Chapter 11
11
KATE
Dinner is at a restaurant called The Pantry, which is about as old-school Dutch as it can get, from the décor (I’ve never seen such an extensive collection of Delftware) to the menu to the waitstaff, who bustle about with warm smiles and funny quips like kindly aunties.
I ordered the boerenkoolstamppot with a sausage and when it arrived, I did my best to smother a laugh – unsuccessfully, mind you. Because the enormous sausage looked exactly like a penis. That it was balanced between two large scoops of mashed potato and kale made it worse.
As it was placed before me, I sniggered, my hand hiding half my face. When I was brave enough to meet Willem’s eye, he was chuckling softly.
‘Welcome to the Netherlands,’ he said, ‘where our national dish is also an anatomy lesson.’
At that, I laughed loudly and Willem joined in, the shared joke doing the trick. Any lingering strain between us melted away and conversation turned to far less harrowing topics than a cheating fiancé.
‘So, how did nine-year-old Willem cope with becoming a big brother?’ I ask.
He smiles thoughtfully. ‘I was a boisterous boy – loud, active, sometimes destructive…’ We exchange smiles. ‘You’d think it would have been a huge shock to have this tiny baby girl come into my life, but…’ He smiles gently, his gaze unfocused. ‘I loved her the moment I saw her, and I knew that no matter what, it was my job to protect her.’
‘Wow,’ I utter breathlessly. This speaks volumes about why he’s reacted the way he has. He simply wants to protect Adriana. And seemingly, by association, me .
His gaze snaps back into focus as I contemplate whether I want his protection.
‘And you?’ he asks, keeping the conversation going. ‘You haven’t mentioned siblings…’
I shelve my internal musings to probe another time and launch into an explanation of my relationship with Margot – how we grew up more like sisters than cousins.
‘She’s an interesting person,’ he says, clearly choosing his words carefully.
I laugh. ‘Margot is… Let’s just say there’s no one like her. For one, she’s older than me, yet most of the time she behaves like a naughty teenager. I’m constantly chastising her – in a playful, loving way, of course,’ I add.
‘Of course,’ he says with a knowing half-smile.
‘But she’s had a lot of hardship in her life, so it’s easy to forgive her behaviour. Plus, she’s good for me.’
‘In what way?’
‘Well, she’s my closest friend. And she doesn’t judge me – she may nudge me from time to time to get me out of my comfort zone – but it comes from place of love. She can also be a lot of fun.’
‘Oh, I don’t doubt that,’ he says, his eyebrows raised.
I realise too late that I’ve circled back to the subject of fun, something I’d like to avoid delving into deeper, especially having admitted to myself that my life is markedly devoid of it.
We’re quiet for a moment, and I contemplate whether I want one last bite, or if I should listen to my protesting stomach. I set my cutlery across my plate, deciding I’ve had enough. Willem, however, has scraped his plate clean. Impressive considering it was a full ham hock and a mountain of chips.
‘Would you like to order dessert?’ the nearest ‘aunty’ asks me cheerfully. ‘We have poffertjes .’ She nods encouragingly and although I’ve yet to try the enticing tiny pancakes, there is no way I’d fit in even one.
‘No, thank you,’ I reply with a smile.
She looks to Willem, and he orders an espresso. ‘Would you like a coffee?’ he asks.
‘Oh, I can’t drink coffee this late. I’m amazed you can. Won’t you be up all night?’
There’s an amused glint in his eyes as he shakes his head, alerting me to the unintended double entendre. I look away.
You two have more chemistry than Kate and Anthony. Margot’s words blare annoyingly in my head as I struggle to think of something innocuous to talk about.
‘So, it seems there is the possibility of a third fiancée,’ I say, instantly regretting it. I was supposed to switch to an innocuous topic, not a noxious one.
‘Maybe,’ he replies, his expression suddenly serious. He steeples his fingers, lightly tapping them together – a tell that he’s uncomfortable talking about this, perhaps? ‘I did investigate further after I saw you in London, but as far as I could tell, he wasn’t engaged to anyone else – for now, anyway.’
‘Okay.’ It’s hardly a relief to learn that I’m currently one of only two when there’s every chance Jon is in New York shagging some poor, unsuspecting American.
Willem’s coffee arrives and he doctors it with a packet and a half of sugar.
‘But, as I told you, I work in cyber security. I’m not really an investigator; I could be missing something.’
‘Oh, right.’
‘I’ll do my best, Kate, I promise.’
‘I know.’
I trust him, but as he’s just said, we may be bumping up against the limitations of his expertise. I wonder if there’s some way Poppy and the Ever After Agency can help.
Willem tips his head back and downs his espresso, setting the empty cup on the table. ‘Shall we go?’ he asks, and I nod. He signals for the bill and taps his phone after waving away my offer to pay half.
We head towards the bikes in silence.
‘Kate?’ he says after we’ve walked a few blocks.
‘Yes.’
‘Thank you – really , I mean it.’
‘For what?’ I ask with a gentle laugh. ‘ You paid for dinner.’
But he doesn’t laugh. Instead, he stops, reaching for my hand to lead me out of the foot traffic. It’s like I’ve been plugged into an electrical socket. Energy surges from his hand to mine, then through my whole body, pulsing between my legs. He releases my hand and looks at me intently, and I reluctantly shove aside the desire to reach up and pull his mouth down to meet mine. He clearly has other things on his mind.
‘Thank you for coming to Amsterdam,’ he says, ‘and for talking with Ady… I fear this will get harder for her before it gets easier. I can tell she likes you and she’s going to need you on her side – I hope that’s okay.’
‘Of course . I am on her side. And as difficult as all this is, I need Adriana too. Look, Willem, I had no idea what to expect coming here. I knew it was the right thing to do – and that it might help me in some way – but it was terrifying. Right up until the moment Adriana stopped glaring at me as if she wanted to skin me alive and toss me into the canal.’
He sniggers. ‘She can be… formidable.’
‘That’s one word to describe her.’ We share a smile. ‘And there’s something else… I get that you’re not keen on our plan – or any plan to get back at Jon.’
He sighs.
‘But I need it. I know that now. And it seems like Adriana does too.’
‘But she?—’
‘No,’ I say with a shake of my head, and he stops talking. ‘I understand you being protective, but Adriana needs you on her side as well.’
‘I am .’
‘You are – but not about this. Please give it some thought, all right? It’ll be easier on Adriana if you support her on this.’
‘Okay. I’ll think about it.’
Now that I’ve said my piece, my libido pops its head up again, and my eyes land on Willem’s lips. I just know he’d be a good kisser. Jon’s kisses were always on the chaste side. He never kissed me passionately.
‘We should go,’ says Willem and, once again, I’m back in the present, embarrassed by my errant thoughts and mentally giving myself a slap.
I have a lot to deal with before I should even entertain thoughts of this nature, let alone act on them. Part of me is looking forward to returning to London, where I’ll go back to being Sensible Kate.
The other part wishes I could climb into bed with Willem and let him do whatever he wants to me for as long as he likes.
The ride home is less harrowing than the ride into the city – although, I’d be okay with never having to ride a bike around Amsterdam again. I park mine in front of the houseboat next to its twin and turn towards Willem.
If this were a date – a successful one – we’d be coming together for a goodnight kiss. But despite our candour and the shared laughter – and the moments of frisson between us – this is not a date.
This is simply two people with a vested interest in the same outcome – that Adriana and I extricate ourselves from our engagements and come out reasonably unscathed.
If only I could stop staring at his mouth.
‘Well, goodnight,’ he says.
And before I know what’s happening, he smacks a kiss on my cheek, climbs back onto his bike, and cycles away.
I stare after him for a while, the spot where his lips met my cheek tingling. This isn’t France, or Spain, or Italy where cheek kisses are de rigueur. A handshake would have been a perfectly acceptable way to say goodnight. So why the kiss, abrupt as it was? Did it mean something more than a friendly farewell? And should I mention it to Margot?
I only realise when he turns the corner that we didn’t make plans to meet tomorrow. We also didn’t say if or when we’d speak again.
Maybe that’s a good thing , I tell myself as I fish the keys out of my handbag and go inside.
* * *
Monday morning, back in London, I’m like a Mylar balloon that’s lost its helium.
I didn’t stay in Amsterdam an extra day, as there was no point – Margot has work today, Adriana is teaching, and Willem went to Bruges yesterday afternoon to meet with a client – so I returned to London with Margot as planned.
When we got to St Pancras, we parted ways with a tight hug and me promising to keep her up to date. I’m not expected at the office today – rather, I’m forbidden from showing up – so I’ve arranged to meet Poppy at the Ever After Agency.
But even the hope that the agency can help isn’t enough to make a dent in my gloomy state. Because I wish I was across the Channel, staying on a houseboat in a quiet neighbourhood of Amsterdam with plans to see Willem.
‘Oh, Kate, you muppet,’ I mutter to myself, throwing an arm over my face.
It can’t be healthy fixating on the tall Dutchman. It’s obvious I’m only doing that because it’s easier than dealing with the fallout from Jon’s actions.
Poppy once told me she was a psychologist before she was a matchmaker. I wonder if she can help me make sense of all this. I could ask her if it’s normal in a situation like mine to transfer romantic feelings from one person to another.
Normal – hah! Nothing about this situation is normal. And there’s a massive difference between what I once felt for Jon and what I now feel for Willem.
I’ve never wanted Jon to lay me down on a bed, pin my arms above my head one-handed, and crush his mouth to mine while his other hand slides between my legs and?—
My phone chimes with an incoming message – a shame because there was a lot more to that fantasy – and I reach for my phone, hopeful that it’s Willem checking in.
But it’s not from Willem. It’s from Arseface:
Hello beautiful. This is your daily reminder that I miss you. So sorry I’ve had to stay in Stockholm longer than expected. I promise to bring you some lingonberry jam. xxx
‘Yeah, you do that, Jon,’ I say, disgusted by the three kisses as much as the lie. And I don’t want any more lingonberry bloody jam! Bloody psychopath. Or is he more of a sociopath? I should ask Poppy about that too.
As I do every morning, I reply:
See you soon. *smiley face*
He never seems to twig that I have literally replied with the exact same words for over a week now. Or maybe he has and he either doesn’t care or he thinks I’m so grief-stricken at not having seen him for two weeks that I can’t think of anything else to say.
Moron.
* * *
When I arrive at the Ever After Agency, I’m greeted by their receptionist, Anita, a woman who possesses a magical quality that instantly sets me at ease. She must be like this with everyone, but with her warm smile and self-deprecating chitchat, it’s like reconnecting with an old friend.
After I decline a beverage, she leads me to the meeting room where Poppy and her colleagues are waiting – two women who couldn’t be more distinct from each other.
One is dressed and coiffed immaculately and is of indeterminate age, her face so smooth, she either has a plastic surgeon on the payroll or an ageing portrait in her attic. The other looks like a seventy-year-old goth – head-to-toe black leather, cropped jet-black hair, and sharp, observant eyes lined heavily with black liner.
‘Hi, Kate, come on in,’ says Poppy when I hesitate in the doorway.
I enter and take the seat on her left.
‘This is Ursula Frayne,’ she says, introducing the first woman. ‘She’s the senior matchmaker at the agency.’
‘Hello, Kate. I hope you don’t mind me sitting in on your meeting, but I have a vested interest in your case.’
‘No, no, of course not,’ I say, my curiosity piqued. What does she mean by ‘vested interest’? I wonder. ‘Nice to meet you,’ I add politely.
‘And this is Marie Maillot, the agency’s investigator,’ Poppy says.
Investigator? I hope that means what I think it means. Why else would they bring her in?
‘Hello,’ I say with a smile.
Marie’s mouth purses into a tight knot and she nods at me curtly. Right, so not much of a talker.
‘Cutting to the chase…’ says Poppy, capturing my attention. ‘We’ve considered your request, and we’ve decided to help you.’
For a moment, I’m too shocked to speak, then her words sink in. They’re going to help me!
‘Oh, thank you, Poppy,’ I say, flooded with relief. Like I said to Willem, I’ve come to realise how much I need this. I need Jon to pay for what he’s done so I can move on.
‘Don’t thank me just yet. There’s a lot that needs to happen before we put a plan into action.’
‘Of course,’ I reply, sobered by Poppy’s cautionary tone. ‘And before we get started, there’s something you should know – pertinent information that recently came to light and may impact how we proceed.’
I may be in the midst of a messy personal situation, but nothing beats project-manager speak to give me a boost of confidence and make it sound like I’ve got a handle on the situation, even if I don’t.
‘Oh?’ asks Poppy.
‘Yes, after I spoke to you on Saturday, Jon cancelled on Adriana. He was supposed to meet her parents this Wednesday, but he spouted some lie about a trade conference in New York. Meanwhile, he’s been telling me he’s in Stockholm. We suspect there may be a third fiancée.’
Poppy’s eyes widen in surprise.
‘If so, she could be in America,’ I say, ‘but with Jon, she could be anywhere.’
‘ Not a fiancée,’ says Marie in a thick French accent, and all our heads swing in her direction. She retrieves a packet of cigarettes from the pocket of her leather jacket and for a second, I think she’s about to light up. Instead, she takes out a cigarette, then sucks on it as if it is lit.
How bizarre . And when is she going to expand upon the ‘not a fiancée’ comment? I can’t say I’m particularly impressed with Marie thus far.
‘Sorry, Marie,’ says Poppy. ‘What are you saying?’
After exhaling a non-existent plume of smoke, Marie trains her beady eyes on me.
‘Her name is Lucia Rossi and she’s a British-born, half-Italian artist living in Verona. He hasn’t proposed yet, but he has bought the ring.’
This revelation stuns the rest of us into silence.