“Aww, Ellie. You’re still getting over things. That’s understandable. Mark’s a big boy. You need to focus on yourself and do what you need to do to take care of you and to figure out what you want. And if that’s Mark, then he’ll have to be patient. And if it’s not, he’ll have to accept that.”
“I wish I knew what that was…” Eleanor’s voice trailed off in thought. “I’m just so tired. I can’t think straight.”
“For now, go to sleep. Tomorrow you’ll think of something.”
Eleanor went to her room, still wrapped in the throw blanket, kicked off her heels, and collapsed on her bed.
Chapter 9
The next day dawned brightly through her window, a beautiful sunny day in late fall. Eleanor groaned realizing she’d fallen asleep, still dressed and with all her makeup on. She crawled out of bed and stripped out of her clothes, and dragged herself into the shower. An hour later she was clean and feeling human again. Jonathan was back from a seminar.
“So, any ideas what you want to do?” he asked brightly.
Glumly twirling her teaspoon in her mug, “No, as a matter of fact, I do not.”
“Hey,” Jonathan replied laughing, “I didn’t mean as far as life goals or solutions. But you need to do something. Get out of town or go lose yourself in a museum, you haven’t done that in a while. Though I vote out of town. You should take a day trip or something.”
Perking up at the idea, “A day trip? I hadn’t thought of that. Leave London?”
“Sometimes we all need to get out of London for a day. You could go to Bath, you could stay the night at mum’s. There’s a lot of Jane Austen stuff there. Or Winchester, where she’s buried? Ummm, Cardiff is cool, I know how much you like Doctor Who,” Jonathan suggested helpfully.
“I don’t think I’m in the mood for anything related to Jane Austen or romance. And I’d rather wait to go to Bath when Aunt Vickie is home, she’s still in New York. Cardiff would be fun, how far is that?” Eleanor asked, warming to the idea of going somewhere.
“About two hours I reckon, little more maybe?”
“Hmm, is there anything closer?”
“Sure, it’s not the time of year for the beach, so maybe not Brighton. But Cambridge isn’t far. Neither is Oxford.”
“Oxford! How far is Oxford?”
“Only an hour, really close. You want to go to Oxford? I can give you some recommendations of things to do and places to see.”
“Yes, that would be great,” Eleanor said brightly, feeling better than she’d felt in days.
It was too late to go that day, so Eleanor puttered around the flat for a while and went for a walk while Jonathan went to the library to work. But that evening they sat down and Jonathan helped her purchase train tickets online and dug out an old map of Oxford and started circling places and marking things Eleanor should do.
* * * * *
The next morning Eleanor got up early and took the Central Line from Holborn to Oxford Circus and switched to the Bakerloo Line, getting off at Paddington Station. She collected her tickets from the machine and waited under the electronic departure signs until her train platform number flashed up. Clutching her latte from Caffè Nero and shrugging her bag filled with her iPad, notebook, map, and list of sights, she excitedly boarded her train. Soon she was being whisked away from London. The city gave way to suburbs and soon to open countryside. For the first time since she left Phoenix, Eleanor could look out for miles to the horizon and not see buildings.
As the train pulled into Oxford, Eleanor gave another look at her map. Getting from the station to the city center looked easy enough and Jonathan had described it to her as well. At first glance, taking in the large, modern business school across from the station and the standard off-license shops and dry cleaners across the road in the other direction, Oxford didn’t seem that different from some of the outer areas of London. But as she walked across the bridge over the Thames, or the Isis as it was known out here, she could make out the top of Oxford Castle and the Mound.
Walking up the road she soon came to the center of town. Being that it was late fall, Jonathan told her there likely wouldn’t be a whole lot of tourists and looking around Eleanor was relieved to see he was right. Most of the people walking by looked like locals, particularly students and university workers. All the students looked so smart, dressed casually, wearing jeans, tweed blazers, thick wool jumpers, lace up brogues, and nearly all of them were carrying a leather satchel of some kind or backpack, and many had a bicycle helmet clipped to the strap of their bag. Eleanor was pleased with her outfit for the day and felt she fit in well in her dark skinny jeans, tall brown boots, wool blazer with the fine navy and rust brown houndstooth pattern, cream scarf wrapped several times around her neck, and her hair piled high on her head. The weather had called for clouds so she skipped her contacts and was wearing her glasses and though her bag wasn’t a satchel, the distressed brown leather shoulder bag matched her boots.
She spent the next hour and a bit poking around the shops on Queen Street and Cornmarket, a lot of them the same high street shops she could find in London, but she did find some interesting little shops in the Covered Market and picked up a couple small trinkets and some new hand lotion from a shop that sold a bunch of amazing body and skin care. Leaving the Covered Market, she decided to look at the map. Even though it would be cold, Jonathan suggested visiting University Parks and walking around there for some peace and quiet. She decided to start there and wind her way back through town before getting dinner somewhere later in the evening. She headed straight out to the park, passing by some of Oxford’s most impressive sights. On her right was the History of Science Museum, the Sheldonian Theatre, and the Bodleian Library. On the left, Blackwell’s bookshop and the “New” Bodleian, the Weston Library, which still looked older than most buildings back in Phoenix. She walked around the corner and headed down Parks Road, passing Trinity and Wadham Colleges and the gothic looking Pitt Rivers Museum, then the impressive red-bricked Keble College.
She thought that Oxford had a very different energy to London. It had that quintessential “college town” feel. Like she had grown up with in Cambridge, Massachusetts and kind of like Tucson, Arizona when she was at U of A, though the scenery was very different here than in Tucson, she thought, laughing to herself as she gathered her scarf more tightly around her neck. She loved Oxford. She’d only been in town a few hours and already she knew she’d have to come back soon. Finally, she came up to the gates of the park and walked through, seeing the expansive playing fields stretched out before her. She took the path to the far right and walked along the far edge of the park.
It was quiet. And very peaceful. Every now and then a jogger would pass her or she’d pass someone sitting on one of the benches along the path or someone out walking their dog. She kept to the path, ignoring the ones that seemed to split off to the middle of the park until it eventually made her turn left or leave at another gate at this end. She could tell she was by a river and a check of the map told her she must have been at the opposite end of the park from where she’d started, where the River Cherwell bordered the south end. She saw the trail meet with another one up ahead, as she approached the main trail she heard a voice from just over her left shoulder.
“Eleanor?”
She turned suddenly towards the voice and found herself bouncing back off of whoever the voice belonged to. Stumbling backwards slightly she looked up into the eyes of Patrick Reynolds just as he reached his arms around her to keep her from falling.
Grinning, “We really need to stop meeting like this. If you want my arms around you all you have to do is ask,” he said smoothly.
Pushing herself out of his embrace and tugging at the hem of her blazer to straighten herself out a bit, she replied tersely, “well maybe if you would quit startling me I’d be able to keep my balance and wouldn’t need you to put your arms around me. Believe me, I don’t make a habit of throwing myself into the arms of strange men.”
“So I’m just lucky then?” Patrick replied, raising his right eyebrow in the way she’d seen him do a million times in his films.
Stammering in reply, “I-I-um...well…”
Patrick tried to stifle a laugh, as he looked at Eleanor, blushing and trying to come up with a response, he couldn’t help but think she was absolutely adorable. Taking pity on her obvious discomfort, his expression shifting to the picture of contrition, “I’m sorry, really, I’m being rude, I just meant to tease. I really am sorry I keep barreling into you every time we meet. And I shouldn’t be so cheeky, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I really am very happy to see you though.”
His smile was so genuine and lit up his entire face, it nearly took Eleanor’s breath away looking at him this close up. “Happy to see me? Why?” she asked, trying to figure out why on earth he’d want to see her again.
“You looked so dazzling at your party the other week. I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind. Of course, you had so many good looking blokes hanging around you that night, I figured I didn’t stand a chance.”
“Blokes?” she repeated dumbly. “My cousin’s friends? Yeah, they’re a good group. Oh! And thank you, so much, for the champagne you sent over. That was very sweet of you. Incredibly sweet,” she finished in a rush, hoping she sounded appreciative enough.
“Any time, I was happy to do it,” he replied kindly. “So...none of those guys were with you in particular?”
“Well, no, not really. I mean, well...it’s complicated,” she finished, sighing with exasperation over her current situation with Mark. “To be honest, I’m trying not to think about it. But if you’re asking if any of those men have any sort of ‘claim’ on me, no. They don’t.”
Noticing her defensive tone and the way her brow was knitting together, Patrick put his hands up and took a small step back, as if in retreat. “Hey, you don’t need to give me any explanations. I was merely curious if you were single and I could risk asking you for a pint without having to duel at dawn with some guy back in London.” He gave her a shy smile and Eleanor felt her heart stop for a second.
“No, dueling would not be necessary,” she heard herself answer, a bit shocked to think that she was standing in University Parks…in Oxford…flirting…with Patrick Reynolds. THE Patrick Reynolds. He was standing there, less than a foot a way from her. Her boots had a slight heel, but even still he towered above her and the way he was looking down at her right now...she shook her head slightly, trying to clear her mind, and took a substantial step backward to put some more space between them.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a rush, “I didn’t mean to run into you like that again. You’d think I’d be better at watching where I’m going at this point.”
“Really, it was my fault,” he said sincerely, “I could tell you were lost in thought, I should have found a better way of approaching you. I was just very happy to see you again, I couldn’t believe my luck, I was just thinking about you too.”
“Thinking about me?” Eleanor kicked herself mentally, she really needed to stop repeating everything he said to her. He’s going to think I’m a parrot, she thought, annoyed at herself.
“Yeah, as I’ve been walking around the park here I’ve just been thinking about the times we’ve run into each other and kicking myself for not taking advantage of each situation to ask you out for a drink. I was thinking about asking one of the hostesses at the club if they could get a message to you. So, I guess...now that I have you here and there’s no one else to distract you…I’d love to have a drink with you and chat, get to know you a bit? I mean, we do seem to have a habit of running into each other, so maybe it’s destiny?” He said with a slightly embarrassed laugh.
He looked so shy and unsure all of a sudden, the complete opposite of how he always seemed on film or in interviews. His normally confident and smooth voice now stammered and stopped, trying to find the right words, uncertainty mixed with hopefulness.
“A drink would be nice...although, it’s not even quite noon yet. And I haven’t eaten since breakfast, so...coffee might be more appropriate than alcohol,” Eleanor replied with a shy smile of her own.
“Well, if you haven’t eaten since breakfast, how about lunch? I know a good place not far. Have you been to Oxford before?”
“Not since I was little, this is my first time since moving to London in August. My cousin gave me a list of places to go and things to do, this was the first one I thought I’d check off. And lunch would be good, I am starting to feel a bit peckish, as you all would say,” she said with a grin.
Smiling widely, “Well, we’ll have to fix that. Permit me to walk with you around the remainder of the park and then I shall take you for lunch,” he said with mock formality, like the 19th century heroes he’d played on screen, holding out the crook of his arm expectantly.
Laughing, and playing along, Eleanor slipped her arm through his and said, “I accept your kind offer sir, thank you.”
Their arms relaxed into each other and they walked arm in arm along the Cherwell.
“So, what brought you to Oxford?” Patrick asked inquisitively.
Thinking for a moment, “I’m not sure. I mean, I’ve read some books set here and have heard about and seen the famous buildings like the Radcliffe Camera and St. Mary’s and the Bodleian. Both my parents are academics, so I grew up around university towns. I came here once, when I was little. My dad was presenting at a conference here one summer and we took a family trip to London, coming out here for the weekend of the conference…”
Patrick noticed her voice trail off, and saw her face cloud over slightly. She was back in Oxford, so he didn’t think it was a bad memory of her visit that she was thinking of, but something was clearly bothering her. Attempting to change the subject slightly, “So, what have you seen then so far today?”
Snapping out of her memories, “Umm, not a lot yet. I’ve walked by a few things on my way here but I was going to start here and then explore things in more detail on my way back.”
“Brilliant! Let me be your tour guide!” Patrick exclaimed enthusiastically.
“You want to show me around? Don’t you have anything better to do with your day?” Eleanor replied, a little more dismissively than she intended.
“I grew up here, I love showing people around my town. I don’t have any other plans, I’m just in town visiting my parents and getting away from work for a few days. I’m in between projects at the moment,” he responded with a sincere smile. “Please? I really would love to show you around, and it would give us time to chat and get to know each other a bit more.”
“Alright, if you’re sure it’s not an imposition.” She mentally kicked herself, was she kidding herself, this was THE Patrick Reynolds practically begging to spend time with HER! And she almost pushed him away!
“Not at all. It will be a delight.”
By now they were going around the duck pond in the park and Eleanor couldn't quite believe the sudden turn the day had taken. It seemed so surreal to be here, walking arm in arm, with one of her favorite celebrities. Though she wasn’t thinking of the celebrity bit, obviously not, since she almost turned down his request to show her around Oxford. He was so easy and natural to talk to. For the rest of the walk through the park she lost herself in their conversation. Telling him about her life in London and the work she was doing at school. Him answering her questions about his most recent projects and things he had coming up.
It turned out he had been working on a play in the West End back in August when they first bumped into each other. He’d been on his way to the theatre early for the performance that night. Eleanor had been aware of him doing the play, but tickets had sold out in June for the remainder of the run so when Eleanor arrived in August she’d put the play out of her mind. Now he was reading a bunch of different scripts and auditioning for different things. By the time they walked out of the park and back up the same road she’d taken to get there, he was telling her abou
t growing up in Oxford and getting his undergraduate degree here. They bonded over their mutual studies in English as they walked up to the Kings Arms pub, kitty corner from the Bodleian Library.
“I used to come here after studying all afternoon in the library when I was at uni here,” he explained, holding the door of the pink painted building on the corner of the road.
“I’m jealous. There were never any bars this close to the library at any of the schools where I attended,” Eleanor said with a laugh.
Looking confused, Patrick asked “Where were they then?”
Laughing, “Campus wasn’t broken up into distinct colleges like this, the whole university made up the campus, and alcohol isn’t allowed on campus. So you had to walk off campus a bit to get to the bars. And even then, there weren’t any cool places like this,” Eleanor explained, looking around. “Not to mention, back home the legal drinking age is 21. It’s 18 here in the UK, isn’t it?
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