‘So, what made you change your mind about meeting up with Nathan?’
‘It’s just going to be a coffee, El,’ she said, smiling at the anxiety that was scrawled across his face, grateful for the gift of a supportive friend so far away from home. ‘I did a lot of thinking last night when I reviewed the information I’ve been gathering for Rachel’s project and for Hollie and Matteo’s “lessons in love”.’
‘Ah, yes, Hollie and Matteo. The reluctant lovebirds.’
Olivia stopped in her tracks and spun round to stare at Elliot.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, when you’ve finished talking to Nathan about your relationship and you’ve both realised you should be together, perhaps you can work your magic on those two?’
‘Those two? Elliot, you’ll have to help me out here?’
‘Matteo’s in love with Hollie. Always has been.’
Olivia glanced at the liveried Sikh doorman guarding the entrance to Raffles, automatically smiling at his jovial greeting, but her mind was spinning with other things.
‘No way! Matteo is a serial dater and Hollie’s too busy waiting for Prince Charming to propose.’
‘That’s precisely why Matteo floats from one relationship to the next!’
Olivia stared at Elliot who simply stood there and waited for the cogs in her brain to make the necessary connections – it didn’t take long.
‘Oh my God, you’re right! Matteo loves Hollie. And she loves him, she just doesn’t realise!’
Her two best friends together? Now, if she could just talk to Nathan …
With her spirits soaring, Olivia stepped through the door into the white colonial splendour of one of the most legendary hotels in South East Asia, if not the world. The wrought-iron portico of the lobby, the crisp elegance of the marbled colonnades, everything reflected the grandeur of a romantic past. She experienced a sharp pang of loss that her escort that day was not Nathan, but it was swiftly doused by the thrill of anticipation that she would be seeing him later.
It was a momentous day indeed!
They were greeted by the uniformed maître d’ and, following in the footsteps of Noël Coward, Rudyard Kipling and Somerset Maugham, were guided towards their table in the Tiffin Room. The white damask linen had been starched to the texture of card, the silver cutlery shone, and the crystal wine flutes glistened in the shards of sunlight that pierced the ceiling-height French windows.
Olivia was about to take her seat when a thunderbolt of horror struck her right between the eyes. She froze, her legs immobilised in concrete and her previously inhaled breath lodged in her throat. Elliot, bringing up the rear, bounced into her stiffened back.
‘What’s happened?’
Elliot followed the direction of Olivia’s gaze and immediately grasped the situation. There, at a discreet corner table, sat Nathan, totally oblivious to the magnificent décor, and he hadn’t noticed their arrival because all his attention was fixed on the girl sitting opposite him who could have easily been Ying’s older sister – the long fringe, the lowered lashes, the Mona Lisa smile, the slender legs crossed neatly at her ankles – and it was clear to the casual observer that the couple were on a date.
Olivia felt as though a grenade had exploded in her chest and her brain had been temporarily disconnected from its modem. Then the ‘fight or flight’ mechanism kicked in and she opted for the ‘flight’ version, spinning on her heels and pushing quickly past Elliot, anxious to escape the scene before she crumbled.
‘Need to leave. Now.’
Elliot whispered a few words to the confused maître d’ and then followed her out of the restaurant, catching up with her on the polished teak veranda overlooking the pristine lawned gardens of Raffles Palm Court, where Olivia had collapsed onto a bench amid the frangipani trees. He quickly ordered two Singapore Slings from the over-attentive waiter just to send him away.
‘I’m so sorry, Liv.’
Witnessing Elliot’s genuine distress pierced Olivia’s bubble of shock and liberated her bottled-up emotions into the open air, sucking the breath from her lungs and radiating pain into every crevice of her heart. She buried her head into his supportive shoulder and allowed the tears to fall unchecked as she sobbed for the loss of her husband, her marriage and her future. Their drinks arrived, along with a second and a third and, as the pink gin-infused cocktails began to numb her senses, her tears dried.
‘Perhaps now you can move on too, like Nathan?’
‘Can’t.’
‘You can. You are a beautiful and intelligent woman. And now you have a few extra pounds on your bones, well … I haven’t told you this before, but right up until you and Nathan got engaged, whenever you made the trip down to Cornwall with Hollie I told myself this time I would ask you for a date – but I always chickened out. What I’m trying to say is, there’ll be loads of guys out there who would love to date you, Liv!’
‘But I can’t date other guys.’
The “almost” encounter with Nathan had whipped up a concoction of feelings Olivia didn’t have to be a psychologist to analyse.
‘Why not?’
‘Because I’m still in love with Nathan.’
She smiled at Elliot, but she knew it didn’t extend to her eyes. As the final sip of her Singapore Sling trickled down her throat, she realised that her visit to the Tiffin Room at the Raffles Hotel was yet another bucket-list item that had failed to live up to expectations.
‘I’m sorry, Liv,’ said Elliot gently, taking her hand in his.
‘Thanks, El.’
‘Come on, I’ll ride with you to the airport.’
‘No, don’t. I want to take a quick trip up to Orchard Road for a few last-minute souvenirs for Rach and Hollie and then I’ll catch a cab. Thanks, Elliot, I’ve had a wonderful time exploring Singapore with you, but all I want to do now is go home. This crazy pursuit of love has turned into a nightmare and I’m ditching the project right now.’
Chapter 20
‘So I can’t persuade you?’
‘No, sorry.’
‘Look, Liv, it’s been ten weeks since you saw Nathan in Singapore – the shock of seeing him with someone else must have faded by now. As your oldest friend, it’s my duty to encourage you to move on, too, and the only way to do that is by climbing back on the dating horse.’
‘I’m not dating, Rachel. And I’m not going to Denmark. I’ve had enough air travel to last me a lifetime. For God’s sake, I’ve flown the whole way around the world for your research project. I’ve covered every possible aspect – it’s done.’
Olivia had not been overjoyed to discover that Rachel still expected her to continue with the project after what had happened. All she wanted to do was to hibernate until it was time to return to her dull, but predictable routine at Edwards & Co on the first of December. She only had another five weeks to wait until she could bury herself in the balm of frenetic eighteen-hour days and she literally couldn’t wait. It was a few seconds before she realised that Rachel was still talking.
‘No, it’s not “done”, and it’s definitely not like you to give up halfway through a case.’
‘This has got nothing to do with one of my cases!’
‘It’s a journey that’s not yet complete.’
Olivia decided that if she were to have any chance of winning the argument she had to appeal to Rachel’s academic sensibilities instead of bemoaning her personal life.
‘Why Denmark, anyway? They have the highest divorce rate in the EU. I was under the impression my brief was to visit countries with the lowest divorce statistics – crammed to bursting with happy marriages. I’ve done that, even added Singapore to the list at your insistence, and you have my written findings.’
To prevent her grief over Nathan from tearing at her sanity, she had spent the whole of August and September drafting and redrafting her written report for Rachel. She had typed until her neck ached and her fingers stiffened, interspersed with bouts of melancholy, regret and
not a few tears. The intensity of the pain she had felt when she had seen Nathan in Raffles had shaken her to the core.
Good grief, she hadn’t cried this much when the divorce petition had been so cruelly and publicly served on her. So why was she breaking out into spurts of wailing at every opportunity now? Why was that image of fresh, new romance in the Tiffin Room still seared onto the backs of her eyelids, just waiting for her to close her eyes?
Yet, she knew the answer. The process of trawling through her copious notes, all the emails she had sent to Hollie and Matteo, and setting each of the ‘lessons in love’ into a coherent order for the report, had made her even more certain that Nathan had been her ideal life partner – every factor had been in their favour for a long and happy marriage.
Persuading herself it was simply an academic exercise to test her theory, she’d applied each of the principles she had discovered on her travels to their relationship, and the resulting evidence was incontrovertible.
1. Malta – Similar family backgrounds – tick. Both sets of parents still married – tick.
2. Hawaii – Married after twenty-five – tick. Both partners university-educated – tick.
3. Singapore – First marriage – tick. No children – tick.
How could she contemplate starting over again, weaving a new story into the tapestry of her life? In that scenario, all the factors pointed to failure so why bother? If her own research was to be believed, there was scant hope of finding another happy, stable relationship that would stand the test of time. If she hadn’t been able to make a relationship work with Nathan, then there was no damn way she would achieve it with someone else.
No, she and Rachel could grow old together, like two brittle spinsters.
Then a question she had posed before shot into her mind. Even if she scratched at the deep, dark recesses of her memory, she could not unearth one instance of Rachel dating. Every single minute of her spare time was shared with her dancing gang. Why didn’t Rachel date?
‘Anyway, how can you lecture me from your ivory tower, Professor Denton? You never date. “Dance, dance, dance yourself dizzy” is all you ever do.’
More often than not, her friend Denise performed the role of dance partner. Stocky but fleet of foot, she shared Rachel’s obsession with sequins and bows, sparkling rhinestones and chandelier earrings. In private, Denise sported a diamond lip stud but she chose to conceal this ‘aberration of taste’ from the competition judges who were consistently unable to set aside their body-jewellery prejudices.
On the one rare occasion when Olivia had sat in the audience of a dance competition, Denise had confessed her itch to get a tattoo – a fire-spouting dragon on her shoulder or a Tweety Pie winking on her quick-step-honed buttock. Apparently, Rachel had urged her to go for it, but Denise refused to risk the high probability of the deduction of marks by some of the wrinkled old prunes who frequented the judging panels of the amateur ballroom dance circuit.
‘How was Manchester, by the way?’ she asked when Rachel didn’t answer her question.
‘The show was fabulous. All the tickets sold out, which is fantastic for an amateur dance competition. Dennie got to wear her new glittery emerald shoes. Lol! You should have seen her blisters! But that didn’t stop us taking silver in the Cha Cha. Then we hit Chinatown with a couple of the girls from the orchestra. I think I may still be hungover, or that could just be the sudden influx of this year’s Freshers asking stupid questions. Were we so naïve in our first year at Durham, Liv?’
‘Probably.’ Olivia laughed.
‘Another new year, though. Where does the time go?’
Then something else popped into Olivia’s head; she was on a roll.
‘Did you know about Matteo?’
‘What about him?’
‘That he’s been in love with Hollie for years? Since they were teenagers, in fact?’
‘Oh, that. Yes.’
‘What? You knew and you never thought to say anything to me?’
‘Well, it’s none of my business to gossip about Hollie and Matteo. It was pretty obvious, though, don’t you think?’
‘No, I do not. I had no idea.’
‘Okay, so why don’t you weigh up the evidence, madam lawyer. They grew up together, their families were close until Matteo’s mum died and his father hightailed it back to his beloved Italy like a wounded bird. He followed Hollie to London instead of joining his father and Uncle Gino at the family’s vineyard or electing to stay on in Cornwall to run the family restaurant, which meant having to sell it. You know Matteo as a serial dater, right? Never more than four dates?’
‘Six, that’s his current record.’
‘Exactly. And the coup de grâce in my respectful submission to my learned friend is … he’s always hanging out at Harvey’s Wine Bar with you two.’
‘We are fabulous company.’
‘I agree, but it’s Hollie he’s in love with, not you.’
‘So, what do you think I should I do?’
‘What do you mean? You do nothing.’
‘Why not? Just a superficial glance at the list and you can see they fulfil the criteria for a long and happy marriage.’
‘So, a trip around the world qualifies you as the undisputed Cupid of Kensington, does it?’
‘No, I just don’t want them to miss out on the opportunity to be happy.’
‘They’ve spent more time together in the last year than you and Nathan who were married.’
‘True. So what keeps him from moving on?’
‘Well, Sherlock, that’s the one thing that is conspicuous by its absence in the detailed global research you have conducted so far – and the reason why it’s not finished yet. Plus, it’s also why you can’t ditch the project now.’
‘What?’
‘You don’t know?’
‘No.’
‘Not even an inkling?’
‘No, sorry,’ she said, shaking her head and keen to move the conversation on. ‘Look, Professor Denton, why don’t we get back to my initial argument – why Denmark? I understand why Paris is on the list, but Copenhagen? The land of pastries and breakfast bacon and little stone mermaids?’
‘Professor Andersen is a renowned expert in his field, Liv. I’m actually envious of your chance to meet such a captivating orator. His YouTube videos have become essential viewing for many of my more erudite students. And I can’t let Denise down. She hasn’t said anything, but I know she was disappointed with the measly haul of one silver medal in Manchester. She had hoped for at least a bronze in the Tango as well, so I’ve resolved to put in whatever work is necessary to improve my performance. The standard this year is higher than ever, and the judging has become more stringent and critical. The reason, of course, can be laid firmly at the door of the “Strictly Euphoria” that’s currently sweeping the nation. Has to be, because it’s the first time in fifteen years that the tickets for the Finals have sold out. I owe it to Denise to strive for gold.’
‘Okay, okay, you’ve convinced me of my selfishness.’
‘You’ve read the recent research, Liv. Denmark tops the EU Happiness Index, with Sweden and Iceland right up there in the top five, so the Scandinavian countries must be doing something right. But as Denmark also heads the divorce statistics chart it’s an anomaly that requires further digging. The question to ask is this: why, when its inhabitants are so happy with their lives, are they not staying in their marriages? Or another way of looking at it could be – why are they happier divorced?’
‘I agree it’s strange …’
‘I have to admit that my academic interest has been piqued by the evidence. But not only that – and you will be particularly interested in this bit – the Danes have adopted the “no fault” divorce system. Wouldn’t you like to see how this works in practice now that the UK government has seen the light after decades of lobbying by your fellow professionals and is about to introduce something similar here? The legal requirements in Denmark are a six-month separ
ation and the divorce is finalised. And it only costs fifty pounds!’
‘Only fifty pounds?’
‘So,’ continued Rachel, flicking her pumpkin earrings, a gift from Denise in honour of the approaching Hallowe’en festivities. ‘Are the Danes happier because their speedy divorce process cuts down on the opportunity for hostilities, an especially cogent factor when there are children to consider? Divorce is tough on kids, so why make the legalities of ending a marriage difficult and time-stretched to prolong the agony? Protracted parental bitterness impacts on the children and is never acceptable.’
Rachel softened her voice, and her Lancashire accent became more pronounced.
‘I’m sorry about you and Nathan, Liv, I truly am. And I’m sorry you had to learn of his new life in the way you did, but I think the inclusion of the experiences of Denmark will enhance the whole project. Peter Andersen has tweaked his crammed schedule to accommodate your visit and I’d be mortified if I had to cancel after the trouble he’s gone to. He’s had dozens of papers published on the subject of matrimonial harmony and divorce – and he even contributed to the annual World Happiness report! Not only that, I happen to think you’ll like him.’
‘But, Rach, I’m just so exhausted I’ll probably make a mess of things,’ said Olivia, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. ‘I’m going up to Yorkshire to see Mum and Dad at the weekend. Can I think about the next leg and let you know on Monday?’
‘Sure, don’t worry, I could just about squeeze another six hours out of my eighteen-hour days at UCL to catch the Copenhagen flight myself after I’ve dealt with the new student intake, which is larger than ever this year, an expanded lecture schedule, the articles I’ve promised the Dean I’ll publish, and the finals of the dance competition on Christmas Eve.’
‘I …’
‘Sorry, Liv, sorry, ignore me, that was uncalled for. You’ve done so much for me already, lots more than I could have even imagined possible. Of course you can think about it, just promise me you’ll do the Paris trip on the twentieth of November so I can start collating all the documents with the final pieces of evidence from the “Capital City of Romance”. I absolutely can’t go to France – there’s too much going on here at the Faculty at the end of November – and Dennie would lynch me if I missed the last few rehearsals before the finals.’
A Year of Chasing Love Page 17