Chapter 19
Lesson 19: Pimm’s and sunshine can lead one dangerously to lusty thoughts.
Bridget Jones Tally:
tight white T-shirts—1
We toured the Wren Library, where perfect, mullioned-windowed symmetry and a shining chessboard floor framed the endless dark-wood
shelves of leathery literary perfection. Cambridge felt as if we’d walked through a painting into another time, where academics
bustled through streets full of ideas we could never fathom. We were just passers through, wandering the cloisters, peering
through the window at the otherworldly Corpus Clock, where a winged metal demon greedily pulled the giant wheel of time, one
shining notch at a time.
For lunch, we piled into Fitzbillies. The café, already crowded with students, had a simple interior, with glass bakery cases
filled to the brim. I got a warm carrot and coriander soup with avocado toast, and followed it up with a rich cappuccino and
a decadently sticky Chelsea bun.
I was careful to secure an available seat bracketed in between Berrta and Agatha, where I could be sure that (a) I wouldn’t have to sit next to Robbie, and (b) I wouldn’t have to make too much conversation. I just wanted to sit and ruminate on Doris’s story again, chewing at each part to suck out the meaning.
Robbie took a seat across the table from me. Not in a place where we could share private confidences, but still where I was
always in his line of sight. Some small, disloyal part of my lizard brain wanted nothing more than to share a cozy chat with
him over a delicious lunch, our eyes flashing across the table, our feet touching by accident, or not by accident, tension
building. But I held strong and put some distance between us.
Several times I felt his eyes on me. It sent a wave of prickles over my skin that I couldn’t ignore. A few times I looked
up and we locked eyes—accidental on my part, at least—but when he shot me a cheeky, knowing grin, it flipped my stomach upside
down.
I had always had the type of fair complexion that was eager to blush with even the slightest of stimuli. For years I desperately
attempted to train it otherwise. As a misguided teen, I tried to shield myself from this showy display with a thick, cakey
layer of foundation. But I never did find a solution.
He flashed that smile of his, and suddenly the cold rain was on my skin again, his rough hands around my waist and his stubble
rasping against my lips, and I was breathing him in breath by breath as my lungs worked faster, drunk on his scent. My cheeks
turned strawberry red. He saw this and beamed with self-satisfaction.
I didn’t want the others to see. I tried to disguise the telltale interaction with a feigned coughing fit, which earned me a lively beating on the back by Berrta. I wondered if the other ladies were noticing all of these blushes and micro-exchanges. Surely they were too obvious to miss. I sincerely hoped that their nearsightedness was working in my favor, because I felt like I was wearing a bumper sticker that said my other car is a scotsman .
Punting was the next thing on the itinerary. Robbie carefully helped each of us down into the boat, which was disconcertingly
low in the water. Many a questioning or worried comment could be heard among the gaggle.
“Well, let’s hope our driver can man this contraption better than he did that old bus,” snipped Agatha, “or we’ll all be down
at the bottom of this filthy river in no time. He gets his jollies risking our lives every day.”
Robbie laughed good-naturedly. “Don’t worry, ladies. I’m an old hand at this. Normally in Cambridge, a rented punt comes with
someone to do the punting, but I love to do it myself.”
“Hold tight, girls—this could be your last hurrah,” said Agatha.
I laughed. And whispered to Helena, “Robbie should consider rebranding: Shuffle off with Last Hurrahs! ”
She laughed and added, “ Scratch off your bucket list while we help you kick the bucket .” I had to turn my back to the group to keep from losing it.
Robbie helped Doris on next and made sure she was sitting safely.
“Come on, big guy,” he called to Percy. “Come on. Good boy.” But Percy just backed up, locked his legs, and whimpered until
Robbie went and gathered him up tight in his arms and brought him directly to Doris. I feel ya, Percy. I was tempted to ask for the same treatment.
“First intelligent thing that animal’s done all trip,” Agatha said.
“Oh yeah?” said Doris. “And when are you going to give it a whirl?” I looked down into my handbag to cover a laugh.
Before long, the ladies had settled in and were oohing and aahing at the breathtaking scenery as we bobbed down the slow river, reclining against the wooden benches that weren’t at all comfortable, but felt leisurely nonetheless because someone else was doing all the work.
“Lorna, would you mind opening that basket for us?” Robbie called from the back of the boat. Inside were tiny cucumber sandwiches,
fresh baked cherry tarts, and a very large pitcher of Pimm’s Cup with strawberries, cucumber, and mint. Lorna and Madge doled
out the Pimm’s to all of us as we basked in the sun eating our cucumber sandwiches and absorbing the beauty all around us.
“Prunes?” Lorna offered, and passed around a bag of little individually wrapped, shriveled brown things that did not in any
way look tempting.
“Oh, yes. I could use a couple of those, thank you,” Doris said. She took two before passing the bag along. “Ooh. Those are
good. I wouldn’t mind another, please, Lorna.”
“Oh no, Doris. Two is the limit,” she said quite seriously. “Never three.”
We talked books. So many fantastic books and television series were based in Cambridge, and as we reminisced and debated about
them all, the list seemed never-ending. We glided under bridges, weeping willows dripping their foliage prettily into the
water at either side. We passed by the Wren Library and were treated to a different view of a now familiar friend after the
memorable afternoon we spent in its arms. On the banks of the river were the Backs, and we drifted by, peering in to the more
exclusive bits of some of Cambridge’s most beautiful colleges while Robbie told us stories about their histories.
We floated under the unspeakably beautiful Bridge of Sighs. The iconic Gothic stone bridge stretched low over the river, lacy stonework surrounding pointed arches that looked for all the world like something a wizard would run across, wand aloft, robes flapping. Robbie informed us that it was said to be Queen Victoria’s favorite spot in Cambridge—the very one we were drifting lazily under, a century and a half later. I had to agree with the queen. It was a resplendent moment, picturesque, like living in a painting.
“Does anyone know what a Prince Albert is?” Flossie shouted.
Agatha shushed her violently, and we all shared a little giggle.
I dozed and watched Robbie for a while as he steered the boat with ease, using a long wooden pole like a gondolier: pulling
the pole up, dropping it back down, and pushing us along, moving it side to side like a rudder when he needed to change course.
He’d warmed up with the work in the sun and shed his green sweater to reveal a white T-shirt underneath, his arms and chest
thick and muscular and shifting with effort.
I nearly gawked openly. Holy crap! Avert your eyes. It’s like the sun—don’t look directly at it! And like the sun, it warmed me instantly and reddened my face with another embarrassing, telltale blush.
Shut it down! I scolded myself harshly. I pictured Donald Trump pantsless and perched atop his golden toilet—a visual I used only in dire
emergencies to immediately dampen lusty thoughts.
When my breathing had returned, I decided that I could use a distraction.
“Can I try... to punt?” I said loudly over the ladies’ chattering.
Robbie raised his eyebrows at me. “Really? I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“I am.” I flashed a winning smile.
“And what about that wobbly trotter you’ve got there?” I looked down at my brace. I had stopped using the crutches after the
morning. My ankle did slow me down, but had been much less painful than expected.
“Oh, I reattached it with duct tape this morning, so it’ll probably hold.”
“It’s not easy.”
“Good.” I stood up and started making my way over.
Some of the ladies grumbled warnings, and I heard Agatha say something about a head stuffed with sawdust, but they were all too cozy and Pimm’s-filled to stop me.
“Alice Cooper, have you any idea how likely you are to fall into the water and swallow half of the River Cam?”
“I do, as a matter of fact. I ran the figures earlier.”
“You could do your ankle a mischief.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, stop nannying me. It doesn’t look that difficult. I have a brace on. That’s going to keep everything
where it’s supposed to be.”
He laughed in a way that let me know he was skeptical but accommodating, and I made my way over the last bench to the back
of the boat. When I got there, I put my hands out to grab the pole, but he was in no hurry to hand it over.
“You’re going to need to pull this up a good deal out of the water, like this, and then let it plunge back down, and give
it a bit of a push before you start pulling it out again. You steer like this when you need to.” He showed me. The whole thing
was surprisingly erotic. “But hopefully we can coast along without too much turning.”
“Uh-huh.” I nodded, doing a Let’s speed this up motion with my hand. “I’ve been watching you do it. It looks pretty simple.” I felt confident. I was good on the water, and
stronger than my slim frame let on. I used to row. I figured I could manage this. “I mean, if you can do it...”
“This is actually quite heavy.” His face was serious. “Don’t let it sweep you off. Look...” he said, letting go with one hand offering me the pole. When I grabbed it, however, rather than letting it go, he held on, and moved his other hand around me to my back. His large hand was firm, and it kept me in place while I got used to the weight of the heavy pole shifting under my hands. He was unnervingly close. If I turned my head now, my face would be a mere inch from his. He spoke into the back of my hair, holding me tight as he gave further instructions. I looked down at the nook at the base of his throat and felt the urge to press my mouth there and taste the salty sweat on his skin. If this is supposed to be a distraction, it’s the wrong sort!
I used my exasperated voice to say, “I’ve got it, Robbie. Please go and sit down and let me actually give it a try.” He looked
unwilling to let go, and for a second I thought he would refuse, but he held his hands up in surrender.
“As you wish,” he said, making me think of Westley. Not helpful! But rather than sit down, he stood near in case I went flailing into the river and left the boat unmanned. He was so close.
My head was still spinning from the smell of cologne, sweat, and Robbie.
I thought of his girlfriend. I tried to picture her. Then the light caught his eyes, and he sent me a look that made it very
clear that he was remembering our kiss in the rain, and I forgot all about her.
I was going to need to nip this in the bud before we ended up in a sweaty heap on the floor. I would need to look for an opportunity
to talk to him alone tonight and make it clear that I wasn’t interested in pursuing anything. Maybe over dinner. Or back at
the inn. For now, all I had to do was act natural.
WHOA! I nearly got swept off my feet. This thing is so freaking heavy! Why didn’t anyone warn me? I kept a plastic smile plastered to my face while I tried to regain control without snapping my ankle off at the sock line.
It was no small mercy that the river was shallow and slow and that we were on a straight course, but even still, the job was
surprisingly difficult. Not least because the mischievous Cambridge winds were blinding me with my own hair. It whipped me
in the face, blew into my mouth, and covered my eyes entirely at times. I tried to blow it out of my eyes, then tried a swipe
with one hand while holding on for dear life with the other. No use.
I saw Robbie get up and go for the pastry box, where he found a light blue string that once held the box closed with a little bow. He picked it up and brought it over to me.
“Captain.” He held it out. “For your mutinous mane.”
I grabbed it gratefully, and he manned the pole while I tied my hair back in a short, messy ponytail at the nape of my neck,
like an eighteenth-century pirate.
“Thank you. Now back to the poop deck with you!” I flashed him a genuine smile.
“Aye, aye, captain.”
I really enjoyed myself once I got the hang of it. We coasted along slowly in the sun, and I did rather well. Luckily, I didn’t
have to make any turns, because with my ankle the way it was, I wouldn’t have managed it. The few times I suddenly put weight
on it for balance I was quickly and severely chastised by shooting pain all the way to my back teeth.
But I didn’t drown anyone, I didn’t make a fool of myself, and I tried something new—I’d successfully punted a ship on the
River Cam in Cambridge, England, and I was rather pleased with myself. After a while, I left my station to sit back down.
The ladies applauded me, and as I whipped the string from my hair, I took several sweeping bows. Robbie clapped right along
with them and let out a whistle. As memories went, I knew this would be one that would stick to me sweetly like icing on my
fingers.