Magic Sometimes Happens Part 6

'Why would I fantasise about Professor Riley?'

'He might be dull and not have very much to say, but he's still pretty hot.'

We spent the whole of the next week just shopping shopping shopping and then we shopped some more. Moderation, balance, ha ha ha balance wasn't in it.

I didn't think it would be possible for somebody like me, who practically lives in Selfridges, in Harvey Nichols and in Harrods, to end up all shopped out. But I was wrong. By Friday afternoon, I had decided I didn't need to see another Gucci bag, Armani frock or Prada belt again. Or for a few weeks, at any rate.

Okay, for a few days.

On Friday evening, Tess announced that in the morning we were going to Red Wing and then on to Winona. The drive would be spectacular, she added, with the trees all starting to turn red and gold and orange in the fall.

I tried to sound excited, even though I'd seen a zillion autumn leaves before. We do have autumn in the UK too, I wanted to tell Ben, as he went on and on about the beauty of the Mississippi River valley, how I would be blown away. We do have leaves.

'What else is there, apart from leaves?' I asked.

'Shoes,' said Tess. 'There's a great big factory outlet and I need to get myself some Merrells.'

'You have way too many pairs of shoes, babe,' muttered Ben, looking up from tapping on his laptop.

'How can anybody have too many pairs of shoes? I'll need lots of boots for winter, too. You said I'd have to brace myself for winter, for all the ice and snow.' She turned to me. 'Rosie love, let's make a picnic, shall we? Let's leave Ben to write a few more words and earn a few thousand more dollars.'

'I'm surprised you mentioned shoes,' I said, when Tess and I were in the kitchen rummaging in the fridge. 'I thought he was annoyed about your spending?'

'Last night, I did what he's been nagging me to do for weeks. If he doesn't kick up a big fuss when I buy lots of shoes tomorrow, I might do it again. Oh, and by the way, Ben's invited Patrick to come along tomorrow. I hope that's okay with you?'

'Whatever,' I replied and tried to shrug.

'Yeah, I knew you'd wet yourself,' said Tess, grinning at me.

PATRICK.

I was looking forward to spending time with Rosie.

Yeah, she could be needle-sharp, but she also had a kind of sparkle. It was like the rest of us were dull, grey rocks while Rosie was a crystal, the sort of girl who made the world a brighter place and h.e.l.l, mine needed brightening.

Lex had taken Joe and Polly to a good old Minnesota apple-picking, pumpkin-carving, cider-drinking day with Mr Wonderful. Nowadays my wife and kids were staying on Grand Avenue, where the children had new bedrooms pink and Barbie-ised for Polly, blue and Hero Factory-ised for Joe. Mr Wonderful had got some hotshot stylist round, spared no expense, said Lexie, and the kids were thrilled.

So I would not get to see my children on the weekend unless I made a scene. I was determined I would never make a scene. I would not get drunk and frighten Joe and Polly. I would not be like him.

Ben had a brand new Mercedes sedan and told me I could drive. I suspected this was so he could make out with Mrs Fairfax Three while I kept my eyes fixed on the blacktop, while Rosie was knocked out by autumn leaves? I'm guessing she saw autumn leaves before?

But I love to drive, so I was very happy to be driving Ben's new baby, although it took a while to get accustomed to the stick shift. Why did Ben insist on buying European models with European stick shifts? I guess it was one more way of saying hey, guys look at me.

I soon discovered that driving an S-Cla.s.s Mercedes is a bunch of fun. It also made a welcome change from driving my five-year-old sports utility, my mobile trash can full of baby wipes and juice containers, lunch pails, Lex-approved sugar-free candy bars and packs of Polly's diapers.

When we came to Red Wing, Ben said he had to make some notes about the sequel to Missouri Crossing and he had to make them now. While the force is with you, I didn't like to say. But he's such a jerk. You'd think he was Moses on the mountain, channelling the word of G.o.d, the way he talks about his precious writing. It's as if he's taking celestial dictation, as if writing fiction is some kind of sacred thing.

But Tess seemed fine with this and said she had to go buy shoes.

'Why don't you two go look at Winona?' Ben suggested. 'Give the beast a run? I mean the Merc, not you,' he added, as he winked suggestively at me.

'Shall we go see Winona?' I asked Rosie.

'Whatever,' she replied.

'She means you bet,' said Ben. 'The British never do enthusiasm. When a British person says whatever they mean they can't imagine doing anything more super-duper. Rosie?'

'Yes?'

'If you and this ole boy call at a Starbucks, watch them while they fix your coffee and be sure to ask them for a takeout cup, the sort that has the lid on tight okay?'

'Okay,' said Rosie, looking puzzled.

'You be on your guard.' Ben glanced at Rosie, winked again. 'This guy can be dangerous, you know. He has what do you British call it form.'

'You don't want any shoes?' I asked as we headed off in Ben's new beast, making for Winona. We'd arranged to meet with Ben and Tess again after Ben was through with the celestial dictation and Tess was all shoed out. 'A pair of genuine Red Wings, they're meant to last a lifetime, so don't you want to get a pair?' I added, when she didn't speak.

'No, I don't think so.' She'd been staring through the windshield, profile sharp against the golden light of afternoon, but now she looked at me. 'I do like shoes. I wouldn't be a woman if I didn't. But I don't need any at the moment. What did Ben mean when he said I had to get my coffee in a takeout cup? When he said you had form?'

'I don't know what he meant,' I lied. 'But I wouldn't pay him any mind. He's always saying oddball stuff. It's part of him, he thinks he's funny. Rosie, do you want to see more leaves? As we were heading over here, there was a ton of green still mixed in with the red and yellow. We get the best fall colour in October, but I know a highway where it should be orange, red and gold with sumac, maple, aspen around now. It would be like driving through a forest fire.'

'I think I've had enough of roads and leaves.'

'Do you like to climb?'

'You mean up mountains? Yes, I do. I was in the mountaineering club at university and we did some climbing in the Alps and Dolomites in Italy, you know?'

'We don't have any mountains here in Minnesota, but we have some bluffs.'

'I don't believe I've ever climbed a bluff.'

'Let's go climb one now, then. There's no mist today and so we should be able to see for miles and miles.'

'All sounds good to me.'

So, while Ben and Mrs Fairfax Three stayed in Red Wing, Ben in a little coffee shop mainlining lattes and vanilla Danish and tapping on his laptop, and Tess no doubt buying a thousand pairs of shoes, we headed off along the valley of the Mississippi.

Aspen, maple, oak and ash I didn't think the early fall was quite as beautiful as usual. This was probably because we had such scorching temperatures a week or two ago and the leaves had withered and crisped before they fell. Or maybe I thought this because of Lex, because our marriage had crisped and withered, too?

It was baking hot again today. But soon enough there would be snowfall, with kids riding on sleds, with snowploughs on the streets and snow chains on the cars. Waterfalls would turn to sheets of ice and so it would go on until the spring.

The Merc purred like a tiger, eating up the miles boy, it was fun to drive! I'd have to write a book myself and get my own some day ...

'Where are we going?' Rosie asked.

'We're headed for the Sugar Loaf.'

'What's the Sugar Loaf?'

'A chunk of limestone on the Mississippi River. It used to be some rock, but it got quarried in the nineteenth century and the stone was turned into Winona: sidewalks, public buildings, all that stuff. But it's still impressive, still dominates the town.'

'We could climb this Sugar Loaf? I mean without equipment, ropes and stuff?'

'Yeah, there's a trail, it will be easy.' I turned the air con higher. 'But I ought to warn you, it will be hot up there.'

'I like the heat.'

'You have some sunscreen in your backpack?'

'No, but I don't need it. I'm so dark I never burn.'

'Okay.' I pulled into the parking lot. 'Let's do some serious hiking, then.'

She was pretty fit. She ran up that hiking trail like it was on the level, her legs flashing like Flo-Jo's in the hundred metre sprint. I like to run myself. I don't want to end up overweight and diabetic with a bunch of heart conditions, so I try to spend an hour or two on some form of exercise each day. But Rosie had me beat.

'You're like who is that girl in Greek mythology, the one who could outrun all of the men?' I asked. Or I should say I panted as I slumped down on a boulder, my T-shirt sticking to my back and chest.

'Who do you mean?'

'You know the one some guy managed to beat by dropping golden apples? So she stopped to pick them up?'

'Oh, yes Atalanta.' Rosie scooped her hair back from her face and fixed it with a clip. 'My goodness me, Professor Riley, fancy an American scientist knowing about Atalanta.'

'There's some reason why I shouldn't?'

'No, no reason, but I'm sorry, that was very rude of me.' She blushed, or maybe she was overheating now. We should have brought some water. 'You weren't very far behind me, were you?'

'You were miles ahead. You'd have scooped those apples up and won the race as well, been sitting on a wall and eating them when I came gasping up. Do you run every day?'

'No.' She shook her head. 'Most of the time, I'm a fat slug. When I'm in London, I roll straight out of my bed into the tube I mean the subway and then I sit behind a desk all day. But I sometimes run half marathons for charity and I have to train quite hard for them. I'm lucky, I suppose. I have the physique to be a runner, if not a beauty queen.'

Your physique is perfect, I wished I could say. You're strong yet graceful. You make me think of panthers and black jaguars. You're so much more attractive than any simpering, bleach-blonde beauty queen.

We sat there in the autumn sunshine, gazing. The view was beyond awesome, with the river and the forest all spread out before us, like when the world was made.

'You're very quiet, Professor Riley?' She touched my sleeve, the contact light as gossamer, but it was like a trillion volts pa.s.sed through me and lit me up like billboards in Times Square. 'I expect you're thinking serious scientific thoughts?' she added, kind of teasingly.

'No, my mind's a blank.' I quit contemplating trees and water and turned to look at Rosie. 'Why don't you tell me something about you?' I asked.

'What do you want to know?'

'Where were you born and raised?'

'In Dorset it's an English county.'

'Where did you go to school?'

'In Cheltenham, at Cheltenham Ladies' College, it's an English public school.'

'So let me get this right. The public schools in the UK, they're private schools, not open to just anybody, and you have to pay to go to them?'

'Most people pay, but some have scholarships.'

'Did you get a scholarship?'

'No, my family paid. I'm an over-privileged member of the British middle cla.s.s and so I got to go to boarding school.'

'Boarding school you mean it was like Harry Potter's Hogwarts?'

'My school was not at all like Harry Potter's.' She laughed and it was what does that song say like music playing. 'We didn't study magic spells and stuff. But yes, it was a boarding school with houses, sporting trophies, lots of rules and regulations. Don't you have boarding schools here in America?'

'Yeah, but they're for special kinds of kids super-rich kids, troubled kids, kids with intellectual disabilities, delinquent kids, those whose parents work or live outside of the USA or orphans. I hope you're not an orphan?'

'No, I'm not an orphan. Going away to school is what some British children do. It teaches independence, self-reliance, encourages us to have enquiring minds. Or that's the theory, anyway.'

'You studied French and German when you went to Cambridge University?'

'How did you know that?'

'I guess Ben must have mentioned it one time.'

'What else did he mention?' she demanded and her tone was suddenly sharp there was that squeeze of lemon.

'I reckon that was all.' Okay, I thought, mind your own business, Riley. The lady doesn't want to talk to you.

But this wasn't CIA in-depth interrogation. I wasn't threatening her with water-boarding if she didn't spill, and I liked to listen to her talk. No, it was more than like. I loved to hear her voice. 'Dorset's where?' I asked, thinking this could not be cla.s.sified, that Google must know Dorset.

'It's in the south of England, on the coast.'

'You grew up by the ocean at the seaside, do you call it?'

'Yes.'

'You have brothers, sisters?'

'No,' she said, and it was like a door slammed in my face. 'It's your turn now,' she added. 'Tell me something about you?'

'I grew up in Missouri. I went to high school there. Then I won a scholarship to college here in Minnesota. I've lived in the Twin Cities ever since. I didn't go to boarding school. I've never seen the ocean. I don't speak a foreign language.'

I do understand a few, of course. After all, my job involves messing with sounds and words. But my spoken Spanish is embarra.s.sing. Germans think I have a speech impediment and my French cracks everybody up.

'Didn't you learn a second language when you were in high school?' Rosie asked.

'Yeah, I took a cla.s.s in Spanish. I can just about order a beer.'

'It's too late to go to boarding school, but you could see the ocean and improve your Spanish. Or even learn another foreign language.'

'What language should I learn?'