Part 21 (1/2)
”After you, madam.”
Through the ghostly, dark house they walked, as quietly as possible. Through the great hall, where Laura looked at the huge map of the county and smiled; past the ballroom, where George had got his digital camera stuck on pause, precipitating a mini-crisis; up the great staircase, where their feet slapped on the cold, hard marble, and under the immense chandelier that hung over them dead and still, its crystal pendants dull.
They reached the library in silence, and Nick stopped, put his hand on her arm. ”Nearly there,” he whispered in her ear. ”I'm sorry about this, this is ridiculous, but we'll have to go through the house. Quietly-I don't want James to hear. He's Sam's nighttime partner in crime. Or not.”
”It's fine,” hissed Laura in a stage whisper that made both of them jump apart a little. ”It's fine,” she repeated.
Nick gave her a strange look. ”You okay?” he said. ”Not having second thoughts?”
Laura wasn't having second thoughts; she rarely did once she'd got to this stage with someone. She was, however, trying not to freak out about everything else to do with the situation. Normally, when she was climbing the stairs of someone's house in silence, it was to avoid a sleeping flatmate, or a drunk friend pa.s.sed out on the sofa.
”No, no,” Laura whispered again. ”I'm not very good at whispering, that's all. Sorry.”
”That's okay,” said Nick. ”I'm not surprised, knowing you as well as I do. You're a bit too much of a ranter to be able to whisper particularly well.” He smiled and took her hand. ”Hold my hand. I've just got to check they've locked up.”
He walked toward the library door, Laura following. She watched as he grasped the old bra.s.s handle and looked in. His gaze ran down the long room, where moonlight was starting to creep onto the carpet through the slivers left by the blinds.
”The Happy Marriage,” she said out loud, looking toward the lonely painting at the end of the great room.
”Yes,” said Nick, almost to himself. ”It was my mother's favorite.”
”Really?” said Laura.
”Yes. She loved it. She used to dance along the room with me when I was little, doing a jig. And then my sisters used to make me reenact it with them when we were small. I had to be the bridesmaid.”
Laura laughed quietly.
He smiled. ”And now we're advised that we can't afford the insurance to have the whole series out on display during the summer. Pathetic, isn't it.”
”It's beautiful,” said Laura inadequately, feeling foolish.
”Beautiful,” Nick said slowly, looking around him, leading her into the library. ”Do you think so? Yes. Of course it is.”
She caught the fleeting expression on his face, and it disturbed her. It was dark, ugly, his mouth curling in an unhappy smile.
”It's all yours,” said Laura impulsively, saying something to break the silence. ”Isn't that weird?”
”It's very weird, especially when you find yourself getting used to it,” said Nick quietly. ”You start to think this is what a normal life's like. It's not. I have to keep reminding myself of that; otherwise I'd go insane.”
Laura didn't know what to say. She agreed with him.
”I'm sorry I lied,” he said frankly, almost to himself. ”It's just you get in here, and this becomes the big deal.” His gesture encompa.s.sed the room, the fields outside. ”Not the important stuff, and I don't want you to think-”
”Stop worrying,” said Laura. ”I mean it. I'm not here because of all of this. I'm here because of you.”
She looked around the big, beautiful room. It was completely still, not a sound within or outside. As if it were just the two of them, nothing more in the world, in this room alone. Nick took her hand and held it. She watched him; the skin on her palm was creamy white in the moonlight streaming through the great windows. He raised her hand to his lips, and kissed the tips of her fingers gently.
”I just keep thinking perhaps you're made-up,” he said softly.
”Me too,” said Laura. ”Me too.”
They stayed like that in complete silence, staring at each other, in the center of the long, silvery room.
”Are we still friends, then?” he said, his voice light.
Laura looked up at him. ”Oh, Nick, I don't think we're friends anymore, do you?”
No one disturbed them as they continued on their way through the corridors, and it was almost a relief to reach the strangely familiar surroundings of his room, a comparative haven of normality tucked inside this great sh.e.l.l of a home.
Nick dumped the cooler box and the blanket on the floor, then took off his jacket, his back to her, while Laura took off her shoes. She felt suddenly ill at ease, and the white noise of questions she had about all this and him, how strange it was, how something was bothering her about it but she didn't know what, started to rise within her. But then he turned around, and she wondered how she could have thought he was anyone else but him, how she could have thought she didn't know him, because she did.
He walked toward her. ”I've wanted to do this since the moment I laid eyes on you, you know that?” he said, and he calmly put his hands on her hips and kissed her again. As his lips met hers, Laura felt as if she were melting into him. He kissed her slowly, wrapping his arms around her, so that he held her tightly. As she returned his kiss more urgently, his tongue inside her mouth, pus.h.i.+ng, sliding slowly into her, she could feel the strength of his body against hers, as if they were breathing together, as if they were in their own world. She stopped thinking, for the first time in days, weeks. She simply felt, in her heart and head, and soon she barely knew where she was.
Nick's eyes were black. He gave her that old, sweetly familiar smile, half mocking, half comforting. She knelt on the edge of the bed and wrapped her arms around his neck, and he buried his face in her skin.
”Don't go tomorrow,” he said, his voice husky. ”Laura-don't go....”
Laura put her finger to his lips, and he pushed her back. They fell on the bed together, and Laura remembered fleetingly how big it had felt when she had got into it alone, two nights ago. How strange that seemed now. Nick was on top of her; she could feel that he was hard already, and her last thought before she gave herself up to it, to him, was how strange it was, too, that it should feel so right, as if she had known him for years. Her very own romantic hero-yet it turned out that who he was couldn't matter less to her; all she wanted was to feel him, to be joined to him, to stay like that forever.
chapter twenty-five.
L aura dreamed that she was back at home in her flat with Yorky. He was walking toward her, smiling, pleased to see her, and behind him were Jo and Chris, Simon plonking his backpack down on the ground, Hilary and Hamish. Rachel was there with a picnic hamper, looking overjoyed, and they all had a picnic, until Dan appeared with Amy and three small children; and suddenly all their friends dispersed like pale, insubstantial ghosts, leaving her alone in the sitting room as Amy advanced toward her, holding a child in each arm, screaming at her, while Laura called out for help, but no one came, and Dan stood in the background, wringing his hands....
She woke with a start, for the second time, in Nick's spa.r.s.e, bright bachelor bedroom. She sat up, realizing where she was, and her heart lifted at the view of sunlight out the window. Nick wasn't there. She lay back again, remembering the previous evening, the night, Nick's hands on her body, all over her, the two of them together, and she stretched again, smiling. Funny to be alone in the bed, when the two of them together...Almost the perfect date, she thought, and she put her hand to her breast to calm her heart, which was fluttering most alarmingly.
She sat up again and bit her lip, turning her thoughts to more pragmatic matters, to the day ahead. She was in charge of meeting and greeting when the relatives arrived for Mary's lunch, handing out drinks and crisps, almost like a maitre d'. She looked at her watch. It was ten, she realized with horror. At this very moment, the Sandersons were on their way, getting closer and closer. As was Simon-she was going to see Simon, hurrah. She had to go, she had to help Mum. Right, she told herself. Get dressed, find Nick, and say goodbye.
Say goodbye. At the thought of doing just that, her heart turned over and sank. Goodbye. She couldn't. She wished he were here, so she could ask him-so she could convince herself it was the same with him, that she wasn't this convenient fling. That this whole sleeping-with-a-marquis thing wasn't a really bad idea. It didn't seem like it, here in the relatively comforting surroundings of his room. It hadn't seemed like it the previous night, as they lay together, tightly entwined, his hands stroking her hair, Nick whispering softly to her as she fell asleep. But today...
There was no point in reliving it, not just yet, she told herself. She got dressed, pulling on her sundress and gathering her things together. She opened the window, straightened the duvet cover. She was pragmatic, organized. It was what Mrs. Danvers would do. Then she sat on the edge of the bed to wait for him to come back, feeling rather marooned, not knowing why she wanted to cry, why suddenly this all seemed much sharper, more real, with more potential to hurt, to give her pain.
She was just admiring her post-bed hair, which looked like a tousled bird's nest, in the mirror when there was a knock at the door. Laura grimaced. What should she do? Pretend there was no one there? She was silent, hoping the person would go away.
The knock came again, and there was a pause. She could hear a light cough. ”Nick?” came a low, tentative male voice.
The door opened slowly. Laura froze on the other side of the room, not sure where to go or what to do, feeling insanely English all of a sudden.
It was Charles. He caught sight of her and stopped on the threshold, looking horrified. ”Ah. Oh, my goodness. Laura? I'm so dreadfully sorry. I had no idea.”
”h.e.l.lo,” said Laura, feeling very unsure of herself. Had Charles known she was here? Did he know anything about the situation? Argh! It was embarra.s.sing, she thought, then collected herself. Was it against the law? No, of course not.
Charles advanced a little way in and leaned against the thin edge of the door in an attempt to look natural and casual. It didn't really work. He was nervous, she noticed.
”I was-I was just going,” said Laura, picking up her things.