Chapter 34
34
Charlotte tried not to feel nervous as the hands of the clock edged towards midday. She’d attempted to walk the line between looking her best and as if she hadn’t made much effort, but now she was beginning to second guess her own choices of a knee-length Jack Wills red dress and comfy but smart trainers. Was the dress too much for lunch? Did it clash with the copper tones in her hair? She wasn’t that out of practice at dating, but she certainly felt as though she was.
Thankfully, before she could rush back to her room and change for what felt like the fiftieth time, she heard the familiar rumblings of Tristan’s Audi pulling up on the driveway. She’d already popped Comet through the adjoining door to Lorelai, so, after checking her appearance in the bathroom mirror one last time, she hurried out of the back door and bumped into Tristan coming the other way.
‘Sorry,’ she said, face flaming as red as her dress as they collided. ‘Thought I’d save you the faff of knocking on the door.’
‘Or running into Gran?’ Tristan gave a smile. ‘Good thinking.’ He glanced over her shoulder, and she thought she saw him relax a little when he realised Lorelai wasn’t about to spring out on them from behind the hydrangeas. Dropping a kiss on her lips, he added appreciatively, ‘Nice dress.’
‘Thanks,’ Charlotte replied. ‘I, er, wasn’t sure how smart your gaff is, so I thought I’d better make the effort!’
‘Too smart for my place,’ Tristan grinned, ‘as you’ll see when you get there, but I appreciate it.’
‘You don’t look bad yourself,’ Charlotte replied as they walked back to the driveway. She checked out his white Henley T-shirt and dark jeans combination and smiled inwardly at his bravery for wearing white when she assumed he was going to be cooking for her.
The drive back to Tristan’s flew by. Much to Charlotte’s relief, conversation flowed easily, and she was pleasantly surprised when Tristan pulled into a parking bay outside a Victorian terraced house on the outskirts of Taunton’s town centre. The house certainly had kerb appeal, with immaculate stonework and sparklingly clean windows, and a red-painted wooden front door.
‘Home sweet home,’ Tristan said as he hurried round to open the passenger door for her. ‘Although sometimes parking outside can be a problem.’
‘I failed three driving tests on parallel parking,’ Charlotte laughed, ‘so you get absolutely no judgement from me!’
Tristan led her up the small path through the front garden, which had been paved over, to the front door, and then into the relative gloom of the hallway. As Charlotte’s eyes adapted to the cooler, darker interior space, she was quietly impressed when she saw the dark red wallpaper and the rich brown sloping mahogany balustrade that led to the upper floor. Underfoot were what looked to be lovingly restored original chequered tiles, and Charlotte smiled to see the mahogany hat stand and umbrella store off to one corner of the door. The rest of the hallway was pleasingly bare and swept through to a kitchen at the back of the terrace, with three doors leading off to other rooms.
‘Come on through,’ Tristan said as they walked down the hall. ‘What would you like to drink? I’ve got a bottle of Chablis in the fridge if you’d like some, or something soft? I picked up some homemade lemonade from Saints’ Farm when I was over there the other day, if you wanted some of that?’
‘A small glass of Chablis would be great, thanks,’ Charlotte replied. Now she was on Tristan’s territory, she felt the need to take the edge off her nerves. It did feel strangely intense being in his space, knowing how reserved and private he was. The fact that he’d chosen to open his home to her gave her a rush of pleasure, but she also felt butterflies in her stomach at the intimacy.
‘Coming right up.’ They were in the kitchen, and Charlotte was surprised to see how modern it was. Housed in an extension to the original building, it had a glass roof and was a collection of glossy white units and impressive-looking chrome appliances. There was virtually nothing out on the vast expanse of counter space, except for a glass fruit bowl containing a pyramid of green apples, which looked as though they’d been put there for aesthetic effect rather than appetite.
‘Have a seat,’ Tristan said over his shoulder as he opened the door of the integrated American-style fridge and unscrewed the cap on the Chablis. Having poured a glass for Charlotte, he got himself a tumbler of filtered water from the fridge and then joined her at the breakfast bar.
‘Thanks,’ Charlotte said, and took a gulp of the wine to steady her nerves. The almost clinical look of the kitchen was a lot more what she’d been expecting to see, and it matched perfectly with Tristan’s love of order and precision. She wondered what he’d make of her rather shabby kitchen in the flat at the halls of residence: whether he’d judge her for the haphazard way she lived. She tried to shrug off the feeling of inadequacy; what did it matter?
‘Everything OK?’ Tristan asked gently. ‘This feels a bit full-on, doesn’t it? Just you and me in my house, without a load of other stuff to distract us.’
Charlotte gave a nervous giggle. ‘It does a bit.’ She took another sip of her wine. ‘I’m more used to the cluttered quarters of university academics. Your house is beautiful, but very tidy.’
Tristan gave a self-deprecating grin. ‘Don’t be fooled. The kitchen’s a bit of a contrast to the rest of the house, but it seemed in keeping with the extension of the building to make it more modern. I promise you, the rest of the house isn’t this tidy!’
‘I’d love to see it,’ Charlotte replied, eager to give them something other to do than sip drinks and make small talk. ‘Would you mind giving me a tour?’
‘Let me just put the chicken parmigiana in the oven, and then I’ll show you,’ Tristan said. He jumped up from the bar stool, and, clearly nervous himself, managed to knock his glass of water over, soaking the skirt of Charlotte’s dress as he did so.
‘I’m so sorry!’ he said as he dashed to one of the kitchen drawers and pulled out a tea towel. Hurriedly, he started rubbing the towel over Charlotte’s skirt, until she put a hand out to slow him down.
‘It’s all right,’ she said, taking the towel from him and starting to pat herself dry. ‘It’s only water. It’ll dry soon enough.’
‘What a wonderful first impression,’ Tristan muttered, and to Charlotte’s amusement, she saw the heat rising in his cheeks. ‘I’m really sorry.’
Charlotte gave one of his hands a squeeze. ‘Honestly, it’s fine. It’s quite reassuring to see you’re as nervous as I am!’ She stood up from the bar stool with a bit of a squeak as her damp legs rubbed against the leather cushion. The noise made them both laugh, which seemed to break the tension. ‘Why don’t you show me over the house while dinner’s cooking? That’ll take my mind off my wet legs!’
Tristan, eventually, smiled back. ‘It’s a deal. But if you wanted to change, I’m sure I can find something you could put on?’
Charlotte laughed. ‘Although it’s nice that you try to think of everything, I’ll take my chances and stick with my dress.’
Tristan paused before replying, and Charlotte wondered if he, like her, was wondering about where taking her dress off might lead. She was surprised at just how keen she was to keep imagining that scenario, as Tristan led her back out of the kitchen to show her the rest of the house.