Chapter 38
38
Bondi Beach is really something else.
I’ve seen plenty of photos of it, and scenes in TV shows and movies, but being here is just so surreal.
I feel like I’m on a film set, oddly, like my entire day is a page ripped from a movie script. I mean, come on, I’m strolling along Bondi Beach with a fucking earl.
I’m carrying my shoes in my hand, so that I can feel the warm sand beneath my feet. It sounds silly but the sand here is perfect – like, if you could buy bags of beach sand, this is exactly how it would look and feel.
It’s like its own little area of perfection. It’s touristy, sure, but not in the same way that, like, Blackpool beach is – as though the two places are at all comparable.
Beau took me into what is essentially an Aussie chippy. It had a vibe of a UK chippy, with its wall-mounted menu and stainless-steel surfaces, but the food is a lot different.
I have fish and chips – although the fish is in breadcrumbs, not batter – and Beau is tucking into calamari and chips. We’re eating them out of cardboard containers, using wooden forks, as we stroll – not very earl-y at all. I’m probably the most relaxed I’ve felt – apart from when I’m with Ethan, obviously.
He’s currently telling me more about the manor house he owns and I’m not sure if I’m jealous or it sounds like a nightmare. I’m guessing the reality is somewhere between the two.
‘So, theoretically, there are twenty-one bedrooms,’ he says. ‘Not that I’ve ever actually counted them. I have my own bedroom, of course, and I’ve turned one of the libraries into a private living room. It’s a big old thing – about 15metres long – but it’s full of books and I’ve got a television in there. That’s probably where I spend most of my time, when I’m home.’
‘Wow, it’s like you live in a hotel,’ I reply.
‘Quite,’ he replies. ‘Especially in the seasons when the house is open to the public. The place is either crawling with people or it’s just me and the staff – I would go mad, if I didn’t have my dogs. Of course, with the staff, it never quite feels like company, though they are friendly enough.’
‘No, I totally get that,’ I reply.
‘That feeling, of coming home to an empty house, it’s something I’ve never quite got used to – since Father died,’ he continues. ‘It’s the reason why I know I need to settle down – aside from the silly pressure to procreate, to produce an heir – just to have someone to come home to, to have someone to live life with. What’s the use in having twenty-one bedrooms and no one in them?’
‘It’s a tale as old as time, needing to find someone to knock up, so you have a boy to inherit your title,’ I joke, instantly regretting my choice of words and my tone. I can’t help but find all the old-fashioned nonsense kind of daft.
He laughs – possibly just politely.
‘There should be an app for that, really,’ I joke. ‘A dating app that is exclusively for finding partners befitting the upper class. People could put things on their profile like “lady material” and “marchioness in training”.’
‘Such an app does indeed exist,’ he points out – and he isn’t joking. ‘I had a quick look once, egged on by my friends, and it really was quite intense. You had to meet certain criteria – to show wealth, as though that is a measure of anything. There are some incredibly rich people from working-class backgrounds, and I know plenty of noblemen who can barely afford to get by – there’s a reason we open our big houses to the public – so it really is a rather pointless measure of a person. Money should never come into it, when it comes to finding true love.’ He laughs at himself. ‘I don’t know if that makes me sound terribly old-fashioned or just frightfully corny, but that’s the way I’ve always looked at it. I want someone who loves me in spite of the title, the house and the expectations – not because of them.’
I smile back at him. Is it possible that Beau could be a rare creature in a world full of beasts? The rest of them all feel the same: preoccupied with class, money and status – and they’re all interlinked. Beau seems to look at the world in a different way. He knows he’s rich and privileged but he doesn’t seem to think it matters. I mean, really, it’s all just down to luck, isn’t it? He was lucky enough to be born to an earl who passed the title (and the big house) on. My fortune played out differently, and I had a normal upbringing with my mum, and it may seem like I missed out but I wouldn’t change a thing. I know, it’s easy to say when you’re on the outside looking in, but the idea that I could have been as out of touch and (let’s not beat about the bush) snooty as Seph makes me feel kind of sick.
‘Ah, now, speaking of apps – did I hear someone saying you and Ethan build them for a living?’ he asks.
I mean, I’m a part of the machine, sure, but I don’t build apps any more than the people who clean the building or do the accounts do.
‘Yes,’ I say – because that sounds much better.
‘Any I might have used?’ he asks.
Oh, I seriously doubt that.
‘Potentially,’ I reply, trying to think of a way to move the conversation along. ‘I’m actually working on something of my own. It’s only at the planning stage right now but I think it’s something really special – a must-have app for women. It might be something I work on separately from my day job though.’
Because the idiots at work don’t take my ideas seriously.
‘You know, I have multiple revenue streams – one of which comes from investing in small businesses and entrepreneurs. I would love to know more about your app – later, when we’re not supposed to be relaxing, of course – and, well, if it sounds good it could be just the venture for me. I want to get into tech.’
‘Wow, really?’ I reply, trying not to sound too keen. Isn’t it silly how we’ve been conditioned over the years to downplay our emotions, especially to men? ‘Yeah, ahem, yes. Yes, I would love to talk more about it later.’
As we approach a bin, Beau takes my rubbish from me and places it inside.
‘Now then, any requests, or would you like me to make some suggestions, for what we do next?’ he asks. ‘I know some women favour scenery over shopping, playing games over peace and quiet – I’m sure we could still participate in the cricket, if we head back now.’
He laughs, letting me know that he’s joking about that last part, and I laugh too until I realise something. Shit. I do actually need to go shopping, and the reason for that is because the only thing I brought with me was the fuck you/fuck me black dress, and Beau may be more down to earth than the rest, but that dress is not befitting someone who you might find on the arm of an earl. No way. It is not a dress for royalty, it’s a dress for royally pissing people off. So I need to buy a bloody dress.
Let’s think, let’s think… how do I spin this?
‘Well, I’m not usually one for shopping while I’m on holiday,’ I tell him, which is only true in that I can rarely afford to go on holiday, and when I can – as a direct consequence – I can’t afford to shop. ‘However, I do need to buy a dress for the wedding.’
I notice Beau’s eyebrows rise as he wonders why I don’t have one so late in the day.
‘The airline lost one of my bags,’ I lie. ‘And of course it was the one with my wedding attire within it.’
Yes, I’m still trying to keep my accent as neutral as possible and, yes, whenever I try to fancy up my sentences they only seem to make less sense. I swear, everyone else throws unnecessary words into their sentences, and it just makes them sound sophisticated. When I do, it sounds like I’m drunkenly slurring my words.
‘Oh, nightmare,’ Beau replies.
‘So I am going to need to go shopping, in fact,’ I say – ugh, even that sounded ridiculous. ‘But thank you for a lovely walk.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Beau insists.
‘Oh, no, don’t feel like you have to trek to the city with me,’ I reply.
‘Bondi Junction isn’t far,’ he replies. ‘As I recall, they have a Chanel, Dior – plenty of lovely little designer boutiques. You’ll be sure to find something.’
The only thing I’m going to find in a Chanel or a Dior is that I cannot afford anything.
‘Okay,’ I say, my voice shooting up in pitch, so high it’s like even my own mouth is surprised to be agreeing to it.
‘Marvellous,’ he replies. ‘Come, this way.’
Oh, God, what am I getting myself into now?
Beau wasn’t exaggerating when he said that Bondi Junction was close by – we’re there before I know it, before I’ve had a chance to think of what the hell I’m going to do.
Well, when he walked past Zara without even acknowledging that it was a shop that sold clothes, I realised I was in big trouble.
‘Oh, this one,’ I say, clocking a boutique that says it sells vintage items. Obviously there is the kind of vintage where it’s worth a fortune but sometimes vintage just means old and used. If I’m smart, perhaps I can find a bargain. It’s not going to be easy, finding something that is cheap, meets the dress code, and looks and feels good on me, but I’ll give it my all.
I try to look like I’m casually browsing when what I’m actually doing is skimming the rails for the cheapest black dresses I can find. I’ll try a bunch on and then I guess I’ll take the cheapest one that fits – and then I’ll go into overtime, faking it, making out like I love it.
‘Okay, I’m going to try these on,’ I tell him, holding up the four cheapest dresses I could find, smiling to try to make it seem like I’m excited about them.
‘Right, well, I’ll wait here,’ Beau says as he lingers outside the fitting room. ‘In case you want a second opinion.’
I step behind the curtain – the only thing separating me from Beau as I get changed – and I do my best to keep steady on my feet, because it would be so like me to fall over, into the curtain, and rip it from its hooks as I tumble out of the small fitting room and onto the shop floor, in my underwear, before – I don’t know – knocking over a decorative nuclear warhead that just so happened to be nearby. Well, that’s what would happen if Ethan was with me, and we dared to flirt.
Meh, one of the dresses is okay, I guess. I like that it doesn’t cost a fortune more than I actually like it but it’s demure and it covers all the bits that need covering, so this might be as good as it’s going to get.
‘I think I’ve found the one,’ I announce, not sounding at all like I mean it. I need to up the enthusiasm. ‘It’s great! Would you like to see?’
‘It would be an honour,’ Beau replies.
I step out in the long, plain black dress. It has a very high neckline that doesn’t quite play well with my ‘tacky’ cup size but, hey, it covers them.
‘Well, you do look beautiful,’ Beau tells me. ‘But something tells me that’s not the dress for you.’
‘No?’ I reply.
That’s funny, because my bank balance tells me it is, and if I tried to buy anything more expensive, my bank wouldn’t think twice about telling the cashier that it wasn’t the dress for me – because my card would be declined.
‘That’s not the reaction to a dress you love,’ he tells me. ‘If I may…’
Beau reveals a dress that he has been hiding behind his back. He holds it up in front of him and, I swear, my breath catches in my throat.
‘That’s the reaction to a dress you love,’ he points out with a grin. ‘I asked the lady who works here if she had anything special. She tells me it’s vintage Chanel, from the nineties. She tells me it’s from Coco Chanel’s neutral palette collection, that she believed black was empowering and that this dress represents freedom and independence.’
It also probably represents a month’s wages for me.
‘Oh, it’s very nice but I have this one, and I really do think it’s the one for me,’ I tell him – sounding even less convincing now.
‘Indulge me,’ he insists, handing it over. ‘The lady who recommended it said it looked like it would be your size, so it should fit.’
The next thing I was going to say was that it might not be my size.
‘Okay, yeah, I’ll give it a go,’ I say – well, what else can I say? I’ll just humour him, I’ll try it on, and then I’ll tell him I like the cheap one so much more, and I really will say it in a convincing way this time.
It’s a black midi dress with layers of material. It has a mesh overlay, which makes it look like my trashy dress’s classy sister. One strap is thicker than the other, giving it a stylish asymmetric neckline that flatters my chest the second I get it on and, wow, okay this dress is… wow. The back is a mesh panel – hilariously, if I were to wear my dress backwards, it would give a similar effect. It’s just… wow, it’s perfect. I can’t stop looking at it, twirling around on the spot, looking myself up and down, twirling again.
‘What do you think?’ Beau calls out.
‘Erm, not for me,’ I reply.
Beau laughs.
‘Can I come in?’ he asks.
In? Into the fitting room?
‘In here?’ I check.
‘Yes,’ he says simply.
‘Erm, okay,’ I reply.
‘Oh my goodness,’ he blurts as he claps eyes on me. He closes the curtain behind him. ‘Lana, you look phenomenal.’
‘Do you think so?’ I ask in a breathy voice, like I can’t quite believe he’s paying little old me such a compliment.
‘I think you do in fact love this one,’ he tells me.
‘What makes you so sure?’ I ask, trying to play it cool.
‘Lana, I saw your feet, under the curtain, and I could just tell,’ he points out. ‘I know why you’re hesitant.’
Does he?
‘You’re worried about upstaging the bride,’ he continues.
Ah, he doesn’t.
‘I just think the other is more… wedding-appropriate,’ I say simply.
‘And I just think that you love this one,’ he tells me. ‘So I’m buying you it – consider it a gift.’
‘Oh, no, you don’t have to do that,’ I insist.
‘It was paid for before you tried it on,’ he says with a smile. ‘I had a feeling.’
Before I can even really think about what I’m doing, I throw myself into Beau’s arms and squeeze him tightly.
‘See, you do really truly love it,’ he points out.
I really truly would never afford it and now, thanks to Beau, I’m actually going to feel like I fit in.
I release him and step back.
‘I’d better take this off, before I destroy it by squeezing you too tightly,’ I joke. ‘But thank you so much.’
‘It’s truly nothing,’ he says. ‘I’ll give you some privacy.’
Right, I need to get this dress off, ASAP, because there is a strong chance that I could destroy it – this is me. I let it carefully fall to my feet just as Beau steps back inside.
‘Oh, goodness, I’m so sorry,’ he says as he averts his gaze. ‘I didn’t think you would take it off quite so quickly.’
I don’t know who is more embarrassed, me or him, but I’m sure that me pretending that I’m not bothered will go a long way to smoothing out the awkwardness.
‘Oh, that’s okay,’ I reassure him. ‘No apologies needed – my bikini covers less.’
I say this like I’m joking but that might actually be true.
‘I just popped back to see if you needed shoes,’ he says, trying to keep his eyes level with mine.
‘Ah, right, no, my shoes were in my bag that made it, so we’re all good,’ I tell him.
‘Good,’ he says. ‘That’s good. Very good. Yes.’
He’s babbling. Is he just uncomfortable or… is he into me? If he was just a regular bloke and he bought me a vintage Chanel dress then I would think he was madly in love with me but he isn’t, he’s a loaded earl, so maybe this is truly nothing to him. Maybe, when he said that, he meant it quite literally.
I need to test the waters, to see if I’m imagining things, just – you know – to know.
‘I really can’t thank you enough,’ I say as I hug him again.
As Beau wraps his arms around me he holds me close, pressing my body against his own, his hands daring to explore my back as they move down ever so slowly.
‘Did she need shoes?’ the shop assistant calls out.
Beau clears his throat as he releases me, stepping back, clearly flustered.
‘No, thank you,’ he calls back. Then he turns his attention back to me. ‘I’ll give you some privacy – I promise not to barge in again.’
He says this with a bit of a laugh to make me feel at ease.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ I reply with a smile.
Alone again, I look at myself in the mirror, looking myself in the eye – almost like I’m conferring with my reflection. Was something happening then? Was something about to happen?
I know, it sounds crazy but… I think the earl might actually like me!