Chapter 17
17
KATE
Lunch was absolutely delicious. So delicious, I set aside my wayward thoughts and feelings so I could properly enjoy the brasato all’Amarone , beef that’s been slow-cooked in Valpolicella, a regional red wine – accompanied by a glass, of course. That’s after devouring two slices of thick-cut bread I drizzled with olive oil.
I am full as a tick, as my dad would say. Willem may have to give me a piggyback ride after that meal.
Also, something occurred to me over lunch and after the waiter clears our plates, I broach it. ‘I was thinking,’ I begin, and Willem drags his eyes from our river view. ‘We planned on being here the whole weekend in case Lucia wasn’t around today, but with her in Greece, we don’t have any reason to stay. We could change our flights and leave this afternoon?’
‘You don’t want to go to the opera?’ he asks, that cheeky glint in his eye.
‘The opera?’ I ask with a mocking smile. ‘ You like going to the opera?’
He leans back in his chair and laughs. ‘What? A man like me isn’t supposed to like opera?’
‘It may not seem like it, but I didn’t mean to be insulting. I’m surprised is all. You seem like the type of bloke who— Never mind,’ I say, cutting myself off.
‘Oh no, you need to finish that sentence. The type of bloke who what?’
‘I only meant that you seem like… well, more of a man’s man.’
His brows lift a full inch. ‘And what exactly is a man’s man? I’m not sure I’m familiar with that English expression.’
‘Hah!’ I retort. ‘As we’ve previously established, your English is flawless, so I don’t buy that for a second. You know exactly what I mean.’
He doesn’t reply; he just stares at me with that tractor-beam gaze and a faint smile. Does he know the power he has, making my breath catch and my heart pound simply by setting his eyes on me? Maybe he’s oblivious – some men are.
And there’s the (not-so) minor matter that he’s protective of me like a brother would be. Nothing sexy about that. Well, the protectiveness part is sexy, the brotherly part… not so much.
I return Willem’s gaze, wondering what’s really going through that mind of his. Maybe this is him flirting. Maybe he doesn’t think of me as a sibling, after all.
God, I wish I knew for sure, but I’m a little rusty in this area. Jon and I never flirted with each other. In retrospect, our relationship was rather perfunctory.
‘So, the opera…’ I say, steering the conversation away from Willem’s man’s manliness.
‘It’s really spectacular here,’ he replies lightly, letting me off the hook. ‘They perform in the Arena di Verona. We didn’t get to that part of the city, but it’s worth seeing – with or without the opera. The Romans built it.’
‘Oh, that does sound incredible. I guess I would like that.’
‘Should I get tickets?’
‘Sorry, I meant someday .’
‘Why not tonight?’ he asks.
Because that would be too much like a date and then we’d return to the flat that doesn’t have any walls and I’m not entirely sure you’re as into me as I’m into you and I don’t want to launch myself at you and have you reject me.
What I say is entirely different. ‘Because the past two weeks have been… well, exhausting. And with Lucia away, I really do think we should leave Verona today.’
He stares at me again, which is equally thrilling and unnerving, and I look away.
The waiter comes outside and starts fussing with the other tables, pushing in the chairs and gathering the place settings. I look around, realising we’re the last people here and they must be closing for siesta.
‘ Scusi , il conto , per favore? ’ I call out.
He nods curtly and disappears inside.
‘I thought your Italian was practically non-existent,’ says Willem.
‘Other than the basics, it is – and there are probably more polite ways to ask, but I’ve never had an aptitude for languages. Not for want of trying.’
The waiter returns, and when I unlock my phone to pay, Willem protests. ‘You got breakfast,’ I say.
‘That was coffee and polpettes – a few euros.’
I tap my phone and the transaction goes through. ‘You can buy lunch next time we’re here,’ I say. And now I’ve agreed that he can come with me when I return.
‘Okay,’ he says, backing down.
I stand and slip my handbag over my shoulder. ‘Ready?’
Willem gets up and slides his chair under the table, and I do the same.
‘Where to?’ he asks.
‘We should probably go back to the flat and look into changing our flights.’
He regards me for a moment, then puts his sunglasses on. ‘Okay, Kate,’ he says, and it’s hard to say if I’m relieved or disappointed. ‘This way,’ he says for the tenth time today, and I rush to catch up.
‘I meant to ask…’ I say, falling into step with him. ‘How is it you know Verona so well?’
Without breaking stride, he replies, ‘My ex-girlfriend lived here.’
‘Your ex-girlfriend? You never said anything.’
He looks down at me, his eyes hidden behind the dark glasses. ‘Maybe one day I will.’
Right, that’s me put in my place then. Just when I thought there might be more between us than a mutual dilemma.
* * *
‘You’re back in London already? And what do you mean she wasn’t there?’ asks Margot incredulously.
‘Exactly that. We went to her gallery and there was a handwritten sign on the door saying she was on holiday in Mykonos.’ I take the phone away from my ear and swap to speakerphone so I can unpack while I talk. It’s after 10p.m. and all I want to do is fall into bed, but I won’t be able to sleep until I’ve put everything in its place.
‘Who does that? Who sticks a handwritten sign on the door, then leaves for a week?’
‘Jon’s new girlfriend, that’s who. And apparently, it’s not uncommon – although Willem said it’s mostly in August when half of Europe is on holiday.’
‘So, what’s happening there?’ she asks.
‘Happening? What do you mean?’ I reply cagily, not wanting to go into it.
‘Stop pretending,’ she chastises. ‘You know exactly what I mean.’
‘Nothing happened – exactly as I’d intended,’ I add hurriedly.
I deliberately haven’t told Margot about the sleeping arrangements because she’ll only harp on about it.
‘Uh-huh,’ she replies, and I can clearly picture her look of disbelief.
‘So, what did you get up to last night?’ I ask. I’m becoming a master at changing the subject.
‘Book launch – for my friend, Gayle. You remember her?’
‘Oh, yes, the illustrator.’
‘And satirist – brilliant gal.’
‘Is this the picture book about divorce?’
‘That’s the one – it’s hilarious , Kate.’
‘How can it not be? I mean, the topic alone – that’s a laugh a minute, right there.’
‘Yep,’ she replies, missing my sarcasm. ‘I bought you a copy – Gayle signed it.’
‘But why? Isn’t it for women who are divorced – or getting divorced?’
‘It’s for all of us, every woman who’s been wronged. There’s an entire section on cheating bastards.’
‘Oh,’ I say, suddenly deflated. I stop what I’m doing and sit heavily on the edge of my bed. ‘I suppose you’re right about that. God, Margs, I’m a woman scorned.’
‘Well, don’t get all maudlin on me. You’re not Tess of the bloody d’Urbervilles.’
‘Tess—’ I wave my hand, even though she can’t see me. ‘Doesn’t matter. It’s just that now I’m one of those women who?—’
‘Who was in a relationship with a narcissistic arsehole. Yes , yes, you are. Welcome to the club. And it’s a massive bloody club!’
Wonderful – Margot’s on one of her all-men-are-bastards rants.
Run away, run away! I shout in my head, conjuring John Cleese from my dad’s favourite Monty Python film.
‘So, it was a good book launch?’ I ask brightly.
‘Oh, Kate, it was brilliant,’ she replies, seamlessly reverting to supportive-friend mode. ‘I’m so proud of Gayle. This book is going to fly, you know.’
‘I’m sure it will. And thank you for getting me a copy. I can’t wait to read it.’
‘It’s one of those if-I-don’t-laugh-I’ll-cry things,’ she says, likely to be helpful but failing miserably.
‘Great!’ I exclaim. ‘Look, I should crack on with unpacking, then get to bed.’
‘Okay, but brunch tomorrow?’ she asks.
‘Sure,’ I reply. I do have a lot to catch her up on, including that I’ve told Mum and Dad that the engagement is over.
‘Good. I want to hear all about why you didn’t sleep with Thor.’
‘Margot!’
‘Byeee,’ she chirrups, leaving me sniggering to myself.
* * *
When I wake on Sunday morning, there’s already a text message from Jon. I read it sleepily then bolt upright.
Hi beautiful. I’m unexpectedly back in London. Can I take you to lunch?
‘ Bugger ,’ I exclaim aloud.
Ignoring that he’s probably been in London this entire week, considering Poppy met him at the Langham on Wednesday, how do I get out of seeing him when it’s been weeks ? As far as Jon’s concerned, we’re happily engaged. And until the agency’s plan to fully ensnare Jon comes to fruition, including the collective confrontation, Adriana and I are not supposed to let on that we know about each other.
BUT I DO NOT WANT TO SEE HIM. It will be difficult enough facing Jon with Adriana by my side.
Poppy! Poppy will know what to do. Is 8.47a.m. too early to call someone on a Sunday? If it were Margot, that would be a resounding yes – any time before 10a.m. is considered an afront to her very being. When she said ‘brunch’ last night, she meant no earlier than noon.
I decide to call Poppy at 9a.m. – surely that’s a reasonable enough hour – then scroll socials while the minutes click over, which they eventually do, even though thirteen minutes feels like an age .
‘Good morning, Kate,’ she answers cheerily and not at all like I’ve dragged her from a lazy lie-in.
‘Hi, Poppy, I am so sorry to call you at the weekend – again . And I promise I won’t make a habit of it.’ It’s probably an empty promise – this makes two weekends in a row.
‘It’s okay,’ she says with a trilling laugh. Maybe she’s used to clients bothering her outside of work hours. ‘What’s up?’
I tell her about Jon’s message and she sucks her breath through her teeth, which does not instil confidence.
‘And where is he supposed to be right now?’
‘Bangkok. Or Stockholm. Madrid maybe. So many lies, I’ve lost track.’
‘Right. Hmm.’
‘Poppy, I really don’t want to see him. I was hoping I could fob him off with text messages until all this gets sorted.’
‘No, I understand. You could tell him you’re busy.’
‘It’d be a dead giveaway that something’s up. It’s been weeks since I’ve seen him and any time he’s “unexpectedly” shown up before, I’ve dropped everything. Oh… I’ve just realised how that sounds, how it makes me sound.’
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself.’
‘You don’t understand, Poppy. I’ve always prided myself on being independent. It’s one of the traits Jon said he was drawn to, my independence, but now I’m realising I was essentially at his beck and call.’
‘His deception was comprehensive and multi-layered, Kate. You can’t be blamed for being blinkered by it. You don’t think any less of Adriana because it happened to her, do you?’
‘No, definitely not. I don’t know her very well, but she seems like she has her head on straight.’
‘Exactly, so why not afford yourself that same level of compassion?’
‘Okay, I take your point.’
‘Don’t worry – lots of people are harder on themselves than on others. I do that sometimes,’ she adds, and I wonder if it’s only to make me feel better.
‘Thanks for understanding,’ I reply.
‘Course, no worries. Now, what are we going to do about Dunn?’
Something comes to mind but I’m reluctant to ask – it’s big.
‘Uh, Poppy… Do you think maybe you could have lunch with Jon today?’
‘Me?’
‘Never mind – it’s way too much to ask.’
‘It is a lot, but the main problem is that Jon thinks Penny’s already back in Melbourne.’
‘Oh, that’s right. I forgot.’
‘Yeah. I’ve been messaging him since Friday about how bad the jetlag is.’
I snigger. ‘Is it terrible that there’s some satisfaction in that?’
‘In me lying to him?’ she asks.
‘Yes.’
Now she laughs. ‘Not at all. And if you consider the extent of our plan – particularly that you’re having to fly back to Verona next week – then lying in a few text messages is no biggie.’
‘Hmm… fair.’
‘Now, getting back to today’s problem…’ she says. ‘What if you’re not in London right now? Your parents live in the Midlands, right?’
‘Yes, they live in Rugby,’ I reply.
‘So, you’re visiting your parents and you’re so, so sorry, but you can’t meet for lunch today.’
‘That’s good, I like it. But what about tomorrow? He’ll know I need to be back in London for work. What if he suggests lunch – or worse, dinner ?’
‘Does Elev8te have clients outside of London? What if you’re on a work trip for once?’
‘Of course . How did I not think of that? It’s as if any time I’m in Jon’s orbit – even peripherally – I lose ten per cent of my intelligence.’
‘That’s you being hard on yourself again. We all have blind spots when it comes to the people close to us.’
‘Thanks, Poppy. And I think this will work. I’ll tell him I’m at my parents today and that I’m working from the Birmingham office for the rest of the week.’
‘Oh, Eleva8te has an office in Birmingham?’
‘We don’t, but Jon doesn’t have a clue. Thinking back, he showed very little interest in what I do.’
‘So, what if he decides to come to you?’
‘He won’t. Jon’s a total snob when it comes to the Midlands – there’s no way he’ll show up uninvited. And he’s typically on to the next destination within a week, so…’
‘Hopefully it’s not Verona.’
‘Oh, fuck. What if it is?’
‘Yeah… I’ll get Marie onto it – determine his travel plans for the next few weeks. If he’s off to Verona next weekend, then you should probably postpone.’
‘But what if it’s to propose? Marie said he’s already purchased another ring.’
‘Oh, that’s right. Well, let’s cross that bridge when we come to it. If we determine that Jon does plan to propose to Lucia next weekend, then we’ll have to regroup. Leave it with me?’
‘Okay.’
‘And, Kate…’ I can tell she’s hedging and I’m almost positive I know why.
‘Yes?’
‘Look, I know I’m not technically your matchmaker now this case has taken a left turn, but do you have romantic feelings for Willem de Vries?’
Oh god.
‘Why do you ask that?’ I ask, deflecting like a novice.
‘If I’m totally off-base…’ she says, giving me an out even though she is very much on base, ‘then I apologise. But if I’m not, then please take care. You’ve gone through a lot with Jon, and it can take time to heal from something like that.’
‘Okay,’ I reply wanly.
Poppy’s cautionary words only amplify the doubts I’ve had while playing the does-he-doesn’t-he? guessing game when it comes to Willem’s feelings. Even if he does see me in a romantic light, Poppy clearly thinks it’s a bad idea to embark on something new – with anyone.
‘Anyway,’ she says, cheery again, ‘I’ll get onto Marie, and you enjoy your Sunday.’
‘Thanks, I’ll try.’
After we ring off, I sit with my phone in my hands for a few moments.
If Jon is planning on proposing to Lucia next weekend, then we need to intervene beforehand. If there’s one thing Jon is good at besides lying, it’s proposals. I’d hate for him to tell Lucia she’s the love of his life – and for her to believe it – then drop the same bombshell on her that Willem dropped on me. That cannot happen. I may not have met Lucia yet, but she doesn’t deserve that. No one does.
And as for Poppy’s warning… If I discover that Willem de Vries feels the same way I do, it will take all my willpower to turn him down.