Lady: Impossible (49 page)

So is honesty.
 

He’s putting himself out there, being bold when he normally wouldn’t. I owe him honesty, not because he’s pouring money into this trip, but because it’s the right thing to do. Tricking him seems infinitely callous now that we’re here opening up to each other.

I struggle to get the words out. ‘The upkeep of the place… The tour and studio work… Um.’ I wince at my poor elocution. ‘I’m trying to be realistic.’

He drums his fingers on the table, a coolness descending over his features. ‘Ah.’

Of course, I immediately start questioning my thought process. The cogs must be turning in his brain. Numbers are being crunched, timing is being assessed and, of course, motives are being examined. His eyes dart left, right and down, while mine stare fixedly to the left as I imagine being thrown into the lagoon. Drowning is a fitting metaphor, as I am certainly in over my head here.
 

I just admitted – albeit only partially and cryptically – that I am not as wealthy as I seem. And if I’m not as wealthy as I seem, then the question ‘Why not?’ naturally presents itself. The answer to that question, whichever way it is phrased or parcelled, is that my family is experiencing financial troubles.
 

I bow my head and try to calculate my share of the dinner so far. I’m pretty sure I can cover it, but if he refuses to pay for my suite, then I might have to take up a job in the kitchen washing dishes.
 

‘Millie?’ His voice is stern, though I think he may be shaken.
 

‘Please don’t blame Polly,’ I say in a small voice, afraid to look up at him.
 

‘Millie, look at me.’

I acquiesce, meeting his gaze even though I’m petrified of the tongue-lashing that will surely come next. However, the look he’s giving me is a curious one. It’s not one I’m used to seeing.

I think it’s gratitude, or at least a muted version of it.

‘A true gold-digger would be shameless in this situation. You seem awfully cut up about possibly misleading me.’

He’s impressed by my honesty? Oliver Paten-Pryce, who wouldn’t even take me to the opera for fear of being seen out with me, is impressed that I’m ashamed?

I touch my hair self-consciously. ‘I have to admit I only attended half my gold-digging classes. Not only do I always think I’m better than everyone, but I couldn’t afford the rest of the tuition, not when there are shoes to be bought and caviar to eat.’

‘So money is tight at the moment?’

‘Yes.’

‘We’ve only been dining for an hour. What if I’d been too angry and left without paying the bill?’

‘I’ve already thought about that.’ I hook my thumb over my shoulder. ‘I’m sure they need an extra dish-washer in the kitchen. That’s what always happens in films when someone can’t pay the bill. It might be a visa violation and, in all honesty, I’m not sure whether dish-washers wash dishes by hand anymore or just rinse them for the industrial dishwasher but I’d still do it.’

He offers me a small smile, again surprising me with his level of calm. ‘I suppose I’ve frightened you in some regard, what with the cancellation last time. I must admit my problem with Al isn’t all about the debt and the shameless partying.’

‘It’s not?’
 

‘No, not completely.’ He pauses, pensive for a brief moment. ‘Do you miss him?’

The question strikes me as deeply personal for some reason. Everyone knows he’s not around. It’s just that most people care more about the fact that he’s a pariah rather than the fact it hurts that he’s not present in my life.
 

‘Yes, I do miss him.’

Oliver is suddenly animated, leaning forward and gesturing with his hand. ‘I hate that he has no sense of obligation, no loyalty. Forgive me, my words are strong and probably out of line, but I have to say it. He lives in this vacuum… It’s preposterous to think he is the next Earl of Silsbury. Yes, titles may not mean as much anymore, but if there’s ever a title befitting of him it’s “coward”. A real man wouldn’t abandon his duties for flights of fancy. I don’t want to be associated with people like that and, when it came to our original first date, Millie, I got spooked by association. I’m so sorry I ever thought you might be like him in any way.’

It’s such a strong statement, so passionate, that all I can do is sit and blink at him.
 

He leans back, shoulders slumped, and sighs with regret. ‘I’m sorry. I should’ve kept that to myself.’

‘No, it’s okay.’ I think of Al’s latest postcard: of the cider, apples and the setting sun. My brother is on a perpetual holiday – perhaps he is too cowardly to face up to real life.

‘So, you’re not cross with me?’

‘Actually, it’s good to hear, in a way. I’ve been so petrified of telling you about any financial issues on my side, thinking you’d bolt because of our notoriety. This is a new dimension to it all.’

He fidgets with his wine glass, fingers on the stem, pushing here and there. ‘The notoriety is still a bit of an issue,’ he says gingerly. ‘But it’s Al’s character that really gets to me. I’d presumed it was his upbringing – traits the family might have.’

I laugh bitterly. ‘My mother doesn’t have the most credible reputation either, not in London, anyway. Everyone has their flaws.’

‘Me included.’

‘Oh, me too.’ I try to squash any thought of my own personal scandal: Blair. ‘Sometimes it’s a question of whether people are aware of their issues and, if so, whether they’re able to tackle them.’

He leans forward again, elbow on the table. ‘You’re one of a kind, you know that? The one and only Emilia Pembroke.’

‘I hope that’s a compliment. Faulty goods can also be one of a kind.’

‘It’s definitely a compliment.’ The mood suddenly becomes heavy again, perhaps with the weight of expectation. ‘Listen, I may not get out much, but I’ve had my fair share of money-hungry women come after me. If you like my money, that’s okay. I like my money too. But you have to like me. You do like me, don’t you?’

I nod vigorously, finding his insecurity endearing. ‘I like you.’

‘Okay.’ He takes a deep breath and exhales, rubbing his forehead. ‘Is this all a bit too serious for a first date?’

‘Nothing you and I can’t handle.’

‘Well, how about we keep it light for the rest of the evening?’

‘Sure.’ I raise my glass. ‘To first dates and keeping them light.’

‘Cheers.’

We clink our glasses, sip our wine
and by the time the next course comes around, the undercurrent of tension has eased considerably. We discuss our travels, our uni days and our favourite films, and then somehow return to travel. When dessert comes around, we’re back to laughing about ski chalets, comparing the resorts of the Swiss Alps with those of Aspen and elsewhere.
 

He’s seen what I’ve seen, experienced what I have. We can talk about the food at Noma, judge the best hotels in New York, dissect recent art exhibitions at the Louvre and, rather topically, lambast every woeful production of La Bohème staged in recent history. I can imagine myself on his arm and not whining about what we’re doing or where we’re going. The catch at the moment is that we have to keep a low profile, but this limitation can’t last forever. I just have to wait a while.

Oliver checks his watch after we finish dessert. It’s almost eleven.
 

I’m not sure what we can do now. The aquarium is closed for the night, as is the spa and all the sports facilities (yes, because I’m dying to play sports on a full stomach). I ask Oliver what time he normally goes to bed and he says it varies depending on how early he’s expected in the office the next morning, and how exhausted he is from staying back late in the first place. He then apologises for the lack of forward planning, saying he’ll do better tomorrow.
 

‘I thought it would be too forward of me to make after-dinner plans,’ he says, signing for the dinner to be charged to his account. ‘Like I said, I’m not very good at this sort of thing. We could go to the nightclub, but I think we’re a little too old to party. Plus, I’m stuffed and will probably get a stitch on the dancefloor.’

I laugh at the visual. ‘According to the literature in the suite, the nightclub is named N’Dulge, as in N-apostrophe-Dulge. I don’t think I can bring myself to dance in a grammatically challenged arena – making up words is fine, but contracting real words in an effort to be “cool” really irks me. Breaking it down on the dancefloor is one thing. Breaking down singular words is another.’

He pretends to contemplate this seriously, eyebrows knitting in concern. ‘I see your point.’

‘And I had to wake up early this morning to get to Heathrow on time as well.’

‘That’s right. I forgot about that.’

I fight the urge to mutter, ‘so did I’. The car journey with Blair was gut-wrenchingly difficult, but here I am enjoying my time with Oliver. It’s rare that five minutes have gone by without a Blair-related thought swimming through my head. Perhaps I am making progress after all.

‘Everything okay?’ Oliver asks. ‘Light years away again?’

‘Yes, sorry.’ I quickly shake my head. ‘I was thinking about the journey. Did you know there are blogs where people upload pictures of in-flight meals? Sorted by airline and route and everything. I should’ve taken pictures and scrapbooked them.’

‘There’s always the flight back.’

‘True.’

Oh my God. The flight back. Heathrow. Blair will be picking me up from the airport on Sunday, just like when I first met him.

‘You’re taking the pictures in your head now, aren’t you?’

I jump. ‘Sorry? I mean, yes. I’m in a dark room, developing the photos. Won’t happen again. All digital from now on.’

Thank goodness he seems to take it all in his stride, finding me entertaining instead of rude. ‘I feel sorry for Kodak sometimes.’

‘No such thing as a Kodak moment anymore?’

‘I guess not. They should’ve had you around. You would’ve told them to diversify.’

‘You have to be ahead of the curve. So far ahead that you’ve left the curve behind.’

‘Create a new curve.’

‘Yes, innovate.’

We grin goofily at each other. If the fish in the lagoon could roll their eyes, they’d be doing so.

‘Shall I walk you back to your room?’ Oliver asks.

‘Can you walk directly behind me like you’re my shadow? I believe they call this “ghosting”?’

‘Or I could hold your hand?’

‘While ghosting?’

‘No, while walking beside you.’

‘All right, be adjacent. If you must.’

And adjacent he is, holding my hand all the way back to the room. This time he kisses me on the cheek, reciprocating my earlier gesture. Again, I blush instantly, causing him to touch my cheek afterwards and ask if I’m okay. I say yes, all while gazing into his brown eyes and wondering if I should kiss him goodnight properly.

Oliver steps back before I can make a decision, employing his gentlemanly routine and letting me retire for the night. It’s a relief actually, to have the choice taken away, because the Blair comparisons start up again. Up close, Oliver smells like Polo Blue by Ralph Lauren, crisp and earthy. It’s a different scent to whatever cologne Blair wears – it’s less spicy, less citrusy.
 

As soon as I enter the suite, I experience the panic that people get when they think they’re losing hold of a memory. I slept in Blair’s arms just over a week ago. I should remember his scent with much more clarity. Yet the more I try to remember, the less I can recall.
 

How terrible it must be to be left behind.

I circle the suite, walking in and out of partitioned areas with no particular aim in mind. Every time I see one of the room’s many telephones, I think of calling home just to hear his voice. It’s not right that I feel this way, not when I’m finally getting somewhere with Oliver, and not when he can apparently look past the money issue.

However, despite this awareness, the urge to call home is undeniable.

With my bag still in hand, I leave the suite, closing the door softly so Oliver doesn’t hear from next door. I then power-walk to the lift, only to feel claustrophobic once I’m inside. Since arriving, I’ve taken the lift with Oliver three times, and not once did I ask him about feeling scared. He was stuck in a lift in Berlin – the incident completely escaped my memory. Maybe I would’ve remembered had he been frightened at any point, but he wasn’t.
 

I don’t even know why this is contributing to my panic. All I want to do is get to a shop where I can buy a phone card. It’s only when the lift stops at the fifth floor to let on a friendly elderly couple that I realise I can buy one online, and that the suite has complimentary internet access. I hurry out of the lift, pretending it was my intended destination all along, before pressing the ‘up’ button.

I’m losing my mind here. Even if I did call Blair, what would I even say? ‘Hi, it’s Millie. I’m not calling because I’m lonely. I’m calling because I’m freaking out about replacing you in any way, shape or form.
’

Somehow I convince myself that I’ll be able to come up with something better in the next five minutes. I hop onto my laptop once I’m back in the suite and buy access to a phone number that will let me call the UK cheaply. Copying Blair’s mobile number onto the notepad next to the landline, I ask myself again if this is really a call I should be making.

The person I should be calling is my mother. After all, I told Oliver about our financial difficulties, something I know she’ll be uncomfortable with. The situation is a result of Father’s failings and here I am disclosing the gist of it, even if doing so is indeed the noble thing to do (no pun intended).
 

I stand at the office desk, my finger hovering over the keypad. Call Mother? Call Blair? Call no one?

Instead, I call my father, punching in his number from memory. I almost trip over my own legs as I shuffle nervously on the spot, each ring reverberating in my ears like an alarm.

Thankfully, he picks up on the fifth ring. ‘Lord Silsbury speaking.’

‘Father, it’s Millie. I’m so sorry. I told Oliver that money is a bit of a problem at the moment. I had to – I felt like I was being dishonest.’ I take a deep breath, incredibly relieved to have confessed. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you look bad.’