Over the rest of the weekend, Lucy’s mind swayed like a pendulum between chubby-cheeked babies and distracting daydreams about Rory. Pondering the potentially imminent prospect of motherhood, now a familiar thought at the forefront of her mind, she noticed that she felt slightly different. Deep within her, in her gut, where the usual sense of anxiety normally nestled, an inner sense of calm resided, as though everything was working out just as it should be. She wondered whether this might have something to do with a certain handsome Irish man – the perfect distraction perhaps. Or maybe she had just got used to the process of trying for a baby; that with her third cycle of treatment under her belt she wasn’t so nervous anymore. She knew that she would have to wait until the following weekend to do the test and find out whether the latest insemination had worked, so she tried to shut out thoughts of pregnancy and focus on work and the menial tasks that filled her days. At night, however, when she had less control of her subconscious, she would dream endlessly of having her own baby, of holding her own tiny son or daughter in her arms. She woke up experiencing such pangs of longing for her imaginary child that she could hardly bear it. She was so ready for this next stage in her life.
Lucy arrived at work on Monday morning to a noticeably quieter office. Lettie, always the first to arrive at their pod and as reliable as clockwork, was nowhere to be seen. Even by the time Simon rocked up, casually as ever, just as the clock struck nine, Lettie still hadn’t made an appearance. As always first thing on a Monday morning, having caught up on the weekend news of her Facebook friends over breakfast, Lucy liked to spend the first half hour of her working week perusing the right-hand column of the Daily Mail website. She was in the middle of scrutinizing some particularly fascinating images of Kim Kardashian’s derrière, trying to decide for herself whether or not she had had butt implants, when Lettie came scurrying over, clutching three cinnamon lattes wobbling precariously on a Starbucks tray. Having not yet seen her colleagues since she returned from an extended Christmas break at home, Lettie was clearly bursting to tell them her news. Lucy helped herself and Simon to a coffee, and instructed Lettie to sit, take a deep breath, and spill the beans. Simon trained his expert eye on her, giving her his full attention, ready to critique the latest hopeless man she was undoubtedly dating.
Both Lucy and Simon had sat through endless stories of Lettie’s first encounters with all sorts of different weird and wonderful men over the years, and they diligently prepared themselves for the usual saga. However, this time, things appeared to be somewhat different.
‘So the elongated lie-in has a male explanation, no doubt?’ asked Simon.
‘How did you guess!’ asked Lettie, blushing a deep red that clashed with her hair.
‘There’s only one reason why you’d look this excited!’ laughed Lucy.
‘You’re right! Oh my goodness, you are so right!’ said Lettie.
‘Go on then, spill the beans…’ said Lucy.
‘You can’t keep us in suspense,’ agreed Simon.
‘I suppose it could have something to do with the fact that I’ve got a boyfriend!’ blurted Lettie, unable to keep the pride from her voice.
‘Whaaat?!!’ shrieked Lucy and Simon.
‘I know! Can you actually believe it! A real boyfriend!’ said Lettie, ecstatic. ‘He’s called Luke.’
‘Ooh, Luke!’ said Simon.
‘Great name,’ said Lucy.
‘Who is he? How did you meet?’ asked Simon.
‘I met him at a Christmas drinks party back home in Worcester. He’s an old family friend, when I was younger I used to babysit him and his little sister.’
‘No way!’ said Lucy.
‘I hadn’t seen him for years and hardly recognized this handsome stranger when he came over to say hello, but we got chatting and ended up swapping phone numbers, agreeing to meet up in a local pub the next day.’
‘And did you remember him when you realized who he was?’ asked Lucy.
‘Yes, but he was four years younger than me and I wouldn’t have even really noticed him back then to be honest. But it turns out that all the years I was his babysitter he had a massive crush on me!’
‘How cute!’ said Lucy.
‘He clearly had a thing for geeky-looking redheads!’ laughed Lettie. ‘I was so not a looker!’
‘Don’t be so cruel to your young self,’ admonished Simon. ‘I bet you were gorgeous.’
‘Anyway, he’s actually turned into an extremely attractive guy, despite his receding hairline.’
‘Show us a photo,’ said Lucy.
‘I’ve got loads on my phone, I’ll show you later…’ said Lettie.
‘So did you see each other lots after that?’ asked Simon.
‘We went on that date to the pub, which was amazing, and then we met up quite a few times… we even spent New Year’s Eve together, just the two of us.’
‘How romantic!’ said Lucy.
‘Last weekend he took me on a romantic mini-break to a luxury hotel! And we had “the chat”! He said would I mind if we made it exclusive…’
‘OMG!’ said Simon.
‘This is too exciting!’ said Lucy, thrilled for her friend. Lettie was, quite clearly, over the moon. She looked like one of those cartoon characters who, struck by cupid, had heart-shaped pupils in their eyes.
Amidst the verbal diarrhoea, Simon and Lucy grilled their friend to check whether Luke had been conducting himself in a gentlemanly fashion, to siphon out any arsehole-type behaviour, but he genuinely seemed irreprehensible. They were thrilled for her and decided to go to the local pizzeria after work for dinner and a couple of glasses of wine to celebrate.
That’s it, then, thought Lucy. First Simon and now Lettie, all coupled up! I really am the last one on the shelf! Her mind darted towards Rory and she wondered at the possibility that things might develop with him.
Following an unsurprisingly dull few days at work to end the week, she found the weekend soon upon her. Lucy was undecided about whether to meet Rory again in Holland Park. She had promised herself she wouldn’t waste her time pursuing men any more but there was just something about him she couldn’t stop thinking about. She wasn’t entirely sure whether he would even turn up. He had no obligation towards her and they hadn’t even swapped numbers to confirm the time or place. Imagine if she showed up and waited there for an hour or so and then had to go home again, cold and disappointed. Not to mention looking foolish and desperate to boot. Yes, perhaps it was more sensible to just stay at home. She decided to Google him to see if she could find out more about him. She remembered his name, Rory McCullan, and was able to find him pretty quickly thanks to his website, Rory McCullan Ltd, which not only had a biography and a photograph but also lots of examples of his work as an architect and links to various articles he had written. It seemed like he did very well for himself. She couldn’t help but doubt whether he could truly be interested in her.
She was still in two minds come Saturday morning. She had a bath, relaxing into the scented water and scrutinizing the soft flesh of her belly, trying to work out whether there was a tiny baby growing inside her, or not. She still felt remarkably calm about this round of treatment; she had a real sense of acceptance about her future, she felt sure that everything would happen at exactly the right time and in just the right way. She placed the palm of her hand on the centre of her tummy and sent lots of positive thoughts through it to any baby that might be in the earliest stages of development within. It was a very curious state of mind to be trying for a baby. Lucy found it a strange contrast; she had spent the whole of her twenties obsessively hoping that she wasn’t pregnant, that some accident had not happened during a moment of passion that would have everlasting consequences. Each month, when she was due to get her period, she would pray for it to come and only when it did would she relax, grateful in the knowledge that she wouldn’t have a baby to contend with in nine months’ time. Now, however, not only did she spend all her time hoping and praying that she was having a baby, she was even going to extraordinary measures to do so!
In the end, she decided to flip a coin; heads she would go to Holland Park, tails she would stay at home and get on with her weekend admin. Wrapped in her fluffy dressing gown, she went into the sitting room and found her handbag, extracted a coin from her wallet and tossed it in the air. She caught it as it fell and placed it in the palm of her left hand. She took her hand away and saw tails. Tails. She would stay at home. Her heart fell. Within an instant she had flipped the coin back over to heads. Of course she would go. The best-looking man she had practically ever laid eyes on had asked to see her again; she was hardly going to turn it down. She had so enjoyed talking to him the week before, she couldn’t wait to spend more time with him. And if he didn’t turn up she would have lost nothing, she could just go and buy herself a coffee and all she would be doing was sticking to her usual Saturday routine.
Taking a deep breath, she undid her dressing gown and began to get ready. The cold air outside had left her skin feeling particularly dry so she reached for her moisturiser and rubbed it all over her body, luxuriating in the feeling of silky soft skin. She dried her hair and straightened the ends and her fringe, before going through the ritual of applying her make-up, step by step. At the last minute she decided to shave her legs, just in case.
‘What to wear for a walk in the park, whilst still managing to look attractive?’ she pondered. She walked over to her big, walk-in wardrobe and flung open the doors, peering inside. Riffling through the coat hangers, she found a pair of black jeans, a stripy long-sleeved T-shirt, and a soft jumper the colour of forget-me-nots. Lucy pulled on her brown suede ankle boots and fixed a pair of gold hoops into her ears, checking her appearance in the long mirror. Not bad, she thought, not bad at all! She glanced out of the window to check for the possibility of rain. The clouds looked grey and menacing. She pulled on a coat and set off.
At roughly the same time that she had arrived at the cafe last week, Lucy walked nervously up the pathway leading to the Orangery. There was clearly a wedding going on that afternoon. The Orangery was often hired out for events and caterers were coming in and out of their vans carrying trays of food. She sidestepped a young man carrying a topiary, ornamental bush teetering far above his head, and looked up at the cafe feeling sure that she was about to be disappointed. To her amazement, there was Rory, standing rather awkwardly, with Rufus on a lead at his feet; the lead was in one hand with a takeaway cup balancing on top of it, and in the other hand was another cup. As soon as he saw her, his eyes twinkled; the crow’s feet that were etched around them deepened as a smile spread across his face. Lucy approached him somewhat shyly, partly due to the cast of River Dance that were currently tap-dancing in her stomach. Shivers ran through her chest and down her spine.
‘Lucy!’ he cried, obviously very happy to see her.
‘Hi Rory,’ she greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. ‘Nice to see you! Hello Rufus,’ she said as she bent down to pat him on the back. He wagged his tail appreciatively.
‘I got you a coffee. Well, a chai thingy anyway. Was that right?’ he asked.
Touched that he had remembered her drink of choice, she said, ‘How kind of you! Yes, a chai latte… you remembered!’
‘I tried my best!’ he said, smiling. ‘I wasn’t actually sure whether you’d make it. It was a bit foolish of me not to take your number, really.’
‘I was thinking something similar! I’m glad you are here,’ she said, taking the lid off her cup and sipping the comfortingly sweet spiced milk. It was a little cold. She wondered how long the poor man had been waiting with it. The thought of him arriving early enough to buy her a drink made her warm to him even more.
‘Shall we walk?’ asked Rory. ‘I think Rufus is desperate to get off this lead.’
‘Sure,’ said Lucy. ‘Let’s go!’ and they started off down the path, looping away from the Orangery, past the remains of Holland House. ‘It’s sad to see what’s left of it now,’ she said as they passed the grand Elizabethan building.
‘It must have been quite something in its prime. Though I kind of love the contrast of its use today. An open-air opera at the front and a youth hostel round the back!’ said Rory. ‘I’m not really sure how well the two go together!’
‘I know,’ laughed Lucy. ‘Probably not at all what the owner had in mind five hundred years ago! Have you ever been to the opera here?’ Lucy asked.
‘Not for years. I used to go quite often, actually, with my wife,’ he said.
‘You’re married?’ asked Lucy in surprise, her heart jumping into her throat.
‘I’m a widower,’ said Rory, looking at the floor in front of him as he walked.
‘Oh my god, I’m so sorry,’ Lucy muttered, shaking her head. ‘That must have been awful.’
‘It was pretty awful,’ nodded Rory; a mist of sadness shadowing his features at the memory.
Lucy’s heart reached out to him. ‘What did she die of, if you don’t mind me asking?’ she enquired tentatively.
‘Not at all, it was a long time ago. It was breast cancer, she battled it for fifteen months, but sadly she lost…’ he said. ‘Have you been to the opera here?’ he asked, changing the subject.
‘Actually, yes, I went the summer before last with my granny. They have an OAP scheme where you can enter a ballot to win a pair of free tickets right at the front. Someone told me about it at work and I decided to enter for her, then promptly forgot all about it. I got an email a couple of months later telling me that I’d won! My grandmother was thrilled, she’s always one for a bargain. So am I, for that matter!’ Lucy added.
‘What did you see?’ Rory asked.
‘The Barber of Seville,’ said Lucy.
Rory laughed as Lucy told him how Annie had insisted on accompanying the opera singers by reciting the translation displayed high overhead on the subtitle screens at the top of her voice, much to the chagrin of the opera enthusiasts surrounding them in the first few rows. Despite Lucy’s best efforts to shush her, she refused to stop until some poor usher was sent over to ask her to be quiet. She then continued sotto voce throughout the remainder of the performance, somewhat hampering Lucy’s own enjoyment of the music.
Just as they rounded the path that ran behind the Kyoto gardens, the heavens opened. It was the kind of downpour that is hard to believe is possible. The air was dry, if a little damp, moments before; seconds later huge bulbous raindrops were pelting down from the sky like bullets of glass. Rufus was darting frantically from puddle to puddle as they formed, chasing the rivulets of water that were gushing down the sides of the path. Lucy shrieked and ran to the measly shelter of the nearest oak tree, still clutching her cup. Rory, similarly badly dressed for rain in a thick Guernsey jumper, chased after Rufus before clipping on his lead and shouting to Lucy, ‘Follow me!’ setting off at a run. Lucy braced herself and then ran after him, through the park, out of the gate and down a few criss-crossed streets before arriving at what was presumably Rory’s house. Despite the utter drenching she was currently experiencing she couldn’t help but notice the size of the place. It was almost a mansion; architecture was obviously not a bad line of work.
As Rory scrabbled with the lock and flung open the door, he called, ‘Come in!’ and ushered her through the front door. Slamming the door shut behind him and sending Rufus to his bed to lie down and dry off, Rory and Lucy looked at each other in amusement, both panting and soaked to the bone. She was sure that her face must now resemble a smudged panda, the rain having coursed down her hair was still dripping off her chin and her fringe was plastered to her eyes. Rory looked even more handsome than before; his hair was swept off his face and his eyes were shining with mirth. They took off their shoes and left them on the entrance mat. Her suede boots would never be quite the same again.
Suddenly overcome with a fit of hysteria, they both collapsed in laughter.
‘What the bloody hell was that monsoon all about?’ Rory hooted, clutching his sides as he tried to catch his breath.
‘I have never seen a rainstorm quite like that!’ giggled Lucy, taking a few steps over to the huge gilded mirror that hung in the entrance hall, trying not to fall over on the slippery tiles. As she walked, she left a watery trail in her wake. She looked in the mirror and cringed; as she had suspected her make-up had smeared in a comic fashion across her cheeks. She looked like she was wearing a sad clown mask. ‘Look at my face!’ she exclaimed.
‘There’s a bathroom just across the hall if you want to go and get some tissue?’ he suggested.
‘Thanks,’ said Lucy. ‘Not a bad idea.’ She went into the bathroom and wiped her cheeks with a wad of tissue. She couldn’t believe it! Of all the days for a torrential downpour, did it really have to be today?
It felt a bit odd finding herself inside a stranger’s house, though, on second thoughts, at least she could have a look around. She was glad that she had done some snooping online to make sure that he was who he said he was. Remembering what he had told her a short while ago about his poor wife, her mind began to wander. Had he bought this place with her? She couldn’t imagine the unfairness of having finally found someone only to lose them to illness; it was something that she had never even considered. Being wrenched from your partner in the prime of life must be one of nature’s cruellest fates. She flushed the loo and stepped out into the hall.
Hearing Rory call her name from a room that opened up at the end of the corridor, she followed his voice, ending up in a huge kitchen with a large cast-iron wood-burning stove as its focal point. Rufus was lying on his bed in front of the fire, looking sorry for himself. His large shaggy head rested on his long copper paws. Rory had fetched a couple of towels and was rubbing his hair roughly with one. He handed the other to Lucy, who accepted it gratefully, without being entirely sure how dry it was going to make her.
‘I know this is the first time you have been to my house, but, given the circumstances, would you like a shower? I can lend you a T-shirt and a jumper, and if you want, I can put your clothes in the tumble dryer?’ Rory offered.
Lucy wasn’t sure what to do. She was soaking wet and desperate to get out of her clothes. She thought about calling a taxi to take her straight home and rearranging the whole thing but there was something about him that made her want to stay. She didn’t want to risk missing out on getting to know him better. What if they postponed and then a second opportunity never materialized? She debated with herself for a moment or two before deciding that he was worth the risk.
‘That sounds like a great idea,’ Lucy said, following him back into the hall and up the stairs to the first floor. The staircase kept on going for at least one more flight beyond that, if not two. Lucy marvelled at the incredible house, the carpet was thick beneath her feet. Rory showed her to the bathroom where a phenomenal power shower awaited her. He stood for an awkward moment outside the door while she peeled off the sodden jeans that clung to her legs. Wrapping herself in her towel, she opened the door slightly and proffered the wet bundle apologetically.
Rory took them and said ‘Enjoy!’ before retreating down the corridor presumably to change his own clothes and find her something to put on.
Not wishing to take too long but reluctant to switch off the wondrously soothing hot jets of water that were propelling forth from the vast shower head, Lucy spent a good few minutes in the shower. She came out and proceeded to do what she could to resurrect her make-up, wiping the smudges from underneath her eyes with a corner of the towel and pinching her cheeks to add a dash of colour. Hoping Rory had found something for her to put on, she opened the door and peeped out into the corridor. Resting on the carpet was a neatly folded T-shirt, a thick, woolly jumper and a pair of tracksuit bottoms. She pulled them on, noting the fresh smell of laundry powder, and turned the waistband down several times to shorten them.
She padded downstairs looking admiringly at the beautiful paintings and drawings that were hanging on the walls. The house was painted a shade of cream with neutral carpets throughout. Soft lighting from lamps and ceiling lights glowed discreetly from every nook and cranny.
Lucy came into the kitchen and saw Rory stirring milk into two steaming cups of tea. The tumble dryer was whirring in the utility room off the kitchen and logs were crackling in the wood burner. Rory had changed into jeans and a dry grey jumper; his wet hair stuck up in spikes, the resulting dishevelled look made him look even more rugged. Lucy felt her stomach lurch at the sight of him. Her ankle boots were sitting in front of the crackling fire, drying out.
‘Better?’ asked Rory.
‘Much better, thanks,’ said Lucy. ‘I haven’t been caught out like that in years! Thanks so much for letting me come and dry off.’
‘My pleasure!’ said Rory, handing her a cup of tea. ‘Second time lucky perhaps? Not quite a chai but tea nonetheless!’ he said cheerily. There was a low and comfortable-looking sofa perched in front of the fireplace and Rory gestured for her to sit down. Rufus was still drying out in the flickering heat from the flames; he looked up at them and wagged his tail, then sighed contentedly as he rested his large head back on his paws.
Still chuckling about the ridiculous rainstorm, they chatted over their mugs of tea. Rory asked her all about her job, interested to know how the world of advertising worked. In return he told Lucy about his job as an architect. As she had previously discovered, he worked freelance for his own company, Rory McCullan Ltd, mostly designing commercial buildings for big corporate firms across the UK.
As they sank back into the sofa, gazing at the flickering flames and listening to the logs crackle and spit as they burned, Lucy asked him how long he had been living on Thurloe Crescent.
‘I bought the house five years ago from an American couple who were desperate to get rid of the place,’ explained Rory.
‘Why on earth would anyone be desperate to get rid of this house?’ asked Lucy, bewildered. ‘It’s incredible!’
‘They had inherited it from a distant relative and had no interest in owning property in the UK; they wanted the whole thing over and done with as quickly as possible. I was selling my house and looking for somewhere new to develop, and it all just sort of fell into my hands!’ said Rory. ‘I was in the right place at the right time, I suppose.’
‘Did you have to do much to it?’ asked Lucy.
‘Oh yes, it was completely decrepit. Apparently the actual owners hadn’t set foot in it for years… the building was so run-down. As soon as I was granted planning permission I gutted the whole place and redesigned it entirely.’
‘Were you the architect?’
‘I was indeed!’ confirmed Rory.
‘Oh my goodness! You are so talented. I mean, this place is just the dream home. I can’t imagine living anywhere more incredible, and the location too!’ exclaimed Lucy.
‘You are too kind!’ said Rory, taking a miniature bow and laughing. ‘It’s really not that hard, when you know how!’
‘I’d love to know how to do this. I was completely obsessed with Changing Rooms when I was younger and drove my parents crazy redesigning my bedroom. I can’t tell you how many different looks my childhood room has had over the years!’
‘Did you have any disastrous moments as a novice interior designer?’ asked Rory.
‘Oh my god too many to even mention,’ chuckled Lucy, rolling her eyes at the memory. ‘I think my parents really had a fit when I decided to streak my yellow silk curtains with fluorescent pink hair mascara. Turns out that isn’t such a good look.’
Rory laughed at the thought, telling her that she needed a tree house to experiment on far from her parents prying eyes, like the McCullan kids.
Looking at the clock and noticing that it was now half past two, Rory asked Lucy if she would like something to eat. Her stomach started to rumble at the very thought of food, and before she knew it he had thrown a whole packet of smoky, streaky bacon into a frying pan and started sizzling the rashers on the hob. Soon the room was full of the mouth-watering smell of bacon; Rufus suddenly perked up and looked pleadingly at Rory, almost begging not to be forgotten. Rory set Lucy the task of cutting wedges of fresh white bread, straight from the bakery that morning. She dropped them into the toaster and opened the fridge to see if she could find butter and tomato ketchup. She was relieved that he had both; a bacon sandwich was just not the same without ketchup. When the bacon was crispy enough, they set about making their sandwiches. Rory cracked open a bottle of chilled Sauvignon Blanc and poured them two enormous glasses, chinking Lucy’s glass with his. His bright blue eyes shone and his crow’s feet crinkled whenever he smiled at her; Lucy could barely take her eyes off his face.
As she sipped the wine, the soothing, sharp liquid ran down her throat, flooding her senses with that heady relaxation only alcohol could give. They sat at the table and ate their sandwiches, talking about their families and Rory’s eclectic collection of brothers and sisters. His mother was called Catriona and his father Padraig, but everyone called them Trina and Paddy. Then he had an older brother called Ronan, an older sister called Trish and a younger brother called Dermot. They were all scattered about Ireland: only Rory had moved to the UK when he had started studying architecture at UCL. He had met his wife, Abigail, at university, and stayed with her in London to be near her family when they got married several years later. He had stayed in London ever since. Lucy asked him if he missed living in Ireland.
‘I do miss it, yes. Everyone is so much friendlier and relaxed there. I miss the sense of community, and the lushness of the countryside. It really is the Emerald Isle. I’m not so sure about the rain though…’ he winked at Lucy, and they both laughed.
The conversation flowed as though they had known each other all their lives. Lucy felt so drawn to him; it was as if he were emitting some kind of magnetic pull. She wanted to get to know him on every level; he intrigued her as no man had ever done before. There was such a gentle side to him; she could sense a certain vulnerability that she imagined came from knowing such deep and harrowing loss. This was coupled with the most engaging sense of humour and a genuine interest in the world around him; it was an incredibly endearing combination. Rory told her the most wonderful tales about growing up as a young boy in rural Ireland, helping the farmers with the harvest, pinching apples from the neighbour’s orchard, getting into all sorts of mischief.
‘I once got into terrible trouble for burning down the hay barn next door!’ he laughed.
‘No way!’ said Lucy. ‘How did you manage that?’
‘It was an accident caused by a contraband match that I’d stolen from my father’s desk. I was a total pyromaniac and, unfortunately, a somewhat clumsy ten-year-old!’
‘Oh dear,’ said Lucy. ‘What happened?’
‘Unbeknownst to me, Trish was hiding up at the top of the haystacks…’
‘No!’ shrieked Lucy.
‘Yup! Don’t worry, as soon as I heard her squeals I clambered up the burning bales, grabbed her and deposited her safely on the ground. However, Trish was more concerned about her new pink gloves which remained where she had been sitting. She insisted I risk my life to rescue them, which I duly did!’ he laughed, shaking his head at the thought. His lilting Irish voice added extra charisma to his storytelling, and Lucy found she could picture him very clearly as a scruffy, dark-haired child. She loved the way his boyish charms had stayed with him until this day.
Her tongue loosened by the wine, Lucy told him about her own childhood growing up in Cornwall with Ollie. The scavenger hunts and rounders’ matches on the beach, the barbeques in the sand dunes and endless games of forty forty. He asked her so many questions, curious to know every detail about her, as though he were trying to piece together a puzzle to find out what had made her who she was today. He made her feel like she was the most fascinating person on earth; she basked in his attention as if soaking up the sun’s rays.
When the bottle of wine was empty, Lucy wondered whether Rory would want her to leave. It was becoming dark outside; the dull shades of dusk were lowering slowly over the city like thick fog. The log fire was so warm and cosy, the company so excellent, that Lucy couldn’t bear the thought of making her way home. Obviously having the same thoughts, Rory asked her if she had made plans for the evening or whether she would like to pop out to a local cocktail bar down the road for another drink. Relieved, and unwilling to part from his company quite yet, she said yes, though she suggested that it would depend on whether her clothes had finished drying. Rory went into the utility room to check, and, pausing the tumble dryer to open the door, declared them dry. He took them out, passing them to Lucy who retreated to the bathroom to change.
When she was ready, or at least as ready as she would ever be without her make-up bag to hand, Rory opened the front door, leaving Rufus munching contentedly on a huge bowl of dog biscuits, and they stepped out into the crisp, cool evening. The clouds had dissipated since their outpouring earlier that day, rolling back to reveal a clear sky. A huge moon hovered low above the rooftops, surrounded by a halo of orange light.
‘What a beautiful evening!’ cried Lucy. ‘Look at that moon… it’s enormous!’
‘Stunning. That’s another thing I miss about Ireland,’ said Rory. ‘The sky at night, you really can’t beat it. It looks almost heavy with stars, as though you could just reach up and pluck a handful.’
‘It’s such a shame we can’t see the stars properly in London. Too much light haze and smog,’ said Lucy.
‘I’ve always been fascinated by space… the planets and stars and so on,’ said Rory as they walked down the street towards the wine bar. ‘It’s just mind-boggling.’
‘I read that there are more stars in the universe than there are grains of sand on earth!’ Lucy told him. ‘Can you believe that?!’
‘I know! And apparently Earth can fit into the Sun one million times!’ he said. They both walked for a moment in silence, marvelling at the enormity of the universe above them, humbled by the reminder of their own insignificance.
As they rounded the corner, they came to the bar, Penhaligons. A crowd of smartly dressed people were clustered around the door, smoking and chatting. Rory and Lucy made their way through, squeezing into a space with two free barstools near the wall, which was papered with a decorative print. The bar was decked out in a speakeasy style, with twenties music playing from a crackling gramophone in the corner. Lucy loved the revival of prohibition era bars that had recently sprung up all over London; she perused the typewritten menu, scouring all the tantalizing cocktails on offer. She had asked her doctor whether it was safe to drink in the weeks between fertilization and implantation and she had reassured her that it was fine.
Rory ordered a Campari-based cocktail, the smell of which made Lucy want to retch but that he declared was delicious. Lucy ordered a mojito. As they sipped their drinks, they hypothesized on the personal histories of the people around them… one of Lucy’s favourite pastimes, and Rory’s, as it turned out. He explained how, in the years following Abigail’s death, he had spent an awful lot of time on his own. He had realized that he needed to get used to his own company and would come to restaurants or bars after work, often too tired and emotionally drained to cook, where he would people-watch to pass the time. He had found it very reassuring to muse over the lives of others, taking comfort in the knowledge that he was not alone and enjoying the happiness of those who were lucky enough to be with loved ones.
They finished their cocktails and ordered another round. As they perched on their barstools, their knees touched. Lucy felt acutely aware of how close she was to him, she wanted to reach out and rest her hand on the denim that covered his thighs. The dark grey jumper he was wearing stretched slightly over his broad chest; she could see how muscular his physique was underneath. His arms and shoulders looked so strong that she could imagine him picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder with ease. For an instant a crazy image of him doing just that before marching her back home to ravish her in his bedroom flashed into her mind. She blushed at the thought, thankful that he couldn’t see into her overactive imagination.
Realizing she was now hungry, she suggested that they might eat some dinner. They had only had a bacon sandwich for lunch and she was starving. Rory paid for their drinks and they left the little cocktail bar, turning left and walking further down the road past a row of shops and a bank before arriving at a little Italian place.
‘This is my local Italian,’ said Rory as they neared the restaurant, ‘and, in my opinion, it serves the best Italian food in London.’ Fantoni’s was written in large italic script across the dark green door. Dark wooden tables and chairs were scattered about inside, with bunches of flowers and candles on every surface. The smell of freshly baked pizza wafted from the open pizza oven, where a chef stood shovelling round discs of dough into the mouth of the fire, pulling them out a few minutes later, risen and bubbling. Lucy’s mouth watered.
Lorenzo, the owner, greeted Rory warmly, chatting to him with a heavy Italian accent, asking him how he was and what was new in his life. He gave Lucy the once-over, smiling his approval at Rory and congratulating him on his beautiful choice of companion, before ushering them to a little table towards the back. Lucy ordered a Diet Coke, Rory ordered a Peroni and they both pounced hungrily on the basket of warm ciabatta, drizzling olive oil and balsamic vinegar all over it before biting into the chewy dough.
Lorenzo brought the menus over. After several minutes’ perusal, they both decided to get pizzas, they just looked too tempting to resist.
‘Oh how I love Italian food,’ said Lucy. ‘I could have ordered anything on that menu!’
‘I can never decide between pizza and pasta, it’s really the food of the gods!’ agreed Rory.
‘Have you been to Italy and eaten real Italian food?’ asked Lucy.
‘I’ve been a couple of times.’
‘Whereabouts?’
‘Venice and Florence, both beautiful cities. What about you?’ asked Rory.
‘Well I did a history of art degree; one of my modules was on the Sistine Chapel so I managed to go to Rome to get an up-close and personal look at the place as part of my course! I ended up doing my dissertation on the Baroque period in Italian art, Caravaggio is my favourite artist, so I travelled around Italy one summer, exploring and visiting lots of art galleries and churches,’ explained Lucy. ‘I’ve actually visited quite a lot of Italy, and Rome is definitely the best city.’
‘I’m ashamed to admit that I have never been to Rome,’ confessed Rory.
‘Shameful indeed for an architect,’ agreed Lucy, teasing him. ‘You should go!’
‘Maybe you can give me the grand tour?’ suggested Rory, smiling at Lucy with a cheeky look in his eyes.
She knew that he was joking, they had only met twice after all, but she was encouraged nonetheless that he would even make such a suggestion. Could it mean that he thought they might see more of each other, that he might like to? She wondered if he was feeling as deeply drawn to her as she was to him. She crossed her fingers and toes and said, ‘Yeah, maybe, if you’re lucky!’ laughing it off with a shrug.
‘Anyway, Rome isn’t the most beautiful place in Italy; there is somewhere else that wins hands down. Do you know the Amalfi coast?’ asked Lucy.
‘I’ve heard of it but I’ve never actually been, I think Dermot might have been there when he went inter-railing as a young lad. Is it near Naples?’
‘It’s about an hour and a half from Naples; you can catch the ferry the whole way there, following the coastline. It’s such a stunning journey. Anyway, there’s a little town called Positano, it’s just a cluster of pastel houses scattered on a steep hillside across a cut-away valley. The sea is bright turquoise and crystal-clear, the whole place looks like it has been dreamt up for a fairy tale, it’s just the most breathtakingly beautiful place on earth.’ Lucy reminisced about her time there as a student, she had taken the train to Naples with another friend from her course and stayed in a little hostel with magnificent views of the town beneath them.
‘I’m sold!’ said Rory. ‘It sounds amazing… I can’t imagine how there are people in this day and age who have never left their own country, or worse, their own county! There’s such an incredible world out there to explore.’
Lucy nodded in agreement, loving Rory’s enthusiasm for just about everything.
Just then their pizzas arrived, piping hot. Strings of melting cheese stretched from slice to slice as they pulled them apart. They devoured them hungrily, chatting happily about all the places they had visited and making a wish list of top destinations still to explore. It was such a happy evening.
Lorenzo brought over huge bowls of gooey tiramisu for pudding accompanied with little shots of limoncello, the sharp sweetness the perfect digestif after the richness of the cream and coffee. Lucy felt so full and so content; her cheeks were glowing with a combination of flirtation, good food and drink. She knew that Rory must be feeling the same way too, they hadn’t run out of conversation even for a moment and they seemed to have the same views on all sorts of unexpected subjects.
As the last customers trickled out of the restaurant, Rory asked for the bill and insisted on paying for Lucy’s meal. As they walked down the road, Rory took Lucy’s hand in his, it felt like a perfect fit and she felt energy coursing through her at the physical contact. Her heart felt like it was skipping every other beat. They didn’t speak, they just walked along in silence, their breath like little clouds of mist in the cold air. She thought about stopping to flag down a taxi to take her home, but every atom of her body refused to leave his company, all she wanted to do was talk to him more, look at him more and memorize every gorgeous part of him. She had never felt like this before; she was amazed at the strength of her attraction towards him.
Before she knew it they were back outside his house. Her heart was hammering in her chest like a stampede of wildebeest. He turned to face her, his hand still holding hers, staring with those mesmerizing blue eyes into hers. She opened her mouth, about to thank him for dinner, her breath coming in shallow gulps of air; she couldn’t believe the physical reaction her body was having to him. The chemistry was palpable. And then his face was nearing hers, as if in slow motion. His lips brushed against hers, the lightest graze, sending shivers of electricity through her body. She dared not move, willing him to kiss her again, unable to breathe. He stroked a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, smiled tenderly at her, and then kissed her again, still barely brushing her lips with his. He repeated the exquisite torture a few more times, each time pressing his lips a little harder against hers, each kiss lasting a little longer. The heady smell of his musky aftershave was having a dizzying effect on her.
Suddenly, it was as if he could resist the temptation no longer; he put one hand behind her head and the other around her shoulders and kissed her properly, pressing his body firmly against her. She almost fainted with the rush of blood from her head down to her pelvis; it was as though her libido had been jumpstarted with an electric shock from the National Grid. Lucy kissed him back, wrapping her arms around him, running her hands through his thick, brown hair, oblivious to any passers-by. She knew that every rule book ever written would tell her to go home right this second, to end it now before he got what he wanted and completely lost interest, but there was no way she could stop.
Pausing for breath, he held her face in his hands, brushing her cheek with his huge thumb. She felt so tiny and fragile in comparison to him, like a dainty porcelain doll. Looking tenderly into her eyes, he whispered, ‘You are the most beautiful, intriguing woman I have met in a long, long time. You have no idea…’ he muttered, his eyes shining with emotion.
Lucy felt overwhelmed looking at him, she felt so fond of him already as though they had been in each other’s lives for years. Unable to speak, she kissed him again, lightly on the lips, as he had done, despite the huge, beaming smile that was spreading across her lips.
Brushing her blonde fringe away from her eyes, cupping her face in his hand, Rory leant closer to her ear and whispered, ‘Do you want to come in?’
Hesitating for a moment, but only for a moment, Lucy nodded her head, knowing exactly what she was agreeing to. Rory unlocked the door. Both he and Lucy were greeted rapturously by Rufus, who, having been alone for several hours, was desperate for company. Poor Rufus’s audience was far too distracted by each other to pay much attention to him, so he retreated to his bed with his tail between his legs, back to the still glowing embers of the fire.
Rory took off his jacket and hung it on the peg by the door then took Lucy by the hand and led her upstairs. Her whole body was trembling with desire, her knees felt weak underneath her and she used her free hand to clutch the banister as she climbed the stairs.
In his bedroom, a huge four-poster bed awaited them, clean white sheets beckoned invitingly. The enormous full moon shimmered just outside the window. Lucy stood by the glass looking at the night sky as Rory closed the bedroom door behind them. Suddenly, she felt his warm body press against the length of her back as he wrapped his arms around her, she could feel his breath hot against her neck, his breathing heavy. He kissed her softly on the side of her neck, again and again; spine-tingling tremors ran down her body with each kiss. Unable to bear it a second longer, she turned around to face him. They fell onto the bed, removing their clothes, kissing and exploring each other’s bodies, devouring each other hungrily, losing themselves with complete abandon.
Much later, having been unable to resist a repeat performance, they lay entwined in bed, propped up with soft, feathery pillows, Lucy’s head resting on Rory’s chest. She placed the palm of her hand on his chest, nestling against the dark hairs that covered it, and felt the gentle thump of his heart beating. They talked about their past relationships, about Abigail, and about the string of girls that Rory had dated over the years since she had passed away, how singularly unimpressed he had been with them all. Not one of them had managed to capture his interest even remotely as much as Lucy had done. He told her that she was the first person he had met who he had been properly attracted to, who he had really, really liked, in all the years since his wife had died. Lucy smiled to herself, thanking God and her lucky stars that she had met this wonderful, kind man. In return, she told him about all her single years, and then about Alex, and the disastrous end that their relationship had had.
‘I can’t bear the thought of you going through all that,’ said Rory. ‘It must have been awful.’ Hardly awful in comparison with what happened to you, thought Lucy. ‘But I’m secretly glad of course,’ Rory added, ‘because otherwise you wouldn’t be lying here next to me right now, and for that I am eternally grateful.’
‘Very true!’ said Lucy, smiling and reaching up to kiss him.
‘Any other skeletons in the closet?’ he asked, clearly sensing her hesitation.
She paused, wondering whether she should tell him about Jack. ‘Well… I promised I’d never tell anyone this. But in the spirit of sharing all of our deepest secrets… I did something last year which I’ve been feeling pretty awful about.’ She paused. ‘I had sex with someone at work, a guy called Jack.’ Taking a deep breath, she continued, ‘He was married.’
The hand that had been gently stroking her back stopped. She turned her head to face him. He was looking at her quizzically, unimpressed, waiting for further explanation.
‘I know it was wrong, I feel terrible. We were really drunk; he had just separated from his wife… One thing led to another and… I wasn’t thinking…’
‘Well,’ said Rory. ‘I’m glad that you added that bit about him having separated from his wife. I guess you could call me traditional, or blame my Catholic upbringing, but I’m of the old-fashioned belief that marriage vows mean something. I really can’t understand why people cheat. You have to try and put yourself in the wife’s shoes. How would it feel if it happened to you?’
‘I know. That’s why I feel so awful. I hope I never have to find out.’
‘Me too,’ said Rory.
‘Do you think I’m a terrible person now?’ asked Lucy, worried that she had blown it.
‘I think he is the one most at fault, and no… we all make mistakes. But I would hope, sincerely, that you wouldn’t be the cheating type. That that experience has put you off.’
‘I promise. It’s the last thing I would ever do.’
‘Okay then,’ he said. He held her in his embrace, stroking her hair and kissing her head. In his arms she felt totally secure, as safe as she had ever felt. She imagined herself staying there forever and could think of nothing she would want more. Eventually, they drifted off to sleep, still lying in each other’s arms, the moon watching wistfully on, bathing them in a silver pool of light.