Chapter 20 #3
And as she shifted closer, he curled his fingers gratefully around hers.
Towards the end of the evening Jules slipped out of the barn and made her way across the manicured lawn.
It was one of those rare English summer evenings when the warmth still wrapped around you and there was no hint of a breeze.
High in the darkening sky the moon glowed brightly, silhouetting the tree canopy on the other side of the lake.
Almost hidden by bulrushes a small wooden jetty jutted out over the edge of the water.
Jules settled at the end of it, took off Carrie’s sandals, which were pinching a little, and dipped her toes into the coolness as she watched swans shepherd their cygnets towards the safety of a small island.
A sense of safety, that’s what she had craved ever since her father died, and it had always eluded her.
Since coming here, she had realised that chasing after safety was like chasing after a rainbow.
It would always elude you, but you could find something different: feeling content with the present.
Sitting here, swirling her feet around in the water, even batting insects away from her face, she felt content.
She wished she could capture the feeling and hold on to it, but emotions weren’t like that.
They came and they went, up and down like a rollercoaster, and that’s how it was meant to be.
‘Here you are!’
And it was gone, that feeling of contentment to be replaced by fluster.
‘Sorry! I made you jump.’
She looked up at him, smiling tenderly down at her. Please don’t look at me like that, she thought. I don’t deserve it.
‘I was miles away.’
‘Are you all right?’
He made no move to sit down beside her and for that she was grateful.
‘Exhausted.’
He stared out across the lake and rolled his shoulders.
‘It gets a bit much after a while, doesn’t it, all of the noise, the effort of talking to people you don’t know?’
‘I used to be good at that.’
‘You still are from what I could see.’
He had been watching her, but if she was honest, hadn’t she been watching him, too? Always looking to where he was in the room, craning to hear his steady voice above the others, feeling the need to have him near.
‘Has it been useful?’ she asked.
‘Mind if I sit down? My back is aching, and my brain is completely scrambled. I’ve bought you a soft drink, something grapefruity, I think, although to be honest I can’t remember.’
She moved to one side as he sat down, knees crooked, and handed her a paper cup. ‘I’ve got your pashmina as well.’
He held out an arm with her wrap folded carefully across it.
‘You might not need it. It’s pretty sheltered down here.’
She took a sip of the drink, trying not to think about how close he was, how his arm was almost, but not quite touching hers. He closed his eyes and sighed. He looked exhausted, too.
‘It is grapefruit. It’s nice. Thank you. Do you want a sip?’
He nodded and she passed him the cup. Sharing a drink felt so intimate, something you did with someone you knew well, and she didn’t know him that well at all.
‘You need to take your shoes off,’ she said, looking down at his brown brogues and green striped socks. ‘Dip your feet in the water. It’s really refreshing.’
‘But then you’ll see my feet,’ he said.
‘What’s wrong with them?’
‘They’re pretty bony and ugly. Rat feet, my mother calls them.’
‘I’m a midwife. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen worse things than your rat feet, but if it makes you feel better, I’ll avert my eyes.’
He glanced at her.
‘Promise?’
She laughed.
‘I promise.’
‘You have a nice laugh,’ he said as he handed her back the cup and began to unlace his shoes. ‘You ought to do it more often.’
‘It’s meant to be good for you, isn’t it? I’ve read that some people claim to have laughed themselves well from illness. Perhaps I could make it one of my second half of the year resolutions.’
‘Do you do that?’
‘Not usually, but I thought it might be a good thing to start. After all, January is a terrible time of the year to commit to things; you’re tired after Christmas, probably a bit vulnerable health-wise because it’s the middle of winter, and a whole year is a long time to commit to something.
Whereas summer is a much more optimistic time, unless you’ve just been dumped and cheated on, of course. ’
He began to peel off his socks.
‘You’re looking.’
‘Only at your face.’
‘I suppose that’s marginally better than my feet. What do you think?’
He made a rat face, and she laughed again.
‘Your feet have got to be better than that!’
‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ he said, placing one hand to block her eyes.
She could feel the warmth of his palm radiating between her eyebrows and smell the fabric conditioner from his shirt. The metal from his watch strap glinted in the moonlight.
‘Oh, that’s good,’ he said, splashing his feet into the lake, removing his hand and leaning back, his arms half stretched out behind him, palms flat on the jetty. ‘I’m not great at standing for long periods. Too tall. People say it’s wonderful to be tall, but it has its downsides.’
‘Like hitting your head on low door lintels.’
‘That as well.’
‘You didn’t answer my question. Have you met some useful people?’
‘I don’t like to think of it like that. It feels so mercenary.’
‘You’re too nice. Do you prefer interesting?’
He smiled at her.
‘I’ve met some very interesting people, not all of them interested in pottery.’
‘But some of them are?’
‘I think so. I hope so. I’ve learned in the past that the people who sound most enthusiastic are the ones you often never hear from again.’
‘I’ve got some useful contacts for you.’
She reached for her bag and fished out half a dozen business cards.
‘These are all worth following up, I think. There was one lady in particular who has a gallery in London that sounds particularly promising.’
‘Oh, I met her. She came to find me.’
‘Maybe a trip to the big city beckons.’
‘We could meet up,’ he said softly. ‘How long does the train take from Manchester?’
‘Just over two hours on a good day.’
‘Doable then.’
She was quiet. His feet touched hers briefly as they moved them around in the water.
‘Yes,’ she said, after what she hoped wasn’t too long. ‘Very doable.’
He smiled, closed his eyes and tilted his head back.
‘This is nice,’ he said.
Yes, it is, she thought, looking at his profile, and she had the sudden overwhelming desire to kiss the base of his throat.
‘Let’s stay here for ever,’ he said.
And she didn’t answer because she would have been happy to do that.