The moment I open the door I can see he’s made an effort. As I stand aside to let him enter, I’m surprised by his choice of aftershave. It’s one I recognise: L’Eau Bleue by Issey Miyake and it immediately conjures up the face of a former boyfriend. That was a whole three months of my life totally wasted on someone who turned out to be less than reliable, let’s say. And that’s letting him off rather lightly.
I flash Nic a pleasant smile as I shut the door and he follows me out to the kitchen.
‘Is this weird, being invited to dinner in your own house?’
He laughs. A soft, warm sound. ‘You could say that. Unexpected, but hey, I never turn down the chance of a free meal. May I?’
After placing the shopping bags on the floor, he slips off his jacket and instinctively opens the bathroom door to hang it on the hook. When he sees that I haven’t taken my eyes off him, he makes a face, looking a little embarrassed.
‘Sorry, force of habit. There’s nowhere else for guests to hang their coats.’
‘No problem, make yourself at home, please.’ That makes him laugh once more, as he pulls out a bottle of red wine from one of the carrier bags.
‘If you’d like to do the honours, I’m sure you know where to find the corkscrew.’ Now I’m teasing him and I hope he doesn’t think I’m flirting or anything. I’m really glad Olwen cleaned through today, as everything looks perfect and I want him to see that I’m taking good care of the place.
I’ve cleared away my temporary office and laid the table. Aside from two place settings, there’s a dish of olives, two small dishes of extra virgin olive oil mixed with a little Balsamic vinegar and a roughly chopped baguette.
As I put the chicken in the fridge and start to peel the potatoes, Nic retrieves two wine glasses from the cupboard and pours out a little wine.
‘Would a few candles be appropriate? It’s missing a little something.’
He’s right, of course, but I didn’t think it was polite to go rooting around in someone else’s cupboards, given the circumstances.
‘That would be great, thank you.’
‘Just saving on the electricity, really,’ he remarks, shooting me a glance and I start laughing. I didn’t realise he had such a sense of humour. The good thing is, it means he’s feeling relaxed enough to joke around.
By the time the potatoes are ready and I’ve blanched the asparagus I found in the fridge, the steaks are done to perfection. Fillet steak needs to be seasoned well, browned and then finished off in the oven for just a few minutes.
‘There you go.’ I put the plate down in front of Nic with a bit of a flourish.
‘Well, you seem to know how to cook a steak.’
He waits until I’m seated and we raise our glasses.
‘Least I can do. One good turn deserves another. Happy Wednesday, we’re halfway there.’
One eyebrow rises slightly and I guess that last remark was a typical one from a regular nine-to-five type of person. Nic’s working week might not follow standard office hours. I’ve no idea if he works at weekends and doesn’t enjoy that Friday euphoria feeling, either.
‘Happy Wednesday.’
We eat in silence, which I think is probably a good sign. Nic devours his food very quickly and I wonder if I gave him a big enough portion. But he seems happy to sit back and begin tucking into the bread, olive oil and olives, while I finish.
‘My kind of meal,’ he says, dipping a chunk of bread into the oil.
I clear away and realise that the cheesecake and forest fruits will take a while to defrost. I should have thought of that. I tip out a bowlful of the fruits and put the cheesecake on a platter.
‘Right, that will take about an hour to thaw out, so perhaps we should adjourn to the sitting room with our glasses?’
I grab the wine bottle and follow Nic through to the other room, waiting to see where he decides to sit. He takes the sofa facing the kitchen door and I settle on the adjacent one, after placing the wine bottle on the coffee table.
‘Feel free to read whatever you like from my little collection,’ he says, nodding in the direction of the bookshelves.
My stomach flips and I wonder if he’s noticed that the copy of The Notebook is no longer in its hiding place. I decide to change the subject as quickly as I can.
‘Thanks. It’s very comfortable here. I bet you will be glad when I leave.’
He nods. ‘The farm is OK though. They don’t rent out rooms as such, but it’s a sprawling farmhouse and they’re good people. I’m enjoying helping out and Sid is gradually breaking me in.’
‘Sid is such a lovely dog. And dogs are wonderful company if you are on your own.’
Smart move, Tia.
‘Probably, but it’s a responsibility, isn’t it? I mean, a bit like having a person relying upon you. Once you’ve made the commitment you are no longer free.’
Ooh, that had a little sting to it, I think. We lapse into silence as I’m not quite sure how to respond to that and I decide to wait and see what happens. If I say nothing, will Nic start talking, or will this silence stretch out into an awkwardly long pause?
He takes a swallow of wine, replacing his glass on one of the coasters I set out on the coffee table. He fiddles with it, sliding it slightly to the right and then he looks up at me.
‘So, what’s your line of work?’
‘I’m a feature writer. I’m working on an assignment that involves interviewing a cross-section of people about their relationships and their Christmas traditions. Life and style stuff.’
I can’t mention that Olwen told me Nic’s other job is a reporter, so I keep my answer simple. If he doesn’t mention it, then I won’t, either.
‘Christmas already? Sounds interesting. How do you find the interviewees?’
My pulse quickens as I know that this is my one chance to get him interested.
‘We work several months in advance and when everyone else is thinking holidays, I’m usually thinking festive cheer. When it comes to finding people to take part, we have researchers who do a lot of the leg work for this type of feature. Basically, they are given a spec and approach suitable candidates willing to be interviewed and featured for a fee. I have to write an article each month for the November, December and January issues. Each article will feature two very different couples.’
He nods, leaning forward to grab his glass and then sitting back to take a leisurely sip. I follow suit, watching for his reaction.
‘What do they pay for that sort of thing?’
‘It varies. If we are given access to the interviewee’s home and they’re up for photos, then that commands a premium. We’re all about life and style, and our readers are curious about people from all walks of life. My boss would love this cottage.’
‘Pity I’m not one of a couple, then.’
I feign surprise.
‘Oh, I didn’t know that.’ It sounds convincing, although it’s a little obvious. Plus, I’ve spoken to Olwen, but he’s not to know that. He lapses back into silence.
‘I think they’re paying about a thousand pounds for each interview, with photos.’
His head jerks up and he seems surprised. It appears to have caught his interest.
‘Really?’ There’s a lift in his voice and I can tell the money is a big temptation, even if it’s not something he would normally consider doing.
‘One of the couples had to drop out and I’m looking for a new candidate. I’m thinking about a different slant to help wrap up the January article. I want to tackle the fallout when a relationship falls apart and whether understanding the reasons behind it help the person to move on.’
‘If it’s not a couple, does that mean they only receive half the fee?’
I’m beginning to feel a little uncomfortable about trying to talk Nic into this by dangling figures in front of him. It feels a little dishonest, as I’m not sure he understands what’s involved.
‘No, the fee is per case study, if you like. It’s not for everyone, as it’s quite a thing to open up and give a candid interview, then see it in print. Why, are you interested?’
He twists the wine glass in his hand, deep in thought.
‘Maybe. I can’t think of any other way to get my hands on a quick influx of cash. No disrespect, but renting out the cottage isn’t for me, I’ve discovered. So, my options are rather limited. Would I make a suitable candidate?’
This is going to become increasingly awkward from here on in, I think.
‘Well, it rather depends on your back story. This isn’t about your life, as a whole. The focus is showing readers how people keep the love alive in their relationships. We’re covering people of all ages from mid-twenties through to mid-sixties. My idea for the final article is looking to the future as a new year is about to dawn. It will be from the viewpoint of a retired couple and a single person starting over again. How does long-lasting love stand the test of time and do they both look forward with the same goals in mind? Then contrast that with someone who is about to start over again. What I hope to highlight in my findings is that as time goes on, growing together has some sort of formula. And the way to prove that, I hope, is to find out from someone prepared to open up about why their relationship deteriorated to the point it fell apart. How will they avoid making the same mistakes as they begin moving forward?’
That wasn’t easy to spell out, as at the moment it’s more of a thought process than a plan of action. I know what I’d like to get out of it, but I won’t know until I conduct the interviews whether I’m on the right track. What if it’s not love that keeps some couples together into old age, but familiarity? That isn’t exactly going to light up the page.
‘Sadly, there’s nothing at all unusual about my story. Two career-orientated people so caught up in grabbing what they think they want in life, that they don’t appreciate what really matters. It’s probably a little too mundane for your purposes, even if I could bring myself to share the sorry tale.’
He finishes his wine in one gulp and picks up the bottle, indicating for me to lower my glass.
‘Actually, that’s exactly what I need. The latest figures indicate that eighteen per cent of married or cohabiting couples are living in distressed relationships, where the likelihood of divorce or break-up is imminent. That’s a staggering figure. It isn’t so much about the very personal detail, but about the process of growing apart and then how that affects the person afterwards.’
‘And you’d be doing the interviewing?’
I don’t know if I’m happy now to even consider taking this forward, but clearly Nic is giving this some serious thought.
‘Look, you need to think long and hard about this, as it has to be a considered decision. I don’t have a hidden agenda and I’m sorry if I brought work into what was meant to be a pleasant evening meal.’
‘That’s OK. I was the one who started this conversation.’
To give Nic a little breathing space and also to dispel any awkwardness, I head back to the kitchen to see if the dessert is thawed enough to serve.
‘I’ll be a few minutes. Feel free to browse,’ I toss the words over my shoulder, in an attempt to sound casual and, hopefully, upbeat.
Dessert is reasonable enough, without having to put in any effort, and it seems to hit the spot for Nic. He leaves around nine o’clock and I’m disappointed that there are still two burning questions which I couldn’t ask. They have nothing to do with work and it’s really none of my business, anyway. The first is how he came to buy the cottage from Max and the second is why he chooses to live here, in such an isolated place.
As I ready myself for bed, I reflect upon the fact that tonight couldn’t have gone any better if I’d written it as a script. My phone pings, and I expect it to be Hayley, or my brother, whose call I forgot to return. It’s a text, but it’s from Nic. I guess he saved my number when I rang him to book a taxi into town.
Sign me up. But don’t send me the money until you have the information in case I find I can’t deliver. I don’t do counselling and it will be the first time I’ve told anyone the full story. Great fillet steak, by the way. Next time dinner is on me at the Langland’s Brasserie.