubiquitous the Christmas decorations become, the more I long for home. Ethan must celebrate Christmas with his family; Alice is going to her brother’s in Cambridge; and, of course, Catherine is going to Brittany. I have absolutely no desire to hang around all by myself.

I call my parents and tell them that I want to come home over the holidays. I believe my mother literally jumps for joy while we’re on the phone.

“I thought you wanted to stay there until the summer,” she says.

“I thought so, too, but I’ve changed my mind. I want to celebrate Christmas as usual, at home with you and Dad.”

My mother is very touched. “That’s fantastic! I’m very happy. Do you hear that, Wilhelm?”

My father mutters something in the background.

“Lea,” my mother tells him. “It’s Lea. She’s coming home for Christmas.”

He mutters again.

She adds, “I’m going to get you an especially nice gift as a reward for coming home.”

I smile. “That’s not necessary.”

“No, we already have an idea . . .”

I’m not looking forward to revisiting my childhood. Under Ethan’s beneficial influence, I feel more grown-up and calmer—exactly as he wished. Wistfully, I think this might be the last time I’ll celebrate Christmas with my parents. Who knows what will happen in a year? Maybe Ethan and I will have already begun our life together. It could happen.

When my parents pick me up at the airport in Hannover, I feel like an alien on a new planet. Everything seems so strange to me. Around me, I hear scraps of German and read German signs. For a moment, I even see my parents through the eyes of a stranger, as if I’m seeing them for the first time. My mother has a new hair color; apparently, she’s started to color her gray hair. My father has new eyeglasses, which somehow make him look wiser, but also older. His hairline has receded a bit more. They throw their arms around me and hug me tightly, as if they never want to let me go. I hug them back.

On the trip to Bielefeld, I remain silent as I look out the window. The countryside along the autobahn looks so different. Were there always so many hills and valleys? In the distance, an evening haze hangs over the landscape. It hasn’t snowed yet. The trees stretch their bare branches to the leaden sky. As a child, I was always fascinated by the picturesque silhouettes of the dark, leafless treetops. Here, unlike in Essex, rows of stately trees line the avenues.

“Lea, you’re so quiet,” my mother says. “Are you tired?”

“Hmm,” I say.

“How was the flight?”

“Good.”

“Anything interesting happen on your way here?”

I consider her question. Yes, there was an amusing incident with a woman who at the last second realized she was sitting on the wrong plane . . . But my parents probably wouldn’t be very interested in that.

“Nope,” I say. I lean my forehead against the cool window and look out dreamily.

After about an hour, we’re home. My mother has decorated the house beautifully. Strings of Christmas lights glow merrily, and a thick fir wreath with round red ornaments hangs on the front door. My father carries my suitcase up to my old bedroom. It feels kind of strange to be here. I’ve matured so much during my time in England. Am I really the same Lea to whom this shabby teddy bear belonged? Is this my
Pride and Prejudice
movie poster? What compelled me to hang it up? The film wasn’t all that great. Strange. Usually after a long absence—like after my time in Turkey or Lancaster, for instance—I immediately feel at home in this room. Now it seems as though nothing belongs to me. Perhaps I’ve finally become a grown-up under Ethan’s influence. I feel so detached from the things that once belonged to young Lea.

My father puts my suitcase down. “Welcome home, my love,” he says. “Mama says dinner will be ready in half an hour.”

I nod. He leaves, pulling the door closed gently behind him. I throw myself on the bed and stare at the ceiling. There’s my old butterfly mobile, which I made from paper in elementary school. It sways to and fro in the warm air coming from the radiator. A wing from one of the butterflies tore off years ago. I remember I gave it a name—Halbi, or something like that. I made up stories about how the accident happened and how Halbi would be healthy again.

I suddenly jump up, rip the mobile from the ceiling, and throw it in the trash. Without Ethan, I feel like Halbi, missing a wing. What he’s doing now? Does he miss me at all? Does he miss me as much as I miss him? I’m used to Ethan being at the center of my world. All of my thoughts revolve around him and him alone. Should I call him? I’m sure he’ll want to know I arrived okay. I could just send him a text, but I desperately want to hear his deep, velvety voice in my ear.

I dash downstairs to get my phone. My mother, who’s setting the table, smiles warmly at me. “Do you have to use the phone now? Don’t take too long, dinner’s almost ready.”

“Okay, okay,” I mumble and go back up to my room.

The phone rings for quite a while. I almost give up when Ethan answers. In the background, I hear loud voices, laughter, and glasses clinking.

“Hi, little mosquito,” Ethan says. “Did you arrive all right?”

“Yes, I just wanted to let you know.”

“Great, thanks.”

“Do you have a little time to talk?”

“Actually, you caught me at a very bad time. Theo and I are at a pub with a couple of friends. I can hardly hear you, it’s so loud in here.”

“Okay,” I say.

Ethan almost hangs up, but I exclaim quickly, “Stop!”

“Yes? Is there something else?”

“I already miss you terribly.”

Ethan laughs briefly. “Well, I hope so, my little mosquito!” Then he hangs up.

He doesn’t say one word about missing me, too. Well, he was at a pub, with his brother and his friends—female friends?—sitting around him. Under these circumstances, Ethan would rather bite off his tongue than whisper sweet nothings in my ear. I can understand that. I throw myself back onto the bed and stare at my phone. I gained nothing by making that phone call—I feel almost the same as I did before. A tear runs down my cheek, and I wipe it away angrily.
Lea
! I scold myself.
You want to be an adult, so pull yourself together now. Don’t cry. What would your parents think
? I blow my nose and wipe my eyes, then go downstairs.

My mother has prepared the meal with such love; I feel like the prodigal son about to feast on the fatted calf. She serves my favorite ham and cheese. She even bought a pomegranate; they are so hard to find, and I’ve always been quite crazy about them.

“Mama, everything looks so lovely,” I say. “Thank you.”

“We’re just so pleased to have you home.” She beams.

I look at my pleasant surroundings. The house is well heated. I can see the garden from the big window. Dad turned on the outdoor lighting, and I see the first snowflakes gently dancing in the light. In the dining room, we sit down at the large cherrywood table that belonged to my grandparents. Everything is comfortable, tasteful, and spacious. I think about the difference between our home and the Lanes’ cottage. When I remember their camping table, I have to smile.

“What’s so amusing?” my father asks.

“Oh, nothing,” I say, reaching for the bread basket and taking a slice. I don’t think my parents would be terribly interested in my anecdotes. They would think their daughter was pretty dumb to rent a room with such terrible living conditions. It would be embarrassing. My parents exchange glances, but say nothing.

After a while, my mother says, “I’m sure you’ve made some new friends there in England.” She looks at me as if inviting a response. She wants to know if I have a boyfriend. Should I tell them about Ethan? No, I’d better not. What if we break up? Then it would be better if my parents never knew anything about him in the first place. Anyway, I’m an adult. My relationships aren’t really any of my parents’ concern. If we decide to marry, they’ll know soon enough.

Instead I say, “I befriended a nice girl from Brittany. Her name is Catherine.”

“Oh, lovely! Brittany is so beautiful. Maybe you can visit her there one day.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

And that’s how the days go. I just want to relax and enjoy being back home, but my parents want to chat and gossip with me. I have nothing I want to share with them. I want to be left alone so I can think about Ethan. We phone each other almost every day, and every day I feel feverish until the moment I hear his deep voice. Unfortunately, our phone calls are relatively short and dull. Ethan—my gentle, understated Ethan—is just a very taciturn man, and it’s even worse on the phone. During one of our brief conversations, he apologizes to me and says, “I hope you understand it’s a sign of my great affection for you that I call you at all, mosquito, because I hate to talk on the phone.”

Meanwhile, my words spill out like a waterfall just so he doesn’t hang up. I talk and I talk. Ethan then sometimes wearily says, “Dear Lea, must you tell me everything now? We can pick it up again when we’re together in Gatingstone.”

It doesn’t escape my parents’ notice that I’m on the phone so often. “You and the French girl must be very close,” my mother comments.

“Yes,” I say, and change the subject.

The days go by quickly, and soon it’s Christmas Eve. There’s a small, flat package for me under the Christmas tree. My parents look on expectantly as I unwrap it. It’s the special gift my parents promised me. I hold it in my hands, extremely grateful and happy: it’s a brand-new smartphone. I have an old cell phone, and although it’s pretty practical, I can’t get on the Internet with it.

“We also set up a great contract for you,” my dad says. “It covers both Germany and England at a flat rate for an entire year.”

That is so amazing! It’s exactly what I’ve always wanted—and needed. I can now send messages to Ethan to my heart’s content—plus I can e-mail, chat, Skype, and take and send photos anywhere. I throw my arms around my dear parents and thank them profusely.

“I’m glad we got the right thing,” my mother says. “It’s hard to know what will make you happy these days.” Her last sentence sounds a bit fishy, and I’m not the only one who notices it. My father seems shocked, too.

Bright-red splotches appear on her cheeks. This has been happening since she went through menopause, but usually only when she drinks a glass of red wine. “Oh nonsense,” she says immediately. “I didn’t mean it like that!”

But my father furrows his brow. His forehead is very high, so there are quite a lot of wrinkles. “No, Elsa. Now that you’ve mentioned it, you should stand by what you said.” He turns to me. “We are both worried about you, Lea.”