Everything is suddenly so clear to me, but how am I going to get out of this without hurting Jasper? He has gone along with all this; I cannot walk out or admit my doubts live on air. If anyone is going to be embarrassed here, it should be me, not him. So, I say the one thing I know will kill the interview dead, that will make Suki cut the live feed immediately.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t in good conscience go along with this deceit. It isn’t true, it isn’t real,’ I say, taking a deep breath. ‘Neither of us had Travella bags – they were John Lewis own label.’
Tiger Woman on Instinct
Half of the battle is knowing what you want. When you know what you want, you can pounce on it with four paws. If you don’t know: Stop. Breathe. Look. Smell. Tiger Women have senses, instincts. Use them.
Chapter 29
‘Agghhh!’ Suki screams. ‘Cut, cut, cut!’ She leaps from her chair, launching herself at Saul, knocking the camera phone and tripod to the floor, where she and Saul then scrabble around to end the transmission.
‘What?’ Jasper looks at me with confusion.
‘I’m so, so sorry, Jasper, but I can’t do this. I’ve just realised I have feelings for someone else. I can’t in good conscience be a part of this interview.’
‘Laura Le Quesne, what the hell are you playing at?’ Suki fumes, picking herself back up off the floor and dusting down her trouser suit with both hands. ‘Are you having a seizure? What am I witnessing here?’
‘I’m sorry, Suki, I don’t want to lie any more,’ I say, looking at her through unblinking tiger eyes. Though I have only skim-read it, and it’s not a book I would have chosen myself, some of Tiger Woman’s philosophy must have resonated, because suddenly I don’t want to feel obliged; I don’t want to be polite; I don’t care if I end up alone; I just want to listen to my gut and be the version of myself I am when I’m with Ted – raw and unfiltered.
‘Who? Who do you have feelings for?’ Jasper asks, a look of bewilderment on his face. ‘I thought this was all going so well. We have so much in common.’
‘I know, it was and we do. You’ve been so lovely and kind and I really have enjoyed spending time with you, but I think sometimes the heart doesn’t make any sense at all.’
‘Right,’ says Suki, striding towards me. ‘We’ll blame the interview outage on some kind of interference. Let’s start it again, we won’t do it live, we’ll salvage it in the edit.’
‘No,’ I say, squeezing Jasper’s hand and then walking past Suki, away from the lights.
‘No?’ she says in angry bemusement.
‘I won’t do this interview – I’m sorry, Suki.’
‘Laura, don’t be childish – if we don’t deliver this, you’ll be letting down the whole Love Life family, not just me. Think of your colleagues, of their jobs.’ Suki’s face looks as though it’s trying to make a conciliatory expression, but her eyes are shooting arrows at me.
‘I’m sorry, Suki, but no, you can’t control this one,’ I shrug. ‘I want to write real stories again, I want to write things that are true, not just “brandable content”, and if that means leaving Love Life, well, then so be it.’
Dionne is staring at me, unblinking in disbelief. Saul is fanning himself briskly with a hand, as though all this drama is causing him to overheat.
‘After all I’ve done for you!’ Suki snarls. ‘Well, don’t come crying to me when no one wants to read your “truth”, Laura. The truth is boring. People want to buy a dream, not be reminded of reality.’
‘You’re wrong – I think all any of us want in this world is something real.’
Picking up my handbag, I head for the door. I have nothing more to say. My legs are shaking, and I need to focus on putting one foot in front of the other, to walk in a straight line.
Once I’m in the hall, I hear Jasper calling after me.
‘Laura, I don’t understand. What happened in there? I was going to name a kitchen after you,’ he says, with wounded eyes.
‘That’s so sweet of you, but you know, I don’t think I’m kitchen material, Jasper. I’m really more of a living room girl.’
Jasper is still looking at me like a puppy, and I do owe him more of an explanation. I close my eyes, searching for the words, and when I open them, I say, ‘You know you told me how all your family wanted you to stay in law, that being a lawyer was the right fit for you, a sensible career? But you just had this feeling – about kitchens, this calling.’ Jasper frowns, trying to follow what I’m saying. ‘This guy, Ted, I’ve just realised, he’s kitchens for me.’
Jasper rubs his chin with his hand, his eyes darting left to right as he processes what I’m saying.
‘And I’m law?’
I nod, giving him an apologetic smile.
He puts a hand on my shoulder, looks me in the eyes and says, with all sincerity, ‘Well, you go get your kitchens then,’ and then he raises his fist in the air, as though he’s an American football coach, sending me out to the field.
I don’t know how I’m going to get back to L’Étacq without waiting here for a cab. I run out into the road, flagging down a car as I go, hoping the island’s hospitality stretches to hitchhikers. The first car around the bend pulls in, and I run to get into a purple Ford Fiesta, driven by a woman in her thirties with curly red hair and a grey whippet on the back seat.
In my haste to get across the road, I’m nearly hit by a car coming the other way. It screeches to a halt, and I thump both my hands on the bonnet, shouting with fear and fury, ‘Hey, watch it!’ at the driver. Then I see who is driving – Ted. He jumps out, leaving the driver door open, the engine still running.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, my breath quickening, my heart pounding against my chest.
‘I’ve come to make a grand gesture,’ he says, running around to the front of the car to meet me. ‘The cabinet you left me – Laura, I love it, it’s the nicest present anyone has ever given me.’ He runs a hand through his hair, his eyes earnest. ‘I was being a coward. I know I’ve only known you three days, and I know I’m a mess, but – pick me, let me be the one who tries to make you happy. Am I too late?’ Ted grins, a sheepish grin. ‘I’m ready to burst in there and challenge your suitcase man to a duel if need be.’
‘I don’t need to be duelled over, thank you, and you’re too late anyway,’ I say, ‘I walked out.’
‘You walked out? What about your job?’
‘I’ll find another one, one that doesn’t involve selling my soul or being with the wrong person,’ I shrug.
Almost before I’ve finished speaking, Ted takes me in his arms and kisses me, and every particle of my body melts into joyful jelly. After an irresponsible amount of time spent kissing in the path of oncoming traffic, I apologise to the red-haired woman for holding her up, and Ted and I climb into his cab, grinning at each other.
‘I need to shower when we get home, I must look ridiculous with so much make-up and all this hairspray,’ I say, reaching up to scrunch the bouffant blonde helmet of hair.
‘Home?’ Ted says, a grin stretching from ear to ear.
‘Well, you know, the fisherman’s cottage – home for now.’
Ted pulls the car into gear and starts driving up the hill, away from St Ouen’s.
‘Where are we going?’ I ask, turning to look at the road behind us.
‘I thought you wanted a grand gesture?’ says Ted.
‘I thought storming into the interview was going to be the grand gesture?’
He shakes his head and reaches out a hand to hold mine.
‘Nope.’
Ted drives us back to Plémont, to the place where the hotel used to be, where my parents spent that first summer falling in love.
‘Ted, what are we doing here?’ I ask, looking at the deserted headland.
He runs around and gets a box from the boot and then, with his hands full, beckons me with a sideways nod of the head.
‘OK, I don’t have a lot of experience with grand gestures, so I might
have got this completely wrong,’ he says. ‘Will you just close your eyes while I set something up?’
I smile at how nervous he is. I’m not sure the grandest of romantic gestures start with someone being told to close their eyes so close to a cliff edge, but I go with it. If he asks me to walk anywhere with my eyes closed, I might have to voice my safety concerns.
Then music starts to play from a sound system – ‘One More Night’ by Phil Collins.
I open my eyes, and Ted is holding out an arm, beckoning me over. He takes my hand, and we walk up the path together. My face aches from smiling.
‘I thought you hated Phil Collins.’
‘I do,’ he says. ‘But if you love him, I’ll allow my ears to be assaulted once in a while.’
On the flat plateau of grass, he’s marked a large rectangle out on the ground with silver tape.
‘This is where the old dance hall used to be; I looked up the plans.’
‘You didn’t!’
Then he draws me into his arms, and we dance cheek to cheek on the clifftop to one of my favourite songs and the air is pure magic. How did I not realise earlier – that it was Ted all along?
‘So how did I do?’ he says quietly in my ear. ‘Grand enough?’
‘Perfect,’ I reply. ‘Just the right amount of effort, without being over the top.’
‘A live band would have been too much, then?’
‘Yeah, that would have been too much,’ I say, tilting my face to look up into his eyes.
‘Do you think your own kids will be on this clifftop in thirty years’ time, dancing to Phil Collins, trying to replicate the most romantic night of their mother’s life?’
‘You’re backing yourself then, if you think this is the most romantic night of my life,’ I say, pressing my tongue into my cheek.
‘Damn, I knew I should have gone for the band,’ he says, and I swallow a laugh as I lean my head against his shoulder.
‘Seriously, though, I think I’ve learned not to hold on to other people’s love stories too tightly,’ I say. ‘That it’s not the story that’s important.’
Ted holds me tighter, an electric charge coursing between us, and I tilt my head, allowing my lips to find his.
Back at L’Étacq, Ted’s house is empty, so we walk down to the fisherman’s cottage. Ted has brought food to cook us, Jersey Royals and lobster from the fishery at the north end of the bay. Scamp bounds across the wall and jumps up at Ted.
‘Hey Scamp,’ Ted says, picking him up and nuzzling his face into the top of the dog’s head.
‘You made it then?’ Sandy calls over the wall, a delighted grin on her ruddy, round face.
‘He did,’ I say, but we can’t stop for small talk now. Ted puts Scamp down, and I pull him inside, the bag of food left on the side, then drag him over to the bed.
‘We’re going to do this now, are we? I’m not going to wine and dine you first?’ he asks, his voice low, his firm hands clasped around my waist.
‘Oh, I think the Phil Collins clifftop move was all the wining and dining you’ll ever need to do, Ted Palmerston,’ and then I let out an involuntary squeal as I feel his hand caress the skin on my back.
‘Do you want me to stop?’ he asks, his face creasing with concern.
‘No, no, I definitely don’t want you to stop – that was a good squeal, sorry.’
He slowly unbuttons my blouse and we lie on the bed, his hands gently stroking my waist. I reach up to pull off his shirt, desperate to feel his bare body against mine. He leans forward and I feel the thrust of him beneath his jeans. A shiver of anticipation arcs through me. I want to be in control, so I roll over, straddling him, rolling my hips against his, pressing his hands above his head.
‘Where did you come from?’ he says, his voice heavy, his eyes following mine, as though marvelling at me. I bend down to kiss his chest, wanting to lay claim to every inch of him. ‘I haven’t – I haven’t done this in a while,’ he says, sounding as though he is desperately trying to stay in control.
‘I’m sure you’ll remember what to do,’ I say, with a breathy laugh as I start unbuttoning his jeans. Wow, Ted is definitely no Ken doll.
He reaches both his arms beneath mine and pulls me up to his eye level.
‘I want to see your face—’ he murmurs, as his body presses against mine, removing any air between us.
Then, even though there aren’t any cameras, we have the movie sex. You know that bit where you see a close-up of a man kissing a woman’s neck, and it’s all low lighting and dewy skin; that happens. The shot of the man’s rippling back muscles tensing, as the woman’s hands clasp around his whole body with her fingers spread wide; that happens. The part where the woman’s toes stretch out and curl in orgasmic bliss; that happens, three times. We even move to the shower and do that scene where you see a hand press against the glass and then it swipes down the steam, because, you know, the shower is steamy but so is what’s happening inside. If I died this second, I’d want my gravestone to read: ‘Died happy, having the movie sex’.
Afterwards, as we lie there entangled in each other’s arms, glowing with perspiration, I say, ‘That was pretty awesome, right? It’s not just me?’
Ted laughs and kisses my head. ‘That was, indeed, awesome.’
‘Is that how you usually do it?’ I ask.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, are you always that good?’
Ted takes his hand from behind my head and sits up; his forehead furrows, but only into one line. ‘I don’t know, Laura, it’s not a competition.’
‘No, I didn’t mean for you to compare, I just meant – maybe you’re just really good at sex, and I’m the one who’s been doing it wrong all these years.’
Ted gives me a friendly scowl and reaches out to lay his hand on top of mine. ‘I don’t think that’s possible.’ Then he turns onto his side, leans over and lays a trail of hot kisses up my neck before whispering in my ear, ‘You are spectacular. You have woken me up, and I never want to be asleep again.’
Chapter 30
I think he was talking metaphorically, because he does sleep – spooned against my back, while I struggle to drift off. I could never sleep with someone spooning me, but I don’t want to let go of him, so I just lie there, awake, a giant grin plastered on my face, wondering how long I have to wait before I can wake him up by kissing his neck. In the morning, after we’ve indulged in another extremely satisfying movie marathon, showered, and dressed, Ted cooks up the meal he bought us last night. I’m not convinced I’m going to fancy lobster for breakfast, but when he presents it on toast with eggs on the side, it turns out I’m ravenous.
Ted points out the fisheries on the headland, visible from the house, a converted bunker, built for war but now the site of fresh fish barbecues and rosé by the sea. I think of the history that bunker has seen, and I feel briefly disappointed that I won’t be writing my foodie mini-break article for Love Life now. Food is clearly taken seriously here, and so much history seasons every plate.
Ted and I sit at the patio table, and between mouthfuls just gaze at each other as though, if we blink, the other person might disappear.
I glance over to the next-door garden.
‘This is where Sandy comes out and says “Morning!” in that voice she does,’ I say.
He nods. ‘The number of times I’ve had Sandy give me that knowing “Morning”, I should put up a higher wall.’
‘You’ve cooked lobster breakfasts for a lot of lady friends, have you?’ I ask, raising an eyebrow at him.
‘I doubt there would have been a cooked breakfast when we were teenagers,’ he says. ‘My culinary skills are pretty limited now, let alone back then.’
‘Your parents were fine with you having girls sleep over? Growing up, Mum never let me have a guy in my room with the door closed, even when I brought boyfriends home from university.’
Mentioning my mum instantly puts her face in my mind, and I think how much she would have like
d Ted – his easy demeanour, his complete lack of pretension, how thoughtful he is. It seems wrong that she went to her grave thinking Aaron was who I ended up with; Aaron who put the handbrake on at junctions. Then again, perhaps she knew me better than I knew myself and sensed that he would not be a long chapter.
‘I think when we were teenagers, it was more about sleeping out in the dunes than bringing people home,’ Ted says, shifting in his chair. ‘So, what would you like to do today? I’ll take you anywhere.’
‘I’m going to help you clean the house, get it finished.’
‘That doesn’t sound like a great way to spend the day – there’s so much of the island I haven’t shown you yet.’
He reaches out to cover my hand with his, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt this content in my entire life. How can everything change, in a weekend? Then we hear a voice from across the wall.
‘Morning!’ Sandy says, standing right there, hand on hip, a clownish smile of satisfaction that her match-making ambitions have come to fruition.
‘Do you want to join us?’ Ted asks, leaning back in his chair. I catch a glimpse of his chest beneath his linen shirt, and a flash of what we were doing earlier this morning sends a tingle of heat across my skin.
‘I wouldn’t think to intrude,’ she says, making wide, embarrassing eyes at us both.
‘Sandy, I assume the incredible cabinet Laura gave me is Ilídio’s work?’ Ted asks.
‘He told me Laura had a big hand in the design,’ she says.
‘It’s now my favourite object in the entire house,’ Ted says, turning back to look at me with a twinkle in his eyes.
‘It’s pretty much the only object in the house,’ I say, following his eyes with mine. I love that I can just stare at him now. I don’t have to look away; I can just shamelessly stare at his ludicrously attractive face.
After breakfast, we set to work clearing the house, and I help Ted pull out a few of the small objects he wants to keep, things that will fit in the little drawers and windows of the memory cabinet.
Just Haven't Met You Yet Page 27