A Year of Chasing Love

by Rosie Chambers

  Kate’s abandonment had hurt more than she cared to admit. What had she done to upset her? They had been friends for over fifteen years, and her baffling snub had niggled away at her for ages until she confessed her confusion to Hollie who had smiled a knowing smile and filled her in on the facts.

  ‘It’s Rick.’

  ‘What about Rick?’

  ‘Surely you know about his affair with his tennis coach?’

  ‘No, I have had a few things on my mind recently.’

  ‘Well, it’s over now and Kate’s forgiven him, but she’s watching his every move, which means she’s taken up tennis, joined the golf club, and is even training as an accountant so she can one day work in the same office as him.’

  ‘A little extreme, but okay. So what’s that got to do with me?’

  ‘You’re single.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She’s worried you might whisk him away for a night of unbridled passion.’

  ‘Oh, God! Really? Are you seriously asking me to believe that’s why she won’t meet me for a coffee? That’s just ridiculous!’

  ‘Is it though? Can you blame her?’

  She thought about what Hollie had said for a few moments, mulling over in her mind how she would have reacted if the reason she had been served with her divorce petition was that Nathan had found someone else more enthusiastic about spending time with him than she was, like the girl she had seen him having lunch with in Singapore, and her heart softened to Kate’s predicament.

  ‘No, I don’t blame her, but does that mean she’s abandoned all her single friends?’

  ‘Yes, Sasha, Claire and Flora have received exactly the same treatment.’

  ‘So, what will happen if, and it’s only a hypothetical if, if I meet someone new? Will I be welcomed back into the fold to partake once again of her speciality vegan cupcakes?’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll be the first to be on the guest list to sample her beetroot and edamame bean casserole!’

  Olivia’s conversation with Hollie about Kate had made her think long and hard about the ripple effect of separations. When a couple split up, it wasn’t only their lives that shot off on a new trajectory, but that of their friends and their families, too. Everyone was forced, through no fault of their own, to accommodate the shifting dynamics, to amend, reschedule, adapt to the new landscape, treading carefully for fear of causing unnecessary offence. Hearing Kate’s story had been a salutary lesson that it wasn’t just those navigating their way through the minefield of divorce who were going through matrimonial mayhem and meltdown, so too were reconciling couples and couples fighting to save their marriages, and she realised that despite her own feelings of loss, she had to be there to offer her support, sympathy and solace to others.

  As Olivia refilled her coffee mug and searched the frost-clogged freezer for a slice of frozen bread to drop in the toaster, a mantle of sadness enveloped her. Even though she had ditched her manic eighteen-hour days at Edwards & Co, she still struggled with the task of replenishing the fridge. What was the point, anyway? When she did decide to brave the jostle of the supermarket and fill the cupboards with healthy food, she only ended up clearing the shelves of the mouldy provisions the following week.

  She carried the plate of dry toast to the sofa and plonked down with a sigh. Where would she go when the apartment was sold? And why wasn’t she out there, house-hunting for her next home? She only had five weeks until she was due back at work, but lethargy ran through her veins in place of the hyperactive scuttle she was more familiar with. But there was so much to finalise she couldn’t afford to indulge in this slothful behaviour – all their possessions had to be divided, wrapped, packed, and Nathan’s items shipped to his parents’ house. Olivia was grateful to Katrina for offering her attic space for her few boxes and was more than a little ashamed that her worldly goods would fit into just six packing cases, two suitcases and a cardboard wardrobe – with most of the space taken up by her shoe collection.

  She had a new home to organise. She had the trip to Denmark to prepare for, the research paper to update, as well as the weekend visit to Paris at the end of November. She had to respect the deadline Rachel had set of the thirtieth of November for her final submission, not only to allow Rachel adequate time to collate all the evidence, but because once she was back at work there would be no time for anything else.

  She hadn’t seen Hollie and Matteo for over two weeks and had to admit to a feeling of awkwardness when she was in their company since Elliot had divulged Matteo’s secret. She wished he hadn’t told her because the last time the three of them had met at Harvey’s she’d found herself surreptitiously checking out their body language, noticing how Matteo touched Hollie’s hand when he was talking to her, how he laughed at her anecdotes about the astonishingly stupid exploits of her criminal clients or the time the double bass player in her orchestra had vomited over his instrument after a particularly heavy night celebrating their last performance.

  Now she had been alerted to the situation, she knew Elliot was right. She had tried to get some time alone with Hollie, to guide their conversation round to discuss their relationship, but Matteo was always there and, on the one occasion when he wasn’t, Hollie’s flatmate Grace materialised with three standby tickets for Mamma Mia. Anyway, was Matteo’s unrequited love any business of hers? She was hardly in a position to offer relationship advice to Hollie, was she!

  A swirl of emotion began its insidious path through her body, but she shoved it away. Acceptance was the stage she was at, the prelude to moving on, and she had to focus on that, although she was still sad that she would no longer be addressed as Mrs Fitzgerald, and that she would have to tick the box marked ‘divorced’ on application forms and questionnaires. Why did those marketing gurus feel the need to categorise people according to their marital status, their age or their ethnicity in the twenty-first century? What on earth was with the current obsession of collecting personal data?

  She popped the last bit of her dry toast in her mouth, swallowing it down with a swig of black coffee, and decided to blast her sorrows away with a hot shower. As she padded into the bathroom, she looked over her shoulder at her unmade bed.

  On second thoughts, why didn’t she curl up in her duvet and read a good book?

  No, it was time to stop hibernating and make a positive effort to end her habit of hiding away from the world until it was time to return to her old life. With a surge of determination, she strode into her bedroom and foraged in the bottom of her wardrobe, pulling out an old pair of leggings and hoodie, and an even older pair of trainers.

  She would go for a jog; a blast of fresh air would do her good!

  Chapter 23

  The flight to Copenhagen was short. Well, any flight would appear short if you compared it to the global slog she had recently endured. She dragged her luggage from the conveyor belt and made her way to the exit. It felt strange that no one was jiggling a hand-scrawled welcome sign for ‘Ms Olivia Hamilton’ like there had been in Malta and Hawaii, and she refused to admit that a small part of her had hoped that Professor Peter Andersen would ditch the sacred halls of academia for the immaculate Arrivals plaza. However, as it was lunchtime, she suspected that the professor would probably prefer to indulge in a smørrebrød at his desk.

  Once again, her memory’s rolodex flicked back to Niko. When she had got back from Singapore, down-hearted and jet-lagged, she had politely turned down his invitation to the village festa. However, she hadn’t had the courage to admit that the reason was that she was still in love with her soon-to-be-ex-husband.

  Was she crazy?

  Her marriage had ended and here was a handsome, intelligent, fun guy offering her a new pathway towards the future. What better balm to her aching heart than a trip to Malta, with its guarantee of cloudless skies, a warm welcome, and a sure-fire way of satisfying her mother and Rachel that she was moving on? It could be just what she needed to launch her ‘new year, new me’ agenda, except that it woul
dn’t be fair to Niko because she just didn’t see him as a potential romantic partner, merely as a good friend.

  She refused to acknowledge the creeping niggles her brain introduced whenever she forced herself to consider beginning the next stage of her life – how much further down the road Nathan was, whether he would be celebrating the new year with his new girlfriend, and whether he was still planning to return to London for a more settled life closer to his family as he had intended or whether he would elect to stay on in Singapore.

  Despite the stern talking-to she had given herself before boarding the plane to Copenhagen, the demons of regret still managed to poke their ugly heads above the parapet as she braved her way to the unexpectedly chilly taxi rank and climbed into a waiting car. She forcibly bashed them down with a proverbial hammer and switched her thoughts to Peter Andersen and the criteria Rachel had applied to his suitability as a date.

  Maybe she should give him a whirl whilst she was in Copenhagen?

  By the time she had dumped her now-tattered holdall on the king-sized bed in the Copenhagen Plaza Hotel, she had persuaded herself to suggest dinner instead of meeting for an afternoon coffee. Denmark was the land of equality, so why not do the asking?

  It only took her a few minutes to unpack her regretfully sparse luggage. It was freezing outside –boy was it cold – and from the contents of her bag it appeared she had packed for a summer holiday in Barbados or Ibiza. What had possessed her to do that?

  She thrust the wooden hanger through her trusty scarlet shift dress and draped the white angora shrug round the shoulders. What a ridiculous choice of outfit for a visit to a northern capital at the end of October. Why had she brought it? She knew exactly why. All along she had been intending to try out this guy who, on paper at least, was an ideal partner. She had only been in Denmark for a couple of hours but she already felt a connection with the country and its people. Now that she knew she had been conceived here she did have at least a spiritual link.

  As she blasted her hair dry, she inspected her face in the hotel bathroom mirror, which was superb at revealing every facial flaw. The frown lines on her forehead seemed to have deepened, which was hardly surprising as she couldn’t remember the last time she had giggled uncontrollably. When did she even smile? Yet despite her lack of an answer, her ‘laughter lines’ around her mouth were entrenched, and the wrinkles around her eyes even more pronounced than she had expected. Her features seemed drooped; her jowls lower than she remembered. Only when she forced a smile onto her lips did her features brighten and the lines disappear.

  Oh God, she was ancient. Who would want to date her?

  She slammed the hairdryer into its wall bracket and tossed the sides of her hair behind her ears. Why did anyone bother styling their hair when a woolly hat was obligatory attire for those who did not want to freeze to death?

  The hotel enjoyed an enviable location overlooking Tivoli Gardens. From the window of her guest room she had a great view of the Golden Tower ride’s vertical drop and the old-fashioned wooden roller coaster. It was only two thirty and the top tourist attraction in the whole of Denmark promised an absorbing itinerary of distractions until Peter Andersen rang to arrange their meeting.

  Olivia yanked on her mac and trotted down the purple-and-gold carpeted staircase to the lobby and out into the street beyond. A sharp wind curled its tongue around her exposed ears and whipped at the naked branches of the trees whilst the leaden sky pressed its weight against the gothic-inspired rooftops. Wisps of vapour trailed from her lips into the icy afternoon air as she blew on her palms for warmth. She never thought she would find herself coveting one of the knitted hats bobbing all around her on the more astute tourists’ heads. And their gloves. And one of those woolly scarves. She ducked into one of the souvenir shops to kit herself out in essential Scandinavian knitwear.

  With her purse well and truly punished for her lack of forward planning in the luggage department, Olivia made her way to the Tivoli Gardens’ renaissance-inspired entrance of tall vertical columns and a central dome, which, to her mind, was reminiscent of the entrance to Walt Disney World in Florida. Again, her Danish Krone took a hammering as she forked out the exorbitant entrance fee.

  But it was worth every penny. Scattered liberally amongst the immaculate gardens of weeping willow and chestnut trees were more pumpkins than she had ever seen in one place. Whole cascades of the basketball-sized fruit tumbled from wooden carts, bedecked scarecrow heads and surrounded the myriad fountains; there was even an enormous pumpkin atop the white Moorish-style dome of the Nimb Building.

  Oh God, how had she forgotten?

  It was Hallowe’en at the end of the week and the celebrations were in full swing! Witches, ghosts and ghouls roamed the gardens and haunted the rides, happy couples sauntered arm-in-arm clutching candyfloss, hot dogs and, strangely, ice cream cones, and the aroma of burnt sugar mingled with cloves and fried onions sent Olivia’s stomach rumbling. She lingered at one of the many stalls dotted around the park selling local crafts, then meandered along the pristine pathways until she reached the Pleanen, a large open-air stage, where she paused to watch a show of dancing zombies, monsters and vampires performing their very best ‘Thriller’ moves.

  Moving on, she found herself in front of a Japanese-style pagoda, its tiered eaves twinkling with fairy lights in the fading afternoon light. The fragrance of pan-Asian spices floated on the icy air, reminding her of her visit to Singapore, but she suppressed her hunger pangs, anxious not to spoil her anticipated dinner with Peter Andersen.

  To round off her visit, despite feeling a little ridiculous, she tossed an imaginary coin and decided to climb aboard the carousel instead of the Ferris Wheel – heights had never been her thing and the tiny cars on the wheel were open to the elements. There was no way she would have voluntarily ridden the Star Flyer – a sky-high carousel of swings, or the Golden Tower – a vertical drop ride from the top of which you could apparently see Sweden!

  The old-fashioned ride blew away all thoughts of discomfort, although she wasn’t sure whether she would ever feel her fingers again. As she alighted from the brightly painted white horse and made her way through the crowds towards the exit, nostalgia spread a warm glow through her veins. Riding the carousel had reminded her of the times her parents had taken her to the annual travelling fair in Leeds; every year she had returned home with a goldfish in a bag, a cuddly toy, and a toffee apple clutched in her sticky palm.

  By now, dusk had transformed the gardens into a magical fantasyland lit by thousands, if not millions, of electric light bulbs that lined the contours of the buildings, the branches of the trees and the sweep of the fountains. However, the most spectacular sight by far was the white carved façade of the Nimb Building, its Arabian-style minarets illuminated like candles on a birthday cake. Families strolled through the fairy-tale scenery, following in the footsteps of the master storyteller himself – Hans Christian Andersen – who had adored Tivoli Gardens. Together they were collecting those golden coins of happiness – or hygge as the Danes called it – that their country was so renowned for providing in bucketloads.

  It was only as she strode back through the oak-panelled lobby of the hotel that Olivia realised she had forgotten to take her mobile phone with her. When she arrived in her room, she discarded her hat and gloves and quickly scrolled down the screen – three missed calls. She didn’t recognise the number, so she settled against the mountain of pillows and dialled the disappointed caller back.

  ‘Hello, it’s Olivia Hamilton.’

  ‘Ah yes, Ms Hamilton. Welcome to Copenhagen.’

  A pleasant swirl of interest meandered through Olivia’s chest as the deep melodious tones of Peter Andersen’s voice met her ears.

  ‘Thank you, it’s good to be here.’

  ‘Okay, I’ve received Professor Denton’s emails and I have to say that I appreciate her generous offer to pick up the tab for dinner. I have a heavy schedule this week; this evening is the best time for me
. Would you mind if we ate in a restaurant adjacent to the university to cut down on my travelling time?’

  Despite the directness of his words, Olivia loved his accent – that faint trace of an American twang that occurred when a person learned English from an American teacher. She even persuaded herself that the timbre of his voice held a hint of George Clooney’s dulcet tones – and that it didn’t matter at all that he had appeared over-anxious to ensure she would be picking up the cheque. She experienced an instant thrill of excitement to be meeting him for dinner and not for coffee.

  ‘Dinner tonight is great. Just give me the name of the restaurant and I’ll meet you there.’

  ‘Good. Shall we say 8 p.m. at Restaurant Maven on Nikolaj Plads. Until then.’ And without further preamble, he ended their conversation.

  Olivia jumped in the shower, taking her time to scrub away the day’s grime from her whirl round Tivoli Gardens before stepping into her short scarlet dress, noticing for the first time that she actually struggled with the zipper. Completing her outfit with a pair of black stiletto knee-high boots, she began to muse through the ‘lessons in love’ she had gathered that were now so familiar to her.

  How would she feel about Peter Andersen when she met him? Would she find a friend, like Niko, with whom she could talk for hours and in whose company she could revel in, but minus the sexual attraction? Or would their encounter be similar to the one she’d had with Steve in Hawaii? Plenty of sensual vibes, but a total absence of sparky conversation because they had nothing at all in common? She knew it was most likely to be the former than the latter, but what about if there was both?