‘No way!’ said Lucy.
‘I hadn’t seen him for years and hardly recognized this handsome stranger when he came over to say hello, but we got chatting and ended up swapping phone numbers, agreeing to meet up in a local pub the next day.’
‘And did you remember him when you realized who he was?’ asked Lucy.
‘Yes, but he was four years younger than me and I wouldn’t have even really noticed him back then to be honest. But it turns out that all the years I was his babysitter he had a massive crush on me!’
‘How cute!’ said Lucy.
‘He clearly had a thing for geeky-looking redheads!’ laughed Lettie. ‘I was so not a looker!’
‘Don’t be so cruel to your young self,’ admonished Simon. ‘I bet you were gorgeous.’
‘Anyway, he’s actually turned into an extremely attractive guy, despite his receding hairline.’
‘Show us a photo,’ said Lucy.
‘I’ve got loads on my phone, I’ll show you later…’ said Lettie.
‘So did you see each other lots after that?’ asked Simon.
‘We went on that date to the pub, which was amazing, and then we met up quite a few times… we even spent New Year’s Eve together, just the two of us.’
‘How romantic!’ said Lucy.
‘Last weekend he took me on a romantic mini-break to a luxury hotel! And we had “the chat”! He said would I mind if we made it exclusive…’
‘OMG!’ said Simon.
‘This is too exciting!’ said Lucy, thrilled for her friend. Lettie was, quite clearly, over the moon. She looked like one of those cartoon characters who, struck by cupid, had heart-shaped pupils in their eyes.
Amidst the verbal diarrhoea, Simon and Lucy grilled their friend to check whether Luke had been conducting himself in a gentlemanly fashion, to siphon out any arsehole-type behaviour, but he genuinely seemed irreprehensible. They were thrilled for her and decided to go to the local pizzeria after work for dinner and a couple of glasses of wine to celebrate.
That’s it, then, thought Lucy. First Simon and now Lettie, all coupled up! I really am the last one on the shelf! Her mind darted towards Rory and she wondered at the possibility that things might develop with him.
Following an unsurprisingly dull few days at work to end the week, she found the weekend soon upon her. Lucy was undecided about whether to meet Rory again in Holland Park. She had promised herself she wouldn’t waste her time pursuing men any more but there was just something about him she couldn’t stop thinking about. She wasn’t entirely sure whether he would even turn up. He had no obligation towards her and they hadn’t even swapped numbers to confirm the time or place. Imagine if she showed up and waited there for an hour or so and then had to go home again, cold and disappointed. Not to mention looking foolish and desperate to boot. Yes, perhaps it was more sensible to just stay at home. She decided to Google him to see if she could find out more about him. She remembered his name, Rory McCullan, and was able to find him pretty quickly thanks to his website, Rory McCullan Ltd, which not only had a biography and a photograph but also lots of examples of his work as an architect and links to various articles he had written. It seemed like he did very well for himself. She couldn’t help but doubt whether he could truly be interested in her.
She was still in two minds come Saturday morning. She had a bath, relaxing into the scented water and scrutinizing the soft flesh of her belly, trying to work out whether there was a tiny baby growing inside her, or not. She still felt remarkably calm about this round of treatment; she had a real sense of acceptance about her future, she felt sure that everything would happen at exactly the right time and in just the right way. She placed the palm of her hand on the centre of her tummy and sent lots of positive thoughts through it to any baby that might be in the earliest stages of development within. It was a very curious state of mind to be trying for a baby. Lucy found it a strange contrast; she had spent the whole of her twenties obsessively hoping that she wasn’t pregnant, that some accident had not happened during a moment of passion that would have everlasting consequences. Each month, when she was due to get her period, she would pray for it to come and only when it did would she relax, grateful in the knowledge that she wouldn’t have a baby to contend with in nine months’ time. Now, however, not only did she spend all her time hoping and praying that she was having a baby, she was even going to extraordinary measures to do so!
In the end, she decided to flip a coin; heads she would go to Holland Park, tails she would stay at home and get on with her weekend admin. Wrapped in her fluffy dressing gown, she went into the sitting room and found her handbag, extracted a coin from her wallet and tossed it in the air. She caught it as it fell and placed it in the palm of her left hand. She took her hand away and saw tails. Tails. She would stay at home. Her heart fell. Within an instant she had flipped the coin back over to heads. Of course she would go. The best-looking man she had practically ever laid eyes on had asked to see her again; she was hardly going to turn it down. She had so enjoyed talking to him the week before, she couldn’t wait to spend more time with him. And if he didn’t turn up she would have lost nothing, she could just go and buy herself a coffee and all she would be doing was sticking to her usual Saturday routine.
Taking a deep breath, she undid her dressing gown and began to get ready. The cold air outside had left her skin feeling particularly dry so she reached for her moisturiser and rubbed it all over her body, luxuriating in the feeling of silky soft skin. She dried her hair and straightened the ends and her fringe, before going through the ritual of applying her make-up, step by step. At the last minute she decided to shave her legs, just in case.
‘What to wear for a walk in the park, whilst still managing to look attractive?’ she pondered. She walked over to her big, walk-in wardrobe and flung open the doors, peering inside. Riffling through the coat hangers, she found a pair of black jeans, a stripy long-sleeved T-shirt, and a soft jumper the colour of forget-me-nots. Lucy pulled on her brown suede ankle boots and fixed a pair of gold hoops into her ears, checking her appearance in the long mirror. Not bad, she thought, not bad at all! She glanced out of the window to check for the possibility of rain. The clouds looked grey and menacing. She pulled on a coat and set off.
At roughly the same time that she had arrived at the cafe last week, Lucy walked nervously up the pathway leading to the Orangery. There was clearly a wedding going on that afternoon. The Orangery was often hired out for events and caterers were coming in and out of their vans carrying trays of food. She sidestepped a young man carrying a topiary, ornamental bush teetering far above his head, and looked up at the cafe feeling sure that she was about to be disappointed. To her amazement, there was Rory, standing rather awkwardly, with Rufus on a lead at his feet; the lead was in one hand with a takeaway cup balancing on top of it, and in the other hand was another cup. As soon as he saw her, his eyes twinkled; the crow’s feet that were etched around them deepened as a smile spread across his face. Lucy approached him somewhat shyly, partly due to the cast of River Dance that were currently tap-dancing in her stomach. Shivers ran through her chest and down her spine.
‘Lucy!’ he cried, obviously very happy to see her.
‘Hi Rory,’ she greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. ‘Nice to see you! Hello Rufus,’ she said as she bent down to pat him on the back. He wagged his tail appreciatively.
‘I got you a coffee. Well, a chai thingy anyway. Was that right?’ he asked.
Touched that he had remembered her drink of choice, she said, ‘How kind of you! Yes, a chai latte… you remembered!’
‘I tried my best!’ he said, smiling. ‘I wasn’t actually sure whether you’d make it. It was a bit foolish of me not to take your number, really.’
‘I was thinking something similar! I’m glad you are here,’ she said, taking the lid off her cup and sipping the comfortingly sweet spiced milk. It was a little cold. She wondered how long the poor man had been waiting with it.
The thought of him arriving early enough to buy her a drink made her warm to him even more.
‘Shall we walk?’ asked Rory. ‘I think Rufus is desperate to get off this lead.’
‘Sure,’ said Lucy. ‘Let’s go!’ and they started off down the path, looping away from the Orangery, past the remains of Holland House. ‘It’s sad to see what’s left of it now,’ she said as they passed the grand Elizabethan building.
‘It must have been quite something in its prime. Though I kind of love the contrast of its use today. An open-air opera at the front and a youth hostel round the back!’ said Rory. ‘I’m not really sure how well the two go together!’
‘I know,’ laughed Lucy. ‘Probably not at all what the owner had in mind five hundred years ago! Have you ever been to the opera here?’ Lucy asked.
‘Not for years. I used to go quite often, actually, with my wife,’ he said.
‘You’re married?’ asked Lucy in surprise, her heart jumping into her throat.
‘I’m a widower,’ said Rory, looking at the floor in front of him as he walked.
‘Oh my god, I’m so sorry,’ Lucy muttered, shaking her head. ‘That must have been awful.’
‘It was pretty awful,’ nodded Rory; a mist of sadness shadowing his features at the memory.
Lucy’s heart reached out to him. ‘What did she die of, if you don’t mind me asking?’ she enquired tentatively.
‘Not at all, it was a long time ago. It was breast cancer, she battled it for fifteen months, but sadly she lost…’ he said. ‘Have you been to the opera here?’ he asked, changing the subject.
‘Actually, yes, I went the summer before last with my granny. They have an OAP scheme where you can enter a ballot to win a pair of free tickets right at the front. Someone told me about it at work and I decided to enter for her, then promptly forgot all about it. I got an email a couple of months later telling me that I’d won! My grandmother was thrilled, she’s always one for a bargain. So am I, for that matter!’ Lucy added.
‘What did you see?’ Rory asked.
‘The Barber of Seville,’ said Lucy.
Rory laughed as Lucy told him how Annie had insisted on accompanying the opera singers by reciting the translation displayed high overhead on the subtitle screens at the top of her voice, much to the chagrin of the opera enthusiasts surrounding them in the first few rows. Despite Lucy’s best efforts to shush her, she refused to stop until some poor usher was sent over to ask her to be quiet. She then continued sotto voce throughout the remainder of the performance, somewhat hampering Lucy’s own enjoyment of the music.
Just as they rounded the path that ran behind the Kyoto gardens, the heavens opened. It was the kind of downpour that is hard to believe is possible. The air was dry, if a little damp, moments before; seconds later huge bulbous raindrops were pelting down from the sky like bullets of glass. Rufus was darting frantically from puddle to puddle as they formed, chasing the rivulets of water that were gushing down the sides of the path. Lucy shrieked and ran to the measly shelter of the nearest oak tree, still clutching her cup. Rory, similarly badly dressed for rain in a thick Guernsey jumper, chased after Rufus before clipping on his lead and shouting to Lucy, ‘Follow me!’ setting off at a run. Lucy braced herself and then ran after him, through the park, out of the gate and down a few criss-crossed streets before arriving at what was presumably Rory’s house. Despite the utter drenching she was currently experiencing she couldn’t help but notice the size of the place. It was almost a mansion; architecture was obviously not a bad line of work.
As Rory scrabbled with the lock and flung open the door, he called, ‘Come in!’ and ushered her through the front door. Slamming the door shut behind him and sending Rufus to his bed to lie down and dry off, Rory and Lucy looked at each other in amusement, both panting and soaked to the bone. She was sure that her face must now resemble a smudged panda, the rain having coursed down her hair was still dripping off her chin and her fringe was plastered to her eyes. Rory looked even more handsome than before; his hair was swept off his face and his eyes were shining with mirth. They took off their shoes and left them on the entrance mat. Her suede boots would never be quite the same again.
Suddenly overcome with a fit of hysteria, they both collapsed in laughter.
‘What the bloody hell was that monsoon all about?’ Rory hooted, clutching his sides as he tried to catch his breath.
‘I have never seen a rainstorm quite like that!’ giggled Lucy, taking a few steps over to the huge gilded mirror that hung in the entrance hall, trying not to fall over on the slippery tiles. As she walked, she left a watery trail in her wake. She looked in the mirror and cringed; as she had suspected her make-up had smeared in a comic fashion across her cheeks. She looked like she was wearing a sad clown mask. ‘Look at my face!’ she exclaimed.
‘There’s a bathroom just across the hall if you want to go and get some tissue?’ he suggested.
‘Thanks,’ said Lucy. ‘Not a bad idea.’ She went into the bathroom and wiped her cheeks with a wad of tissue. She couldn’t believe it! Of all the days for a torrential downpour, did it really have to be today?
It felt a bit odd finding herself inside a stranger’s house, though, on second thoughts, at least she could have a look around. She was glad that she had done some snooping online to make sure that he was who he said he was. Remembering what he had told her a short while ago about his poor wife, her mind began to wander. Had he bought this place with her? She couldn’t imagine the unfairness of having finally found someone only to lose them to illness; it was something that she had never even considered. Being wrenched from your partner in the prime of life must be one of nature’s cruellest fates. She flushed the loo and stepped out into the hall.
Hearing Rory call her name from a room that opened up at the end of the corridor, she followed his voice, ending up in a huge kitchen with a large cast-iron wood-burning stove as its focal point. Rufus was lying on his bed in front of the fire, looking sorry for himself. His large shaggy head rested on his long copper paws. Rory had fetched a couple of towels and was rubbing his hair roughly with one. He handed the other to Lucy, who accepted it gratefully, without being entirely sure how dry it was going to make her.
‘I know this is the first time you have been to my house, but, given the circumstances, would you like a shower? I can lend you a T-shirt and a jumper, and if you want, I can put your clothes in the tumble dryer?’ Rory offered.
Lucy wasn’t sure what to do. She was soaking wet and desperate to get out of her clothes. She thought about calling a taxi to take her straight home and rearranging the whole thing but there was something about him that made her want to stay. She didn’t want to risk missing out on getting to know him better. What if they postponed and then a second opportunity never materialized? She debated with herself for a moment or two before deciding that he was worth the risk.
‘That sounds like a great idea,’ Lucy said, following him back into the hall and up the stairs to the first floor. The staircase kept on going for at least one more flight beyond that, if not two. Lucy marvelled at the incredible house, the carpet was thick beneath her feet. Rory showed her to the bathroom where a phenomenal power shower awaited her. He stood for an awkward moment outside the door while she peeled off the sodden jeans that clung to her legs. Wrapping herself in her towel, she opened the door slightly and proffered the wet bundle apologetically.
Rory took them and said ‘Enjoy!’ before retreating down the corridor presumably to change his own clothes and find her something to put on.
Not wishing to take too long but reluctant to switch off the wondrously soothing hot jets of water that were propelling forth from the vast shower head, Lucy spent a good few minutes in the shower. She came out and proceeded to do what she could to resurrect her make-up, wiping the smudges from underneath her eyes with a corner of the towel and pinching her cheeks to add a dash of colour. Hoping Rory had found something for her to put on, she opened the door and peepe
d out into the corridor. Resting on the carpet was a neatly folded T-shirt, a thick, woolly jumper and a pair of tracksuit bottoms. She pulled them on, noting the fresh smell of laundry powder, and turned the waistband down several times to shorten them.
She padded downstairs looking admiringly at the beautiful paintings and drawings that were hanging on the walls. The house was painted a shade of cream with neutral carpets throughout. Soft lighting from lamps and ceiling lights glowed discreetly from every nook and cranny.
Lucy came into the kitchen and saw Rory stirring milk into two steaming cups of tea. The tumble dryer was whirring in the utility room off the kitchen and logs were crackling in the wood burner. Rory had changed into jeans and a dry grey jumper; his wet hair stuck up in spikes, the resulting dishevelled look made him look even more rugged. Lucy felt her stomach lurch at the sight of him. Her ankle boots were sitting in front of the crackling fire, drying out.
‘Better?’ asked Rory.
‘Much better, thanks,’ said Lucy. ‘I haven’t been caught out like that in years! Thanks so much for letting me come and dry off.’
‘My pleasure!’ said Rory, handing her a cup of tea. ‘Second time lucky perhaps? Not quite a chai but tea nonetheless!’ he said cheerily. There was a low and comfortable-looking sofa perched in front of the fireplace and Rory gestured for her to sit down. Rufus was still drying out in the flickering heat from the flames; he looked up at them and wagged his tail, then sighed contentedly as he rested his large head back on his paws.
Still chuckling about the ridiculous rainstorm, they chatted over their mugs of tea. Rory asked her all about her job, interested to know how the world of advertising worked. In return he told Lucy about his job as an architect. As she had previously discovered, he worked freelance for his own company, Rory McCullan Ltd, mostly designing commercial buildings for big corporate firms across the UK.
As they sank back into the sofa, gazing at the flickering flames and listening to the logs crackle and spit as they burned, Lucy asked him how long he had been living on Thurloe Crescent.
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