A Hopeless Romantic Part 33

chapter forty.

W hen do you have to meet this man, darling?"

"Not till seven-thirty, don't worry."

"Here, one more gla.s.s? And I'll just go and get the necklace."

"Absolutely, thanks, Gran. This is really kind of you."

"Well, it's lovely to see you, my darling girl."

Laura drained her gla.s.s, and her grandmother poured some more champagne into it. "There you go," she said, and she padded back into the kitchen to put the bottle in the fridge. "I'll just get the necklace." She disappeared down the corridor.

Laura gazed around the flat, then looked out the window. It was a still, light autumn evening, with just a hint of cold in the air. She was meeting Marcus at a champagne bar near the Royal Courts of Justice, where the dinner was taking place, and since Marcus had rung her up the previous morning to confirm, and mentioned casually that it was very formal black tie and could she please be dressed appropriately ("Cla.s.sic," Jo had said when Laura told her this. "He obviously thinks you dress like a hooker"), Laura was demure in a black velvet dress falling just below the knee, tied with a pale silver Regency-style ribbon high on the waist. But she needed something else to not feel cheap, so she had rung up her grandmother and, killing two birds with one stone, asked if she could a) come to see her that evening to b) borrow her diamond necklace, which had been Mary's own grandmother's.

From the window in Mary's sitting room, one could see across the rooftops of central London, down south to her beloved Selfridges, toward Mayfair and Hyde Park. The sitting room was light, filled firmly with old, odd pieces of furniture from Mary and Xan's travels. An old Moroccan rug, woven with gold, hung on the wall. A mahogany writing desk, stuffed with letters and housekeeping files, all written in Mary's huge, looping scrawl. There on the wall was the picture of Xan that Laura loved so much. He was standing in the garden at Seavale, the sea in the distance, leaning on a spade and smiling at something past the camera. A rough cloth sun hat was jammed on his head. And there, staring up at him with frank adoration, was a very small (Laura thought four, perhaps) Simon, naked except for a pair of shorts, gazing with his mouth open. Laura smiled as she looked at the picture. It was funny how much Simon resembled his stepgrandfather. He was slow to anger, quick to laugh, just like Xan had been.

After what Simon had said to her the previous Sat.u.r.day, so cold and harsh, after Laura had seen the open disdain in his eyes, she had taken a long hard look at herself. Was she different now? She knew she wasn't the wide-eyed romantic she'd been a year ago. But had she, in trying to turn over a new leaf, to protect herself, gone too far the other way? She thought of Jo's comforting hand on her arm as she tried not to cry, thought how nice it would be simply to burst into tears and tell her all about it, how much she missed him, how she thought perhaps Mary might have been right all along but she had the feeling it was too late.

It wasn't too late for her, though, she knew that now. She wasn't going to change, again. She was just going to stop being this way or that way and simply be herself, again. Stop hiding. Stop dressing things up in fairy-tale costumes or dressing them down, packing them away and keeping them hidden. Just be herself. Go on dates, work hard, have a laugh. Enjoy herself.

She looked at her watch. "You okay, Gran?" she called. She could hear her grandmother in her bedroom, clinking various boxes open and shut.

"Here it is." Mary appeared, shaking her fist in the air. "It wasn't where I thought it was, I couldn't find it. Silly of me."

She opened her hand. Against the wrinkled, soft palm lay an old link chain and, at the center, a cl.u.s.ter of stars with twirling tails, intricately and beautifully made. One stone caught the light outside and twinkled quickly.

"Let me put it on you," Mary said, and she shuffled past the armchair and slid the necklace around Laura's neck. "Look at yourself."

Laura patted her collarbone, loving the feeling of the scratchy, cold metal on her skin, and stood up to look in the small looking-gla.s.s by the balcony door.

"It's lovely," she said. "Just lovely." She was glad her hair was up, twisted loosely into a chignon, so that the necklace could be seen. It was beautiful. Laura felt grown-up. She took Mary's hand. "Thank you so much for letting me wear it tonight," she said. "I'll take good care of it, I promise."

"Of course you will, darling," said Mary, staring at the necklace. "You'd be wise to anyway," she added, turning away. "It'll be yours one day, when I'm dead. Then you can wear it all you like."

"Well," Laura said, slightly briskly. "We don't know that, do we? It should be Annabel's, and anyway, I'm not having this conversation with you, Gran!"

"Not Annabel's," Mary said stubbornly. She picked up her drink, still standing in the middle of the room, and said rather gothically, "You're my blood daughter, not her."

"Mum is, you mean," said Laura, feeling rather uncomfortable.

"Who?"

"My mum. Angela. She is." Laura pointed to the wedding photo of her mother on the wall.

"Yes, yes," said Mary impatiently. She blinked, and said accusingly, "Stupid, stupid, we shouldn't be talking about this, you know."

"Well, thank you so much. I'm so excited."

"More excited about the necklace than this date, am I right?" said Mary, and she gave Laura an appraising stare. Her eyes danced, and Laura laughed, partly with relief.

"Er," she said, picking her gla.s.s up again and twisting it round in her hand. "Well, I don't know about that. Marcus-he's..."

Marcus had had an invitation for the dinner sent to her, addressed to "Miss Laura Foster," a thick cream card with gold around the edge; and today she had received flowers at work, a huge bouquet with a message that said, "I look forward to tonight. Yours, Marcus," which made Shana and Nasrin almost apoplectic with mirth-only Laura had heard them out in the stairwell laughing about something five minutes later, and she suspected it was that.

She thought it was nice, very, very nice. How many people actually did that? And wasn't it awful that girls spent their whole time complaining about boys and saying they were c.r.a.p-and then when a boy did something totally lovely and thoughtful, they laughed at him, like it was pathetic and needy and a bit strange? So what if she wasn't madly in love with Marcus? She'd only met him once, properly; he'd asked her on a date, and he seemed nice if a trifle, well, odd. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. The new Laura. She smiled at Mary.

"Yes?" said Mary encouragingly, sinking slowly into a chair.

"Ahm," said Laura, not sure how to start. She caught her grandmother watching her, with her bright, clever eyes that missed nothing, and thought, Actually, it's pointless to try and spin this for you, you miss nothing. It was strange that it was so.

"Heard from that nice young man lately?" said Mary.

"What? Him? No. No," said Laura, giving her grandmother a quelling stare. She took a sip of her drink.

"Nothing?" said Mary.

"Nothing," said Laura, then realized it sounded as if she was expecting to hear something. Of course she wasn't. "No, nothing. You sound like Aunt Annabel."

"What do you mean?"

"She rang me-" Laura began, then noticed the look on Mary's face, the one that brooked no criticism of Aunt Annabel. Laura knew she wouldn't be able to explain it to her grandmother, so she just said, "Oh, nothing."

"She's excited about it," said Mary unexpectedly.

"Oh, good grief," said Laura. "There's nothing to be excited about. She's never called me before, why's she suddenly so interested?"

"Perhaps she was glad to have something to call you about," Mary pointed out.

"I doubt that, highly," Laura muttered. "When was the last time she called Mum up, just for a chat?"

"Oh, darling," said Mary firmly. "Your aunt and your mother-they're very different. But they're more alike than you think. You all are. Annabel-she does love you, you know."

"We're not alike," said Laura, thinking of her and Simon, her mum and dad and their normal, easy life, and the Sandersons, so grand, so sn.o.bbish, so riddled with strange and foreign customs and ideas about life, and at the head of them, Aunt Annabel herself.

"That's just not true," said Mary softly. "You have far more in common than you realize. Far more." She ran her nail around the edge of the gla.s.s, picking up the sheen of condensation that clung to it. "Why do you want the world to be black and white? It's not."

Laura looked down at the rather cheap velvet material of her dress. "I don't," she said, wondering whether they were still talking about Annabel or not.

Her grandmother was silent, and then she cleared her throat. "Do you mind if I say something?" she said suddenly.

"No..." said Laura uncertainly, thinking that if yet another person was about to have a go at her-especially Mary, whose good opinion mattered so much to her-she might just throw her hands up and scream.

"I think you have too many people telling you what to do and telling you what you're like," said Mary flatly. "Don't you?"

"Yes," said Laura, nodding fervently, thinking of Jo, Simon, everyone at work, even Nick, telling her she was weak, pathetic.

"I'm not going to tell you how I think you should live your life, or what I think you should do," said Mary. "Now's not the time. But I will say this: Don't try to paper over things that matter, Laura. The cracks will appear. Maybe not immediately, but they will."

"What do you mean?" Laura said quietly, not wanting to know but feeling she had to ask.

Her grandmother said firmly, "Just what I say. Don't paper over cracks, over things you think you can't cope with."

Mary's melodious voice grated on her nerves, and Laura stood up; she had to get out of there. Suddenly the flat was not warm and cozy and full of memories, but crowded and claustrophobic, closing in on her. "I have to go, you know. I'm going to be late." She gathered up her bag and little evening cape. "Sorry."

Mary was unperturbed. "Fine. You look beautiful, Laura," she said, standing up slowly and smiling at her. "I'm-I am proud of you, darling, you do know that?"

"Oh," Laura said. "Thank you, Gran." She kissed her. "Thank you." She went to the front door, Mary behind her. "I'll call you soon," she said. "Thanks again, Gran. Lovely to see you. Sorry it's been...so long."

"Don't worry," said her grandmother. "It will always have been too long, darling." And she closed the door.

Laura walked slowly down the stairs, wondering if she should go back up, shake Mary out of her strange mood, then reminded herself nothing would be accomplished by it. Paper over cracks? What was she talking about? Everything was fine; she was going on a date, with no expectations other than a nice evening, and with the hope that she might get some money out of him for the program, too. She was on the way, it was a fresh start! She wasn't papering over anything, and it was silly to say she was.

Pah. Laura shrugged as she reached the bottom of the stairs. The hunter's moon was rising as the sun disappeared. It was huge, golden, so low in the sky and so close she felt as if she could reach out and s.n.a.t.c.h it. Laura stared at it through the gla.s.s-paneled front door of the building, as it hung above the wide boulevard down toward Oxford Street; then she stepped onto the pavement and hailed a cab, following the moon east toward the City.

chapter forty-one.

I t's very kind of you to invite me," said Laura, settled at a table with Marcus twenty minutes later, a gla.s.s of champagne in her hand.

Marcus gave her an unsmiling smile and looked round the crowded bar, which, on a Friday night in the City, was pretty much wall-to-wall bankers, lawyers, and accountants, male and female, dressed in suits or black tie, throwing money around like it was going out of fashion. He said stiffly, "My pleasure. Why not."

"And-Marcus, thank you so much for the flowers, it was incredibly sweet-er, kind of you. Again. Thank you!" Laura said, feeling completely embarra.s.sed at this, though she couldn't work out why.

"Really, it was my pleasure, as I've said," Marcus said repressively, as if her mentioning the flowers was disgusting.

Laura sighed inwardly and ran her hand lightly along the back of her neck.

"Laura. I'm not being very expansive, I fear. I very much enjoyed meeting you. And it is my pleasure that you've agreed to accompany me this evening. I'm honored."

"Er," said Laura, not sure how to respond. "Well, thank you there. It-it's great."

"I've looked over the material you gave me and Clare," said Marcus. "I think"-he touched her arm lightly-"there may be a way we can join your program, give you some money."

"Really?!" said Laura, her face lighting up. "That's wonderful, thank you!"

"Let's see, let's see," Marcus admonished. "Let's talk about it at dinner. We need to discuss it a little further, but-well, all being well-ah." He raised his eyebrows at her.

"Well, thank you for thinking about it, anyway," said Laura. "Wow."

Only a couple of people at work knew Laura was here tonight, but she'd dropped enough hints about Linley Munroe that they were all super-curious about what she was going to pull off. She imagined the scene on Monday, her casually sauntering into the office, Rachel and Nasrin going over some figures again, wondering how they were going to explain to Gareth that the investment still hadn't come through, as Laura nonchalantly said, "Oh, the money? Yeah-I've sorted it. No sweat." Then high-fives all round, Rachel's face lighting up with a smile the way it used to, before Laura started s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g things up.... She luxuriated in the image, and then came back down to earth with a b.u.mp, to find Marcus staring at her, and realized she had to get through the evening first before this was in the bag.

Silence descended again, unwelcome; but, thankfully, Marcus took the conversational plunge. He took a deep, shuddering breath, adjusted his tie, and said, "So. Let's talk about it later, eh? Tell me. Where do your parents live?"

Laura smiled at the obviousness of the social questioning. "Harrow," she said.

"Ah," said Marcus. "Chap in the office next to mine went to Harrow."

"Not that bit, I bet," Laura said patiently. "My mum and dad live in deepest suburbia. About ten minutes off the main road. You have to drive for miles to find a shop selling milk, it's all mock Tudor semidetacheds and cul-de-sacs. But it's nice. How about you?"

"What?" said Marcus.

"Are you from London?"

"Yes, yes," said Marcus.

"Where?" said Laura.

"Near Camden," said Marcus vaguely, and Laura didn't push the subject further, knowing from experience that when people seem noncommittal about something, they are doing it deliberately. "But, yeah. I live in Vauxhall now. You know those apartments? Over the Thames?"

"Wow," said Laura. "How great."

"Yep. It really is. Pretty expensive, but worth it, I can tell you. Very good investment for the future, you know." Marcus stuck his lips out and nodded, his eyes half closed. "Not sure if I'll stay there forever, but it'll definitely work as a rental. Some guy like me in a few years' time." His eyes boggled at her, and Laura nodded, pretending to look interested. "I'll move on and up then, you know."

"Mm," Laura said.

Marcus leaned back in his chair and gave a mock yawn. He stretched his arms. "Yep. Probably to Balham-you can buy a good-size family home there, although it's pretty d.a.m.n expensive. Still, it'll be very handy for me. For the City."

"Yes," said Laura. "I like Balham."

Marcus nodded at her, looking pleased, "Plus, it's a nice area for kids on the weekends."

"Right," said Laura, then realized she didn't understand. "Why?"

"Well, there's shops and cafes, and the park nearby, and of course you can drive to Richmond-"

"No," Laura interrupted. "Why do you need a family home?"

"For the family," Marcus said, looking irritated again.

"You're-not-" Laura instinctively grabbed her bag in case she needed to make a hasty exit. "You're not married, are you?"

Marcus looked amazed, and for a split second Laura thought, Oh, G.o.d! How could I have got this so wrong? Again?

But Marcus said abruptly, "Of course I'm not. Do you think I'd ask you out if I were married? What kind of man-no, of course I'm not."

"Good, good," said Laura, surrept.i.tiously putting her bag back down on the seat. "Sorry. It's just I thought-you were talking about family homes and everything, the cafes and stuff. I a.s.sumed you might-er."