In Love with a Gentleman (15 page)

I think to myself,
Gosh, I hope so
. But I’m also a little embarrassed. I don’t feel comfortable when men lay the compliments on so thick.

James grabs my hand and says, “I’m going to kidnap this beauty, Ethan. It’s my right as the birthday boy.”
Hmm. I resent being treated like I’m some sort of commodity, but I follow him obediently, anyway.

James pulls me onto the dance floor, then spins me once in a circle before he holds me close and sways with me. He’s an excellent, talented dancer and also probably spent a small fortune on dance lessons. As we dance, he manages to make lively conversation—a real charmer. The dancing, along with his witty repartee, helps me relax. My headache vanishes. James chats, laughs, and boldly jokes that after our second dance, he probably knows more about me than Ethan does. He makes me laugh almost constantly. While we swirl among the other couples, I catch a glimpse of Ethan and Theo, who are drinking and chatting with other guests. Ethan occasionally seems lost in thought, then turns to another guest.

“I like your supersexy dress,” James whispers in my ear. “You girls on the Continent are so sophisticated; you understand how to look your best. English girls run around half naked, wearing dresses that look like underwear, as if that were chic.”

I laugh again. “You do English girls a disservice,” I say. “There are lots of very nicely dressed girls here.” And it’s true. I notice with a sense of liberation that I’m not overdressed one bit. The girls wearing only jeans and T-shirts eye me enviously. I’ve been seized by the guest of honor, and he seems to have no desire to let me go. We dance to every song until we’re both out of breath.

James pulls me over to the buffet and asks, “What would you like to drink? Champagne? Beer?”

“Just water, thank you. Alcohol makes me terribly silly.”

“I imagine that would be very nice,” James says, and hands me a glass of champagne.

“All right, but only one glass in honor of the birthday boy,” I say. “Then I must check in on where Ethan’s gone.”

“Oh bullshit. Ethan,” James says. “The old bore. What do you girls see in him? He can barely talk.”

He’s right about that, but that’s precisely what makes Ethan so dreamy. James is a really nice guy, and fun to chat and dance with, but Ethan is way more mysterious. I scan the room but can’t find him.

James follows my eyes. “He’s probably in the billiards room with his brother. They always disappear in there when there’s dancing, along with all the others who hate to dance.” He hands me a large glass of water and says, “Come on, we’ll sit over there on the stairs and rest a bit, then you can tell me more about your lovely students from Gatingstone School.”

Two girls are making a beeline toward James. “I think you should take care of your other guests,” I say quickly.

“All in due time,” he says. He turns his back on both of them, then leads me upstairs to an airy, wooden stairway that connects the lower floor with the mezzanine. We sit side by side on one of the steps and look down at the dance floor. From here, I can see the billiards room where Ethan is leaning over the green pool table. His curly hair shines under the ceiling light fixture. He’s removed his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, revealing his tan, muscular arms. A group of giggling girls joins him on the pretense of watching the game, but they’re probably watching the player much more. I’m relieved that Ethan completely ignores them.

“I find it quite lovely that you’re here,” James says. “You’re like a breath of fresh air. Tell me, how do you like it in England?”

So I tell him. Then I ask him what he’s studying. It turns out he’s a biologist working on his doctorate. He vividly describes his experiments on the mating habits of locusts. His eyes sparkle so mischievously the entire time I have to laugh. I’m enjoying myself immensely, although I’m a little irritated. Didn’t I come with Ethan? He could put a little more effort into paying attention to me. Is he ashamed of me because of my dress? Have I said or done something to displease him? Hopefully not. In any case, James finds me adorable. He showers me with admiration, and I feel like a rose that hasn’t been watered in a while. James is as sweet as Jens. The more I tell him about my studies, the more he looks at me with respect.

“I had no idea that English literature is so exciting,” he says. “I slept through my lit classes. But your eyes flash with excitement when you talk about it. It makes me want to go home immediately, bury myself deep into an armchair, sip on a good whiskey, and read a Thomas Hardy or a George Eliot novel.”

I laugh. “I hope I can inspire my students like that one of these days.”

James grows serious. “Tell me, how are things going with you and Ethan?”

I hesitate. “What do you mean?”

“Aren’t you worried that your relationship will fall apart when you go back to Germany?”

I blush. “I don’t know whether I’d really say we have a relationship. We haven’t known each other for very long.”

“Then there’s hope for me yet,” James says. He tries to put his arm around my waist, but just then the two girls pop back into view. They are walking very quickly in our direction.

I jump to my feet and say, “Your friends are coming. I can’t hog the guest of honor the whole evening.” I flit downstairs as fast as my high heels will carry me, then head for the billiards room. Once there, I hold Ethan’s arm tightly and start trembling immediately; his touch always does that to me.

He looks down at me. “Well, at least you’re able to amuse yourself,” he says with a reproachful undertone.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t know you had a problem with it. You seem quite entertained by your billiards game.”

“Only because you seem to prefer another guy’s company,” he says sullenly. His jealousy makes me feel good, I must admit. “Come on, let’s go. The loud music is annoying me.”

“Okay,” I say. “Let’s just say good-bye to James real quick.”

Ethan squeezes my arm tightly. “Nonsense. He’ll eventually realize that we left. Come on.”

He directs me to the exit, and the servant appears out of nowhere and holds out our coats for us. Outside, the refreshing, cold night air washes over me. I had a really great time at the party, but I’m excited to be alone with Ethan. I’ve seen far too little of him over the course of the evening.

Apparently, he feels the same way. As he buckles up, he mutters, “I find it a bit strange that a person goes to a party with someone but they apparently prefer to have fun with someone else.”

I prick up my ears. Oh joy! That actually sounds like jealousy to me. “Ah, James is quite nice,” I say. “He’s a great dancer, and he made me laugh the whole time. I had a delightful conversation with him.”

Then something happens that I don’t quite understand. Ethan turns to me, and I see that he’s quite furious. “Lea, I didn’t like how you flirted with him, giggling loudly and sitting on the stairs so everyone could see up your skirt.” His gaze is intense. “I really like you, but there’s something about you that really bothers me.”

I’m terrified. Oh dear! I never intended to provoke such a rage in him. Although I have to admit, when Ethan is feeling passionate—even angry—he looks more irresistible than ever. I rejoice a tiny bit that I mean so much to him.

“Go on,” I say.

“Even though you’re almost an adult”—I think,
Hello! I’m already an adult
!—“in many ways, you’re still a little girl. You don’t take life seriously enough. Everything’s just a big joke.”

I look at him, perplexed. What is the matter with him?

Ethan presses further. “When you make a stupid mistake, you have to take it seriously and acknowledge it. You have to think about how you can avoid it in the future. Frankly, I’m really frightened for you. You’re completely naïve. You need to grow up and act like an adult.”

Oops! He’s sounding very shrill. I gasp for air. How do I respond to that? Best not to say anything. I swallow. Maybe what Ethan’s saying is true. I admire him so much; there has to be something to it. Ethan presses his lips together, as if forcing himself not to say anything else. He starts the engine, and we drive into the night over the winding roads.

“Do you understand what I’m saying, Lea? Think about it! Do you really think that James likes you as a person? He doesn’t. I can’t believe you’re so naïve. James was glued to you because you look so sexy. I’m sure he was hoping to sleep with you as some sort of birthday present.”

I listen carefully and come to the following conclusions: Ethan is definitely jealous. Hooray! He also thinks I’m sexy. Not bad. But he thinks I’m naïve and reckless. Not so good. I rebel against this last conclusion. How well does Ethan really know me, anyway? Not enough for him to judge me like this. On the other hand, I’m a little confused. What if he’s right? I need to watch myself in the future. Maybe Ethan does see something in me that needs work. Maybe I went overboard with the whole zest-for-life thing. Could it be that some people find me rather annoying? I never considered the possibility. I sigh.
Lea
, I tell myself,
it looks as though you have to work on yourself more
. It’s a pity if Ethan actually turns out to be right. My whole life plan will fall through. He’s supposed to be the calm, serious one while I’m the fun-loving, lively one—like Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet. Does Elizabeth become quieter and settle down more later in life? Unfortunately, Jane Austen doesn’t say anything about that.

But I must object for the sheer sake of fairness. “I must have misunderstood you,” I tell him. “If so, I’m sorry. I was under the impression that you like it when I dress up.”

Ethan frowns. “It’s okay.” He briefly gives me a once-over, giving me goose bumps. “But if someone’s wearing seductive clothes, it’s even more important that she acts like a lady. Otherwise, people will immediately draw the wrong conclusions. It would be good if you acted a little less like a giggling teenager.”

I see. That makes sense. I nod thoughtfully. I’m definitely learning a lot from him. I like that he seems to think about me so much. Jens does the same thing. I suddenly remember how Jens said such nice things about me when we sat together in the small Italian restaurant. It was different than it is with Ethan. He probably only wanted to flatter me because he thought I was pretty. It’s better that Ethan isn’t so sugary sweet. He detects and addresses my weaknesses, which gives me a strange sense of security. I’m important enough to him that he risks losing me by being so honest with me. It’s a very protective, masculine trait. Kind of amazing, really.

I sneak a sideways glance at him. He looks back and smiles his charming smile, which always makes my knees weak. “It doesn’t upset you when I talk so openly with you?”

I shake my head vigorously. “No, I think it’s good that you’re telling me these things. People can float through life, making terrible mistakes and doing stupid things, and no one dares to say anything from indifference, maybe, or out of a false sense of respect. It’s quite possible that people dislike me without my knowing it. I think it’s good that you’re so honest, Ethan.”

Again, he smiles at me in a way that totally warms my heart. “I have such a soft spot for you, Lea. I fell for you the moment you looked so helpless on the train. Where do we go from here? Do you still want to spend more time with me, even if I’m such a creep?”

I look at him, dumbfounded. “You? A creep? That never crossed my mind. I would never call you that; you only have my best interests in mind.”

He places a hand on the back of my neck and steers with the other. The gesture is wonderful and tender, and I love him for it. When we arrive at Somerset Close in the wee hours of the morning, Ethan leans over and gives me a gentle kiss. I look deep into his eyes and melt. I hear myself saying, “Do you want to come in?”

Ethan looks at me long and hard, then says, “I would really like that, Lea, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. I don’t want our first night together to be on a cot in a dusty storage room. It should be somewhere romantic and unforgettable, don’t you think?”

Once again, I’ve got to give him credit, even though my body is misleadingly sending completely different signals to my brain. I nod and say, “Yes, that makes sense.”

“I’ll see you in Gatingstone, then,” Ethan says.

“Yes, I’m going back tomorrow.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Me, too.”

After another long kiss, I get out of the car. As Ethan speeds away, I’m so dizzy I need to hold on to the door frame a moment. Then I find the key and unlock the door. Once again it takes me forever to fall asleep.

Chapter 8

The next morning, I grab my bag and make my way to the bus stop. The railway station is located south of town, and as the bus drives through the city, we roll past the old town with its beautiful buildings and colleges. I feel sad that I didn’t see or do as much as I thought I would. I definitely need to come back again.

Later, on the train to London, I mull over the experiences of the last few days. I think about Jens, and our boat ride and trip to the museum. I wonder if he’s back in Germany. I shake my head. What a crazy guy! I can’t believe he traveled hundreds of miles across Europe to see someone who wants nothing to do with him. What would Ethan say about such unseemly behavior? Jens is even more naïve than I am!

I think about the wonderful evening at Trinity College and how I jumped over the gate. I threw away the ripped dress—I won’t need it anymore, since Ethan doesn’t like it. Of course, I packed the red dress. I’ll definitely wear it again; only next time, I’ll be on my best behavior. Ethan will be amazed! He is staying in Cambridge with his brother until the end of the week, but once autumn break is over, we’ll see each other almost every day at school and in the evening, of course. I’m looking forward to all the good times we’ll share.

The lady sitting across from me smiles warmly at me, probably because I’m beaming without even realizing it.

“A nice day, isn’t it?” she says in her best British manner. According to British custom, talking about the weather is the best way to start a conversation.

I smile back and say, “Oh, yes. The last few days were quite beautiful. Cambridge showed me its very best side.”

“Oh, so you’re a tourist?”

“Yes and no,” I say. “I’m working for a year as an assistant teacher and visited Cambridge during autumn break.”

“How nice! It’s one of the loveliest cities in the region,” she replies. “You’re from Germany, aren’t you?”

I blush a bit. “Oh, so you can hear my accent, then? I was hoping I’d lose it while living here.”

“Oh, you should keep it,” she responds generously. “It’s quite charming.”

“It’s not so great for someone who wants to be a language teacher,” I say.

The lady, who is making a very good impression on me, asks me where I live.

“In Gatingstone,” I answer. “I’m working at the comprehensive school there.”

“Oh,” she says, “what a nice coincidence! I live in Gatingstone, too. I was just visiting my brother and his family in Cambridge. We can travel home together.”

In London, we’ll need to get off the subway at King’s Cross station and catch a train at Liverpool Street station. From there, the train will take us to Brantwood, where we’ll catch a bus to Gatingstone. I’m glad to meet this woman; she’ll know exactly where to go in London, which will make things much easier for me. The woman, whose name is Alice, tells me about her brother’s large family and her visit with them. She had a nice time, but she’s also happy to be going home.

“I’m single,” Alice says. “It’s hard for them to understand, but I’ve learned to appreciate my peace and quiet. They can call me an old maid if they want.”

“I love my peace and quiet, too,” I say. “It’s not so easy where I’m staying.” I tell her about Abby and Glen, and how the loud TV, lack of central heating, and cigarette smoke make it difficult to study.

“Is that the old couple with the small cottage on the main street?” Alice asks. “He regularly wins top prize at the annual garden show. His tomatoes are legendary.”

“Yes, that’s them.”

“Their cottage is really too small for three people.”

“Oh, yes,” I agree.

Alice pauses and seems to think. She looks at me, then back out the window, once or twice. Finally, she says, “I’d like to propose something to you.” I’m curious. What could it be? “I live in one of the cottages at Weaver’s Mews. My house is too big for me alone, so I have a roommate. Maura works at Marks and Spencer in Chelmsford, but she’s returning home to Ireland in two weeks, and her room will be vacant. Would you be interested in being my new tenant?”

The offer sounds very tempting, and I inquire about the price. I’m pleasantly surprised by Alice’s answer. It’s significantly less than what I pay the Lanes. If I could move in with her, I’d save more money and have a better place to study.

Alice sees that I am pleased and adds, “There are a few caveats that explain the price. I work in London during the week, which means you must be very independent. I can’t go shopping or cook for you, and you’ll need to take care of your own laundry. I’d also be very grateful if you would take over some of the housework.”

I’m not put off by these caveats at all. On the contrary, I think about Ethan’s admonition in Saffron Walden. He’s right; Abby and Glen do spoil and mother me too much. It’s time to free myself from the clutches of the good-natured couple and win back my independence.

I would have liked to just say yes right away, but Alice says, “Come over one evening, and I’ll show you the room and the attached bathroom, as well as the rest of the house. Then you can decide.”

The attached bathroom sounds too good to be true. In my mind, I’m as good as moved in. “I have a question,” I say.

“Sure, anything,” she replies.

“Does your cottage have central heating?”

At that, Alice throws back her head and laughs uproariously. “Yes,” she sputters. “You poor child! Yes, the house has central heating.”

My decision is final. I’ll go tomorrow to take a look at it.

When we reach London, we change stations and travel on to Gatingstone. Alice tells me a bit more about herself. When she was younger, she was a police officer. Later, she worked for Scotland Yard in the United Arab Emirates. A rich sheikh proposed to her, and they got engaged.

“God, how naïve I was! I thought that he wanted to live a Western lifestyle. But I soon realized that although I would be his legal wife, he would have lots of other women, too. It was only a short engagement. No matter, I still have the engagement ring. That alone was worth the trouble.”

I look at her furtively. She must have been very pretty to have such an exciting past. She’s not unattractive, and she’s very well-groomed. Her makeup is professionally applied, and her clothing is elegant. Unfortunately, she’s grossly overweight. Not even her elegant green coat can hide that fact.

“Yes, yes.” Alice sighs. “I know exactly what you’re thinking. Believe me, I was considerably slimmer in those days. When you come to my house, I’ll show you a few old photos. I don’t know exactly how I’ve put on so much weight. I actually eat very little. I peck at my food like a bird.”

We reach Gatingstone and say good-bye. I promise to come by tomorrow.

“Isn’t it great that we met?” Alice says. “I find you to be quite delightful. I believe we’d have a very nice time living together.”

With a heavy heart, I lug my travel bag back to the Lanes’. How can I tell the amiable, old couple that I’m giving my notice?
I decide not to say anything until I’ve seen the house and I’m sure.

Gatingstone greets me like a mother whose daughter has returned home. The cricket lawns seem greener than usual. The sinking sun casts long shadows over the village, and I can hear children playing. Lawn mowers purr, and everything smells of fresh grass and outdoor grilling. When I approach Walnut Cottage, the door opens immediately, as if Abby were lying in wait for me. The Lanes couldn’t have known I was coming back from Cambridge so soon.

“Hi, love!” Abby shouts in greeting. “You’re back home already. How lovely! You must have missed us.” She is beaming.

“Unfortunately, I had to move out of my accommodations in Cambridge,” I explain.

Abby clicks her tongue sympathetically. “Oh, you poor thing. How in the world did that happen? You need to tell us everything. Run in and freshen up a bit. I’ll call Glen in from the garden and make us a nice cup of tea. Then we’ll talk.” She shuffles eagerly to the kitchen in her fur slippers.

My heart sinks at the thought that, sooner or later, I’ll have to tell them about my moving plans. I wonder how they’ll react? I think about Ethan’s words of wisdom again. He’s quite right. The pair hovers over me way too much, and Abby’s mothering is almost too much to bear. It will do me good to be independent again. I didn’t move here for a year to live with substitute parents. What a very lucky coincidence that I ran into Alice on the train. I enter my cold bedroom with the window insulated with paper towels and the ridiculous bedspread, and I think anyone who saw my living conditions here would agree with my decision.

Soon I’m sitting with the Lanes at their camping table, eating a piece of Abby’s unrivaled angel food cake and sipping a hot cup of tea. The two hang on my every word; they want to know everything. It’s all a bit too much. I’m tired from all the traveling, and my head starts to hurt again.

“Your accommodations were actually as bad as we feared?” Abby asks.

I nod. “Even worse. I’ve never seen so much dirt and disorder in my entire life.”

Abby looks around her perfectly cleaned living room and says happily, “How awful.”

Glen clears his throat awkwardly and asks, “And how did it go with the young man?”

Abby chimes in, “Did he make any advances?”

They await my answer with bated breath. They’re both sweet and mean well but have no restraint. They want to know whether I crawled into bed with Ethan! I am reminded of his advice, and it’s gradually beginning to dawn on me that he is right.

I set my cup down on the camping table and say, “Excuse me, but I believe it’s time for me to go to bed.”

“You should do that, love,” Abby says. “You’re looking quite pale. It seems to me that Cambridge wasn’t good for you. I’m certain there was mold in your room there. It’s a good thing you’re back with us.”

Back with us. Earlier I wouldn’t have thought anything about this comment, but now I feel as though Abby’s throwing an invisible net over me, pulling the rope tighter and tighter. Walking upstairs to my room, I feel like a preteen who’s rebelling against her parents, except I already went through all that a long time ago.

The Lanes turn up the TV volume full blast the minute I leave the room, and the sound of it follows me upstairs. The now very familiar melody of
Crossroads
blares through the house. The cold air hits me as soon as I enter my room, and I can see my breath when I exhale. I lie down in bed, pull the pile of wool blankets over me, and reach for my book to read a little. It’s quite strange. Until recently, this cottage felt like a real home away from home for me—a pleasant and cozy substitute home. Now I’m seized by restlessness. I can’t wait to move out of here and on to something new.

The next morning I’m fast asleep when the door to my room flies open and Abby marches in, sets down the compulsory tea on the bedside table, spoon clinking against the cup, then goes to the window and pulls the curtain back.

“Good morning, dear,” she chirps. “I think you’ll feel a lot better today than you did in Cambridge. Here you even get your tea served to you in bed. Good, isn’t it?”

I don’t tell her that in reality I think it’s dreadful. I would have loved to sleep in an extra hour! I look out the window and see that it’s a terrible, rainy day.

“Glen will be happy it’s raining,” Abby says. “His garden was bone-dry.” She winks at me, then leaves the room.

I pull the blankets over my head, cursing under my breath. Once I’m awake, I can’t fall back asleep. Resigned, I sit up and reach for the cup. As the warm English tea hits my stomach, though, my thoughts about Abby and her quirks become more conciliatory.

What do you do on a gray, rainy autumn day when your boyfriend is far away, your friends are all out of town, the only privacy you have is in an unheated room, and you have more leisure time than you know what to do with? I put on my shoes, slip into my raincoat, and grab an umbrella. Then I ring the neighbor’s doorbell. An ancient couple lives there with a black Labrador who is almost as old as they are. Not too long ago, I talked to the old man over the garden fence, and he told me that their dog, Sniff, doesn’t get enough exercise. I offer to take Sniff for a walk.

Half an hour later, my shoes are caked with mud. In Gatingstone there are several public trails that date from the Middle Ages. One of them runs closely behind the Lanes’ house. I’ve wanted to explore it, but what I hadn’t anticipated—and learned the hard way—is that these paths can be a bit treacherous, passing through dense vegetation, over hedges and ditches, and straight across freshly plowed fields. Sniff finds the whole experience quite exhilarating. As old as he is, he is suddenly revived and happily pulls so hard on the leash that I have to jog behind him.

As we walk, I think about Ethan. What is he doing in this crappy weather? Is he hanging out with friends? Visiting a museum? Reading a book? If so, which one? What does he do in his spare time? I realize that I really don’t know much about this man that I like so much and desperately want to be with. He rarely talks about himself, but this mysterious aura makes him even more appealing. Ethan already knows so much about me. He has me figured out, really. He knows that I can be spontaneous, reckless, and sometimes quite naïve. I hope to win his heart despite my shortcomings.

I bring Sniff to the front door. When his owner sees him covered in mud, she cries, “Oh!” and rushes off to fetch a towel. She says good-bye without a word of thanks. I can understand why. Now what? I decide to go to the library, so I carefully pack my laptop in a waterproof case. I’m looking forward to getting online. I wonder if Alice has an Internet connection.

As I enter the library, the gray-haired gentleman behind the counter lifts his head, eyes me over his reading glasses, and nods shortly before becoming engrossed in his book once again. I find an open desk in a secluded corner and throw my coat over the back of my chair. I open my laptop and immerse myself in the Internet. First, I sort through my e-mails, most of them spam, then delete them after reading them. I write an e-mail to my parents mentioning that I hope to move soon. Then I Google Alice Hunstead. It can’t hurt to do a little research on someone you plan to live with. I discover that Alice made a big career change when she resigned from the police department: she now owns a trendy perfumery right on Bond Street. The home page is quite elegant and high-end. Not bad.