A Hopeless Romantic Part 37

part four.

chapter forty-five.

G ran? Granny? Are you there? Can I come in?"

Laura shuffled impatiently in the drafty hallway of Crecy Court and checked her watch: about an hour until the train for King's Lynn left. She knew her grandmother was in; she'd seen Cedric on his way out and he'd told her she was.

"Gran?"

Eventually, she heard sounds from inside the flat, creaking on the parquet floor. "Granny," she said again. "It's me, Laura."

The door opened about a foot. Mary's face appeared round it. "Oh," she said. "It's you."

"Gran, hi. I just came to give you the necklace back."

"Come in, come in," said her grandmother, opening the door a little wider. Laura looked at her curiously as she went in. She was as immaculately dressed as ever, with a large, sparkling paste brooch on her white s.h.i.+rt. But she looked tired, very tired. Her eyes, usually alive and sparkling, were devoid of emotion. She nodded at Laura, motioned her to sit down.

"I'm sorry I've had it so long-" Laura began.

"It's fine, darling," Mary said. "Fine." She walked over to the window and looked out at the sky, darkening in the late afternoon.

The general view amongst the family was that Mary had "gone downhill," as Aunt Annabel so annoyingly put it, in the last couple of weeks. Something was worrying her, and the result was as if her brain were short-circuiting. She worried endlessly, didn't know people sometimes when they came to see her. She didn't want to see people when they arrived, and asked them constantly when they were going. Annabel in particular seemed to incur her ire more than others. Mary could barely stand the sight of her, and Annabel, along with Lulu and Fran, had been ejected from Crecy Court by Mary and Jasper and made to wait outside on the pavement for Robert to come and pick them up. (Laura and Simon couldn't help smirking a little when they heard that.) But Laura thought her grandmother looked okay. She wasn't acting bewildered, or wearing slippers to go to the shops, or shuffling round in her nightie at four-thirty in the afternoon. She just looked tired and not particularly happy, staring out the window, not really looking at anything.

Laura said, "I can't stay long, Gran. Sorry. I thought I should let you have it back, though." She took the necklace out of her pocket, feeling the cold stones cl.u.s.tered in her hand.

"Thank you, darling," said Mary, turning away from the window, shaking her head as if coming alive again. "Very kind of you. Where are you off to?"

"Well," said Laura. "Actually, I'm off to Norfolk for the night."

Mary's eyebrows shot up. "Ye G.o.ds and little fishes. Well!" She clapped her hands. "Have a drink."

"I don't have time."

"Just a quick one. I have some wine open, as it happens."

"What a surprise," said Laura cheekily.

"Don't be rude, young lady." Mary pointed at the cabinet; Laura got out two gla.s.ses as Mary fetched the bottle from the kitchen. "So. You're off to Chartley, are you?"

"Yes," said Laura, leaning forward and hugging her knees. "Thanks," she said, taking the gla.s.s Mary had filled.

"Where's your aunt going tonight?" Mary said suddenly.

"Annabel?" Laura replied. "Good grief, no idea. Why?"

"Nothing. She telephoned me earlier, to tell me some rubbish about some old colleague of Xan's who's been made a commander of the order of the British Empire-as if I care, I'd completely forgotten he even existed, haven't seen him for twenty years. Good grief, she is a dreadful social climber," Mary said blithely, as if she were saying, "Good grief, she is wonderful" or "Good grief, she is the mother of two daughters." "Well, anyway, she said she was going to Norfolk tonight. I could have sworn it."

"Help," said Laura, laughing.

"Well, exactly," said Mary. "Watch out. Dear girl, but she can be so vexing. I'm quite out of patience with her at the moment, you know."

"Why?" asked Laura, wanting to know.

"Nothing in particular," said Mary, brus.h.i.+ng her hands together. "So, tell me. Needham. Vivienne's son. What happened, may I ask?"

"I don't know," said Laura. "Actually, I really don't know. I saw him a couple of weeks ago-when I was on that date."

Mary nodded. "Hm, yes. The young banker. What was he called?"

"Marcus," said Laura.

"Yes. What happened with him?"

Laura clapped her hands. "He got drunk, made a pa.s.s at me and pa.s.sed out. And now he's gone on holiday, and his company's donated a huge sum to the school sponsors.h.i.+p scheme. It's very weird, but I don't care. We've got the money."

"Oh, well done, you," said Mary. "Darling. They should have had you during the Second World War. You're rather like one of those Russian spies who'd get the chaps awfully drunk and then get what they wanted out of them."

"I hadn't thought of it like that," said Laura, rather pleased. "I thought I made a bit of a fool of myself. And him. Poor bloke."

"Oh, no," said Mary. "Marvelous behavior. You used your powers for good. So you haven't thanked him yet, then?"

"No, he's been away," said Laura. "Back on Monday. I will then. I'm really going to thank him, too."

Laura had had a flash of realization about Marcus, since the dinner and in his absence: He'd be perfect for Rachel. She just knew it, and she was going to set them up when he got back. A few weeks ago, organizing a setup would have been anathema to her; now she was excited about it. Rachel hadn't been on a date for ages, and she was so sweet and kind, and just looking for someone who wanted to buy a big house in Balham and fill it with lots of rather stocky, strange children. Enter Marcus. Okay, he was a bit weird; okay, he probably liked being tied up and whipped-Laura's imagination was running on overtime in this department, obviously-but there was something about him, something lovable; and Rachel herself had a really filthy streak and the dirtiest laugh in South London. Laura rubbed her hands together and smiled at the thought of it.

"So tell me..." said Mary, sitting down in her chair. She blinked rather heavily, and took a few shallow breaths.

"Gran? Are you okay?" said Laura.

"I'm old, Laura," said Mary. "That's all." She took a sip of wine. "That's better."

Laura frowned at the bottle. "I'm not sure that's medically approved, you know, Gran."

"Rubbish," said Mary. "I'm strong as an ox. Never felt better."

She was silent, and Laura was quiet, too. The clock ticked loudly on the wall, and Laura thought about all the times she had sat in this flat with her grandmother, talking about things, anything, life, love, relations.h.i.+ps, work, family. All the important things. The funny thing about Mary was, you could get straight down to it, no meandering around. She could talk to her grandmother about anything that was on her mind, or that involved both of them; and sitting there, taking it all in, she realized how lucky she'd been.

"What time's your train?" said Mary.

"Just under an hour. I had better go, you know."

"Of course," said Mary. "Why are you going?"

Laura was flummoxed by the question. "What?"

"Why are you going, tell me?" Mary stretched out a hand and looked at her wedding ring.

Laura thought about it for a moment. She looked directly at her grandmother. "I don't know," she said. "I want to see him, I suppose."

"Darling," said Mary, and then she stopped.

"What?" said Laura.

"Nothing," said Mary. "You know your own mind. And so does he. You must trust that." She cleared her throat. "It's a formal dinner, is it?"

"Yes," said Laura. She looked at her watch, knowing she was a bit late, but desperately wanting someone's advice and approval for what she was doing. She was nervous, and she didn't want to be; unsure, and she didn't know why. "Can I show you the dress I bought?"

Mary said with real pleasure, "Of course you can," as Laura fumbled with the zip of her bag, and pulled the dress from its tissue paper.

She loved the dress. She had bought it, rashly, excitedly, in a little shop in Hampstead the previous weekend, biting her nails at the bill, smiling nervously with Jo at the indulgence of it. It was claret-colored, heavy silk, with wide shoulder straps plunging diagonally and twisting over the empire waistline. It hung just below the knee. She had spent ages choosing it-she wanted to look elegant, sophisticated, but she didn't want to look like, well, a tweedy dowager. She had picked out that dress thinking of Nick, wondering if he would like it, hoping he would, wondering why he'd invited her, looking forward so much to seeing him again, being able to tell him how stupid she'd been, how stupid they'd both been.... Laura's stomach lurched as she shook it out and held it up to show Mary, who fingered the fabric lovingly.

"Silk, beautiful." Mary nodded her approval. "It's perfect. Really. He's a fool if he doesn't think so." She glanced at her wrist. "You know, darling-"

"I should go." Laura stood up resolutely, suddenly filled with happy, nervous excitement, like a child before its birthday party. "Oh, Gran. Thank you. Bless you. I'm so glad-"

Mary made to stand up, and sat back abruptly. "Oh," she said. "d.a.m.n it."

Alarmed, Laura crouched beside her. "Granny?" she said. "Are you all right?"

A small smile crossed Mary's face. "Ha! I'm fine. You'll miss the train, come on now. Just a bit of indigestion-I let Jasper and Cedric take me out to that new steak place for lunch today." She stood up this time, clutching Laura's arm. Laura felt pain with the pressure, but she said nothing. Mary walked to the door. "Go away. I order you," she said.

"Gran-I'm going to get Jasper."

"He's out. I just want a little nap," said Mary. She smiled brightly at Laura, and suddenly Laura felt stupid. Mary looked full of beans, alive, her eyes sparkling again. "Don't treat me like a child, Laura, I'm fine!" she said. She caught Laura's arm at the door. "Darling, have a wonderful time, won't you?"

"I don't know," said Laura. "Are you sure you'll be all right?"

"Yes," said Mary firmly. "Good grief, the fuss. Now, enjoy yourself."

"I hope so," said Laura. "I'll call you tomorrow, come and see you on Sunday, maybe?"

"That," said Mary, "would be heaven."

And she kissed her, and shut the door gently. Laura turned to watch her as the door closed and her face disappeared.

She was late for the train and almost missed it; racing up the platform, Laura flung herself into a first-cla.s.s carriage, then had to scrabble unhappily, clutching her bag, her knuckles grazing the plastic seats as she pa.s.sed, through two more first-cla.s.s carriages, a buffet car, and a goods compartment before she reached a standard-cla.s.s carriage. It was mercifully thin of fellow pa.s.sengers. She tucked her suitcase into the luggage bay and curled into a seat, tucking her feet up under her. As the train pulled out of North London into Hertfords.h.i.+re, she gazed blankly out the window at the gently undulating autumnal landscape, the neat garden cities, the strange, dark sky.

It was autumn now-late autumn. She had failed to notice it, tucked up in the landscape of the city; but here, out in the countryside opening up before her as the train sped on, she could see the seasonal change. The velvety orange and red of the trees, pulsing across the landscape; the empty, churned fields. The thin, pure sun, its rays weaker and weaker in the late October afternoon.

Charles was meeting her at the station. He had rung her to confirm the time, just as she was leaving the office. She wished it had been Nick calling to confirm, but no; trusty Charles, yet again, to the rescue-Laura shuddered when she remembered all the very many ways in which, over the past couple of months, Charles had seen her at her absolute worst.

And now here she was, on her way to Chartley, trying not to get too excited, but also simply happy that he'd been the one to do something about it, and that she was going to see him again. One part of her said: It's great, he knows you've both made mistakes, and he wants to start fresh. The other part, the part she wished didn't keep beating on the door of the first part, said: This is weird. He hasn't spoken to you, he just sends you abrupt e-mails; he can't even be bothered to come and pick you up at the station. If he does still feel something, why can't he just say so, or invite you down for a normal weekend? Why this dinner-dance thing?

Laura pulled her jacket closer around her, s.h.i.+vering slightly. She felt uneasy, and she didn't know why. So she picked up her book and tried to read, but she found she couldn't concentrate.

Her mind wandered. How funny that she was here and no one, apart from Mary, knew she was here. She hadn't wanted to explain it to anyone; she'd told Yorky simply that she was going to stay with her parents for the night. What would her mum say if she knew? Or Jo? Jo would worry that Laura hadn't packed the right things, had left something behind. And her mum would say, "That's nice, dear."

The truth was, she knew she was doing the right thing; whatever happened this evening, she was glad to be going, glad he had asked her to come see him. She was also glad it was at Chartley; she loved it, but she feared it, and she had to get over it. Mary's voice echoed in her ear: "You know your own mind. And so does he." Laura smiled to herself.

"Laura." Charles greeted her at the station, bending forward to kiss her. He took her bag. "It's lovely to have you here. Thank you so much for coming."

Laura always expected to feel awkward in Charles's company, until she was with him and remembered how easygoing and kind he was. He shut her into her seat, then climbed in next to her and said, "I'm glad you came."

Laura wasn't sure how much Charles knew; but then, she wasn't sure what she knew either, so it was all really the same thing. She said cautiously, "Well, it's lovely to be here."

Charles pulled out onto the road. His eyes were fixed on the road ahead. In a toneless voice, he said, "Nick's going to be chuffed, too."

"I should b.l.o.o.d.y hope so, since it was his idea in the first place," Laura wanted to say, but she didn't. She sat in silence for a while as they turned down narrow roads, banked on each side with hedgerows, and above them the huge Norfolk sky opened out above the flat landscape.

She felt nervous; she let the feeling slide through her, enjoying the sensation. She felt as if she had been numb ever since she left Norfolk, and that little by little over the past couple of weeks, that layer of cotton wool was coming away. It wasn't because of Nick, she realized. It was because she'd finally recognized that she needed a balance, the balance between being hopelessly head-in-the-clouds about everything, and being Mrs. Danvers for the rest of her life, dour and dressed in black and frowning on anything enjoyable.

So as they went along, Laura was torn between the desire to clutch Charles's arm and say, "Take me back to the train station," so she could go back to London and spend the evening with Mary, finis.h.i.+ng off the wine and talking to her about everything under the sun, and the desire to clutch Charles's arm and say, "Go faster," so that she could be there, at Chartley, see Nick waiting on the huge front staircase for the car, watch his face light up as he saw her in the front seat. She was torn between wanting it to be over, wanting to know the outcome, the resolution to this weekend, and wanting this feeling of excitement and antic.i.p.ation never to end.

"Who else will be there this evening, then?" she asked Charles.

"Let me see...various people from Chartley, and from the village. Some cronies of Lady Rose's, on some committee of hers, something to do with pheasants or game or something. And some bods from London, some of them to do with this owners.h.i.+p scheme we're running for the estate workers. Nick's being given an award for it."

"What?" said Laura.

"Kind of like a right-to-buy scheme," said Charles, steering carefully past another car on the road. "Most of the people who live on the estate and in Chartley village, they don't own. They're Nick's tenants. Their families have been for generations. Nick's started this scheme to help them buy their houses themselves."

"Oh," said Laura, "really? Wow. That's amazing." She looked down at her nails.

"Absolutely," said Charles with enthusiasm. "It's been fantastic. Take-up rate is huge. Very popular. Of course, it's not popular with the trustees and so on. He's had a battle on his hands there."

"Why?" said Laura.

"Well, think about it," said Charles. "He's giving away his property, bit by bit. Breaking up one of the last great estates in the country. They're furious. So's-well."

He paused. "Who else?" asked Laura encouragingly.

"Lady Rose. Very cross with him, I'm afraid. Well, she-there you go, anyway," said Charles, and Laura knew that was all she'd get out of him.

"So, he's getting an award tonight?" said Laura.

"Not really, no," said Charles. "They're coming down, the charity committee, to see the effects of it. They want to give him an award, but of course Nick's said no. Hates that kind of thing. Stupid idiot. He doesn't realize-well, once again, there you go."

"That's amazing," said Laura. "I didn't realize he...he could do that."

"Of course he can," said Charles. They reached a T junction. He stopped the car and looked at her. "Laura, I don't mean to pry, but can I ask one thing?"

"Yes," said Laura, not knowing what the question would be, slightly nervous.