A Hopeless Romantic Part 20

"No," said Nick, trying not to smile. "She's a very elegant lady from a very expensive agency, and I'm terrified of her." He handed her a gla.s.s of wine. "Charles persuaded me."

"To ask her to do a picnic?" said Laura incredulously.

"Yes," said Nick. "I know. Pathetic."

"A bit," said Laura. She laughed. "I don't get it."

"What?" said Nick.

"Your relations.h.i.+p with him, I really don't. If I was him, I'd have cleared out long ago."

"Relations.h.i.+ps are funny things," said Nick. "Now, have some wine."

He clinked her gla.s.s.

"Talking of relations.h.i.+ps..." said Laura carefully.

Nick looked up. "What?" he said.

"It's stupid of me to ask," said Laura, hating herself for remembering in the first place. "My mum mentioned it-when we were coming back from Chartley, after I'd just met you."

"Yes?" said Nick. He put his hand on her ankle, which was the bit of her nearest to him.

"She read it in the paper," said Laura. "Believe me, I don't read that kind of thing. She loves it. It's none of my business anyway."

"What on earth are you talking about?" said Nick, rolling over so he was facing her.

"You've got a girlfriend, haven't you?" Laura said.

"Laura," said Nick. "Don't."

"It was Cecilia something, wasn't it? Oh, G.o.d. I shouldn't have mentioned it."

Nick shook his head. "Cecilia Thorson. It's not true." He drank some wine.

Laura said uncertainly, "But Mum said she saw a picture of Cecilia Whatsis and the Marquis of Ranelagh in the paper, and it said they were going to get engaged."

"That's what she thinks," said Nick roughly. "Let's not talk about it, please, Laura?"

She was silent, a worm of fear crawling through her, turning the wine in her stomach into vinegar. This was how it was going to be, wasn't it? Did she really not matter at all to him? Was she just a holiday fling while his posh girlfriend was away? Already things were different, were altered, because of who he was. It was unfair-and it wasn't right, most of all.

"No, Nick," she said suddenly. "Tell me. I can't help knowing it, can I? You owe me that much, after all. Come on. I know it's hard for you-but it's hard for me, too, having just found out. And really"-she flung up her hands in a fleeting gesture-"it's not as if we're married. We've only just met."

His face softened. "You're right," he said. "It's ridiculous, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be even bothering you with all that stuff." He put his hand on her ankle again, and she put her hand on top of his and moved closer.

"Cecilia-she thinks she's seeing me. But she's not."

"Right," said Laura, confused. "What the h.e.l.l does that mean?"

Nick sat up. "It doesn't mean anything. I'm single. I swear to you. But she-we were set up, by my sister Rose. Her husband, Malcolm-he works in the City. He knows Cecilia's parents, the Thorsons. When Dad died two years ago, he was very helpful when I had to move to Chartley, take over the house."

"How?" said Laura.

"Dad-well, he hadn't been the same since my mother left. You know. Things were starting to slide, and he'd left some significant debts. Malcolm was very helpful; so was Lars Thorson. They gave me advice, helped make some investments, so I could get things on an even keel again, or begin to."

Laura felt a rush of admiration for him, again. "It's only been two years?"

"Yes," Nick said. He waved it aside. "Anyway. Cecilia. They set us up, and we went out on a few dates, to a few parties in town, that sort of thing. Charity dos, you know. But that's it."

Charity dos. Parties in town. It sounded hilariously unlike Laura's life; the gap was so wide, she could have laughed-perhaps that would have got rid of the sick feeling she had. "So you haven't slept together or anything," she said, trying to be calm.

Nick looked uncertain. "Well," he said. "Yes, we slept together, of course."

Boys, Laura thought. I love the way their idea of not going out with people is completely different from girls'. "Right," she said.

"But she's-um. I finished it with her, last month. Not that there was anything to finish, but I didn't want her getting the wrong idea."

"The wrong idea?"

"We're not compatible," Nick said. "She's obsessed with the house, all that. Having a t.i.tle. And I can't stand that kind of stuff. It's tacky."

"Oh, I don't know," Laura said, feeling some sympathy for Cecilia. "The old me-wow, I'd have loved that."

"Who's the old me?" said Nick. He topped up her gla.s.s. "Is this something else you haven't told me? Do you have two personalities?"

"No," said Laura, trying to think how best to explain herself. "No, it's stupid. Just-the old me, well..." She ran her hand through her hair. "Nothing."

"Go on," said Nick. "I won't laugh, I promise."

"Well, I was a bit...head in the clouds," Laura said. "Fairy tales and all that. I wanted to meet Prince Charming. It got me into a lot of trouble."

"Really."

"Yes, it did. Well, not anymore. I threw away all my videos. There," she said fervently. "I haven't told anyone that."

"What videos?" said Nick, bewildered.

Laura reddened. "Forget it. Just...stupid films and stuff. And books and things. I only read improving books now. And I watch interesting foreign-language films."

"You do?" said Nick. "What interesting foreign-language films have you seen recently?"

"Er. I haven't yet. But I'm going to when I get back to town. You know what it's like. Well, you don't," she said, wondering if Nick ever went to the cinema. Perhaps he had his own private cinema. No, he didn't seem the type, really. Suddenly a mental image of him dressed like the postcard of his ancestor, all medals and morning dress, striding into the King's Lynn multiplex popped into her head, and she laughed. The wine in her gla.s.s slopped over onto the blanket and her arm. "Sorry," she said, and knelt up to reach for a napkin.

"Here," Nick said. He leaned over her, caught her arm, and wiped it with a tea towel, rubbing the bare skin gently. They looked at each other, saying nothing, and Laura sat back down again.

"So," he said. "We're okay, then? The Cecilia thing? I'm not avoiding it, it's just that it's nothing."

"No, I know," said Laura. "It's just a bit weird. I don't want you to think I'm making a big deal about it either. It's just, there's lots I don't know about."

"I know," he said after a moment's pause. "And I'm sorry. For being uncommunicative. I don't like talking about myself much. As you may have noticed."

"Just a bit," said Laura.

"Even to you," he said.

"But-" Laura was taken aback. "I hardly know you."

"Yes and no," said Nick. "Does that make sense?"

"It makes a lot of sense," said Laura. "When I think that a week ago I'd never met you-that's weird."

"It is," he said. "It's almost unbelievable."

They looked at each other, and fell silent.

Nick produced a bottle of whisky as it grew colder, and poured some into Laura's gla.s.s.

"Here, have this, it's getting chilly," he said, and threw her his sweater.

Laura took it gratefully and put it on. She didn't want to move or dispel the magic charm of the evening, knowing that when they left more things would be said, things would change; wanting to leave it like this, perfect, suspended in a bubble. She wrapped her hands round the gla.s.s, gazing contemplatively across the sand.

"It's getting late," said Nick after a while.

"Yes," said Laura, looking out at the dark petrol gray of the sea in the night.

"You're not driving, are you?" he said, laughter in his voice.

"I brought the car, yes," said Laura. She rolled over on the blanket, so she was facing him.

"So..." Nick said. He put his hand on her shoulder. His skin felt warm against hers.

She said, "But I don't think I can drive it home."

"Ah," said Nick softly, and she could feel his breath in her ear, on her neck. "I was kind of hoping you'd say that."

"So..."

He sat up and leaned over Laura in one fluid motion, his hands on either side of her arms. She said nothing, just lay there and looked up at him, watching him and, behind him, the stars in the black sky.

"Laura-" he said. "G.o.d."

"Yes?" she said softly.

"You are coming back with me, aren't you?"

"Yes," she said, reaching up and putting her arms around him. He lowered himself gently onto her and kissed her once. Then he groaned and sat back.

"Let's go home," he said. "Let's not waste any more time, Laura. Let's get back." He stood up and held out his hand, pulling her up. "It's definitely your last night, isn't it?"

"Yes," said Laura. "Nick-don't let's-"

"I know." He nodded. "No big deal. You can't stay for one more night, can you? It's just-"

"No," she said firmly. "I can't." They were still for a moment, and Laura felt incredibly sad, and she didn't know why.

"Here," he said, suddenly practical. "Take this blanket. And, oh, I'd better warn you. Just-watch out for my sister."

"Lavinia?" said Laura.

"I'm not worried about Lavinia so much. No, Rose. We don't want to b.u.mp into her. Disaster if she saw us."

"Right," said Laura, feeling like a s.l.u.ttish scullery maid being seduced by the master in Upstairs Downstairs. "I'll be careful," she said, brus.h.i.+ng the sand off her dress.

chapter twenty-four.

T hey walked back, talking quietly, until they reached the edge of the house again, as they had done two nights earlier. Laura felt as if she were in Groundhog Day, or Groundhog Day meets Gosford Park. She said so to Nick, who laughed. He reached over to kiss her, but broke away, looked up, and said under his breath, "d.a.m.n."

"What?"

"Rose is still up-look, there's her light."

"I don't mind-" Laura began, but Nick took her hand.

"It'll be a real pain if she sees us."

"Yes, of course," Laura said automatically, wondering if she should offer to fold herself up and climb into the cooler box.

"I know," said Nick suddenly. "I've got an idea. Come with me."

He led her down the path and through the trees, so that they skirted the house, which was almost entirely in darkness. This was his home, Laura thought as she followed him, shaking her head in disbelief at what she was doing.

Finally they came to the front of the house, their feet crunching quietly on the gravel.

"We'll go in through the front door," said Nick. "Rose is at the back, she won't hear, and the people who live on this side won't notice. They'll just think it's Sam, one of the footmen, doing his rounds."

"Er...through the front door? Right," said Laura, bemused by the mention of footmen.

They walked up to the center of the great facade and up the stairs, which Laura had climbed only two days before, dragging her heels behind her mother's exclamations of pleasure and her father's comments about Doric columns. On the small, bal.u.s.traded terrace before the black-paneled door, almost twice the size of Laura's whole sitting room, Nick paused and rummaged in his jacket.

"Keys. Ah, here they are."

He slid a huge bra.s.s key into the lock, turned it smoothly, and pushed the door open. He smiled sardonically, as if he were aware of the strangeness of the situation, and inclined his head.