A Hopeless Romantic Part 35

"Forget it. So, what are you going to do? About the money, I mean?" said Charles.

"I have ways and means," said Laura, smiling with a confidence she didn't feel.

"Good for you," said Charles. "I bet you do," and he patted her shoulder rea.s.suringly.

That was almost too much for Laura. She gulped, and said in a wavering tone, "Thanks, Charles. Thanks a lot," and he gave her a quick, slight grin as they stood together in silence.

"Where are you going now?" Charles asked as they finally reached the lobby. He looked out through the doors onto the Strand, staring thoughtfully at the rain as it splashed into puddles.

"Well," said Laura, looking at her watch. "G.o.d, it's still early-ish, isn't it? I think I'm going to head into Soho." She took a deep breath and said, "Actually, I want to go home. I'm really tired and I need to-to think it all through." She looked up at him. "I think I'm going to get a-oh."

As if in a dream, Laura saw Nick arriving, patting Charles's shoulder; saw him as he saw her, raised his chin, faced her. She saw all of this as if they were underwater, moving slowly; as if it were someone else instead and she had no control over what she said or did.

Charles said, "I'll go and see where the car is." He nodded politely at Laura, and stepped aside.

"Laura," said Nick. His expression held no emotion whatsoever. "Nice to see you."

He looked at his fingers, flicked something imaginary from one of his nails, and smiled at her. His expression was cold and his dark eyes rested just above her head. It was strange; she remembered his eyes as being so full of warmth, emotion, flas.h.i.+ng with anger or amus.e.m.e.nt, and to see him like this was-it was almost like seeing a corpse, a waxwork of him. This wasn't the Nick she knew.

This is who you are, isn't it? Laura thought in a flash of clarity. You really are this person most of the time. She looked at him, and didn't know what to say. The events of the evening were catching up with her.

"I have to go," she said, starting away.

"Of course," said Nick, his voice slightly raised. "Well. Goodbye, then."

Laura looked back at him. "Say goodbye to Charles for me, will you? Tell him I couldn't stay."

She headed for the door, and felt a hand on her arm.

"It's raining," said Nick's voice in her ear. "Look, Laura, why don't we give you a lift to wherever you're going?"

"No, thanks," said Laura desperately. "I'll get a cab."

She turned to look at the steady column of men and women in evening dress, fluttering and cooing on the pavement outside as the rain came down more heavily and steaming cabs already filled with pa.s.sengers pa.s.sed by.

"It's pouring with rain, everyone's leaving, you're wearing virtually nothing. You'll never get a taxi, so just stay here and I'll drop you off."

"I..." Laura said, shaking his hand off her arm, very tired. "Oh, please just let me go...."

"Come on, Laura," said Nick. "Let us give you a lift. Please." His jaw was set. He said, not looking at her, "Charles is with me, he can keep the peace."

"Honestly, don't worry," Laura said, her mother's fear of socially awkward situations settling over her like a cloud. "I live in North London, it's miles away."

"Well, that's perfect," said Nick. "We're going that way anyway." He unwrapped his scarf. "Great. There's Charles." He hailed his friend. "What news?"

"Car's outside, Nick," said Charles.

"We're giving Laura a lift back to North London," said Nick. "Because it's on our way."

Charles's expression didn't flicker. "Great," he said. "Let's go."

He opened the door for Laura, and she felt something light drop onto her shoulders, over her thin evening cape. She looked down. It was a scarf.

"Keep the rain off," Nick said. Out on the pavement, a smartly dressed man was rus.h.i.+ng forward with an umbrella. Nick put his arm under hers; she felt the slight pressure of his hand guiding her. Her eyelids were heavy; and she felt dizzy all of a sudden. She climbed into the car and straightened her skirt, pulling it over her thighs; he stood looking down at her for a moment, and shut the door with a bang. She heard him throw the umbrella into the back, then have a brief conversation with the driver as Charles slid into the front seat next to the driver, and Nick got in next to her. The car smelled of leather, luxurious, oddly stifling.

"Thanks, Paul." Nick nodded at the driver, and they moved away without noise.

chapter forty-three.

S he may have been feeling totally drained, and wanting to bang her head on the window, but Laura was a trooper. No matter that the evening had begun badly and ended disastrously-she briefly considered whether there was any chance the Marcus she had left semiconscious at the dinner table could still be the Marcus who would ring up on Monday with a donation to the sponsors.h.i.+p program for twenty thousand pounds, and then realized the answer was no-she wasn't going to behave like a five-year-old. No matter that it was pouring rain. No matter that her date was drunk and a bit weird, and that Nick was here with a beautiful blond millionaire's daughter. She could still make civilized conversation, be polite.

"Thank you for this," Laura said, s.h.i.+fting on the leather. "It's really kind of you."

"Not at all. My pleasure."

Laura fell silent, aware it was just the two of them talking while Paul, the driver, and Charles in the front pretended not to be listening; Nick seemed to be completely at ease with it, of course. She looked at him, sitting comfortably in the back, his beautiful gray wool coat glistening with raindrops, one arm flung across the back of the seat, one strong brown hand resting lightly on the leather, just a little way from her head.

She wasn't really sure what to do or say next. All the cheerful, socially adept questions she could possibly ask him-"Have you had a nice evening?" "Who was at your table?" "How's the estate?" "Ha-ha, well, isn't it strange, b.u.mping into you like this?"-sounded too loaded to her. And the ones she really wanted to ask-"What's going on with Cecilia?" "Have you missed me, because I've missed you?" "Can I lick your face, or would that be weird in the back of the car?"-were obviously not suitable. So she pulled his scarf around her a little more, and sank down a little farther into her seat.

"So..." said Nick. He tapped his fingers on the headrest behind Laura, and she jumped. "Sorry." He touched her shoulder lightly. "Sorry, Laura. I'm-this is weird." He looked at her frankly, and Laura turned to him.

"It is, isn't it?" she agreed, remembering again with a rush of-what?-how nice he was, how easy and straightforward, and wondering how she could ever have thought he was remote, hard to understand.

"Good evening, wasn't it?" Nick said. "Lovely atmosphere. Very relaxing. German bankers are my favorite bankers."

"Good?" said Laura, laughing. "Ooof. What a night. I thought it was never going to end. How can you do it?"

"I don't, that often," said Nick. "But I was in town, and Lars..."

Laura was determined to be chipper, upbeat, polite. He had made the effort; it was up to her to repay him. "Is that Cecilia's dad?" she asked, in a tone of polite interest.

"Yes," said Nick. "Nice bloke. He's really helped me out over the past couple of years, and he invited me. I thought it would be rude not to go."

"Absolutely," said Laura airily. "Yes, these things can go on a bit, can't they."

Nick gave her a strange look. "Go to them a lot, do you?"

"Oh. Well, you know, here and there," said Laura, trying to sound like she knew what she was talking about.

"Go with Marcus, do you?" said Nick.

"Er," said Laura. "Well, tonight I did."

Nick flicked a piece of dust off his coat. "Surprised to see you with him."

Laura thought of Marcus-not the Marcus she'd run away from, the one lying drunk and pa.s.sed out on the table, but the one who had kissed her rather determinedly at the bar, holding her hand. His old-fas.h.i.+oned courtesy, how he just wanted to meet someone nice. She said defensively, "He's all right. Okay?"

"I'm sure he is." Nick's face was in the dark; she couldn't really see it. "Sure he is."

The car moved steadily along the Strand, the streets glossy and black in the rain. Charles turned to Paul and asked him about directions in a quiet voice. They were alone in the back.

"How's work?" said Nick suddenly.

Laura knitted her hands in her lap. "Um. Okay."

"What does that mean?"

"It means..." Laura cast around in her mind for the right response. "Oh," she said wearily, "I'm not sure."

"You've got your job back, though?" he said, and there was concern, interest in his voice.

"Yes, but..." She put her palms flat on her lap, not knowing how much to say, wanting to tell him everything, knowing she should keep it all back. Laura turned to him, but she still couldn't see his face, and so she just said rather weakly, "Yes. I did."

"So why-" Nick began, but Laura found herself putting her hand up.

"Do you mind if we don't?" she said. "Talk about it? Bit stressed about it at the moment. I think I've c.o.c.ked up. I don't want to think about it, not tonight."

"Anything I can do?" said Nick. Laura gave a hollow sigh under her breath, and he said immediately, "Sorry. That's probably the least helpful thing someone can say."

"No," said Laura quietly. "Thank you, though."

"I'm serious," he said, his voice close by. "If there is anything, Laura-"

She nodded. There was a ball of air in her throat, pus.h.i.+ng down into her chest, making it hard for her to speak. He watched her as Laura shrugged, trying to look unconcerned; she felt she merely succeeded in looking a bit stupid.

"And how are you?" she asked, pulling herself together. "How is everything at Chartley?" She stopped, realizing she sounded rather like Aunt Annabel.

His voice soft with amus.e.m.e.nt, Nick replied, "Great, thank you. It's a little quieter since the summer, of course. Since you were there."

"Yes, I can imagine," Laura said, her head on one side, trying to pretend he was just a tour guide, and she was just a tourist. "Um. What are you up to at the moment, then?"

"Well, the crops are all in, and that's gone well-the weather's been fantastic, which made it easier, which is good."

"Ah," said Laura, trying to sound informed. "The harvest."

"Yes," Nick said gravely, but his mouth twitched. "The harvest. And we've just started a major project, cataloging all the paintings, sculptures, and so on in the house. Going to take a few years, but it's important, needs to be done."

Laura always loved hearing him talk about the estate, what he was doing with it. "Really? For insurance, or...?"

"Insurance, yes, and so we have an idea of what's there."

"Like what?"

Nick s.h.i.+fted closer toward her, half an inch, almost imperceptible. He paused before saying, "Well, when my father died, everything was a total mess. When I went through his study for the first time, I found two paintings, little watercolors. Didn't think anything more of them. Turns out they're sketches by this Victorian artist, worth about ten thousand each. Dad had just shoved them in a cupboard, years ago."

"Blimey," said Laura. "He must have had no idea."

"He did," said Nick, his voice flat. "He bought them for my mother, as a wedding present. We found the paperwork. They were framed. He'd obviously taken them out of their frames and rolled them up, put them out of sight."

"Oh," said Laura. She looked down. Their knees were angled toward each other, almost touching. She said quietly, "That must have been a bit weird for you."

Nick ran a hand through his short hair, and glanced out the window. "Bit weird, yes," he said, turning back and smiling slightly at her. "It's funny."

"What's funny?" said Laura, watching him.

"I haven't said this to anyone. But I keep thinking about her lately."

"Who? Your mother?"

"Yes," he said. "I don't know why. I spent so long training myself not to miss her when I was younger. So sometimes months go by, and I don't really...wonder about her. What she's up to, how she is. And then sometimes..." He looked at her. "Like lately. Since you left. I keep thinking about how she is."

"Really?"

"Yes. I want to see her again. You know."

"Nick, she's your mother," said Laura simply. "Of course you want to see her again."

"Yes, of course," he said, with a trace of the old impatience. "But you don't understand."

"I know I don't," Laura said, shaking her head.

"Sorry, that's wrong," he said. "You do understand. About some things." His eyes were on hers, with an expression half-sad, half-smiling that she found terribly painful. They said nothing, but looked at each other in the darkness.

"You should get in touch with her," said Laura firmly.

Nick shook his head. "Thank you, no. I don't think that would be a very good idea."

His arm was still behind her on the back of the seat; he flung it next to his thigh, and drummed his fingers on the leather.

"Perhaps you're right," he said eventually.

"But you're the only one who can make that move," said Laura. She wanted to bridge the distance between them, make it all all right for him, but she couldn't. "Trust me. I know."

"And how do you know that?" said Nick, amused.

"Well, I don't know," said Laura frankly. "I know what I think you should do."

"As ever," he said, his voice low. "That's Laura. Rus.h.i.+ng in, speaking before she thinks. Bossing people around, setting fire to things. Being hugely rude. And...running away, when I don't want her to leave."

His eyes flicked up to the front seat, where Paul and Charles were still engaged in low, desultory conversation, and he looked back at her and down again. She followed his gaze. His hand was inches away from hers, both resting on the seat. She remembered his touch, how warm and strong he was. She closed her eyes briefly, overwhelmed with wanting just once more to hold his hand, to lean against him. Both of them looked down at their hands, neither of them saying anything, though Laura desperately wanted to say something, the right thing, wanted to move her fingers toward his. And then Nick lifted his hand and scratched his cheek, and the spell was broken.

"You didn't reply to my text," he said eventually in a low voice.