A Hopeless Romantic Part 17

"Cole."

"Exactly," said Nick. "You don't even know his first name."

"Yes, I do," said Laura. "Joe. No! Ashley! Ashley! And the French bloke. Thierry Henry. There."

"Right, right," said Nick, pus.h.i.+ng aside a protruding branch and waiting for Laura to pa.s.s by. They were walking through the wood to the south of the house, having met at the north entrance. "Yes, of course, so you can name two members of one of the most famous football clubs in the world, so that makes you a really big fan of theirs."

"I like them," said Laura obstinately.

"I'm sure you do. I'm just saying, you like them because you live in North London and you're deeply middle-cla.s.s and think you have to support a.r.s.enal as a result."

"That's not true, and don't be rude to your guests," said Laura. The evening suns.h.i.+ne was filtering through the branches, creating a kaleidoscopic effect of hundreds of tiny flecks of light s.h.i.+mmering over them in the slight breeze. "Where now?"

"I thought we'd walk over toward the pond, then out to the village. There's a nice pub there, too, we can have a drink."

"Great," said Laura, following her host along the path. Even after a summer of suns.h.i.+ne, it was dark and damp, and the way was cool after the heat of the day. It was deliciously green, the air mossy and moist, in contrast to the already parched, yellowing land of the fields nearby, dry and brittle now that summer was so far advanced.

"So," said Laura, breathing deeply, enjoying the cool on her arms, "what did you do today?"

"Today?"

"Yes."

"Why?" said Nick, fiddling in his pocket for something.

"Well," said Laura, slightly taken aback. "I wasn't being nosy. I just wanted to know. I have no idea what someone like you does all day."

"G.o.d, no, sorry," said Nick. "I was...thinking of something I forgot at the house. Sorry. Of course. Right." He took his hand out of his pocket, picking a switch off a tree as they pa.s.sed. "Today-well. I spent the morning in the kitchen garden with Fletcher-he's the head gardener-talking about what our yield will be this year. What we're likely to get, where we'll put it, and so on. How much we can use. I want the estate to be as self-sufficient as possible, you see."

"Right," said Laura. "Is that possible?"

"Not really, no," said Nick, laughing. "Although we do make all our own jam and scones for the tea shop, which I'm very proud of. All Chartley products, which is good, isn't it?"

"That's great."

He picked a flower growing out of the mossy bank nearby. "Here. Have a white campion." He handed it to her, and she took it, startled. "Especially when you realize how many d.a.m.n cream teas we sell on a day like today."

"Must be hundreds," Laura said, tucking the flower behind her ear.

"Hm? Oh, yes, it is. Hundreds and hundreds. We have nearly a hundred thousand visitors a year, did you know that?"

"Oh, my G.o.d," said Laura. "Seriously?"

"Absolutely." Nick tapped a tree with his branch. "All of them wanting a slice of heritage. They come, they have their cream teas, they see the tapestry and the Hogarths and the staircase, and they wander round and hopefully buy a tea towel, and then they go home."

"It's bizarre," said Laura.

"No," said Nick. His voice was determined. "It's not. It's great that they want to come, and it's our job to make sure they have a good time. I feel...we need to make it somewhere people feel genuinely welcomed."

"And do you think it is?" said Laura, remembering how she'd criticized it yesterday. He read her thoughts.

"Well...yes and no. I've been thinking about what you said, you know."

Laura looked down at her feet as she followed the path. "I'm sorry. I was really rude."

"No, you were honest. Which, believe me, people usually aren't."

"Honesty's not always the best policy," said Laura ruefully.

"It is," said Nick. "Really it is." He stopped. "Anyway, I-it was helpful."

"Are you going to talk to Charles about it?" said Laura.

"Charles? Oh-yes. Yes, I suppose I am."

"That's nice of you!" said Laura, laughing.

"Ha," he said. "Yes. You're right, though. I-we should do something about it."

"Get the sign repainted," said Laura.

"The what?" His face was blank. "What sign?"

"When you arrive, on the drive," said Laura. "The sign looks awful. It's the entrance to the house, and it's cracked and peeling, and it just looks like the place is falling apart. And your sister and that bloke in the ticket booth," she continued, getting into her stride. "Sorry, but I don't think that's what Charles would want people's first impression of the house to be. Especially when they're paying fifteen quid for the privilege. You need some friendly, nice, welcoming person who says they're just completely delighted you're there and gives you a guidebook and is sensible."

"That flower suits you, in your hair," Nick said. "You're pretty when you rant, did you know that?"

Laura felt herself going red. "Am I?" she said, rather stupidly.

"Yes," he said solemnly. "You are. Well, don't get distracted. I take your point. You're saying an encounter with a randy young woman and some confused, exploited, s.e.x-mad youth isn't the right way to say 'Welcome to Chartley'? Well, I can't think why. Look, here we are. Here's the pond."

They had come to the edge of the wood, and he stopped, Laura next to him. In front of them was a wide expanse of water surrounded by thick gray reeds waving gently in the breeze. Over on the other side was a tiny bridge of golden stone, and a stream flowed under it, cutting through the gra.s.s. They were high up, Laura realized-she looked over in wonderment and there, as the land sloped away, was Chartley Hall below them, a hundred yards or so in the distance. They were looking at the north side and the back view, with the formal gardens stretching out behind the house. The dark green of the tiny formal hedges looked like perfectly drawn letters of the alphabet, a secret message to someone. The stream ran away through the landscape, following the contours of the hill until it reached the formal gardens, where it became part of the layout, flowing into the fountains at the foot of the terraces, sparkling in the setting sun. The stone of the house glowed; on the terraces there were people, tiny as ants, taking pictures, sitting in the sun. Around them was the green of the landscaped park, the dull gray-yellow of the shorn fields, rolls of hay puckering the view, and in the distance to the north, the thin blue band of the sea, behind the wood at the north of the park. The people looked so small, incongruous, compared to the breathtaking size and grandeur of the house and its surroundings. Laura turned to her companion to say this to him, and found him watching her, a strange expression on his face. He leaned toward her, and then very slightly stepped back.

"You like it?" he said.

Laura laughed. "It's okay." She looked out again, not wanting to move. "You are lucky, living here, you know."

"I know," Nick said. "I'm very lucky." He checked his watch suddenly. "Right. Shall we get a drink? It's not that long to Chartley village. Have you got time?"

"Oh, yes," said Laura. It was nearly eight. "I told my parents I didn't know when I'd be back."

"Don't you feel horrible?" said Nick gravely. "Lying to them, making them think some imaginary friend of yours is in trouble."

"She's not imaginary," said Laura. "I used to work with her."

"Naomi. Excellent. Poor Naomi."

"She doesn't even know I'm here," said Laura. "I shouldn't think she's losing sleep over it; she wasn't even that nice. She..."

"What?"

"Nothing."

Laura felt a bit embarra.s.sed. In fact, Naomi had stopped speaking to Laura when she'd finished with Josh-they'd all worked together. She'd told Laura she was a b.i.t.c.h, and that Josh deserved much better than her. Naomi had then got really drunk at Rachel's birthday do a couple of months later-G.o.d, they were fun, those evenings, especially Rachel's birthdays-and thrown herself at him. Josh had politely said no, and then no again and again, as she virtually started to stalk him. People at work had said that was why he'd moved to Australia-to get away from her-and Naomi had moved to Norfolk to try to live down her stalker shame. So it was hardly likely she'd be overjoyed to hear from Laura, really.

"Go on," said Nick, putting his finger on his chin. "I'm all curious now."

So Laura told him about Naomi. He was highly amused, and let out a yelp of laughter. "She sounds lovely."

"She was pretty awful. I feel sorry for the wetlands, you know, being looked after by her."

"Well, I love her," said Nick firmly, as they turned their backs on the view and walked south toward the gate.

"Don't."

"I owe her a lot. Thanks to her, I'm your best Norfolk friend. Right," he said, walking swiftly on.

They walked across the high, wide downs at the top of the park, then through a gate that led them out of the grounds onto the road, Nick chewing bits of gra.s.s and telling Laura the names of the various flowers along the banks. Laura picked a bouquet of flowers in the hedgerows, some hedge parsley, vetch, goosegra.s.s, and pale pink dog roses, already in bloom. They chatted, not really saying much, walking easily, soaking up the sun as they approached Chartley, skirted the edge of the village, and came to the Needham Arms at the top end of the High Street.

The interior of the pub was small and dark, and though it was nearly empty, Laura noted, impressed and amused at the same time, that Nick was greeted like a young prince, rather than the bloke from the estate.

"What do you want?" he asked Laura, looking down at her as they stood by the bar.

"I'll have a pint, please," said Laura firmly.

"You don't want any-"

"No, thanks," said Laura. He nudged her. "Oh, all right, then," she said, giving in.

Nick turned to the barman. "Sorry. A Pimm's, please. No, make that two."

"Good choice," said Laura, and they nodded at each other, smiling, as the barman watched them curiously.

They were ushered to a quiet parlor at the back, and Laura was touched to be given a wet napkin by the barman in which to wrap her flowers.

"Does Charles ever come in here?" Laura asked, once they were settled. She was more and more curious about the elusive, shy marquis and how he coped with his role. He seemed too, well, old-fas.h.i.+oned to actually be able to keep up to speed with the needs of the estate, more like someone who'd be happier in the library deciphering obscure Latin texts.

"No," said Nick. "Not really his scene."

"It must be difficult for him."

"How?" said Nick.

"Well," said Laura. "Because he's..." She trailed off.

"Tall? Got pustulating boils on his face? Two noses?" said Nick. "What?"

"Well, because of who he is. The marquis." Laura spoke in a whisper.

"Why should it make any difference?" said Nick. He sounded impatient. "Why shouldn't he come in here?"

"All right, all right, don't get s.h.i.+rty with me," said Laura, trying to make a joke out of it.

"Well, he's a person," said Nick, his voice still sharp. "He's not an alien, you know. It says NO DOGS outside. It doesn't say DON'T COME IN, YOU'RE TOO POSH, does it?"

"You're impossible," said Laura.

He relaxed and smiled at her. "You're right. One more drink?" he said.

"One more. I'll go," Laura said, standing up. "I'll watch out for any aristocratic-looking people trying to get in and eject them. Don't worry."

"Thanks," said Nick. "That's a weight off my mind."

She came back bearing the drinks and sat down. Nick took a sip from his and said suddenly, "So, Laura. Can I ask you something?"

"Anything," said Laura recklessly.

Nick paused. "Well..." He looked carefully at her, and put his gla.s.s down on the table. "What's your favorite film?"

"Ha," said Laura. Her heart, which had been beating loudly, slowed down again. "That's a hard one, you know. What's yours?"

"Raiders of the Lost Ark," said Nick. "Seriously," he added, as Laura looked surprised.

"I agree," said Laura. "I'm just surprised you think so."

"Why?"

"Well..." She paused. "I'd have thought you were more of a...G.o.dfather, Citizen Kane kind of guy. You know-films with themes."

Nick obviously found this amusing. "I like that. You think of me as this serious, grown-up man who relaxes by reading biographies of Hitler, don't you?"

"Er, a bit," said Laura. "And I don't know why, when-" She broke off, not wanting to sound rude. When your life on the estate is quite easygoing, even if it is hard work, and Charles is obviously a good boss, and you seem to have quite a nice life, so why are you so closed-off and p.r.i.c.kly about so many things? Why don't I know your surname?

"When what?" said Nick.

"Nothing," she said, smiling at him. "Nothing." She put her hand on his arm impulsively. "It's my favorite film, too."

"Really?"

"Yes," said Laura. "Didn't used to be. It used to be, er-The Sound of Music or Four Weddings and a Funeral. When I was into all of that."

"All of what?" said Nick. "It's not crack cocaine, they're just films."

She shook her head, trying to explain without explaining, not wanting to give herself away-and then realized she was doing exactly the same thing as he was, closing herself off, and it was weird but okay. "Ah..." she said. "When I was younger. And more stupid. Than I am now." She looked down.

"Okay," said Nick, nodding as if he understood. He stroked her arm gently, just once. "I'm going to ask you something else, then."

"Yes?" said Laura, staring at the table.