by Carrie Elks
He looked out of place in the pub, among the jeans, the cargo shorts and the band t-shirts. Like a Renoir hanging on a wall of lurid graffiti.
“I couldn’t find you at the cottage, so I called Mary McLean. She told me that her grandson had invited you out on a date.” Richard’s nose turned up as he finished his sentence.
“I didn’t know you were coming to England.” She decided to ignore the date jibe.
“I’ve been in Europe for a few days. I’m working for my stepfather over the summer. He’s got a few things going down in Paris.” Richard smiled at her for the first time. His lopsided grin reminded her how much she’d liked him at New Year.
“You should have called us. What if we hadn’t been here?”
“It’s only a couple of hours by train, Hanna.”
The way he said her name made her feel warm inside. She glanced over at the stage in the corner of the pub, noticing Tom looking over at them, his forehead wrinkled with curiosity.
“Did you bring me a present?” Ruby was almost jumping up and down with excitement. Her enthusiasm made Hanna smile.
“At least she’s not materialistic,” Richard whispered to her, in a mock-aside. “I’d hate to think she only loves me for my money.”
Ruby grinned and hung on to her brother’s shirt with her grubby fingers. “You know I love you. So what did you bring me?”
“I’ll show you when we get back to the cottage, Squirt,” he replied, then turned to look at Hanna. “Are you ready to go?”
“I’ll let Tom know we’re leaving.” Ignoring Richard’s frown, Hanna left him standing with his sister. She walked over to Tom, ready to take her leave. His face lit up with a smile.
“What did you think?” He pulled her toward him, putting his hand on her waist in a proprietary gesture. His familiarity unsettled her, especially when she could feel a pair of narrowed eyes watching her every move.
“You were great. Ruby and I loved the songs.” She pulled away. “We have to go home now, though.”
“You’re leaving so soon? Who is that guy, anyway?”
“Ruby’s brother.”
“Oh.” Tom’s face fell.
“He’s come to see Ruby,” she blurted out.
Tom’s smile returned almost instantaneously. “Does that mean you have a babysitter available?”
“I’m the babysitter, remember?” Hanna replied dryly.
“That’s a shame. I guess I’ll just have to take up residence under your window and serenade you with love songs.” He winked at her.
“Feel free, I wear ear plugs. I’m sure the local cats will enjoy it, though.”
“Are you ready, Hanna?” Richard and Ruby went to join them.
Hanna could feel the heat flood her cheeks again. “Richard, this is Tom McLean. He’s with the band.” And she was a loser. Jesus, could she sound any lamer?
“Pleased to meet you.” Richard shook Tom’s hand firmly. For two guys of a similar age, their differences couldn’t be more apparent. Next to the unkempt, slightly disheveled singer, Richard looked older and much more sophisticated. And totally out of her league.
“Can we go?” Ruby tugged at her arm, desperate to get home and open her promised gift.
“Okay, okay, we’re leaving.” Hanna tried to swallow a laugh at Ruby’s desperation. She wasn’t successful.
Tom leaned forward to kiss her cheek, just as Hanna turned her head to look at him. She was still mid laugh, and her open mouth clashed against his. She felt him gasp as they touched. The blood rushed to her lips, and she felt his mouth start to move slowly against hers, the tip of his tongue running a wet line along her plump skin.
She quickly pulled away, her face heating in humiliation as she saw Richard raise his eyebrow at her, his lips pulled back into a thin, straight line.
The night just kept getting better and better.
FOR FIVE DAYS, Richard joined in their routine; reading aloud with them as they finished Harry Potter, and choosing his favorite character as they acted out scenes from the book. Without the suit and tie on, it seemed like Richard Larsen was a different person.
In the evenings, after putting Ruby to bed, they sat together and watched TV. A new program had started on one of the channels, some sort of reality-based experiment. Ten people were forced to live together in a closed house. Hanna found it fascinating.
“It’s not really like 1984 though is it?” Richard mused, offering her another chocolate cookie from the packet they were sharing. “I mean, Big Brother would make them stand to attention and swear loyalty to him. Not let them laze around in the yard, talking to chickens.”
When the adverts came on, Hanna made her way to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, she took out two bottles of Becks, prising the lids off with a bottle opener as she walked back to the living room. Looking over at Richard, she noticed his eyes darken almost imperceptibly as he stared directly at her bare legs. The intensity of his gaze made her breath hitch.
With Ruby’s bedtime routine, a favorite TV program, and their sharing of beer and cookies, they were turning into a parody of an old, married couple…
Minus the sex.
ON RICHARD’S FINAL night at the cottage, they decided to walk into the village to buy their dinner from the chip shop. The evening air was warm and fragrant as they sat on the village green, eating their last supper of fish and chips straight out of the paper. Ruby perched on the concrete steps of the War Memorial, throwing chips at pigeons as they swooped down trying to steal her food from her fingers. They watched the sun go down, their fingers coated with vinegar, salt, and grease.
A smudge of ketchup clung to the corner of Hanna’s mouth. Richard stretched out his hand to rub it away with his thumb. He felt the strangest urge to move his thumb slightly leftward, to plunge it inside her soft mouth, just to see how it felt. Instead, he put it to his own lips and licked the sauce off. Hanna stared at him with her rosebud mouth slightly parted, and he could see a small hint of tongue just behind her lips.
“Are you growing out your hair color?”
“I’m trying to reinvent myself for college. I’m going for more of a rock-chick look. Goth is so last century.”
Richard laughed at her idealistic enthusiasm, her belief that you could simply reinvent yourself with a change of hair color. If only it were that easy.
“Rock chick?” He looked at her skeptically.
“Yep, I’m getting bored of only wearing black. Even I need to wear color occasionally.”
“Well, I look forward to meeting the newly re-invented Hanna Vincent. Maybe you can send me a photo.”
“Maybe you can bite me, perv,” she replied, bumping him with her shoulder. Richard bumped her back and she fell from the wooden bench, landing on the hard, dry grass with a thump. Her outraged expression made him laugh long and hard.
The next morning, Richard left the cottage early to catch the first flight to JFK. The plane was crowded, but the Maxwell family always travelled first class. Even if Richard was a Larsen, his stepfather wouldn’t let him travel any other way.
A black Lincoln was waiting for him at the arrivals gate. The driver took his luggage, and Richard followed him to the parking lot. He sat in the back as the driver steeled himself to go up against the New York traffic. It was more than an hour before they pulled up outside the brownstone townhouse.
He was home, though it was a strange word to describe this place. The interior of the house was too pristine, too stark. Too much like his mother. Yet if anywhere, this was the one place that should be home to him. He’d spent the best part of fifteen years here.
Once inside the door, he walked toward the kitchen where he could hear Consuela singing as she cleaned the floor. She had worked for the Maxwells for a long time and was living at the townhouse long before Richard and his mother moved in.
“Ricardo.” A smile lit up her face. “You’re home. Come here and give me a kiss.”
He lifted her up and swung her around as she swatted at hi
s arms, trying to get him to release her.
“Where is everybody?” he asked, letting her back down.
“Your momma is in the Hamptons. And Daniel had to go to work with his father. He wasn’t very happy about it, either.”
Daniel was Richard’s seventeen-year-old stepbrother, the only son and heir of Leon Maxwell. With a multi-billion dollar empire encompassing everything from real estate to financial advisory services, Leon Maxwell had a vast range of investments spread across the globe.
Richard leaned around Consuela and took a still-warm roll from the cooling rack. She reached out and slapped his hand.
“Are we entertaining tonight?” He bit into the roll.
“Mr. Maxwell has invited the Brookes to join you for dinner.”
“At eight?”
“Yes, sir.” When she spoke to him, the “sir” was always accompanied by a teasing smile. It was different than when she said it to Leon or Daniel.
“Well, in that case, I’ll be in my room, sleeping off the jetlag.” Richard winked and left the kitchen.
When he got upstairs, he wasn’t surprised to find that his room was cleaner and more fragrant than when he had left it over a week ago. Consuela had attacked it with gusto during his absence. Throwing his suitcase in the corner and kicking off his shoes, he lay down on top of the comforter, closing his eyes as soon as his head hit the pillow.
Three
October 5th 2000
“So, Hanna Vincent, what is your USP?” Josh Chambers, editor of the student magazine, leaned back in his threadbare swivel chair, removing the pencil that he had put behind his ear some moments before. He tapped it against his teeth, as he stared at her.
Hanna frowned. What the hell was a USP? She wondered if it was some sort of journalistic term she should be aware of. She didn’t want to look stupid and admit she knew virtually nothing about writing for a newspaper.
She’d applied for the position of unpaid staff writer on the university magazine as soon as she’d arrived in Nottingham the previous week. Now, she being interviewed by the highly intelligent editor and already making a fool of herself.
“What I mean, Hanna, is what is your Unique Selling Point? What makes you special? What do you have that all the other applicants don’t?”
He had obviously taken pity on her. It seemed the “deer in the headlights” look got her somewhere in life after all. It was a shame she couldn’t use it on her family as easily.
“Well, Josh Chambers.” She allowed herself a small grin at using his full name in the same way he had said hers. “I have many Unique Selling Points. I’m hardworking, I’m determined, and I never take no for an answer.”
“You and everybody else I’ve spoken to today. That doesn’t make you unique. That just makes you desperate.” Josh shook his head, smirking at her response. He was on the right side of attractive, with his mop of dark-blond hair, strong jaw and day-old stubble. He had perfected the “geek-chic” look, with his black rimmed glasses that kept sliding down his nose. Though he was in the final year of his journalism degree, to Hanna he seemed so much more than two years her senior.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a large poster on the wall advertising a gig taking place the following week. She turned her head to look, smiling as she recognized the man posing on the front of the poster. He was wearing a tight black shirt, his wild hair flying everywhere as he strummed his guitar.
“I know Tom McLean from Fatal Limits.” She gestured over to the picture on the wall advertising the band as the headline act. “I could score an interview with them.”
Josh leaned forward, his curiosity sparked for the first time that morning. “Are you shitting me?”
“No!” Hanna laughed at his expression. “Seriously, I met him in the summer. They’ve just been signed by an independent label. I can call him right now if you like.”
Josh was still regarding her with interest, his pencil firmly wedged in between his teeth. “Okay. Let’s agree that if you score an interview with Fatal Limits, and if you write a good enough article, then I’ll put you on a three month trial.” His smile was genuine.
“Thank you!” Hanna was incredulous, finding it hard to believe that out of nearly a hundred applicants, she had been given a trial. She felt like doing a little celebration dance.
“I’ll warn you now, I’m a pretty hard taskmaster. I’ve been known to make grown men cry with my editing. I don’t take any bullshit, and if you’re after an easy ride, then this isn’t the job for you.”
“I’m not after any kind of ride, thank you very much,” Hanna replied pithily, returning his stare with a piercing one of her own. “And a lot bigger men than you have tried, and failed, to make me cry.”
“I’ll take that as a challenge, then.”
“Please do.”
Josh put out his hand and grabbed hold of Hanna’s. He shook it a couple of times, as if to seal the deal.
“I look forward to working with you, Hanna Vincent.”
“Please call me Hanna. Vincent is my surname. It sounds weird when you say it like that.”
“Okay then, I look forward to working with you, Hanna.” He paused. “No Vincent.”
“You just couldn’t resist it could you?” She shook her head at him.
“You think you’re irresistible?” His brow rose up.
“Not as much as you do.”
Josh removed his glasses, placing them on the desk to his right. Running his hand through his hair, he leaned forward until his face was only inches from Hanna’s.
“Are you hitting on me, Hanna Vincent?” She could feel his soft breath against her skin. He was that close.
“If you have to ask, then the answer’s no. If I was hitting on you, you’d know it.”
“Then I look forward to knowing it.”
“Don’t hold your breath.” She pushed herself up from the chair, picking up her resume and portfolio. “Thank you for the job offer. I look forward to you publishing my first piece.” Sounding more confident than she felt, she gave Josh a quick nod and walked out into the main newspaper office. Closing the door behind her, she breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn’t sure if she was attracted to Josh Chambers…or if she wanted to kill him.
WHEN SHE GOT back to her dorm room, there was a small brown parcel wedged into the mailbox by her door. Pulling it out, she saw it had come from New York. The customs form affixed to the back had been smudged in the rain, the writing illegible.
She wondered what on earth her father was doing sending her books. Part of her couldn’t wait to see what sort of inappropriate present he had sent this time. She supposed at the very least, she should give him kudos for remembering her.
Once inside her room, she picked up the package and began to unwrap it. As soon as she tore the brown paper apart, her mouth dropped open with surprise. The book inside wasn’t pristine and new. It had that unique, dusty odor that only old books possessed. A hardcover with a bottle-green dust jacket. It was extremely well preserved for its age. The large white script across the front cover left her in no doubt that the gift was not from Philip Vincent.
It was 1984 by George Orwell.
As Hanna opened the front cover, she saw the words “first edition” written in pencil on the title page.
An envelope fell out from its hiding place between the pages landing softly on her white, embroidered bedcover. She could feel her heart start to beat faster as she picked it up, putting her finger into the gap at the edge of the flap and moving it along the edge in order to tear it open. Pulling out the expensive cream notepaper, she unfolded it and began to read.
September 27th 2000
Dear Hanna,
The beginning of your university career is something worth celebrating, but as Thomas Carlyle said, “The greatest university of all is the collection of books.” As soon as I saw this, I couldn’t help but think of you. Thank you, not only for your kindness to Ruby over the summer, but for also entertaining her lonely, and occ
asionally annoying, Big Brother.
If the newly invented Hanna Vincent is anywhere near as interesting as the old one, I look forward to seeing you again soon.
Yours,
Richard
She stared at the letter for a while. It was so short—just a note, really—but she couldn’t help but find herself getting a little overcome at the gesture. He’d bought her a book—a first edition, no less. It wasn’t the sort of thing you could pick up at a charity shop or a thrift store.
Plus, he’d called her interesting. For some unknown reason, she liked that. She really liked that. The way the Larsens were lavishing that word on her was making her change her mind about it. For the first time, it felt good to be interesting, to be different.
After spending ten minutes wondering how to thank him, she decided to go down to the computer suite in the basement of the halls of residence and send him an email.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Big Brother
Dear Richard,
Wow, thank you so much for your impressive gift. I’ve never owned a first edition of anything before, so I’m very excited to start this new collection. I probably have some way to go before I can have anything approaching Thomas Carlyle’s “university of books” but a girl has to start somewhere, right?
I’m slightly concerned, however, that you sent me a book which basically tells me that Big Brother is watching me. Should I be worried?
Hanna
PS: I have been assigned room 101 as my bedroom.
She clicked on the “send” icon, and sat back, deciding to Ask Jeeves exactly how much a first edition of 1984 was worth.
Within moments she wished she hadn’t. There was no way she could keep that thing in her bedroom. It was worth more than the rest of her possessions added together. And then some.