Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Ru
“Well, he doesn’t seem like an arsehole,” Carter says as we walk back towards his parents’ house, or rather his house now.
“No,” I answer slowly, thinking about it all. It’s true he didn’t, today, and he did genuinely seem to want to apologise. But him being here in the UK, in Oxford ... I can’t quite get my head round that. He said he was trying to find me. To apologise? That’s a long way to come, and it seems strange. No, it seems kind of wonderful, really.
He said he moved here to study statistics, or whatever. I was only half listening because I was in shock. I still am.
“Are you going to go on a date with him, then?” Carter asks as we reach his house.
I run my hands through my hair. “That’s a problem.”
“You don’t want to?” Carter frowns and I know what he’s thinking. It’s not that at all.
“It’s just my father, if he ever found out . . .”
“Ru, I get it, but you can’t live your life like this. You’re going to have to stand up to him at some point. I know his stance on his lineage.” He grimaces because he’s heard it enough from me. “But seriously, would he disown you if he knew the truth? If he does, then the line will definitely end with him. Is he willing to go to those lengths?”
He has a point, but still, I’m not sure I can take the risk. Maybe if I get him used to the idea, eventually.
He sees me hesitate and pulls me in for a hug.
“Just give it some thought, and if you need me, I’ll be here for a month.”
I squeeze him and whisper my thanks before releasing him. Then I remember why he’s here and feel bad that I haven’t supported him.
“Do you want some help?” I gesture towards the house.
He glances back at it and then swings back to me, his face a little sad.
“No, I’ll be alright.”
“Well, if you’re sure, but shout when you need me. I’m more than happy to give you a hand.”
It’s only when I leave him and start driving back to my own place that I remember the dinner tomorrow night, and I groan. I feel even less like attending now that Nate’s here.
* * *
“Rupert. How lovely.” Fenella’s voice is like ice when I greet her as the Dubarrys arrive.
“Fenella,” I say as pleasantly as I can, which isn’t much, and the sly look she gives me sends shivers down my spine. I decide to ignore her as much as possible, but she doesn’t seem to mind and sits talking with mother while we have pre-dinner drinks.
Fenella asks her extensively about the causes she supports and promises to go along to some of them. Mother is delighted of course, and I can already see her appraising Fenella as perfect daughter-in-law material.
After what seems like a lifetime but is probably only half an hour, Perkins opens the doors to the dining room, signaling that we can go through.
I take my place next to Petra, and as far away from Fenella as I can manage, but she’s too engrossed in talking to my mother to notice. When I do glance their way I see Fenella look at me with a sly smile and say something to my mother.
“Oh, he’s always doing things like that,” my mother replies, and they share a look as if I’m some sort of fixer-upper who just needs the influence of a good woman.
I barely pay attention over the next couple of hours, lost in my head and thinking over what Gabriel had said when I talked to him earlier. He couldn’t help much. The only useful piece of information he did offer was that Fenella had been engaged to someone until recently, but he couldn’t tell me what happened. He said that while he sees Xander regularly at polo matches, Xander doesn’t talk about his family at all.
I can’t blame him.
The rest of the meal is uncomfortable, and the way Fenella keeps looking at me, I can almost feel the noose tightening around my neck. Which I won’t let happen.
When the Dubarrys have gone, I’m ready to leave too, but my sister drags me into the drawing room where my father is pouring brandy, and I decide I could do with a drink.
“What do you think, Rupert?” my father asks, as he hands me a glass.
“What about?” I ask, knowing full well what he’s getting at, but I feel like being surly.
“Fenella Dubarry. She's such a sweet girl, don’t you think?” my mother decides to chime in.
I take a swig of my drink, needing a bit of dutch courage.
“If you think I’m going to marry Fenella, you’re mistaken. I hate her. Ever since we were kids she’s been mean and spiteful to me, and I can’t see that she’s changed much.”
“I agree. Fenella is awful,” Petra pipes up from her seat on the sofa, flicking through a magazine. I shoot her a grateful look. She turns her attention back to the magazine.
“Oh look, Ru, here’s a picture of you and Jenna at Alice’s show last week. You look so dapper. Super smart. Both of you do.”
She turns the magazine round so I can see, and I have to admit we do look good. They managed to catch a brief moment when I wasn’t scowling, and of course, Jenna is smiling.
My mother holds her hand out for the magazine and Petra hands it over with a conspiratorial smile at me.
My father downs his brandy and rises, going to pour another. I join him to place my empty glass on the tray and can feel him repress a sigh.
“Alright, not the Dubarry girl, but this is far from over, Rupert.”
I don’t answer, and I certainly don’t thank him, because from his tone, I understand it’s only a short stay of execution.
I quit my parents’ house and drive back to my place. As soon as I get home, I shut the door and lean against it. My own sanctuary. I’m not safe, but here at least I can think clearer. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out, expecting it to be Jenna.
It’s Nate.
It’s a friendly text, and again, he asks for a date.
I sigh.
Now everything is far more complicated.
My fingers hover over the phone, a reply half written, but suddenly I want to hear his voice, so I call him instead.
His delight when he answers cheers me up, but not what I have to tell him. In some way, it might have been better if he’d never turned up.
“I can’t go on a date with you, Nate,” I say bluntly.
“Can’t or won’t?” he asks.
“Can’t. It’s not a risk I can take. There are already too many people who know about me. This isn’t Sydney.” He thankfully doesn’t point out that we didn’t go on a date in Sydney, that the time we spent together was in our hotel rooms.
I hear him take a deep breath before he speaks again.
“It’ll be discreet.”
“I—” He cuts through my protest.
“I promise it will be very discreet. Please give me a chance, Rupert. I need to apologise and explain, and then after that if you don’t want to see me, that’s up to you.” The desperation in his voice cuts through my own worries. I do want to hear what he has to say, and there are no strings attached, are there?
There’s no need to drag him into the shit hole of my situation, but he did travel thousands of miles to find me. I can give him this.
So I agree, and the genuine relief in his voice warms my core for the first time this evening. He asks me to give him a couple of days, and he’ll let me know when, and can I text him my address.
It takes a long time for me to get to sleep that night, with my body hovering between the dread of my father’s plan and excitement at seeing Nate again.
* * *
I let out a little smile at the black limo that pulls up outside my apartment block.
I’m familiar with them of course—they are the only way to travel to opening nights and balls, and they’re not out of place in this part of town—but that Nate thought of it calms a few of the butterflies that have been flitting around my stomach ever since he sent a text with the day and time of our date. He included only two more words... Dress formally.
He didn’t say black tie, so I’m wearing a simple but well-tailored navy suit and white shirt. The driver opens the door for me and I slip inside quickly. Nate is also in a suit, which surprises me slightly because I’ve only ever seen him dressed casually or in nothing at all.
The car starts and I settle back in the seat. I suddenly don’t know what to say, and Nate looks a little subdued as well, another surprise because he’s usually never at a loss for words. I take a breath and let my years of schooling in social graces take over.
“So, what are you studying at Oxford?”
He tells me he’s taking a second masters degree. It doesn’t quite fit with the playboy persona he’s shown me, but then I remember he said he’d graduated from grad school , so I suppose that meant the first masters.
The car leaves the city and drives through country lanes. I can’t see enough out of the tinted windows to follow where we’re heading, especially as I’m paying close attention to what Nate is saying. Eventually the car drives through an ornate set of gates—ones I do recognise.
“You managed to get a table at Le Manoir?” I whisper. Raymond Blanc’s Michelin starred restaurant, Le Manoir aux Quat’Saisons, is very exclusive. Tables are booked up weeks in advance, and Nate managed to get a place in just a few days.
He doesn’t answer, but just gives a wide smile and a nod. My breath shudders, because as much as I love the place and haven’t been for a few years, it’s also public. I go to shove my hands between my knees to stop them shaking, but Nate catches hold of one and squeezes it gently.
“Please trust me,” he says quietly, and keeps hold of my hand until the car draws up at the entrance of the restaurant. He seems reluctant as he releases it, just as the door opens.
The restaurant, set in an old manor house, is several hundred years old and is timelessly elegant. We’re greeted and shown through to the dining room, and I hold my breath in case there’s anyone who might recognise me.
The waiter leads us to a secluded table, half-hidden from the rest of the room by some large potted ferns. I look around in wonder as the room is completely empty. There are no other diners.
I give Nate a puzzled look as we’re seated and the waiter silently melts away.
“I promised it would be discreet,” he says, leaning a little forward over the table.
I look around again.
“Did you buy the entire restaurant for the evening?” I ask, and the brilliant smile that reaches his beautiful green eyes gives him away.
I suck in a breath. I know how much it costs for one person to eat here, so I have an idea how much it would be to buy every seat. It would be several thousand pounds for sure, maybe up to ten thousand given the short notice. That’s a lot of money to say sorry.
“Thank you,” I whisper. I’m extremely impressed, and it seems I’ve seriously underestimated him. I’m left wondering who exactly Nate Waterford is.