A Hopeless Romantic Part 36

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

He smiled and said, "So, here we are. I made up my mind I wasn't going to speak to you when I got into the car."

"That's nice of you," said Laura, recovering herself.

"I mean it."

"Really?" said Laura.

"Yes, Laura. I did. The way you left..."

"I know," said Laura. The car reached the end of the Strand; they were at Trafalgar Square, and light flooded across Nick's face as they drove through the square and under Admiralty Arch.

"Do you understand why I had to leave?" she said, hardly breathing, wanting him to give her the answer she didn't dare to hope for.

"I didn't, no," he said. "Absolutely not."

"Really?" said Laura, her heart pounding.

"Not at first, no," said Nick. He nodded to himself. "But now I do."

"Oh," said Laura. "Right."

She knew exactly the reasons why she'd left, why she'd given up on them; but she couldn't, at that exact moment, remember what those reasons were. "It's just-not meant to be, is it, I suppose," she said, scanning his face, but his expression was formal, closed again, and she couldn't read him anymore.

"I don't think it is," he said. "If that's what you think, too."

Laura rubbed her eyes and looked out on the Mall as they drove sedately along the wide, tree-lined boulevard. The rain had stopped. She looked at him suddenly, and caught him staring at her with that old, familiar look, his eyes searching her face, drinking her in. His lower lip was caught between his teeth. He winced, as if he were biting down too hard, and wiped his hand across his mouth, smiling suddenly at her.

"Is that what you think?" she said, looking intently at him. "Really?"

"Yes," said Nick. He gave a half smile, and patted her leg. "Funny, isn't it."

She felt the warmth of his skin on hers. "Nick-" Laura whispered. "I think-"

A mobile phone buzzed angrily in the quiet. Nick pulled his phone out of his pocket as Laura sank back into her seat.

"h.e.l.lo.... Good, thank you. And you.... Thank you." His tone was expressionless.

Hearing the break in conversation, Charles turned around in his seat and peered at her. "Oh, h.e.l.lo, Laura!" he said, as if he were surprised to see her there.

"h.e.l.lo, Charles!" Laura said. "What a shock, how long have you been there?"

"Oh. Ha-ha-ha," said Charles, looking confused. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Laura. I just wondered-"

"No. It's a friend. She was at the party." Nick's voice was quiet, and he had turned to the window, but Laura could hear every word. "I'm giving her a lift home.... No. Cecilia, I've told you-"

Charles started talking over him. "Where in North London do you want us to take you? I just wondered."

They were at Buckingham Palace, turning up toward Hyde Park Corner. Laura pressed her hands to her cheeks, the events of the evening crowding in on her. Marcus kissing her in the bar. His hand on her thigh. The feel of Mary's necklace on her skin. Nick's hand, next to hers, but so far away. She looked down at her lap, saw her bag with the list of points about the investment program she'd planned to give Marcus sticking out of it, and anger and sadness and frustration at her own failure washed over her, this time with such force that it nearly knocked her back against the seat. What was she doing, in this car, with a man who clearly wasn't ever going to be hers? How had she managed to get herself into such a stupid situation again? How was she going to make it right with Rachel, who had put her faith in Laura, only to be disappointed again? She dug her nails into her palms. She had to get out, she had to get out.

"Actually, Charles-I'm meeting some friends just off Piccadilly. Can you drop me at Hyde Park Corner?"

"Really?" said Charles as they swooped past Green Park. "I thought we were-"

"No, it's fine," said Laura, panic in her voice, as Nick lowered the phone, frowning, and shoved it into his pocket almost viciously. "I'll just hop out here. It's only quarter past ten, you know. Still time to meet them." She tapped the handle. "Can I get out?"

"You're going?" said Nick. "What?"

"Yes," Laura gabbled, trying to stay calm. "My flatmate's in a pub just round the corner from here. With some friends. I'm going to meet them." She clutched her bag. "Thank you, Paul," she said as they drew up on Piccadilly. "I'll just hop out here."

"Why on earth do you want to get out here?" said Nick. "We can give you a lift home."

"I want to meet my friends." Laura knew she was sounding slightly shrill. "Please. It's been a...weird evening, what with one thing and another, you know, and I have to explain it at work, about Marcus-"

"What do you mean?" Nick interrupted. "What's Marcus got to do with work?"

"Oh, G.o.d, nothing, nothing," said Laura, pressing her hands to her cheeks, which were burning red. "Just-just please let me out."

"Laura." Nick took her hand then, curling her fingers up, wrapping his hand around hers. "What's up? Are you okay?"

She couldn't look at him, couldn't bear to let him be kind to her, that was worst of all. She cleared her throat. "I'm fine," she said. "Just...need to get out. Please, Nick. Honestly."

"Don't go, Laura," Charles said in a low voice. "Please."

"I think she wants to go," said Nick. She turned to him, but he flashed her half a grin, almost a grimace. "Well, Laura..."

"Yes," said Laura, opening the door.

"Take care," he said, and tapped her on the shoulder.

"Nick," said Charles, looking at his friend. "Don't you want to-"

"Laura has to go," said Nick. "Don't you, Laura?"

"Yes," said Laura, suddenly anxious to beat him in the Who Is the Most Nonchalant stakes. "Thanks for the scarf, Nick. Bye. Great to see you again!"

Charles turned away again and sighed.

She squeezed Charles's shoulder, then got out of the car, and as she did she felt Nick clutch her wrist, only for a fleeting, tiny second, and then it was gone. She looked into the dark interior, wanting to see his face once more, but the engine roared up again and they were off.

Laura breathed in deeply, watching them go, and walked up the quiet street, not looking, not caring, and when she opened the door into the steaming pub, full of wet drinkers, happy drinkers, drunk drinkers, she leaned against it for a second, desperately wanting to turn around to see if he was there, in case he'd got the car to turn around, to come back and find her. But she knew he wasn't going to do that. She looked across the tiny pub, and caught sight of Yorky and Hilary sitting in the corner. Her feet hurt. She made her way over to them.

"So," Hilary said, taking a drag of her cigarette. "Yorky tells me you've been sleeping with a duke or something. And you had a date tonight. How the h.e.l.l was it?"

chapter forty-four.

B y the end of Friday night, curled up against Yorky on the last Tube home after a few more gla.s.ses of wine, Laura was of two minds about what had happened that evening. She kept trying to think it all through, and then her brain hurt, and she fell asleep until Yorky had to wake her up by yanking her hair.

But on Sat.u.r.day, Laura woke up convinced that Marcus would still give them the money, that her job was okay, and, more important, that Nick still felt something for her-she knew it. It was there. It was hard for them both, but there was just something there. She bounded around the house all day feeling chipper, made a cake, cheered Simon up when he rang to complain about how he and Jorgia had had a row, bought some odd-looking crocus bulbs from the corner shop and planted them in her window boxes, then went to Shana's birthday party in Dulwich and had a great time.

On Sunday, however, she woke up absolutely certain that Marcus would wash his hands of the program forthwith, that Rachel would be forced to sack her, and ultimately that Nick had been, very kindly, giving her the brush-off, telling her they couldn't be together, that Cecilia Thorson was his bride-to-be-and hey, fine, whatever, you know. And she couldn't get rid of that feeling of creeping, enervating, horrible Sunday certainty, coupled with despair at herself for mucking it all up, again. She couldn't have a proper conversation with Nick-she was emotionally stunted and pathetic. She'd basically led Marcus up the garden path-how totally unprofessional could you get? And she'd led Rachel and Nasrin and the others up the garden path, too-making them think the bad times were over, that she, supergirl Laura, could sort it all out for them. Hah. What a joke.

It ruined her mood. She ate the cake; she shuffled around the flat; she sat on the sofa wrapped in her duvet watching Countryfile and the Coronation Street omnibus, and ate a whole packet of ginger nuts, dipped in tea. When one of the ginger nuts fell into the tea almost whole, she cried. Yorky and Becky retreated downstairs to Becky's flat, leaving Laura alone in her self-inflicted misery. If Yorky was bad, she was worse. She felt like she was in a boxing ring, being bounced from side to side by a much tougher opponent. Bounce. Bounce. She couldn't decide, couldn't decide if she was going mad or if she'd already got there.

Thankfully, someone else made the decision for her.

When Laura got to work on Monday morning, she was later than usual-which, since her time of the New Leaf, was virtually unheard-of-and Rachel and Nasrin were both there, poring over an Excel spreadsheet, which Laura knew very well had all the figures for the year on it-because they spent most days poring over a version of it, totting things up, taking other things away, desperately trying to save their program, pull more money from a hat like the proverbial rabbit. Her heart sank even further, from somewhere around her stomach right into her pumps. This was it. She squared her shoulders.

"Hey, Laura! I hear Shana's party was good," said Rachel.

"What?" said Laura, looking around her, distracted. "Oh! Yes, yes. Yes. Brill party. Brill-eee-ant. Loved it. Loved it."

"I said it was good," said Nasrin. "I didn't say it was brilliant."

"Right," said Laura. "You're right. Yes. Hey, Rachel. Lovely top."

"Oh, thanks," said Rachel, looking down at her chest as Laura sat down at her desk with a clatter, and switched on her computer. "It's really old, actually. Thanks! So, Laura-"

"Did anyone see the golf?" Laura said loudly, desperately.

"The golf?" said Nasrin. "Why would I see the golf? Why would you, for that matter?"

"It was brill," said Laura. "Brill-eee-a-oh shut up," she muttered to herself under her breath.

Rachel walked toward her with a smile on her face. "So," she said. "So, Laura..." She gestured for Nasrin to join her. Nasrin followed her. "Hey!" Rachel caught sight of Shana in the doorway, just arriving. "Come over here, listen to Laura, she's got some good news for us!"

Laura wanted to curl up and die, quite literally just stop existing.

"Is this about the money?" said Shana. "I kept meaning to ask you, but I hardly saw you on Sat.u.r.day. Go on! What is it?"

"Yeah," said Nasrin. "Come on, Laura!"

Laura looked up at their hopeful faces. She had never felt more wormlike. "Um," she began. "Look, Rachel. I know I said the money was in the bag-"

"What?" said Shana.

"-but," Laura continued, keeping her voice steady, "Friday was a bit of a disappointment...."

"How so?" said Nasrin.

Tim appeared in the doorway. "Hi, you lot!" he called. "Cool! Is this about Laura's windfall? Our ticket out of the doghouse?"

"Hi! Hi!" Rachel said, gesturing to him. "It's great. Get over here!"

Laura wanted to shoot her for being so dense, for making this so very, very much harder than it needed to be. "Oh, G.o.d," she said flatly, as Tim stuck his head between Nasrin and Rachel, putting his arms around them, like they were an England football squad singing the national anthem. "Look..." She bit her lip. "It's bad news, I'm afraid."

"What?" said Rachel.

"He said we could whistle for it. The money. Marcus did," Laura said incoherently.

"He said what?" said Rachel.

"The money. He's not giving us anything. He said we could whistle for it."

"Whistle for it?" Rachel repeated, like she was new to the English language.

"Yes," said Laura patiently.

"That's really weird," said Rachel.

"Why?" said Laura.

"His a.s.sistant rang just before you got in. Said the check was on its way."

"What?" Laura said in disbelief. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," said Rachel. She smiled. "Actually, it's not a check, it's a bank transfer-but, you know, it's still cold, hard cash. Thirty thousand pounds! Laura, you're a genius." She bent and kissed Laura on the cheek. "He's not in this week, your friend Marcus. He's on holiday for two weeks."

"Oh," said Laura.

"It was his a.s.sistant I spoke to. Marcus rang from the airport to ask them to do it. Isn't that nice of him?"

"Well done, Laura," said Nasrin, nudging her.

"Yeah," said Shana, slapping Laura really hard on the back so that she coughed and spluttered. "Job well done."

"I don't get it," Laura muttered, but she could feel a ray of sunshine stealing over her. She wasn't a screwup. Marcus didn't hate her. She wished he weren't away-it was annoying, but she'd just have to make it up to him when he got back. Oh, she'd misjudged him, and no mistake. He wasn't a slightly overweight drunken lech. He was a misunderstood philanthropist and, in her opinion, a great, understanding man. Who obviously had no memory of what he did when he was drunk.

The office settled down to the Monday routine. Laura could hear Rachel in her office, on the phone to Gareth: "Yes! It's going straight in, today!...I know! Well, it was absolutely Laura's doing, we're so proud of her.... I know.... Yes, of course. I agree. It's fantastic."

Laura opened her e-mails, whistling.

Laura, I'm sorry about the way I was on Friday. I understand you had a bad evening for other reasons as well. We still have unfinished business, you and me. Don't you agree? I don't really understand what's happened, and I think we're both too proud to admit it. Will you come up to Chartley for the weekend in two weeks' time? We're having a belated Harvest Festival dance, a charity thing. I think you'd enjoy it. And the house is beautiful in autumn, you should see it at its best once more.

Let me know by return e-mail. Don't call me. My phone isn't working.

Please don't mention this to anyone else, of course.

Nick.