Third Time Lucky

by Croft, Pippa

  ‘Well done,’ says Immy. ‘I might have to include Washington on my travels.’

  Scott laughs. ‘Thanks, you’d be welcome. And the Ross Foundation isn’t far away so we could be seeing a lot more of each other after all.’

  He directs this comment straight at me and immediately I know it’s been said in complete innocence. I also know that its effect is going to be devastating.

  For a brief second, I think Alexander has missed the reference, but then after a beat, he turns to me. ‘So, the Ross Foundation?’

  Scott looks taken aback; Immy bites her lip. They both know what’s happened here.

  ‘Well, um, yes, I have an interview with them … It’s, um?’

  ‘I’ve heard of it,’ he cuts in.

  ‘I’m sorry to spoil the surprise; she didn’t get chance to tell you first.’ Scott jumps to my defence but I wish he’d drop it.

  Alexander manages a cool smile. ‘I’m sure Lauren would have got round to it some time. Congratulations to you both.’

  ‘Lauren’s done incredibly well to get the offer,’ Immy pipes up.

  ‘It’s not an offer, only an interview,’ I put in, sensing a brewing storm.

  ‘I’m sure she has.’ He knocks back the rest of his coffee while Scott and Immy desperately try to move the conversation on to other topics.

  Too late. Way too late.

  Claiming he wants another coffee, Alexander gets up but walks right past the breakfast marquee and through the archway.

  Scott groans. ‘Shit, Lauren, I’m sorry. What a jerk I am!’

  ‘Don’t be. I should have told him before but I was waiting until after the ball. He had to know sooner or later … I need to go after him.’

  Almost tripping over my skirt, I hurry after Alexander and eventually find him pacing the far corner of the Chapel Garden, where Rupert fell over the wall.

  ‘Alexander, I’m sorry; I should have told you sooner.’ I lay my hand on his arm and he looks down at it as if it might bite him.

  ‘When did you decide? When did you tell him?’

  ‘My parents mentioned it before they left. Leah Schulze had heard that Donna Ross was looking for an assistant.’

  ‘Leah Schulze?’ He gives me the drill sergeant stare that gets my blood up. ‘Any relation or a complete coincidence?’

  ‘Of course it’s not a coincidence! She’s Scott’s mother and she serves on one of Donna Ross’s fundraising committees. She knows I’m looking for a career and this is a wonderful opportunity. What do you expect me to do? Ignore it?’

  ‘No, of course not, but –’

  ‘Would it have made any difference if you knew? What was the point in telling you until I’d decided to definitely go for the job?’

  ‘I don’t know. What was the point? Perhaps maybe because we’re supposed to be close, maybe because we’re supposed to …’ He leaves the sentence hanging, throws up his hands in frustration.

  ‘What? Supposed to what, Alexander?’

  ‘Treat each other like fucking adults!’

  We face each other down. I force myself to be calm, because behind the bluster I sense genuine anguish. ‘I know I should have told you sooner; it was just with exams and everything going on …’ I see his face and stop trying to find excuses. ‘Look, I’ve spent a long time thinking it over. It’s only an interview, not a job offer, and I’d be crazy not to consider it, even if I did want to stay here.’

  ‘Even if ?’

  He pounces on that one word, like a lion on a gazelle.

  ‘Even if you weren’t going away to who knows where – for who knows how long. Even if you might not get yourself killed, even if I stayed … how can I throw away this chance? It’s like the role was tailor-made for me.’

  ‘How do you know it wasn’t?’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Isn’t it a bit of a coincidence that Scott’s going to be back in Washington too?’

  So he is jealous. ‘I had no idea that Scott was coming home too until five minutes ago. My decision has absolutely nothing to do with Scott. Why do you have to turn everything into a conspiracy?’

  He turns away from me. ‘Why? I wonder why?’

  ‘What does that mean?’ I grab his arm and he winces but neither of us is in the mood for sympathy. My heart seems about to burst out of my chest.

  ‘If you don’t know by now, then there’s no point us continuing this conversation.’ He stiffens, back in military mode, back on duty, and I suspect that I won’t get anything from him in his mood. Captain Alexander Hunt, number …

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you want,’ he mutters at last.

  ‘I don’t want you to be anything other than you are. I never have.’

  ‘Really?’ he frowns.

  I hesitate. Have I? Have I wanted him to be more like Scott? More like me? Am I letting him sow the seeds of self-doubt in my mind?

  ‘I can understand,’ he says, holding himself stiffly, bottling everything up, ‘that you wanted to take this opportunity, but why not tell me?’

  ‘And that would have made everything OK?’ I snap back.

  ‘It would …’ he begins.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘No, you’re right. It wouldn’t have made everything OK. I don’t like the idea of you disappearing off to Washington, walking out of my life just like that.’ He snaps his fingers, making me jump. ‘Give me some bloody credit, Lauren. But no, I don’t relish the idea of you living four thousand miles away, working in the same bloody city as Mr Schulze for one of his mother’s cronies.’

  ‘That’s not why I’m going! You’re being unreasonable!’

  He stares at me, glances away briefly, then shakes his head. ‘Call me unreasonable if you like but I’m not going to apologize for being pissed off and a trifle put out’ – he lays sarcastic emphasis on this last phrase – ‘that you planned to walk out of my life without so much as a by your leave.’

  I’m trembling a little, partly at the injustice of his words – and partly because he may possibly have reason to be upset, but I also know I can’t stand the battle any longer. ‘If you’re thinking of handing me some all-or-nothing ultimatum, Alexander …’

  ‘Would that be so bloody terrible?’ he demands.

  I open my mouth to speak, close it again and hold up my hands in frustration, aware of the stinging at the back of my eyes, at the impasse between us. I expect him to shout, or another bitter retort, but instead of anger, he throws back something else at me: a quiet resignation that’s equally ominous in its own way.

  He sighs deeply. ‘It was unfair of me to assume that any success or opportunity you get is anything other than by your own merits because you’re brilliant and beautiful, and you’re like … Christ, this will sound mad.’

  ‘Try me,’ I murmur.

  ‘When you’re around, you make me doubt myself and that scares me.’

  ‘Me scare you?’

  ‘Yes. The way you make me feel, out of control, unsure … I hate it and yet I can’t seem to keep away because it’s not only the sex, though that is pretty bloody fantastic. The thought of you drove me on after my father died, and whenever I’m away on an op, not knowing if I’ll ever come home. You’re like a thorn in my flesh that I can’t remove.’

  ‘A thorn in your flesh? That good, eh?’

  He smiles and I melt a little. ‘That good. I know the past year has been difficult. I’m not an easy person to live with – to be with – but, Lauren, I need you around. And please don’t underestimate what it takes me to say that.’

  I can hardly speak; I’m also digging my nails into my palms to stop myself from trembling as he goes on.

  ‘But I can also see that it’s too much for you, the distance between us. So yes, I guess I am giving you the all-or-nothing ultimatum. I want more than you can give me if you’re living in Washington. So pick – it’s me or the job,’ he says, the expression in his eyes dark and unreadable.

  I cannot believe he
has said this. I know he’s hurt, and I know he can be unreasonable. But anger bubbles up in me. I take a moment to compose myself. ‘OK, if that’s what you want, you leave me no choice,’ I say coldly. ‘I have my world, you have yours, Alexander … and you are not being reasonable’

  I don’t know what’s more painful, watching the struggle in his eyes or fighting my own desperate longing to hear what he has to say. He can’t quite bring himself to apologize, and I can see he’s not going to back down, but he puts his arms around me, and the wool of his mess jacket is gently abrasive on my tender skin. He kisses me, so softly that I feel like a candle flame flickering down, sputtering, almost snuffed out.

  I push him away, before he can end the kiss. ‘Listen, if that’s the way things are going to be, if that’s how you feel, if that’s how we both feel, I’ll tell you what’s going to happen, right?’

  He reaches for me again, holding me lightly. ‘What?’

  ‘Before I say, will you promise to do as I ask?’

  He frowns. ‘Of course I can’t do that until I know what it is.’

  My heart feels like it’s cracking in two but I know that what I’m doing is the right thing. ‘Please listen to me and promise you’re going to make this as easy on me – on both of us – as you can.’

  ‘I can’t promise that, Lauren.’

  ‘Then I’ll have to be strong.’ I take a deep breath and reach up to my neck. ‘This necklace is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever given me, but I can’t keep it. Shh …’ I put my finger on his lips. ‘I am incredibly honoured and touched that you gave it to me, because I know how much it must mean to you, but you should give it to Emma. Your mother must surely have intended that?’

  Without a word, he allows me to lay the necklace in his hands. I’m not sure I can look at him much longer; I feel as if I’m being crushed inside and out and my tears are a hair’s breadth away from spilling out.

  He slips the necklace in his jacket pocket. ‘And what else?’ he asks quietly.

  ‘I’ll just sit here, and I’ll close my eyes and when I open them, you’ll be gone.’

  He gazes down at me, until I can’t bear it any more. ‘Is that what you really want?’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  There’s a pause, during which my heart thuds wildly, and finally a nod. ‘If you really can’t bear to see me walk away, then, close your eyes,’ he says.

  What? No protest? No fight? No battering down of my defences? Just resignation? No ‘He who conquers endures’ family motto stuff? It seems as if I have finally defeated Alexander Hunt – and victory tastes like ashes and smells acrid and cold.

  I close my stinging eyes. I squeeze them so tightly shut it hurts because when I open them, he’ll be gone for good.

  I wait to hear him walk away; I wait ten seconds and I count one, two, three – then ten – then twenty. I can’t hear his footsteps retreating, dying. I hear nothing but the Ferris-wheel music but I dare not look in case he’s fooling me, because I know I can never bear this again. I count up to thirty, then forty, stretching the time out beyond a minute. Still I dare not open my eyes, my aching eyes …

  ‘Lauren?’

  That’s Immy’s voice, right next to me. I open my eyes and quickly drag one hand over them, while clenching the other hand. I’m trying to defy the tears – to tell them to get the fuck out my life.

  ‘Where’s Alexander?’

  ‘Didn’t you just see him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You must have noticed him walk past you?’ I crane my neck, searching the garden for him.

  She glances around her. ‘No. Maybe he went another way out of the garden?’

  ‘But …’

  ‘What’s up, Lauren? Where’s Alexander?’

  ‘Nothing. He just … went home.’

  She frowns, and then seems to accept my explanation. ‘Oh. I see.’

  Soon, I hope, my chest will stop feeling like a giant fist is squeezing it. ‘Where’s Scott?’ I ask.

  She nibbles her lip nervously. ‘Still beating himself up over the fact that he mentioned the job to Alexander. Has it caused a lot of trouble? Is that why he’s gone home?’

  ‘No, he just … had things to take care of.’

  ‘OK … You’ve lost your necklace …’ she says, her face puzzled.

  ‘I know.’

  Immy looks at me and in that moment, I know she’s guessed what’s just happened. She also knows that, for now, one word or touch of sympathy would burst a bubble so huge and so fragile that it would finish me.

  So she smiles and links her arm through mine. ‘Come on, it’s time for the survivors’ photo.’

  ‘What’s that?’ I ask, suddenly feeling so light I could float away.

  ‘Everyone who made it to the end of the ball gathers in the Front Quad and a photographer takes a mass picture. You haven’t lived unless you make it to the survivors’ photo.’

  So I pretend I have limbs that have real bones in them, not Jello, and I stroll with her across the dewy grass towards the Front Quad on this perfect midsummer morning. The sky is a pale blue now, the morning sun bathes the stone walls with a golden light and even the founders seem to gaze benignly down on us.

  The photographer shouts: ‘Big smiles!’

  When Immy and I stand either side of Scott, with his big arms tight around us, I grin like an idiot for the camera and even though I’m dying inside, I tell myself I made it.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The doors of the Ross Foundation hiss shut behind me and the rumble of the traffic and blast of sirens assault my ears. Heat bounces off the sidewalks and the grey stone facade of the building.

  A bead of perspiration slides down my back. It has to be in the high eighties out here in the piazza. I suck in some breaths. The air is hardly fresh, but it’s a relief after the chill of the Foundation’s offices. Making sure I’m out of sight of the reception, I sit on a wall in the piazza, swap my heels for the ballet flats in my briefcase and sling my jacket over my shoulder. Even in my sleeveless linen shift, I’m too warm, but it’s not far to the restaurant where I’ve arranged to meet Scott.

  It’s a Latin Asian place, nothing fancy but with a relaxed contemporary vibe, and I order a mint julep while I wait for him. He’s only a few minutes late and diners look up as he walks up to my table. He’s in a business suit – the first time I’ve ever seen him wear one – and I catch my breath. He looks serious … a little older maybe, but he wears the gravitas very well.

  ‘So, how was the interview?’ he asks, kissing me on the cheek before taking the seat opposite.

  ‘Good, it seemed to go well.’ I grimace. ‘Though for an interview that was meant to be just a formality, according to my mother, I sure took a real grilling from Donna and her HR president.’

  He winces. ‘Ouch.’

  ‘Yeah, but you know what? I’m glad they were thorough, because if I do get an offer, I’ll know I got it on merit.’

  ‘Of course you got it on merit! Believe me, no one makes Donna Ross do anything she doesn’t want to, let alone hire an assistant! Have faith in yourself, Lauren, you have a master’s from Oxford. And if you get the job? Why would you even question it?’

  ‘Well, I won’t hear the result for a little while.’ I cool my palm on my glass.

  ‘You look the part.’

  ‘I feel a little overdressed after a year at Oxford. I’m used to a mini, skinny jeans or a ballgown. The dress and jacket feel odd.’

  ‘It’s the tie I can’t get used to. I can see why my father calls his a knot of servitude.’ He runs his finger around the knot and undoes his top button.

  ‘Every other time I’ve seen you, you’ve been in sports gear, apart from at the ball, of course.’

  ‘Did I scrub up?’ he asks.

  ‘Pretty well.’

  ‘Good. So, apart from post-interview trauma, how are you?’

  ‘Good, I’m good. So how’s life on the Hill?’ I ask.

  ‘Interesting
… Who knew Water Policy could stir up so much intrigue?’

  ‘Mmm. So, have you been sent to spy on me?’

  He taps the side of his nose and whispers, ‘Of course. Keep it under your hat, but I’m the new recruit for the WMA. Washington Mothers Agency.’ He picks up the menu. ‘Have you ordered? I don’t know about you, but I could eat a horse.’

  The rest of lunch is a mix of gossip, about Scott’s department, rowing, mutual friends and foes. It’s so great to be able to relax after my morning of interviews. I hadn’t realized how tense I was until now; I can feel my shoulder blades tangibly sinking from somewhere around the top of my ears. Arranging to meet Scott for lunch was such a great idea; he knows me so well, and in no time an hour has gone by.

  Scott glances at his watch.

  ‘Do you have to get back?’ I ask.

  He smiles. ‘Not yet. My boss is out of town and I had a meeting nearby this morning, which is why I suggested this place. I can say I was with Senator Cusack’s team if any one complains, but they won’t … Say, if you don’t want to order coffee, why don’t we get out of here?’

  We go halves on the check, and Scott pulls off his tie, before we stroll out towards the park across the street. The shade of the trees is welcome as we meander around the pathways.

  ‘So, what’s the story with Alexander?’ he asks.

  I think I was prepared for this; in fact I’m a little surprised he didn’t bring up the subject sooner. Even so, I take care with my words. ‘Do you know, it’s been so hectic since I’ve been home, I’ve hardly had time to think about him. Which is good. We’ve gone our separate ways. He couldn’t handle me coming back here.’

  ‘Really? Have you not talked at all?’

  ‘No, and I don’t expect to. We left things on a sour note – it was just impossible. We’re both tied to opposing sides of the Atlantic, and he gave me no choice but to end things cleanly.’

  ‘Hmm,’ he muses. ‘That’s a great statement for the press, Lauren, but is that how you really feel? I’m still beating myself up that I put my foot in it by mentioning your job offer. It wasn’t deliberate, though you may not believe that.’