All we have, p.18
All We Have, page 18
“You’re saying he invited Myriam to supper knowing she’d bring me?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Remember how clearly unimpressed he was when I arrived and convinced you to leave with me?”
“As I recall, you didn’t give me much option.”
“And now I’m sure you can see why.”
“Yes, I can. What I don’t understand is why you didn’t tell me about all this before now.”
“Because before today it was only a suspicion on my part, and an unsubstantiated one at that.” He shrugged, waving his hands in the air to emphasize his point. “Heck, I thought if I told you’d freak, and maybe it would turn out that I was over-reacting, that perhaps it was just a co-incidence Myriam met up with you on the night she’d planned to have supper with him.”
“But now something has convinced you otherwise? Or rather someone,” I added, remembering Tamara’s face.
Dan nodded. “It seems Tamara heard whispers about some plan the Duke was hatching and decided to check it out. She went to see him today, pretending she was really put out about my seeing you.”
“I imagine she didn’t have to pretend too hard on that one,” I muttered.
Dan continued as if he hadn’t heard me. “She did pretty well, got him to open up about what he had planned for you if he managed to track you down again. He’s such a braggart when it comes to talking about himself. He couldn’t stop himself from telling her all about his brilliant plan to make you his next wife.”
“And that’s what she came all fired up to the river to tell you about?”
“Yes.”
“Ok, I get now why we had to get out of...there and come back, well, here,” I said slowly, absorbing all that he had said. “What I don’t understand is why me?”
“I just explained, it’s because you’re not a character, and have no....” Dan began, his expression telling me he was finding my continued denseness frustrating in the extreme.
“No, hang on, I understand all that. I mean why me and not someone else from my world? I can’t be the only one who,” I paused, considering how to describe the way we went from my world to his. “I can’t be the only person from my world who crosses over from time to time into yours. “
“Actually, it’s pretty rare that someone crosses over, as you put it,” Dan admitted.
“But it has happened before? You have taken other people over before?” I asked. Dan was starting to look a little flustered.
“Well, not exactly,” he said, looking at his feet as if they were suddenly really interesting.
“Not exactly? What does that mean?”
He looked at me then, as if checking I was listening, then looked away again. “Look, it was an accident, you know that. Your coming through the curtain like that, the day of Tamara’s party. If Ferg hadn’t decided to engage in a bout of freestyle boxing that day, you’d never have realized the curtain was there. I never had any intention of your coming through to my side of the curtain.”
“But you knew I’d seen the curtain the day before,” I reminded him. “In fact, you must have known when you first saw me peering into through the schoolhouse window that if you invited me in there was a risk I’d see it. If you never intended for me to get to the other side of the curtain, why even talk to me on that first day?”
“Because then I saw you, I thought you were someone else,” Dan said reluctantly, looking embarrassed. I was trying to remember the details of what had happened the day we’d met on the verandah. I’d had my back to Dan as he approached, I thought, as I’d been looking in through the window. He’d said something about the door being open, but when I’d turned around, he’d seemed to freeze mid-stride. As if he’d seen something unexpected. Or rather someone.
“Who did you think I was?” I asked.
“I thought you were, well from the back you look quite a bit like...”
“Tamara,” I breathed. “You thought I was Tamara.”
“Well, you have to admit you do look quite alike,” he said defensively. “Same hair color, same build. Same pale skin.”
“I guess we do, if you aren’t able to see our faces,” I admitted, though I wasn’t happy about it. I didn’t like having to admit that I was even a little bit like haughty, unfriendly Tamara. But it was also just a bit funny too.
“When you turned around I got a hell of a shock,” Dan said, sounding quite aggrieved.
“I remember,” I said, suppressing a giggle at the image of his stunned expression, and my own supposition about it being something to do with inbreeding amongst the locals.
Dan was already looking a little put out at my amusement. “Yes, well, having said the door was open I didn’t really have much option but to let you in, did I?”
“So you didn’t really want to invite me in?” I asked, feeling more than a touch of disappointment at the thought.
“That’s not what I’m saying at all,” Dan replied, sounding exasperated.
“Well, you’re not explaining very clearly just what you wanted to achieve with that invitation,” I snapped back.
Dan sighed. “I’m sorry, I meant to try and explain why there aren’t many of your kind in my world. You see, we’re not really supposed to let you get that close to a curtain, it’s kind of against the rules. I shouldn’t have even spoken to you that day, you were far too close to the curtain for it to be acceptable on any level. For all kinds of reasons, including avoiding creating situations like the one we’re in now with the Duke.”
I was glad to note he’d said ‘we’ not ‘you’ in that last comment, but I wasn’t ready to let him off the hook yet. “So why did you? Invite me in I mean. And not just once, you did it twice. You didn’t have to show me the map room,” I reminded him. “And you certainly didn’t have to invite me over for a barbeque the next day, either.”
“I invited you in because,” he paused. “Well, if I’m being honest I invited you in that first day because I didn’t really have much option. I’d told you the door was open, I could hardly tell you not to go in after that.” I noticed that he was looking at his feet again. “But the next day, when I knocked on your door, I wanted you to come to lunch because I liked you.” He stopped and looked at me, as if trying to gauge my reaction. “And I do. Like you. I like you a lot.” The words came out in a rush, as if a dam had burst. “A lot more than I should.” This last bit he said quietly, the truth of what he was saying written on his face.
I’d always imagined what it would be like to be attracted to someone who liked you back. Everyone I’d ever liked in the past had been a bit of a worship-from-afar situation; none of them had ever appeared to have any idea I even existed. To have someone I fancied telling me he liked me back was a whole new experience for me. He was looking at me still, and I realized he was probably waiting for me to say something. But nothing was coming to me. All these years I’d been a complete blabbermouth, and now I was struck dumb. But maybe my face was telling him everything he needed to know because I was looking into his eyes and wondering why they were getting bigger, and then realized it was because his face was coming closer to mine. Then he stopped. “I’m going to kiss now,” he said, very serious. “If that’s that okay with you?” Somehow I managed to nod, my eyes fixed upon his mouth. I tried not to tense up, because tensing up must be bad, right? But everything I’d ever read in magazines and then worried about late at night suddenly flooded into my mind. You know the stuff: the ten best way to kiss, what your first kiss should be like, what you should do, what he should do, how to tell if you’re doing it right, how do you know when you’re doing it wrong?
But the instant his lips touched mine all those worries evaporated as I felt all the nerves in my body begin to hum. It was like someone was passing an electric current through my body. I felt Dan’s arms go around me, his hands pressing against my back and I lifted mine to encircle his neck. It felt right to bury my fingers in his hair and pull him closer, so his body was against mine. Everything was tingling at once and I closed my eyes to better enjoy the sensations I was feeling as his lips moved against mine. There is no learning this stuff, I realized somewhere in my fuzzy brain and I was elated at the thought. This is one of those things that just works in the moment I concluded in bemusement. Like eating chocolate gelato on a summer’s day or holding a small furry animal in your arms. There is no right or wrong, there just is, and it’s all good and it’s all perfect just the way it is.
I’m not sure how long we stayed like that, but eventually we broke apart. I felt a bit shy then, until I saw Dan was grinning from ear to ear and looking like he was feeling just as happy as I was about this new development. He shifted slightly so he was sitting alongside me, his arm slung around my shoulders as he pulled me into his shoulder. I rested my head there and we sat, not saying anything, enjoying the rush of the water, the sunlight sparkling on the river.
Chapter fourteen
By the time we arrived back at Bill’s house it was late afternoon. Meg was out on the front verandah with a pot of coffee. She was seated on one of Bill’s outdoor chairs, her laptop open upon the rickety old wooden table that lived on the verandah, frowning ferociously at the screen and so absorbed in whatever she was reading she didn’t see us approaching until we were nearly at the bottom of the steps. “Hello,” She greeted us, quickly closing her laptop and pushing it away from her to the far side of the table. “Did you smell the coffee?”
“Something like that,” I grinned, watching her take in at a glance the fact that Dan and I were hand in hand. I could tell she was dying to start pumping me for details right then and there, and but for Dan’s constraining presence she would have, and I watched in some amusement as she swallowed the questions I knew she was dying to ask. Boy was I going to get the third degree tonight.
“I’ll get some more cups,” she said, standing up. “Dan, there are a couple more chairs in the garage, if you wouldn’t mind?” Dan gave my hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it and wandering off to find the chairs. Meg disappeared inside in search of cups and I sat down on the steps, propping my elbows on my knees and resting my chin in my hands. I watched Dan stroll to the garage, slip inside and reappear seconds later with a folding chair tucked under each arm. He walked slowly back towards me, his eyes on my face and I felt a blush rise in it at the look in his eyes. It was as if he was drinking me in. Which was okay by me, because I was looking at him in just the same way. He set the chairs side-by-side on the verandah, which meant at least by the time Meg came back with the cups we were looking not at each other but at the lap top she had abandoned.
“How goes the work?” I asked, nodding at the computer.
Meg grimaced, putting the cups down on the table and taking her seat again. “Bill’s emailed me an electronic version of Tamara. I’ve spent today re-reading it on screen, trying to work out if I really want to touch someone else’s work.” She shrugged. “I know he’s really keen for me to do it, but I’m finding it hard to work out quite how or where to start.”
“Is this some kind of collaborative project you’re considering?” Dan cut in. I’d felt him tense at the mention of Tamara, but to anyone but me his even tone would have conveyed nothing more than polite interest.
“Sort of,” Meg said lifting the milk jug and waggling it in our direction. “Do you take milk, Dan?”
“Yes, please,” Dan replied. I glanced at him, hoping to catch something in his face that would give me a clue about what was going on in his head, but I could read nothing there. He was working hard at keeping his face neutral, his attention was now entirely focused on Meg.
She, completely oblivious to the intense interest she was provoking, was fully engaged in pouring a little milk into the bottom of each of three mugs, then filling them the rest of the way with steaming strong coffee. “I guess being a local you’ll know Bill?” she asked Dan as she handed him his coffee.
“Actually, no, I don’t know him personally at all,” Dan replied, taking the proffered cup. “I’ve seen him around a bit, now and then, but he keeps himself pretty much to himself. Everyone knows he’s a famous writer, of course, but I’m afraid I never really knew any more than that. Has he asked you to look over one of his current projects?” Dan took a sip of coffee, his gaze never leaving Meg’s face as he waited for her answer.
Meg sighed heavily as she handed me my coffee. Sitting back in her seat, she picked up her own cup and nursed it between her hands, her head tipped to one side as if thinking how best to respond. “Ye-es sort of,” she began. “He’s asked me for help with one of his manuscripts. It’s one I got Paige to read through for me. She gave me some very forthright and insightful feedback on Tamara, I must say.” She smiled at me, little realizing how I was squirming inside at her comment. I hadn’t told Dan I’d read Tamara, and now he was going to think I’d been deliberately keeping that fact from him.
But he didn’t even so much as glance at me, his attention still focused on Meg. “And you’re planning on performing some kind of editing task for him?” He asked.
“Ah, if only it were that simple.” Meg sighed ruefully. “Unfortunately, something a bit more extensive than editing is required.” She took a sip of her coffee, then set the mug down on the table again. “The narrative is written from the perspective of the two main characters. Bill’s asked me to take a look at the female character’s chapters and then do what amounts to almost a complete re-write of them.”
“How significant are the changes you’ll need to make?” I could hear the tension in Dan’s voice; I knew if he wasn’t careful Meg would pick up on it too and wonder about it.
But so far she didn’t seem to have noticed anything odd about Dan’s demeanor, or his intense interest in her work. I guess she was used to people being interested in it. She was forever holding workshops and giving lectures at writing symposiums, so maybe that explained why her usually well-honed radar for detecting a person’s emotional state was a bit off today.
“Well, like I say, it’s looking like a total re-write of those chapters is required, and there will have to be changes as part of that process. Pretty sweeping ones too, I’d say, wouldn’t you agree Paige?” She said breezily. “Don’t get me wrong,” she hastily added, responding now to the concern she saw in Dan’s face, although completely misinterpreting its cause. “Bill’s an amazing writer, award winning in fact. But this particular manuscript was his first novel attempt, written when he was very young.” Meg hesitated at this point, then continued. “Personally, I think he was too close to the subject matter to do it justice.”
This was the first time I’d heard Meg infer that the manuscript was based on Bill’s own teenage experiences. I was surprised she was seemly happy to talk about it so openly, considering how much she’d been tiptoeing around the obvious parallels up until now. If she agreed to do the re-write, would that mean she felt she had sufficient distance from that summer that she had spent here, the summer that Bill and Joe had both fallen for her, to write about it? I wondered what really happened during that summer. It was hard to imagine now what the teenage Meg had been like. Did she have feelings for Bill back then, even though it was Joe she was dating?
More to the point, did she have them now? I’m ashamed to admit that, although the idea of her being romantically interested in someone at her age shouldn’t have shocked me, it still did. It’s kind of like the first time I read Little Women, and realized that Jo had fallen in love with the Professor. Horrified best describes my reaction to that little revelation. The age gap between the two lovers had appalled the thirteen-year-old me. An opinion that was only reinforced when I watched the movie adaptation with Winona Ryder as Jo looking so young and dewy. The contrast with the positively ancient Gabriel Byrne as the Professor was an affront to my romantic teenage notions of the kind of man Jo should fall for. Mum, who’d watched it with me, opined that he was “definitely dishy”, but I remain firmly unconvinced of this appraisal.
But of course, Meg and Bill were almost the same age. Their romantic situation (and I reminded myself I still had no real proof that such a situation even existed between them) had none of the age gap required of a May to September relationship. I’m not sure why I felt so unsettled by the idea of it. Maybe because she is my favorite, in fact my only, great-aunt in the world, just as I had always been her firm favorite. Perhaps I didn’t like the idea of her caring for Bill because that would mean I’d have to share her with him. How pathetic I was being. Feeling ashamed I buried my face in my coffee mug, hoping none of my feelings had been written on my face.
Luckily while I’d been busily angsting about geriatric romance, Meg had blithely carried on talking to Dan and I decided neither of them had noticed anything strange about my expression. Dan was sitting forward in his chair now, having put his coffee down, listening intently as Meg described the writing process she generally used, and how working on Bill’s manuscript would require a completely different approach, one she wasn’t sure she was going to be able to pull off, or even that she wanted to try.
I pushed thoughts of Meg and Bill to the back of my mind and attempted to concentrate instead on what Meg was saying, as well as work out what it was that was so obviously worrying Dan. How would any re-write affect him? Or was it Tamara he was worried about? I tried to recall what he’d said about such situations. The only conversation I could recall us having was about Edward Darcy, the redundant younger brother of Fitzwilliam Darcy from Pride and Prejudice. But he had been discarded from the novel entirely, I reminded myself. Tamara’s situation would be quite different. She would still be the female lead in Tamara. Only her character would change...I caught the thought as it formed and held it still for a long moment, considering.
If Tamara’s character changed, how would that affect Dan? Selfishly, my first thought was that Meg would be bound to write her as a nicer, softer character. After all, that was what Tamara’s character was missing. She was too hard, to one dimensional. If Meg re-wrote her, she would behave better, seem more caring. No, not seem. Be. She would be a whole different person. One that Dan would inevitably find more attractive, more lovable that the old Tamara. And I couldn’t avoid the voice inside my head asking where that would that leave me?
