One Last Thing

Chapter 19

MEGAN

‘Okay, so this one is light, refreshing, perfect for a summer gathering,’ Nico is saying as he pours a pale pink rosé into my glass.

We’re sitting at a table outside beneath the festoon lights, other guests enjoying their dinners around us as we continue to sample a selection of the vineyard’s offerings.

Mum isn’t here – she stayed at the spa longer than I did and then must have either come back and gone back out for dinner or stayed to eat at the spa hotel because I haven’t seen her, and Nico told me she hasn’t been down to eat yet.

I’m grateful that she’s not here because if she saw Nico and I alone on a table together, it wouldn’t matter how innocent I make it out to be, even if she said she accepted my explanation, I know she’d have that look in her eye that would instantly annoy me.

‘This is your choice then,’ I surmise, swilling it round the glass and inspecting it because that’s what sophisticated people do with wine and I’m trying not to come across completely clueless in front of Nico.

‘What makes you say that?’ he asks, pouring himself a taster and putting the bottle back into its bucket.

‘Your description. “Perfect for a summer gathering”. Isn’t that what we’re trying to decide on here, which one would be perfect for the ball?’

‘Yes, but all of our wines are perfect for any gathering,’ he argues with a shrug. ‘I would describe the one my aunt wants like this, too.’

‘You’re a terrible liar, Nico. You always were.’

‘I’m not lying.’

‘Remember that year it rained for four days straight and we played Monopoly?’

‘I remember spending the first two days looking for ghosts on the top floor.’

‘Oh yeah.’ I shake my head, chuckling at the memory. ‘We were convinced we’d seen one in that old wardrobe, the one where the door wouldn’t shut and kept creaking open all the time.’

He shudders. ‘I hate that wardrobe. It’s still there, you know.’

‘You’re kidding,’ I say, my eyes wide with delight. ‘It’s still there?’

‘Yes, I would never get rid of it,’ he says, laughing at my expression. ‘I would be too scared the ghost would come back to get her revenge if I got rid of her home.’

‘Oh my god, I want to go see it.’

‘Really?’

‘Really. Will you take me up there later?’

‘Yes, Megan, I will take you,’ he says reluctantly.

‘You won’t wuss out?’ I say, accidentally resorting to being ten years old when I maybe last used the expression ‘wuss out’.

‘No, I won’t “wuss” out.’ He laughs.

‘Because you did once or twice before,’ I take pleasure in reminding him.

‘Yes,’ he says, ‘but not this time.’

We smile at each other, his gaze so intense, I suddenly can’t remember what we’re doing or why we’re here or what I’m supposed to be saying, so I’m relieved when he looks away to study his glass, swirling the wine again and breaking the spell.

Wine tasting. That’s what we’re doing. Right.

‘So, you say this one is sweet and fruity,’ I recall, nodding.

He grins before correcting me. ‘Light and refreshing.’

‘Exactly. That’s what I . . . that’s what I mean. Light and refreshing.’ I lift the glass to my lips and take a sip before holding it up triumphantly. ‘Oh yeah, that’s a winner.’

I can tell from his expression he finds my description amusing. ‘Yeah?’

‘It’s my favourite,’ I confirm. ‘It reminds me of here, actually.’

‘The chateau?’ he checks.

‘Yeah. The feeling of being here.’ I grimace. ‘Sorry, I’m shit at this.’

‘No, you’re not,’ he insists. ‘Tasting wine is about perception. Feelings, things it reminds you of – all that comes into it. Explain to me why you think this is, for you, a feeling of being here at the chateau.’

‘I don’t know. It’s the lightness, maybe. How things feel distant here. Reality, I mean. You can let go and . . . everything is okay for a bit.’ I scrunch up my eyes, cringing at myself. ‘God, sorry, I sound like such a wanker.’

He chuckles. ‘No, Megan—’

‘I do. That was terrible. If I heard someone say something like that I would think they were a complete and utter wanker.’ Laughing, I pick up my glass again and finish off the contents. ‘Blame it on the rosé.’

‘I think what you were saying was right. Coming here, for you, is an escape. And that is what you associate with this wine. With the feeling you get when you’re here. The feeling of slowing down and escaping.’

I stare at him, impressed. ‘Wow. Yeah, that was . . . hey, you made me sound poetic.’

He shrugs. ‘You said it.’

‘I said nothing like that. You see? This is why I shouldn’t be a writer. Please don’t ask me to describe how the wine makes me feel again.’

‘If you don’t like it, then I won’t. But thanks to you, we have our chosen wine for the ball. What better bottle to offer than one that provides an escape to our guests? As you say, this is a winner.’

‘I’m glad I helped. Any future wine problems, I’m your girl.’

‘Looks like it. Speaking of wine, shall I top you up?’ Nico offers, reaching for the bottle.

‘Yeah, if we’re done tasting. I’m ready for a proper glass. If you have time to join me? You probably have things you need to be getting on with. Please don’t feel like you have to stay—’

‘I want to,’ he says simply, pouring the wine out for both of us. ‘I can have a break.’

‘Do you get many of those? I know running this place is a full-time job.’

He nods, putting the bottle away. ‘But I’ve told you, I love it.’

‘Did you work here for a long time before taking it over?’ I ask, reaching forwards for my glass and doing that sophisticated swirling thing again.

‘Yes, they weren’t going to let me run it until I’d proven I was capable,’ he says, raising his eyebrows. ‘When they invited me to come work here, I didn’t realise they were hoping to let me run the place myself eventually. I hoped it was so, but I didn’t know.’

‘But you gave up your publishing job and came anyway,’ I say, taking a sip.

‘Yes. I started with a reception job. My girlfriend thought I was stupid.’

The rosé goes down the wrong way and I splutter and cough, putting the glass down and reaching for my glass of chilled water.

‘Are you okay?’ he asks.

‘Yes, fine, fine,’ I assure him, clearing my throat and fixing a smile. ‘Sorry, you were saying about your girlfriend?’

‘Ex-girlfriend,’ he clarifies and my heart lifts again. ‘She had never been here so she didn’t understand why it was so special. What it meant to me. I told her it was my home.’

‘I can’t imagine you anywhere else to be honest,’ I say and he smiles gratefully at me, as though I’ve backed up a theory of his. ‘So, she didn’t come with you.’

He shakes his head. ‘No. It was sad. But she wouldn’t make that change for me and I wouldn’t turn down the chance for her. We realised then that it was not meant to be. It was hard to accept because we’d been happy. It wasn’t enough, though.’

I nod in understanding. ‘Sure. It’s never easy to accept when something has to end.’

‘I think when it’s the real thing, neither of you accept that. That’s the difference.’

Forcing myself to look at him, I smile warmly. ‘I think you’re probably right.’

We pause to both have a drink.

‘So are you seeing anyone now?’ I ask, avoiding eye contact in the hope that doing so makes it seem like a casual question that just popped into my brain. ‘Someone who gets how much the chateau means to you.’

‘No, not recently. What about you?’

I shake my head. ‘Not since . . .’

When I trail off, he finishes the sentence, ‘The ex-fiancé.’

‘Yep. Dominic.’

‘What was he like? Is that okay to ask?’

I shoot him a knowing look. ‘Oh please. Like my dad didn’t tell you all about him.’

Nico’s expression relaxes into a smile. ‘He didn’t say much, I promise!’

‘I don’t believe you. Come on, Nico, my dad brought you in to organise his dying wishes for him, so I’m not going to let you sit there and pretend as though he didn’t tell you exactly what happened between me and Dominic.’

He tips his head back to laugh, that warm fluttering flooding through my veins at his dimpled smile. ‘He didn’t. I swear.’

I sigh dramatically, before giving in. ‘Okay, what was Dominic like. Um, he was . . . really smart. A very intelligent guy. But not patronising. He was a bit older than me. Successful and pretty suave, you know, sophisticated. Charming. He was fun to be around. I think I was funnier than him, though—’

‘You were definitely funnier than him,’ Nico states, having never met him.

‘Yeah,’ I say with a grin that starts to fade as I go on.

‘But, no, he was . . . I mean, he had his moments, like everyone does. He could be a bit wrapped up in himself, a bit too obsessed with his own ambition, you know, like a horse with blinkers, but I’ve always thought that about me so I couldn’t hold that against him.

Anyway, I did love him. But—’ I swirl the liquid around my glass, studying it intently ‘—it had to end.’

Nico is watching me carefully. ‘And it was for the best?’

‘Oh yeah, definitely,’ I say after taking a swig from my glass, nodding firmly. ‘I wasn’t sure at the time, but time heals.’

‘Yes. You learn to smile again.’

‘Exactly.’ I shift in my seat. ‘It was for the best. Just like you. Seriously, you were meant to be here running the show—’ he smiles bashfully ‘—you’re making your mark! You’ll make it even more successful.’

‘I hope so. A bit of modernisation, put some money into it, some good marketing . . .’

‘You’re even doing the black-tie ball you wanted to do.’

My cheeks flush at my own mention of the ball.

In a flash, I see him next to me on the dusty ballroom floor, his head tipped back against the wall as he talks about the end of summer, my eyes running along the smooth curve of his neck, wishing I could kiss him there.

God, will we ever talk about that night?

Or is it better to leave it in the past?

I want to laugh about it. Then the awkwardness disappears.

This is something that happened when I was fifteen.

It’s years ago! Maybe I’ll bring it up so I can laugh about it.

He’ll want to laugh about it too; he might not even remember it.

Or he’ll probably remember it but not think it’s a big deal.

Like he’s probably not thinking about it right now like I am. So it would be good to laugh about it.

Or is it weird to laugh about it?

I hate my brain.

‘Yes,’ he says, as heat burns through my face. ‘Would you believe me if I told you it was your dad’s idea?’

I snort before I can stop myself. ‘No. Because it wasn’t. It was yours. I remember you telling me about it when . . . uh—’ I swallow nervously, looking at the table ‘—when we were kids. You said you wanted to throw a big party.’

‘I talked about it. It was Henry who told me to do it,’ he explains.

‘I told him that it would be a lot of work, a lot of planning, a lot of money and risk—’ he breathes out the air in his cheeks and shrugs ‘—but your father told me that in his life something good had always come out of something bad. So even if it failed, I would be glad I tried.’

I let his words sink in, lifting my glass to my lips. ‘Sounds like good advice from someone who isn’t putting his own money at risk.’

Nico chuckles. ‘True. But I like what he said. I think it’s a good way to think.’

‘Maybe. It’s a comforting way to think.’

‘He said that when you were two, you went through a phase of saying, “Why not?” to everything,’ he reveals with a playful smile.

‘What?’ I say in surprise. ‘I don’t remember this.’

‘He said you had heard Dawn say it and you didn’t understand what it meant, but you kept saying it in response to everything. “Why not?” It made no sense when you said it, but it made him laugh. He thinks that’s why you kept repeating it.’

I break into a grin. ‘Really? He never told me that.’

Nico shrugs. ‘He told me that he tried to use it as much as possible in his own life decisions. Little Megan would say “Why not?” So . . . why not? He said I should do the ball, because why not?’

‘Huh.’ I nod slowly, tilting my wine glass towards him. ‘So technically you’ve been inspired by me.’

He holds up his hands. ‘Yes. Technically. Two-year-old Megan.’

‘So young but so wise.’

‘A natural leader.’

‘Why not? That’s what I say.’

‘Absolutely,’ he says, breaking into a smile. ‘Why the hell not?’

He gazes at me intently. When he looks at me like that, I feel like I can’t breathe.

I’ve been here before, so mesmerised by him that everything else turns into a blur, fading away to nothing while something glowing and sparkling swirls inside of me, lighting me up.

It’s funny how, that evening in the ballroom, I remember desperately thinking, please don’t forget one moment of this, how he looks, how his eyes are shining, how his hair needs a cut, how he smells, how it feels to be this close to him, the taste of champagne on his lips.

But moments like that don’t need to be committed to memory like revision for an important exam.

They’re etched into your mind forever and even when you don’t think on them for a while, they’re still engrained in there somewhere, never really lost. They can come flooding back to you in vivid detail whenever they choose to without you calling on them and you’re happily lost in the moment once again.

Nico clears his throat and checks his watch. ‘I should get back to work soon. So.’ He glances up at me expectantly. ‘Are you ready?’

‘For you to go?’ I ask, confused.

‘For some ghost hunting,’ he clarifies, amused. ‘I did promise I wouldn’t wuss out.’