A Hopeless Romantic Part 13

Laura pocketed them, grabbed her book, and turned to go. "Thanks, Dad," she said as she disappeared into the sitting room. She grabbed a wrap and her handbag, dropping her book into it, and ran out onto the terrace again. "I'll take care of it, I promise."

"Don't be back too-" Angela began, then silenced herself as Mary shot her a warning look.

Laura ran across the gravel, and jumped into the car. The bushes on the path up to the house were already blacky green in the early dusk. She turned on the engine and drove away, leaving the house behind her. As she sped through the lanes in the evening air with the window open and her hair blowing in the breeze, she found herself feeling not like Mrs. Danvers for the first time in days, but more like Mrs. de Winter herself. With a bit more spine, hopefully.

When she arrived at the George, twenty-five minutes later, it was well after eight, and there was no sign of Nick. It was extremely crowded, as if the whole populace of Norfolk, indigenous and tourist, was having a drink there. Laura pushed through the throng, avoiding the glares of disapproval as she made her way to the lounge, where people were sitting with drinks, the doors flung open to the pub garden. She walked through them, looking left to right, but couldn't see him.

Standing there in the busy pub, she suddenly wondered if he'd meant it or not, this casual invitation he'd thrown at her. What would she and Nick the farmer, groundsman, estate manager person, whatever it was he did, talk about? They had nothing in common. Why had he asked her for a drink? And why had she come?

She breathed deeply. She couldn't go home just yet; it was too embarra.s.sing. Apart from that, she realized that she would rather stay here and look like the loneliest person in the room than spend another evening with her parents. In fact, she quite liked it in a funny way, being here by herself, no ties, no responsibility, no dragging feeling of guilt about what she was doing. It was a drink with a nice stranger, no ties, nothing. She was a free agent, after all, she could do what she liked. Her new self rather liked that. She'd stay here, d.a.m.n it, and enjoy herself, whether he showed up or not.

So Laura went up to the bar and got herself a gla.s.s of white wine, then went and sat outside at one of the tables by the French windows and opened The Nine Tailors; but she soon found she couldn't read. She fingered the postcard portrait of the seventh marquis and gazed into the distance for a while, thinking about lots of things. Imagining her parents' expressions if they could see her now, she allowed herself a small smile. Her sense of the ridiculous, which had lain dormant for a while, suddenly resurfaced, and she laid the book down on the table and grinned broadly. Here she was, basically having a date with herself, and it was the best evening she'd had in quite some time. It was tragic, really, when you thought about it, but she just didn't care.

So she sat there till it was nearly nine, reading her book and occasionally looking up to take in her surroundings. She felt perfectly content, enjoying her own company for the first time in a long while. But then suddenly, a deep voice behind her said, "Excuse me, are you waiting for anyone?"

At last. Laura looked up, a quick retort ready on her lips. But standing in front of her was a tall, large man with a rather fleshy face whom she'd never seen before, tucking his shirt into the back of his waistband and looking impatient.

"Sorry?" she said, taking a moment to recover.

"Are you expecting some friends?" the man said again.

"Er," said Laura warily. She really wasn't in the mood to be chatted up. Good grief, men were incredible. Just because she was on her own and reading a book! Six months ago, perhaps she would have smiled and said, "No! Sit down!" and then developed an inappropriate crush on him, but now..."Well-" she said, trying to let him down gently, and grimaced. "You know..." She shrugged.

The man looked at her as if she were a half-wit, and Laura felt even more uncomfortable. He definitely worked in the City, a banker or something, Laura thought, nodding to herself.

She glared at him rather crossly, but he said, unheeding, "Look, it's just there aren't any other tables, and we're having food. There's five of us."

"Eh?" said Laura.

"Is there any way you'd mind moving"-he pointed at one of the sofas, where there was a small square of squashy leather free-"over there, so we can sit here?"

Highly embarra.s.sed, Laura shot up out of her seat. "Ha-ha! No! I mean, yes, of course you can! Ho!" she practically yelled, and then felt like an idiot.

"Thanks a lot, seriously," said the large man, heaving himself onto the bench. "I should buy you a drink." He slapped his wallet and drink down on the table, and as he did, the beer slurped up out of the gla.s.s and over Laura's skirt.

"Oh, s.h.i.t," said Laura, wanting to be irrationally cross and shout at him, all of a sudden.

"G.o.d, I'm sorry," he said. "Are you okay? Can I buy you another drink?"

"No, don't worry," said Laura, in a tone meant to convey that she was not okay and he should buy her another drink; moreover, he should get a towel.

"Really sorry," he said. He patted ineffectually at the table with large, meaty hands, and looked at her skirt as if he should do the same there. "Erhm. I'm such an idiot. So sorry."

"It's fine, honestly," said Laura, turning to smile magnanimously, and found herself humiliatingly talking to thin air, as the man had turned back to his friends, who were huddled together, waiting for her to leave.

"Great," said Laura out loud, feeling suddenly exposed, rather like someone whose skirt has been ripped off.

She threw an evil look at the tall man as she turned to go, her good mood evaporating as she pushed her way back through the throng, which seemed to have grown in the intervening hour. The queue for a table was just as long, would-be diners lounging in a bored fashion, waiting for the bills of the previous occupants to be paid. She pushed politely past them, and stumbled as she stepped out into the car park. She headed for the car and fished for her keys. Definitely time to go home.

"And where do you think you're going?" came a voice from behind her.

Laura froze, her key poised above the lock of the car. She turned slowly, and there was Nick, striding easily toward her across the floodlit gravel. He looked smarter; he'd changed out of the T-shirt and jeans and was wearing a worn but clean, freshly ironed shirt and khaki trousers. He was tall, she remembered now, taking in his close-cropped hair, the almost harsh contours of his face, the strong cheekbones, the dark eyes. She almost didn't recognize him. He looked...different, somehow. Like a different person.

"Where have you been?" he said as he came closer. "I a.s.sumed you'd stood me up."

"Me!" Laura squeaked uncoolly. Her voice was unrecognizable to her own ears. "I waited for you for"-she looked at her watch; it was after nine-"for at least forty-five minutes! How dare you!"

"So you got here around eight-thirty. Hm," said Nick easily. "And you're surprised that, having said I'd be there at eight, by eight-thirty I'd a.s.sumed you weren't coming and went upstairs to say hi to someone in the office."

"You said you'd be here from eight," said Laura accusingly. "I didn't-I wasn't going to come-anyway, well..."

She turned back to the car and stabbed ineffectually at the lock with her keys.

"Oh, calm down," said Nick. "Look, you're here now. Why don't we have supper? Come on, you might as well, and I haven't eaten yet-I'm hungry."

"Ooof," said Laura, staring helplessly up at him. "I-G.o.d. I'm tired."

"Me too," said Nick. "Look, Laura-I'm apologizing. Come and have some food and then go home. You can't not eat, for G.o.d's sake. The food is amazing, I promise you. What were you going to have with your-with your boyfriend back at home instead?" He smiled mockingly at her.

"Oh, shut up," said Laura, but she smiled back into his face, and put her keys into her bag. "Thank you, that'd be lovely. I'd love to have supper with you." She looked him up and down. "You look smart."

"There was a reception at the house," he said easily. He looked down at her. "Let's go inside. They won't keep the table forever."

"Great," said Laura. She stared at him.

"Get a move on," said Nick unemotionally. "There's a bloke over there I don't want to spot me. We'll be here for hours if he does."

"Where?" said Laura. Nick pointed at the table-nicking, pint-spilling large man, who was guffawing loudly with his friends in the corner of the garden at Laura's table.

"Ha," said Laura. "I know him."

"You do?" said Nick, slightly surprised. "City chap-can't remember his name. Works for a bank? Sorry. I didn't realize he was a friend of yours."

"G.o.d, no," said Laura, slightly hysterically, in case Nick thought she was consorting with strange, annoying men while waiting for him. "He split a pint over me. Spilt, I mean, he spilt a pint, and I was all-"

"Look," said Nick, "mind if you tell me this story upstairs? He's looking over."

"Right," said Laura. "Sorry."

"No problem. Looking forward to it. It sounds great."

He held the door open for her, and they stepped through into the pub together.

chapter eighteen.

T hey threaded through the crowded pub together in silence. Safely out of view of the table-stealer in the corner, Laura watched as Nick shook hands with various people and had his back slapped. She hung back a little, not wanting to announce herself to a roomful of strangers who obviously all knew this man well. It was his local, after all, and who was she? Some girl he'd met that afternoon whom he'd asked for a drink. But why?

Stop it. Stop it, she told herself. This is why you're always getting into trouble! Your imagination runs away with you. She looked at Nick, who was shaking off some old fellow-farmer bloke. He looked rather uncomfortable, and he pushed her gently ahead of him through the rabble, almost as if he were in a hurry to leave them all behind. Laura liked the feel of his warm, firm hand on the small of her back, then brought herself up short. Remember, Laura, she said to herself, he is not Prince Charming. He is a nice, good-looking man and you are going to have a drink with him. Just because he made an amusing joke about the Seekers, don't go casting him in the role of romantic hero. You don't know him. He is a virtual stranger, he's not Rhett Butler. Reality. Reality.

She pinched herself on the arm, hard, to remind herself as Nick got waylaid again, then looked up to find him staring at her as he listened to the old wizened farmer who was droning on about something to do with his family. His eyes met hers, and he jerked his head toward the stairs. "Come on, Laura," he said. "Sorry, Mr. Withers. I'd better get on," and he took Laura's arm and steered her lightly upstairs.

Mr. Withers glanced happily at Laura, looking super-pleased for her, muttered something about how grateful he was, and crept backward, almost bowing, toward the door.

"Nice old chap," said Nick, holding the door open as they reached the upper floor.

"He seemed very keen on you," said Laura, impressed.

"He said he was glad I was having supper with such a pretty girl," said Nick. He nodded as Laura looked at him skeptically. "It's true," he said lightly.

"Aah," said Laura, self-conscious. "That's nice."

"It is nice," said Nick. "Very-er-nice. Right, let's get some drinks. And the menu. I'm hungry, aren't you?"

"G.o.d, yes," said Laura. "I'm completely starving."

She was glad she'd given herself a stern talking-to just now, and thought with relief how relaxing it was to not be thinking of this as a mega-serious date, worrying about whether it was seemly to be quite so eager to wolf down some food. She was hungry. She wanted to eat. That was it.

Nick smiled at her. "Steak okay? They do a great one here. Fantastic bearnaise sauce. With chips."

"Thin chips?" asked Laura.

"Absolutely," said Nick. "I wouldn't come here if they weren't. Fat chips are wrong, I think."

"Me too," said Laura. "Like half a potato each. They're impossible to eat. And they're always cold in the middle."

"Yet again we agree," said Nick. "Never trust someone who says they prefer fat chips to thin chips. That's my motto."

"I concur," said Laura. "Strongly concur."

"Great," he said.

Nick ordered a bottle of wine, and soon the food arrived. The steaks were, as he had predicted, delicious: tender, melting, juicy, drizzled with garlic and parsley b.u.t.ter.

"G.o.d, I love garlic b.u.t.ter," said Laura. She rubbed her hands together. "I could drink it."

"Please don't," said Nick. "And I sincerely hope you're not going out on the pull later if you're planning to scarf garlic all evening."

"Why?" said Laura. "Where does one go on the pull around here?"

"Well," said Nick, "there's a nightclub about thirty miles away from here. Champagne's, it's called. There's usually a fight there about eleven-thirty every Sat.u.r.day night. If you eat quickly, you can get there in time to pull and watch a fight."

"There was a club like that in Harrow, where I grew up," said Laura. "Called Ballyhoo. I used to love it there. Till it got shut down."

"No, really?" said Nick. "Why?"

"The loos got blocked one night and it flooded and the electrics fused. Permanently." Nick raised his eyebrows. "I'm sorry. We're eating."

"Well, if you want a trip down memory lane, I'd be more than happy to drive you to Champagne's and leave you outside, so you can revisit your misspent youth," said Nick politely. "Sound nice?"

"I'm okay, I think," said Laura, laughing. "I'm going to scarf away instead."

"Good," said Nick. "Right decision."

Laura was starving, and she ate happily away, genuinely enjoying herself for the first time in ages. Nick was good company-compared to the company she'd been keeping all week, most people would have been to her by then, but she couldn't help thinking he really was. He was his own man; he wasn't in Charles's pocket. They found common ground almost immediately, as any two strangers can if the basic ingredients are right. They discovered that they both loved The Sopranos, that they had both stayed in the same hotel in Edinburgh, a day apart, and that both their birthdays were in May.

"So, Laura Foster," said Nick, several gla.s.ses of rich, velvety red wine later. "Why did you come tonight? I'm curious." He wrapped his long fingers around the stem of his gla.s.s and smiled at her. "I must say, I didn't think you would."

"Why not?" said Laura curiously.

"Just thought you'd think it was weird."

"I know," Laura agreed. She opened her hands to him in a gesture of disclosure. "But I just thought, well, why the h.e.l.l not. It's got to be better than another evening at home with the parents."

"Well, thank you."

"You know what I mean."

"Actually," he said, "I don't, really, no."

"Well. Have you ever been on holiday with your parents?" Laura said. "After the age of sixteen, it's a pretty terrible idea."

"So-why are you on holiday with yours, then?" Nick said, taking a sip of wine. "If it's such a bad idea."

"Long story," said Laura. "I-ah." She looked down, not really knowing how to go on.

Nick poured her another gla.s.s of wine. "Doesn't matter, though, does it?" he said, his voice light. "Right. Do you want some pudding?"

Laura looked up gratefully. "Oh, I'd love to. But I shouldn't, really."

He laughed, and said, "Go on. Have one if you want to. No one's going to stop you."

"No, I know," said Laura. "But I won't, honestly."

"You sound like my sisters," said Nick. "Women! You go mad if someone tries to say you're all the same, but that's the exact same response my sisters always give if anyone asks them if they want pudding. And they couldn't be more different. You'd barely know they were related."

"You've got two sisters, haven't you?" asked Laura.

"Yes. One of them lives in London. She-ha." A cloud pa.s.sed over Nick's face. "She used to be rather wild. Quite good fun, always turning up off her head on something, with someone. She-yes. Anyway, now she's married to a very uptight businessman. She's gone all grown-up and boring. Wears suits, sits on committees, that kind of thing. She's a real sn.o.b these days. Whereas Lavinia-G.o.d."

"Why, what's wrong with her?"

"Oh, she's a liability," said Nick. "She moved back here a few months ago, and she's s.h.a.gging this bloke on the estate. Does the tickets. Sean. She basically stalked him into submission. He has no choice in the matter. Not that he seems to care that much, he's-G.o.d, he's almost as thick as her."