Chapter Thirteen
If the media, with its many hysterical headlines was to be believed, the heatwave that was sweeping across Europe, including the UK, might well herald the end of the world.
But to look at Cambridge, as tourists and young folk lazed by the river and on the parched grass of Parker Green, as well as the cafés and pubs with their limited outdoor space, annihilation seemed like the last thing on anyone’s mind.
It certainly wasn’t on Nina’s mind, but then maybe she was guilty of fiddling while Rome burned.
Procrastination had, after all, become something of an art form for her.
There again, if the end was nigh, then what did any of her worries count for?
Maybe she would be better off living for the moment and not caring about tomorrow.
That seemed to be Jakob’s philosophy, to take each day as it came.
But then he had the luxury of knowing that tomorrow was probably taken care of for him, in financial terms that was.
Although it was possible she was assuming too much and doing him a disservice.
He might be one of those lucky people who never let anything faze him.
They were sitting either side of her desk with a large pile of gallery catalogues for the upcoming exhibition which was to be held at the end of August, and would showcase the work of a Norfolk artist who specialised in seascapes.
Most of what Nina sold was fine art, but she liked to support contemporary artists too.
While she slid catalogues into envelopes and pressed down the self-sealing flap, Jakob stuck on address labels which he’d just printed.
‘We work well as a team,’ he said, taking an envelope from her.
‘Yes,’ she said, surprised by the comment, which had that Norwegian lilt to it that could have made it either a statement of fact, or a question.
Was he worried that she was going to say she no longer needed him?
She couldn’t think why he might think that as he’d more than proved himself since starting work for her.
He was always reliable and prepared to go the extra mile.
‘We do,’ she confirmed, wanting to reassure him. ‘We’re making light work of these catalogues together.’
A few more envelopes added to the growing pile, he said, ‘I was wondering if you would like to go for a drink after work this evening?’
Her hands stilled and she looked up at him. ‘A drink?’
‘Yes,’ he said, returning her gaze with his intensely blue eyes, which one client had described as blue as a Norwegian fjord. ‘You know the kind of thing, we sit in a bar somewhere, order a glass of something cool and refreshing and chat.’
‘Oh,’ she said. If she’d been surprised a few seconds ago, she was shocked now. ‘A drink with me?’ she added, as though needing the clarification that she hadn’t misunderstood.
‘A drink with you, yes,’ he replied, his gaze still on hers.
‘Wouldn’t you rather be out with your friends?’ she asked. God, she was making a meal of this! Why couldn’t she just say yes? What was the big deal? He was a work colleague suggesting they have a drink together, what could be more normal?
‘Shall I take it that’s a no, then?’
‘No!’
An eyebrow raised, he said, ‘Now that definitely sounds like a no.’
‘I didn’t mean it that way, I meant yes, I’ll have a drink with you. That’s if you haven’t changed your mind at my absurd reaction.’
He grinned. ‘The offer still stands. Now come on, back to these catalogues. Then I’ll take them to the post office before the boss tells us off for slacking.’
Relieved that the awkwardness of the moment had passed, she said lightly, ‘I hear she’s a terrible tyrant.’
‘The worst,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I don’t know how anyone could work for her, she’s a real slave driver.’
‘Aha, then you’d better watch out!’
‘Yes, boss!’
By the time the working day was over, and Nina was setting the alarm system and locking up, she doubted the wisdom of agreeing to go for a drink with Jakob.
He was the first man – a man on his own without a wife or partner – from whom she’d accepted an invitation of this sort, and her acceptance was loaded with guilt and an unshakable sense that she was betraying Hugh.
She knew it was an overreaction because no way was Jakob coming on to her. For heaven’s sake, why would he, given the age gap? He probably felt sorry for her and thought that she didn’t have any kind of a social life. Which wasn’t far off the truth.
‘I thought we’d go to the Anchor on Silver Street,’ Jakob said, ‘or would you prefer the Granta? Or somewhere else?’
He sounded so eager to please. ‘The Anchor will be fine,’ she said.
Away from the cool shade and relative peace of St Anne’s Court, they made their way towards King’s Parade and as they jostled their way through the crowds, Nina could feel the dramatic change in temperature, both from the sun still beating down from the cloudless sky and the baking heat rising from the pavement.
By the time they reached the Anchor, Nina was wishing she was wearing a light cotton dress instead of her cream trouser suit and teal silk blouse.
And just as she’d suspected it would be, the pub terrace was packed.
There’d be no chance of a table. But she was wrong.
Jakob spotted the only free table and with a hand to her elbow, he steered her to what was a prime position overlooking the river.
On the table was a handwritten ‘reserved’ sign.
‘You booked?’ she said.
‘I did. In the hope you’d say yes.’
‘And if I’d preferred the Granta?’
‘I would have been in trouble.’ He smiled. ‘Perhaps I’m in trouble with you for presuming too much?’ Not giving her a chance to respond, he said, ‘What do you want to drink? I’ll go inside and order at the bar.’
‘A glass of whatever rosé they have would be good. A small one though.’
‘Anything to go with it? No, leave it to me, I’ll see what’s available.’
She watched him go, noting with amusement that she wasn’t the only one observing him.
A group of Spanish-speaking girls were openly staring as he passed their table.
She couldn’t blame them. He was definitely worth a second look of anyone’s time.
Well-groomed and well-dressed, he was over six feet tall, broad shouldered, slim-waisted, and with an easy-going manner about him.
His dark hair was short at the back but long at the front where his fringe dangled almost into his eyes, giving him a preppy look.
He was a good catch in anyone’s book, as her mother would say.
It was what Mum had said about Hugh when her parents met him for the first time. ‘He’s a catch and a half,’ she had said.
‘As is Nina,’ Dad had chipped in, ever her biggest fan.
She missed her parents; it seemed an age since she’d last seen them.
FaceTime chats, along with regular photos and videos, were all very well, but it wasn’t the same as being together.
Together was always better. That’s what Cassie had said in the first few weeks of her daughter flying off to be with her father in Dubai.
Thinking of Cassie, Nina was reminded that she had been a poor friend to her neighbour and hadn’t been in touch with her recently.
The last she’d heard from Cassie was that her ex-husband was still in a coma, his life hanging by a thread, and that she was desperately worried about Emily.
‘It’s a lot for her to cope with,’ Cassie had said, ‘I just wish she’d never gone to Dubai in the first place. ’
No time like the present, Nina thought, taking out her mobile from her bag to message Cassie.
But when she looked at the screen of her mobile, she saw she’d missed a call from her father-in-law, which he’d then followed up with a message.
Opening it, she saw he’d sent her link to the online grief group he’d found so helpful – the group that had led him to meeting the woman he was now involved with.
Did he think it might be a way for her to meet someone?
A widowed man with whom she could share her grief?
The thought so appalled her, she immediately deleted the email.
Then she felt petty. Keith was only trying to help her.
He had been helped and he wanted the same for her.
Looking up and seeing Jakob coming towards her across the crowded terrace, she put her mobile away.
‘Rosé as requested,’ he said, sitting down and passing the glass of wine to her. ‘I also ordered some hot honey chicken wings and olives. Is that okay?’
‘More than okay,’ she said, the thought of food suddenly making her feel hungry.
‘Excellent. And now,’ he said, sitting back in his chair and raising his glass of beer to her, ‘we can relax.’
Yes, she told herself. Relax! And amazingly, ten minutes later she realised she was relaxed, and she was actually enjoying herself.
Jakob, it turned out, had a hidden talent for mimicry and could put on a variety of accents ranging from Scottish to Geordie, Liverpudlian to Brummie as well as something straight out of EastEnders.
‘How in the world have you learnt all these accents?’ she asked.
He shrugged. ‘I hear a voice and it just clicks with me.’
‘That’s quite a gift. What other talents do you have which I don’t know about?’
‘I can boast of nothing else, I’m afraid. What about you, what secret talents do you have?’
‘I’m double-jointed,’ she said, ‘look.’ She pushed her thumb on her left hand so that it lay almost flat against her wrist.
‘That’s not human,’ he said with a shudder.
She laughed. ‘You’re not the first person to say that.’
‘What else can you do?’
‘I can procrastinate for England.’
He drew his brows together. ‘What does that mean?’
‘It means I’m always putting things off.’
‘You don’t appear to. To me you always seem so decisive.’
‘That,’ she said, taking a sip of her wine, ‘is because you only see me in a work environment where I’m used to making decisions about the gallery. Those are easy. I find personal decisions far trickier. I never used to.’