Chapter Forty-Nine
Nelly
At twenty-five past seven that evening, Nelly sits down on the huge mustard sofa in reception wearing her favourite navy-blue maxi dress, a silver star necklace and a pair of white trainers. It’s taken her ages to settle on the right outfit: she wants to look good without appearing too try-hard. Plus, she’s got to feel comfortable, so that she’s not fretting about a tight seam or a too-low neckline the whole time. She certainly doesn’t want to give mutton vibes, nor does she want to tip too far the other way and look past it. Past WHAT, exactly, darling? she imagines Wayne, her hairdresser, intoning, one eyebrow camply lifted.
Well, Wayne, she imagines herself replying demurely. That’s a very good question.
Heavens, she feels as giddy as a teenager going out on a first date. As tremulous as Juliet on her balcony, waiting for Romeo. Alexander is picking her up in a cab, which is nice, isn’t it? Nelly’s as feminist as the next woman but she does like some old-fashioned chivalry, now and then. Who doesn’t like to be fussed over once in a while, made to feel special? She’s used to doing that for Frank, of course– all the cossetting and pandering in an endless attempt to rearrange the world to his liking. It’s actually quite a novelty to have someone go out of their way for her, for a change.
She glances at her watch again– twenty-eight minutes past– and wishes that her heart could stop racing so. She’s being silly, she tells herself. Why is she getting so het up? They are simply two old friends who—
She doesn’t manage to finish her own sentence because suddenly there he is, walking into the hotel, and her entire body seems to freeze as she takes in the sight. Alexander Nikolau, the man himself. Look at him with his thick white hair and the lines on his face, still cutting a commanding figure as he stops in the doorway and gazes around. She marvels at how dapper he is as an older man, in stone-coloured trousers with a white shirt and polished brown shoes. The influence of his wife, perhaps? He only ever wore faded T-shirts and shorts when she knew him, after all. Then his gaze alights on her and he breaks into a broad smile.
It’s the same smile, she thinks, dazedly rising to her feet, unable to help smiling right back. The same smile that instantly reminds her of the connection that once fired between them, hot and true. Her lips form the shape of his name and she feels as if she’s in a dream, a really good, joyful one. There he is, stepping out from the past, right into this moment. Her legs somehow carry her over towards him, and they’re both still smiling.
‘My little Nelly,’ he says, his voice exactly as she remembers it. She would have known it anywhere. ‘Look at you! Is this really happening?’
‘Look at you ,’ she replies, intoxicated by the sight of him, her arms moving instinctively towards him and then stopping in mid-air. ‘Are we– Should we. . . ?’ She wants to embrace him but does he want that too?
He does. He steps towards her and clasps her firmly in his arms. Oh, the feeling of his chest against hers! He smells good too, of soap and an ironed shirt. It’s really him, she thinks, astonished that time has flung them back together again. ‘Hi,’ she says, her voice muffled by the tightness of their embrace. ‘It’s been a while.’
He laughs, releasing her. ‘It has certainly been a while, Nelly,’ he agrees. ‘But we have a whole evening together now, to catch up, yes?’
‘Is that going to be long enough, do you think?’ she asks, smiling up at him. Gosh, it’s so lovely to be walking out of the hotel together, as if no time has passed at all. Surreal and utterly dreamlike but incredibly, wonderfully lovely too.
‘Well, it’ll do for a start,’ he replies, gesturing to where a cab is waiting patiently outside, its light glowing against the dusky backdrop. He opens the car door for her. ‘Let’s see how far we get by the time the night is over, hey?’ he says, as she ducks her head and steps inside.