‘You were a Santa Claus? In one of those shop grottoes?’
He nodded, smiling. ‘For one Christmas, at least. Or one holiday season, as we call it in America. The two of us, in our thirties, dressing up in full suits every day for eight hours. My friend thought it was ridiculous and gave it up after a month, but I needed the money. I wanted to be working, too. I found it fun, easy in fact, but the guy who replaced my friend didn’t have a clue what to do. He asked me for tips. The manager of the chain of stores heard me passing on some actor’s tricks – the simplest of things – but he asked me if I’d be interested in training some more of his Santas. I did that for the next two years, for three months of the year. Good money, great conditions. I didn’t have to worry about getting nervous and I was still involved in acting, in an odd way. In a funny way.’
She could see from his expression that he still found it funny now. ‘My friend said I’d taken the easy way out, that I’d given up on this quest the two of us had to break into America. That I obviously wasn’t hungry enough for the good parts, that I should be more like him, suffering for my craft. My wife thought the same thing, I realised later. They were right. I didn’t have that hunger. I did my Santa training and the carpentry for the rest of the year and earned enough money to keep things afloat. My friend went in the opposite direction. He took acting classes five days a week. He had his teeth done. He had an eye tuck. He worked out all the time. It became an obsession with him. All he wanted was to be a success.’
‘But it didn’t happen for him?’
‘Oh yes, it did.’ He named his friend.
Harriet’s eyes opened wide. ‘Him? But he’s famous. Really famous.’ She had seen two of his films in the past year. ‘He won an Oscar, didn’t he?’
‘No, he was nominated, but he didn’t win.’
‘Were you jealous of him? Are you jealous now?’
‘Never. Not for a minute.’ He hesitated. ‘It was my wife who was jealous. That’s what she wanted for me. For us. But I couldn’t hunger for something I didn’t want. And I didn’t want that life. I didn’t want all the perfection and the pressure. I wanted to swim every day because I liked how it made me feel, not because it was good for muscle definition. And I liked acting when the roles were interesting or entertaining, or when the camaraderie was good, but I knew from my friend, from my own experience, that was rarely the case. My wife wanted me to push forward and I wanted to pull back. That’s when it started to go bad between us. We separated at first and tried to work it out, but we couldn’t. We got divorced a year later.’
‘She didn’t go on to marry your friend?’
He gave a soft laugh. ‘Looking for a happy ending, Harriet? No. My friend is gay.’
‘Gay? But I read about him in a magazine last month. He’s seeing a French actress, isn’t he?’
‘No, he’s not. You see, Harriet? See how seductive it is, how all pervasive it is? You, on the other side of the world, reading about a complete stranger, and all of it lies. I didn’t want that kind of life. Not that there was ever any real possibility of me getting it, in any case. I kept doing what I was doing, the training, a bit of carpentry. And then I got asked to train extras for a family Christmas film that was being shot in Boston. The producer asked did I know of any more normal-looking people for some other crowd scenes he was doing. I asked around, put out the word and that’s how it started. I decided to set up an agency for normal people who wanted to do some acting, not the ferocious Hollywood celebrity-style jobs or Shakespearean tragedies. Ordinary people who wanted some of the buzz, some of the fun.’
‘What did you call it?’
‘NPA. Eventually, anyway. My assistant thought up the name. She came to me about three years ago, wanting to be an extra. She said all her grandchildren said she looked like Whoopi Goldberg so she wanted all the roles Whoopi said no to. She gave that up when she realised it was more fun organising the extras than standing around being one all day. I’d called my business the North Pole Agency, when it was just the Santa training. She shortened it to NPA. The NP Agency. North Pole, Normal People.’
‘That’s very good.’
‘She’s full of ideas. We have two offices now. Things took off very quickly. I’m based in Boston. The other one’s in California. We’re small, but very busy.’ He paused. ‘And there it is, Harriet. My life.’
‘And all true?’
‘All true.’ He smiled, looking almost shy. Something went straight to her heart. ‘Your turn, Harriet. Tell me everything. I want to hear about your life in Australia. About your family. About everything you’ve ever done.’
‘I’ve nothing to compare to that.’
‘Start with the small things, then. Can you ride a bike? Have you ever surfed? What’s your favourite meal? Do you speak any other languages? What book would you take to a desert island? Can you dance? Do you like horses? Can you recognise the flags of at least twenty countries?’
She was laughing.
‘I’m serious, Harriet. I want to know all those things about you. At least throw me a scrap today to keep me happy.’
She thought of something. She reached into her bag and took out Gloria’s list. She didn’t say anything, just handed it to him.
He took the envelope and at her prompting, opened it and unfolded the piece of paper inside. He started reading it, softly. ‘I have worked and supported myself for more than fifteen years. I am buying my own flat. I have travelled all around Australia. I have led hundreds of tour groups. I can touch type. I know how to cook Thai food, Italian food and Malaysian food, make jam, chutney, and tomato sauce. I have grown my own tomatoes, sweet corn, parsley, coriander and pumpkins. I once made dinner for ten people on a camp fire. I can drive a car and a tractor …’
As he kept reading, she heard him laugh quietly once or twice. He came to the end and smiled at her. ‘I thought you were one of the most organised people I’d ever met, but this takes the cake. You carry it around just in case someone asks you about yourself?’
‘No.’ Should she tell him why she had that list? She wanted to, she realised. ‘I had a nervous breakdown last year. After my parents died, one after the other. A good friend of mine wrote that for me, to remind me of the things I could do before it happened.’
‘Your parents died?’
‘Within two months of each other.’
‘Oh, Harriet. That must have been hard.’
‘It was very hard.’
‘Did that bracelet belong to your mother?’
She was startled. ‘How did you know that?’
‘You touch it whenever you seem worried about something, I’ve noticed in the past few days. I thought it was either a good luck charm or it meant a lot to you.’
‘It means a lot to me. My father gave it to her when they first arrived in Australia, after they emigrated from England.’
‘You’re English?’
‘My two brothers are. I was born in Australia.’
‘You’re close to them, by the sound of things. Has that helped?’
‘In some ways.’
He took her hand again. He held it between both of his. ‘Tell me about your breakdown.’
It felt easy to tell him. Straightforward. As they sat close beside one another in the open air, looking out over the cliffs and the sea, she told him what had happened, describing her parents’ deaths, the anxiety attacks, the tour in the Flinders Ranges, Austin coming to get her, the three weeks in hospital afterwards. He listened, asked questions, taking it all in. When she finished, he lifted her hand and kissed her palm. He read the list again, in a different way this time. More seriously.
‘What does it mean “you welcomed Lara into the family”? Is that the Lara who sent the fax to me?’
Harriet nodded. ‘She came to live with us when she was eight. After her parents were killed in a car crash.’
‘She’s your foster-sister?’
She nodded.
‘And you get on?’
She couldn’t answer that. It was too complicated. She nodded instead. He read the list again, then folded it very carefully and gave it back to her.
‘I’m sorry, Harriet. About your parents. About the breakdown.’
She didn’t want to talk about herself any more. Not yet. Not here. ‘I’m getting better. I am better, I think.’
‘I think you’re better than better.’
She reached up and kissed him. A quick, deep kiss. She saw his eyes darken.
‘You shouldn’t do that to me in public. I’m having enough trouble staying away from you as it is.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘So am I. It’s very hard to steal a kiss when there are twelve pairs of seventy-year-old eyes watching my every move.’
She told him about her conversation with Mrs Lamerton that morning. The mood lightened again.
He laughed. ‘Then it’s time we brought it out into the open. I’ll make an announcement. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sorry to call off the tour but I’ve fallen in love with Harriet and we want to be on our own, so if you could all make your own way home …” ’
‘You haven’t fallen in love with me. Not in four days.’
She was expecting another joke, but his face was serious. ‘Haven’t I? What is it then? What do I call the feeling I get when I see you? The way you laugh so easily, the way you make me laugh? The way I feel when I watch you with the group, the way you look after them? The way you look after me? The way I feel when I kiss you? You delight me, Harriet. I’ve fallen in delight with you.’ He paused. ‘But not your yellow suit. I still don’t like that.’
She laughed.
‘Finish that game you were playing the other night when my assistant rang, Harriet. The question and answer one.’
‘No. It’s for teenagers, really. It’s a silly party game.’
‘Please. Finish it. There were two more questions, weren’t there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Ask me.’
She tried to sound casual. ‘The third one is about water.’
‘I need to tell you how I feel when I think of water?’
She nodded.
‘Let me think.’ He held her hand against his lips. His breath was warm against her skin. She felt a response deep inside her again. ‘I feel overwhelmed. Out of my depth. Uncertain, but also excited. Thirsty. You make me think of water, Harriet. Why would that be? Why would I think of water whenever I see you?’
She felt her heart beating. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘And the final question?’
‘Your favourite animal.’ Your ideal partner.
‘My favourite animal,’ he repeated. ‘It’s yellow, though not always, fortunately. Beautiful. It likes to travel. I think it’s from the southern hemisphere.’
She pulled her hand away. ‘You know this game, don’t you? You knew it the whole time?’
He smiled. ‘Of course. Everyone knows that game. What was it I said about water? I’ve forgotten.’
‘You said it overwhelmed you. Made you feel out of your depth. Excited. Thirsty. And you said that I make you think of water.’
‘I’m sorry, Harriet. That’s not true. You don’t make me think of water. You make me think of something else.’ He whispered in her ear. Desire rushed through her again.
He leaned back. His tone was light, but she knew he was serious. ‘What would you say if I asked you those questions, Harriet?’
‘I wouldn’t answer them.’
‘No?’
‘I’d tell you in a different way.’
‘What would you tell me?’
‘The truth.’ She felt certain of it. ‘That I’ve never felt like this with someone before. That you delight me too. That I think I’ve fallen in delight with you too.’
A group of tourists came down the steps behind them. Patrick stood up, drawing her up beside him. ‘There’s a path down to the beach. Do you suppose we could leave them in that bus for longer?’
Harriet checked her watch. ‘There’s only ten minutes of that episode left to go.’
‘Then we’ll have to hurry.’
The path was long and steep. They had barely reached the sand when he took her in his arms and pulled her against him. The kiss was different than the night before. This was hard, passionate, urgent. She felt it. She wanted to make love to him right there, and she knew he wanted her, too.
They had the beach to themselves. There was an outcrop of rocks to one side, almost a cave. From above they were hidden from view. The only noise was the waves crashing against the sand, the shrill cries of seagulls. They didn’t speak. He took her in his arms again when they reached the rocks. The kisses deepened. Her desire was overwhelming. She was nearly in ecstasy from the touch of his fingers under her shirt, on her skin, on her breast. Her eyes were shut, his lips on her neck. The feeling was building, wave after wave.
‘Harriet, I won’t be able to stop soon.’ His voice was heavy with desire.
‘I don’t want you to.’
They were moments from taking the next step, from forgetting where they were, when she heard her name being called. She stepped back from him, feeling half-drugged.
She wasn’t imagining it. Someone was calling her name. More than one person. From high above them.
‘Harriet? Are you down there?’
She came out onto the sand, away from the rocks and looked up. It was Clive, Mrs Lamerton and a man who looked like Mr Douglas, but could have been Mr Fidock.
She only just made out their words. ‘Harriet, we need your help.’
‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
Mrs Lamerton’s voice floated down, very clearly. ‘The tape’s jammed.’
Back in St Ives later that night, the hotel was quiet. Mr Fidock and Mr Douglas were in the bar. Several of the ladies were in the lounge area, playing cards. Others had gone to their rooms.
The whole group had ended up spending the evening together again, visiting an Italian restaurant on the waterfront for dinner and then moving on to the nautical pub. There had been an impromptu Willoughby quiz. Mr Fidock and Mr Douglas put on a five minute mini-play, stringing all their favourite pieces of dialogue together. It hadn’t mattered to Harriet and Patrick that they weren’t on their own. Even across the crowded room, it was as though they were linked.
They’d had a drink in the hotel bar with everyone when they returned. More talking, laughing. Around eleven he glanced at her. A question in his eyes. She nodded, the faintest of gestures. He left first, saying goodnight to each of the group. Twenty minutes later, Harriet followed. Mrs Lamerton was in deep conversation with Miss Boyd about the episode they’d watched that day. She showed no interest in doing any following that night.
Harriet went via her room. She quickly checked her appearance. No sign of the yellow outfit tonight, either. Just a simple, wraparound dress, dark red, worn with a soft cardigan. Only the opal bracelet for jewellery. Several of the women in the group had complimented her.
‘You look so pretty,’ Mrs Kempton said. Mrs Randall had nodded her head in agreement.
‘Those colours are lovely on you,’ Miss Talbot added. ‘It makes those beautiful dark eyes of yours look all sparkly. Or is that a make-up trick again? Would you show me?’
It wasn’t the make-up making her eyes sparkle. She felt alive again, she realised. The desire for Patrick, to be with him, touch him, talk to him, was giving her a confidence and a kind of joy she hadn’t felt for a long time.
She knocked gently at his door and he answered. Barely a word was spoken before she moved into his arms and felt his lips on hers. They weren’t in public. There was no one hammering on the door. They had talked about things she needed to hear. It had only been a short time, but she knew this was what she wanted to do, where she wanted to be, how she wanted to feel, who she wanted to be with. After months of indecision and fear and nervousness, it was overwhelming to feel so sure of something.
He kissed her lips, her neck, lower. He slowly u
ndressed her, caressing her body, gazing down at her. She undressed him. They didn’t speak. The kisses became more urgent and passionate. They moved into the bedroom and lay entwined, skin against skin. She could feel the strength of his body against her, his fingers stroking her and then the feel of him inside her. She wrapped her legs around his body, arching herself against him. She felt him hard and fast, the movement so perfect, so close and so beautiful. She held him tight, as tight as she could against her and inside her, waves of intense pleasure rippling through both of them, together.
She lay in his arms afterwards, his fingers caressing her back. She turned and looked at his face on the pillow beside her. His eyes were closed. She traced his features, touched the dark curls, the grey at the temples. She moved her hand onto his shoulder, his chest, placed her palm on his skin. She moved closer and kissed him. His eyes opened. She saw the blue of them again. She put her finger on his lips then leaned forward again and kissed him once more.
‘Thank you.’
His lips curved into a smile. ‘You’re very welcome. Thank you, too.’
She closed her eyes, feeling him breathing under her cheek, the beating of his heart.
He touched the side of her face and then leaned over and kissed her lips. She kissed him back. He spoke, his mouth close against her ear. ‘Harriet, how many of your company rules have we broken tonight?’
‘So far?’
She felt his smile. ‘Yes, so far.’
‘Two at least. But I think they only count if I’m wearing yellow.’
He kissed her again. ‘So if you’re not wearing yellow I can do this any time I like?’
She was all sensation again. ‘Yes, you can.’
‘Would you do something for me?’ His lips moved to her neck, then up to her ear.
She waited.
He whispered the words. ‘Could you burn every piece of yellow clothing you own?’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Austin and Nina had arrived at Cork Airport in the early afternoon. There was a lot of building work going on, cranes and bulldozers surrounding the small terminal. As the two of them climbed into a taxi outside, they could see half the sky was blue, but the half they were standing under was filled with heavy grey clouds, dumping sheets of rain on them. The weather was getting wild all over the UK and Ireland. It had been a turbulent flight. There had even been talk at Bristol Airport of flights being grounded until the storms passed.
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