by T L Swan
He looks at me and rolls his eyes. “Hank is another word in the English dictionary for slave,” he says dryly.
“Oh.” I chuckle. “It’s okay. I haven’t gotten any groceries yet. I will get breakfast out.” I frown.
“No, it’s cool. We share food and just go shopping once a week, splitting the cost,” Vanessa calls as she walks to the lounge room. “We shop on Tuesdays.”
Hank turns to me. “What do you think of London?” he asks.
I shrug. “It’s great… so far.”
He stands and heads back out to the lounge room. “Breakfast in ten,” he calls.
I flop back down to my pillows as relief fills me.
Thank God.
They’re normal.
* * *
At 9:00 a.m, Mark knocks on the door and I answer excitedly. I’m thinking that perhaps I was just tired last night and today he’ll be much more attractive and won’t grate on me.
“Ready to sight see, Miss Mathews?” he asks cheekily.
I smile broadly. “I am.” I stand back and he waltzes past me and into the apartment.
“Thank you for having the day off to show me around. It’s very nice of you.”
His eyes hold mine.
I swallow and grab my coat and bag. The thing is, I know I liked Mark from all the texting, and we did have a long distance chat thing going on, but the insta-love isn’t happening for me just yet. I need a bit of time, and Brielle is right, I’m not here to fall in love. I’m here to have fun with good friends but I know from when he tried to kiss me last night that he has other ideas. I kind of hope he grows on me.
* * *
The day has been action packed, we have been to Big Ben, The Library and Westminster Abby. We’ve driven past Buckingham Palace and Mark has promised to take me back there. We have just arrived at a pub for lunch.
“This way.” The waitress shows us to our seats.
“Thank you.” I smile as she pulls my chair out for me and hands us both menus. The pub is old and rustic with an open fire burning in the corner. It is so good to finally be here.
“What would you like to drink?” Mark asks as he peruses the food choices.
I would kill for a wine. No, I have stuff to do this afternoon, wait until tonight, I remind myself. “I will just have a diet coke, please.”
“I will have a lager, thanks,” he replies.
The waitress nods and disappears to the bar.
Marks eyes drop to my hands and I quickly pick up my menu, my heart sinking at the same time. I have been doing this all day, making sure my hands are full so he doesn’t try and hold my hand. What’s wrong with me? He’s nice and we have been chatting online for over a year and gotten on famously. I’m just not feeling it in the flesh. Damn it.
“Have you been here before?” I ask.
“Yeah, I come here often.”
“What are you having?” I ask.
He narrows his eyes as his eyes stay fixed on the menu. “Spaghetti marinara.”
I nod. “Good choice. Hmm, I’m going for the chicken schnitzel.”
The waitress comes back with our drinks.
“We are ready to order,” he tells her abruptly.
I drop my head. Jeez, he doesn’t have to snap at her.
“I will have the spaghetti marinara. But I would like my prawns double deveined.”
She looks up from her pad. “All of our prawns are deveined.”
“Well, I want mine double deveined, and I would like extra chili and half the garlic. I don’t want any muscles, but put in extra calamari,” he instructs sternly. “But make sure the calamari is not overcooked.”
The waitress looks at him blankly. “Yes, sir.”
“I don’t want any onion at all,” he adds.
“The onion is in the sauce already, sir, you know this.” She scribbles on her order pad, and I swear she’s writing the words pain in my fucking ass.
“Yes. I do know that. I want the chef to make me a new sauce. I am paying for a freshly cooked meal, you know.” He lifts his chin as if proud of himself.
The waitress looks up at the ceiling and I drop my head to hide my horror. Oh my God.
He’s always a pain in the ass—it’s obvious she knows him. How embarrassing?
“Anything else… sir,” she asks begrudgingly.
“Yeah, I want it hot. Last time it came out not as hot as it should. I won’t be paying unless it’s at the right temperature.”
Oh, I just want the earth to swallow me up.
She turns to me. “What would you like?”
“I will have the chicken schnitzel please,” I say meekly.
Her eyes hold mine and she raises an eyebrow. “Any special instructions?”
I shake my head quickly. “Nope. Just as it comes is great.” I hand my menu over and she fakes a smile as she takes it.
“How long is the wait, please?” Mark asks. “We are on a tight time schedule.” He taps his watch.
The poor waitress looks at me and I want to slide under the table.
Shut up, asshole.
“We will be as quick as we can,” she mutters and then disappears into the kitchen.
I look at Mark in horror. What was that? Another waitress walks past us. “Excuse me.”
“Yes.” She smiles.
“Can I please have two glasses of Sav Blanc?”
“Sure.” She heads to the bar.
I look at Mark.
He smiles and raises an eyebrow in question. “What?”
I shrug because if he doesn’t know what I’m thinking then more fool him.
“I’m assertive because I hate bad service.”
“Oh,” I reply, dumbfounded.
“And it’s my killer instinct that got me to the head of marketing. I don’t put up with shit.”
The waitress brings my two glasses of wine back and I gratefully take them from her. I need these babies.
“Yep. I clawed my way to the top. And I had to step on some heads to get there but aggression is needed in the workplace.
God, help me. I drain my glass in one gulp.
He frowns. “Thirsty?”
I nod as I pick up me second glass and widen my eyes. “Really. Really thirsty.”
“So, tell me about more about you?” He smirks as he sits back in his chair.
Stop being so judgmental, Emerson, I remind myself. Maybe this is an English thing?
“Well, as you know, I’m from Sydney–” I begin.
He cuts me off. “Oh, I nearly booked a trip there once, but then I decided to go to Canada instead. Yes, trip of a lifetime that was. Went with my university buddies and got shit faced in every state of the USA. He goes on… and on… and on… and on.
My meal arrives and I sit in silence, eating away as Mark continues to ask me questions then cutting me off every time I try to answer, choosing instead to talk about himself. By the end of lunch, I don’t even have anything to say. I watch him talk to himself as I run through my internal assessment. He’s rude. Is he rude or is this restaurant just bringing out the worst in him? Maybe I’m being rude? Maybe he’s not so bad? Maybe he’s just different to what I expected, that’s all. My inner voice is telling me he’s a twat… but she’s been known to be an over-dramatic bitch, too.
I come to the conclusion that I can be sure of. I have absolutely no idea what is going on here.
* * *
An hour later and the day grinds to an annoying halt. I’m trying to get my phone sorted and it is driving me crazy.
Why are all phone stores so slow? What do they do on their computers and what are they looking at? I sit at the desk and glance at my watch for the tenth time while I get my mobile phone switched over to a UK company. I know for certain that I’m probably getting the worse deal in history, but I couldn’t be bothered shopping around, and even this apparent shortcut has taken over an hour. I’m worried about Brelly. What if her boss is really mean and she can’t contact me? What the hell have I gotten h
er into? My eyes flicker out to Mark who is waiting patiently outside on his phone.
I am distracted from my thoughts by the lady behind the desk. “So, you have the same number, now all you have to do is just switch your phone off and back on again.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you here for long?”
“Twelve months or so.” “I love your accent.” I smile because almost everyone has said that this morning. “Thank you so much.”
“Just call this number here...” she points to her phone number on the brochure, “if you need any help.”
I smile gratefully and rise from my seat. “Thank you, goodbye.” I head out the door. “All done.” I say to Mark.
“They took their time, didn’t they?”
“Oh, I know. I’m sorry,” I wince.
“No, it’s fine. What do you want to do now?” he asks.
I shrug in excitement. “Can we just look around the shops for a while?”
“Sure, I have a hundred messages to reply to, so shop away and I will wait outside for you.”
I quickly get my phone out of my bag and text Brielle.
Phone fixed, are you okay?
I watch my phone. Hmm, no reply. I continue walking down the cobblestone street with Mark by my side. Where exactly are we? I start to look around for a street sign or some indication of my coordinates.
“Over here.” I direct Mark and he follows silently.
I smile broadly and feeling rather proud of myself, stuff my phone back into my bag as I prance up the street. The streets are old and rustic with cobblestones and London is everything I expected and then so much more. Finally, I locate a street sign and break into a beaming grin. I researched this place when I was back home and recall seeing this street name, I walk next to Mark down the street enjoying the ambience.
My phone beeps, receiving a text from Brielle.
Oh my God. The kids hate me.
I hate them more!
I have gone to Hell with the devil himself.
I giggle and put my hand over my mouth in shock. Oh shit, what’s happened? I immediately text her back.
Can you talk if I ring you?
My phone rings a few seconds later
“What happened?” I stammer as I hold my finger up to Mark to signify one minute.
I walk away from him so he can’t hear our conversation.
“Oh my God. I can’t talk long. The house is ridiculous,” she whispers.
I frown. “Ridiculous? What do you mean?”
“He’s rich… like, mega rich.”
Relief hits me. “That’s good. It’s better than crappy living arrangements, right?” “Yeah.”
“What about the kids?” I ask.
“Teenage daughter who constantly rolls her eyes and won’t talk to me, and the eight-year-old boy is killing me with kindness.”
I smile. “How’s Julian Masters?”
She blows out a breath. “I don’t know. Cranky?” she whispers. “He showed me my room last night, all the way from the door.” I frown. “What do you mean?”
“He wouldn’t come into my room. He literally showed me the room from the door. He pointed where everything was.”
“What?”
“I know, right? He’s a weirdo.” “Oh, jeez, Brielle. Are you safe?” This could be a disaster.
“He’s not scary, he’s just… different.”
“You mean he’s different because he’s male.”
“Exactly,” she whispers. “How is your apartment?”
“So much nicer than I expected. I met my roommates and they seem nice.”
“Oh, great. What have you been doing?”
I smile excitedly. “I love London. I have been shopping all day and looking around with Mark.” “How is Mark?” she asks.
“Hmm, we need wine for that conversation.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, but he’s definitely different to what I expected. We will dissect the pros and cons on Saturday night. We are still going out aren’t we?”
“Yes, I can’t wait, and I’m sleeping at yours remember.”
“Oh, I miss you. Come and rescue me.” I smile as my eyes flick back to Mark sitting on a bench seat as he waits.
“Is he really that bad?” she asks.
“No.” I hesitate. “I don’t know, maybe I was expecting different. It will work out. Glad to know you are still alive, though.”
She laughs out loud. “Just.”
“I will ring you tonight.”
“Bye, babe.” She hangs up.
* * *
I bounce back to Mark, feeling more like myself, and we return to our shopping. The street is crowded and eclectic, and it really does feel as though I’m in another country… which I am, so it makes sense. I see a red phone box and I quickly take out my phone and snap a picture. Oh my God, I thought they only existed in the movies. I smile to myself and I feel like screaming to the unnoticing crowd look a red phone box. I watch all the busy, unenthusiastic people rushing from one place to the next, like ants in a nest. Everyone has a job to do here and they are totally preoccupied with the task at hand. Are they all aware how beautiful this place is or do they take it for granted? I suppose it’s fair to say that I tear around Sydney with the same rush, rush, rush attitude and probably miss so much of my beautiful surroundings.
Along to the right of the street I come to a cobblestone laneway and I peer down the small road. At the end I see a small antique shop with a sign hanging down over the door.
“Hmm, what’s down there? It looks interesting,” I ask Mark.
“Don’t know. Let’s check it out.”
The name intrigues me, so I head in that direction to investigate. “I might just look in here quickly.”
“Take your time. I’ll go and get us some coffee and meet you on the bench seat over there.” He points over to the park and I nod.
The black gloss painted door is heavy and old, and a bell is attached to the top, ringing loudly as I walk in and announcing my arrival.
My eyes look around the cluttered space in awe. It’s a traditional antique shop, complete with the full antique shop ambience, including the old and musty smells. Every space on every wall is filled with shelf after shelf of clocks, dolls, bears and lampshades. You name it and it’s here. Grey and crème velvet floral wallpaper lines the walls.
“Wow,” I whisper to myself I did not expect this Aladdin’s cave of treasure. The shop seemed small from the front but is actually quite large on the inside with lots of aisles and furniture set up in the corner.
A little old lady comes around from the hidden back room. She would have to be ninety.
“Hello, my dear. Can I help you with anything?”
I smile at her hunched over posture. “Just looking, thanks.” I walk up and down the aisles and pick up an old rose teacup and saucer. It’s a beautiful pink and has gold gilding around the edges. Oh, I love this. I turn it over and see the price sticker is only £15.00. I have no idea what that equates to in Australian dollars, but I don’t care—I’m getting it. I continue around the shop with a huge smile on my face.
This is why I wanted to come to England. We don’t have history in Australia. The whole country is only 250 years old. Our history was mostly borne in England, and I intend to inhale every breath of it while I’m here. I continue looking around, walking over to the old cabinets to peer through the glass tops. Filled with rows and rows of antique jewelry, they fascinate me. My eyes roll back and forth over the lines of trays, and then I see it. In the bottom right corner is a ring. It’s rose gold with an oval green emerald stone sitting in the centre of it. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. It’s so feminine, yet so different. I keep looking at the other pieces but my eyes are constantly drawn back to this one ring.
“Would you like to try it on, dear?” The old lady asks.
“Oh, umm.” I shrug. “Why not? Yes, please.”
She smiles a knowing smile at me. �
�You have excellent taste. That ring is very, very old.”
“Oh.” I smile as she hands it to me and I stand still and stare at it for a minute. It’s intriguing.
“Can you feel the beautiful energy coming from that ring?” she asks.
My eyes rise to meet hers and I frown not understanding her meaning.
“The women who have owned that ring have all been beautiful souls. I can feel you also have the gift. That stone it carries is an emerald.” She smiles.
I frown at her, the gift? What’s that supposed to mean? I run my thumb over the stone of the ring as I hold it in my hand, she’s right. I can feel the beautiful energy coming from it.
I smile softly at her.
“Try it on,” she urges.
I slide it onto my ring finger of my right hand and I melt a little. Oh, I do love this ring. I don’t know why; I have never liked anything like it before.
“How much is it?” I ask.
“Four hundred and twenty pounds,” she replies.
My face drops. “Oh,” I murmur sadly, knowing I don’t have that kind of money. I stare down at my hand again. Shit.
Another customer calls her from the back aisle. “Excuse me for a moment, dear.” She disappears to the other side of the shop.
I stand and stare at the ring on my hand. I do love it. I want to get it but I have to be careful with my spending. Damn it. Should I just splash out? It is a lot of money… but then it is something that I would have forever. I bite my thumbnail as I think.
The old lady comes back over to me. “Do you want to take that ring, my dear?”
I look down at my hand, I do, but I’m not telling her that. “Is this ring negotiable?” I ask meekly.
“No, darling. That ring is very valuable. We don’t even know of its true age. We do know it’s hundreds and hundreds of years old by the stampings inside, though. But its origin is unknown. We believe it may have belonged to royalty way back.”
I frown.
“It has royal stampings,” she replies, seeing my confusion.
I smile, that’s it. I really want this ring.