Say hello kiss goodbye, p.8
Say Hello, Kiss Goodbye, page 8
Okay, here we go. Here’s where her interest skyrockets for all the wrong reasons. Tarquin’s heart flinched. Might as well get it over with. Skirting her gaze, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh…yeah. My family owns several in the UK…and one in France.” He met her open-mouthed stare. Fuck, there’s the usual reaction. Her eyebrows can’t climb any higher. Won’t mention the villa in Greece, then.
“Holy. Hell.” She fell back against the bench and let out a half-laugh. “Sorry, Sir Balfour, I didn’t know I had to curtsey.”
“I’ll let you off this time.” Tarquin forced out a chuckle. Like there’s going to be a next time. Dammit, I didn’t think she was the gold-digging type. Lowering his head, he stared at the phone screen. Brace yourself—you know she’s going to ask. They always ask: What car do you drive? Which do you prefer, shopping in Knightsbridge or New Bond Street? Cristal or Moët?
“Where’s your dad?” Leia peered at the phone. “He’s missing from the photos.”
Oh? I didn’t expect that. Her change of subject coaxed a cautious smile back to Tarquin’s face. “A business trip, lucky bastard.” He flicked the screen, rolling to another photo of his family in bathing suits lounging poolside on daybeds—indoors. The swimmers’ paradise boasted intricate mosaic tiles, stone pillars, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking an expanse of green lawn. A majestic waterfall, adorned with tropical flowering plants, bubbled in the room’s far corner.
Wide-eyed, Leia’s head drew back, a barely audible “Wow” slipping from her lips.
“But little good it would’ve done if Dad had been there. Mum was the one in charge of family business. She still would’ve pulled us out of school and made us wear ridiculous clothes.”
Leia did a double take between Tarquin and the pool of dreams. “But at least you’re wearing board shorts. It could’ve been a lot worse.”
“Speedos?!” He met her eyes and cringed. “God, yeah. I’d never live that down.” Returning to the photo, he gently shook his head. “I missed an important Latin exam that day, but Mum didn’t care. Her career always came first. Dad knew it. We all did. We were just the supporting cast.”
“Nikolai, Rupert, and Tarquin Balfour.” Leia shifted forward, leaving his side and returning her glass to the table. “Well, those are dramatic names!”
“It gets worse. Our full names are Nikolai Crispin, Rupert Magnus, and Tarquin Octavius.”
Looking over her shoulder, she stifled a laugh. “Did your parents hate you or something?”
“Sometimes I think so.”
“I always wanted a middle name.” She dropped back against the bench but didn’t stray into his space. “Something normal. Something I could use instead of Leia.”
Tarquin’s jaw dropped with mock shock. “That’s blasphemy!” He relaxed into a playful smile and picked up his cocktail. “You could’ve done what my mother did—rebrand yourself.” He knocked the orange garnish riding the lip of his glass into the red liquid and took a long sip.
“I thought Kiki was short for Katherine.”
He swallowed and shook his head, setting his drink on the table. “Hell no. Her real name is Tracey. Tracey Pinches.”
Leia gaped.
“I know, right? She changed it when she started modeling in the mid-eighties. First, she was Kiki Lascelles, then Lascelles became Balfour when she married Dad.” His fingers swept over the screen, landing on a photo depicting domestic family bliss. Kiki, dressed in an aqua Juicy Couture tracksuit, was flattening a slab of dough with a rolling pin while her three sons stuffed their faces with fresh-baked shortbread cookies. “Her personal assistant made these. Mum never baked a day in her life!” Tarquin set Leia’s phone on the table. “We had a huge row when this article came out. She said I made her look like a bad mother.”
“How?”
“My sneezing, my red eyes? I looked like I had been bawling. She said I damaged her image, eroded her self-esteem—so bloody melodramatic, my mother.” He shook his head. “So, in typical Kiki fashion, she chipped away at mine—she took away my skateboard, told the girl I liked to stop hanging about, and yanked me out of cross-country trials. I was really good, too. I was supposed to represent Berkshire in the national championships. I never got the chance again. I was gutted, actually.”
“Tarquin, I’m so sorry.” Leia reached out, clutching his forearm. “That must’ve hurt.”
His eyes flitted down to her hand, her grip soft and reassuring. She’s so lovely. He looked up with a wistful smile and met Leia’s eyes, but she abruptly pulled her hand away like she had been zapped with an electric shock.
Oh?
Leia swerved his gaze and snatched her drink, her lips desperate for her glass.
What’s with the unsettled look? His stomach pinched. Did I say something wrong? What did I do? He ran his hand over his chin, his lips twisting. She seems out of sorts. Say something to put her at ease. Dropping his hand into his lap, he flashed a wry smile. “Probably for the best. I reckon those teeny tiny jogging shorts were a full-on dick slip waiting to happen.”
Mid-sip, the corners of her mouth tweaked into a quick grin, then she looked away again, her eyes roaming about the pub.
Tarquin’s mouth opened, but he didn’t speak. You’re single. I’m single. What gives? You were into me, but now you’re not? A text woke up his phone. Now what? Biting his lip, he blinked and reached across the table, tilting the screen. An image of a young redheaded girl, long curls blowing in the breeze, grinned back.
Leia lowered her glass. “Is everything okay?”
I don’t know, Leia. Is it? Tarquin cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. It’s just Rupert, sending a pic of Ava.” A sweet smile replaced his frown. “She had a good ol’ natter with me yesterday. She’s going to be a big sister soon. Rupert and his wife are expecting their second child this summer, so Ava made me promise she’ll still be my favorite.” He chuckled, setting his phone down.
“Did she like the unicorn?” Leia’s grin returned. For Tarquin, it was like the sun emerging from behind a dark cloud.
“Oh, she doesn’t have it yet. Soon. They live on Orkney, the archipelago off the north coast of Scotland.”
Leia’s face lit up. “Really? Wow!”
Seriously? “You know it?”
“Sort of. I know a bit about Orkney’s archaeological treasures. I completed a minor in museum studies along with my art history degree.”
“And what’d you think?”
“It looks like a beautiful place! And I had no idea it was so rich in Neolithic sites. But we kinda skimmed the surface. I wish we’d spent more time on it.”
Tarquin nodded. “There’s even Norse graffiti in the chambered cairn at Maeshowe.”
“Oh, I read about that! And the 5,000-year-old village at Skara Brae. But what really caught my eye was the Ring of Brodgar—I’m a sucker for ancient standing stones.” Leia chuckled. “Who doesn’t dream of their own Outlander moment?”
I’m gobsmacked that she knows Orkney—sort of. Tarquin laughed. “My dad’s side were born there.”
“Oh, nice! Were you?”
“No. My brothers and I are all London-born. We’re the Balfour outliers, really. Everyone else is full-on Orcadian. But we’d still go up during holidays, see family. There’s brilliant wreck diving there, too, so I take advantage whenever I can. Good rock climbing and surfing as well.”
“Wreck diving? Like real shipwrecks?”
“Yeah, there’s a scuttled German fleet from World War I. Blockships, too, near the Churchill Barriers. It’s cool.”
“Sounds like an amazing place. No wonder you love it so much.”
“Yeah.” He nodded, brushing imaginary crumbs off his lap. “So, what’s your idea of fun? What are you into?”
“Lots of things. I love to read, skate…take kickboxing classes—”
“Kickboxing? That’s kickass!” And smokin’ hot.
“Yeah…if I were good at it! But I’m not. I pack a mean punch, but my kicks could be better. My balance sucks sometimes.” Leia snickered. “I also like art galleries, fashion documentaries and magazines—I know, that’s hardly surprising!”
“Fave designer?”
“J’adore Dior!” She lit up with a swoony smile. “His vintage stuff is so feminine and beautiful. Works of art. I also love Victoria Beckham’s ready-to-wear, and Stella McCartney, too—not just for her clothes, but her respect for animals and nature as well. What else?” She swirled the ice cubes in her glass. “Oh, I volunteer for the Heart Association, and I swim. Not competitively, just for fun. It’s almost therapeutic, meditative. Sewing started out like that, too. I kinda lose track of time when I’m doing it.”
This is more like it. Let’s keep talking, keep sharing. His shoulders relaxed. “I love that. There’s nothing more freeing than surrendering to your passions. Did you always want to design?”
“No, I wanted to be a kindergarten teacher…or a tree hugger. I heard that phrase when I was a kid and actually thought that was a real job.”
Tarquin laughed. “Classic! So, how did you get into making clothes? Did your mom teach you?”
“Yeah. Mom sewed a lot of our clothes growing up.”
“Was she a designer, too?”
Leia shook her head. “She was a librarian, but she sewed in her spare time. One summer I made the mistake of saying I was bored, and she roped me in.”
“And look at you now! She must be super proud of you.”
“I guess…somewhere, somehow.” Leia’s voice became softer, less animated. “She died nine years ago—when I was eighteen. A heart attack.” Shoulders bowed, she took a long sip again, her eyes fixating on their bill standing to attention between the salt and pepper shakers.
Jesus, that’s awful. A tightness gripped Tarquin’s throat. “Oh, Leia. I’m so sorry—” His phone lit up again with a text.
Lucy: Tell her about volunteering in Nepal building hospitals. YOU’RE WELCOME! x
He flipped it over, out of sight. I’m not going to prattle on about myself, especially now. She looks so sad. But do I ask about her mom—or not? I don’t want to avoid the subject and be an insensitive dick, but I don’t want to make her cry, either. Tarquin bit his lip. Well, say something. “Do you, uh, want to talk abou—”
“No.” Her stare lifted, but she skirted his gaze. “Thanks for asking, though.”
Okay. Good. He let out a soft breath. “So…will you sew at Simon’s?”
With a faint nod, Leia rejoined the conversation. “I’d like to. I can only do so much by hand with a needle and thread.” She sighed, returning her drink to the table. “I have a lot to catch up on”—her forehead wrinkled—“so I should probably get going.” Reaching across the table, she snapped up the bill.
Going? Her words sucker-punched Tarquin’s gut. Already?
“I have a job interview on Friday. I need time to prep.” She dove into her purse.
A job interview? Here? “Oh, well done!” he blurted. “That’s amazing.”
“Yeah, it’s for a full-time position at the Costume Institute,” she replied, all trace of her flirty repartee gone as she pulled out her credit card. “Over Skype.” She craned her neck and locked eyes with their server.
Bloody New York? Just my rotten luck. Tarquin’s heart sank. Bollocks.
“I’ve been waiting months for this chance to come around again.” Leia’s finger flicked the edge of her card as the server rushed over with the portable payment machine. “I can’t mess up.”
“You won’t. You’ll be great!” Tarquin stuffed his fingers into the pocket of his trousers, pulling out his wallet. “Leia, please—I’ll get this.”
“No, it’s the least I can do. Seriously.” Punching in her PIN, the machine’s electronic beeps pierced the silence growing between them.
Three hours gone in a blink. Tarquin’s chest tightened. He tucked his wallet away as the machine spit out her receipt like a petulant child sticking out his tongue. “Cheers,” he said quietly, hoping she’d change her mind and suggest dessert somewhere, but she thanked the waiter and stuffed the curled piece of paper in her wallet. Tarquin didn’t budge or reach for his suit jacket and coat, holding on to every last second of their time together.
A bright smile flashed across her cheeks. “I really like Simon.” She picked up her phone and tapped its screen. “Now I have a friend here in the business—all thanks to you.”
“My pleasure.” Tarquin nodded and swallowed heavily, the ache in his chest rising into his throat, cutting off his breath. I thought—hoped—this would be the beginning of something, not the end. We get along, right? We laughed, flirted. Shared stories—well, I did…
She slid her arms into her parka. “I’d offer to share a taxi, but I think we’re going in different directions?”
“Yeah, we are, but it’s fine, really.” He rose from the bench and reunited with his suit jacket and his coat, hanging on the back of his chair. “I’ll walk for a bit. Get some air.”
She stood up, looping her purse over her shoulder. “I had fun tonight.”
Does she mean it, though? “Me too.” He walked ahead of her through the thinning crowd and held open the door, the dank evening chill of a now rainy London mirroring his mood. An idling car offered a dry escape.
“Oh, that’s my ride—perfect timing.” A puff of breath left Leia’s lips. “Can I drop you somewhere?” She opened the door and scooted in. “You can’t walk. You’ll get soaked.”
Tarquin ducked his head, hiding from the pelting rain. “Ah, thanks, but I’m all right.” ASK HER—before you drown! He squinted into the warm car, the storm’s cold deluge trickling down his neck and saturating his scarf. “Leia, can I see you again? Take you for dinner or a film? I promise, not Star Wars.”
“Um.” She paused, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “Sure. We could…hang out again. Soon, yeah?”
Hang out? So… not a date? He stepped back and swallowed his surprise. No, of course not. She pulled away in the pub—twice.
“Look…” Leia fumbled in her bag, unearthing a compact umbrella. “Take this.” Her jaw tensed as her gaze flitted down his soon-to-be sopping coat. “I’ll call you?”
I’ll call you… How many times have I said that, knowing I never would? That’s karma kicking you in the bollocks, mate. Tarquin accepted the umbrella. “Sure, okay.” He nodded, a shiver racing up his wet back. “Get home safe.” He pushed the door closed, on their night and on his heart.
Seven
LEIA
Sarah tugged on her black wheelchair gloves. “Leia, are you coming or not?” She wiped her brow, her skin pink and perspiring beneath the wintery layers of her blue wooly hat and scarf and her long navy parka. “It’s almost twenty to nine! I know I start late on Thursdays, but this is pushing it—I have my presentation, remember?”
“Sorry!” Leia dropped her toothbrush in the cup beside the bathroom sink and grabbed her journal, balancing on the edge of the bathtub. She scribbled the third entry across Wednesday’s page.
January 2, I was grateful for:
1. getting the Met interview.
2. Simon’s offer to use his workroom.
3. flirting with Tarquin!
She bit her cheek. Should I call him, though? Or leave it? Stuffing her pen inside the journal’s cover, she zipped it closed and hurried into the hall. “Oh, I don’t know,” she mumbled, shaking her head as she yanked her chunky sweater’s hem over the waist of her jeans.
“Don’t know what?”
“Nothing.” Leia snatched her oversized tote and dropped her journal inside where it joined her laptop, sewing tools, a homemade lunch, and another bag of ketchup potato chips for Simon.
“Ley, why don’t you fill in your journal before bed?” Sarah wheeled forward and gripped the door handle with her right hand then quickly pulled backward on the rear left wheel’s hand rim, her momentum yanking the door open. A burst of chilly morning air surged down the hallway. “Aren’t you supposed to take your time with it?”
Says Ms. Impatient. “You could wait until I’ve got my coat on!” Leia clenched her jaw and stuffed her feet in her ankle boots, giving each zipper a sharp tug. She’s already outside. Jeez, what’s one more minute? “I fell asleep making notes for my interview last night. I had to finish this morning.” She grabbed her garment bag from the waist-high coat hooks near the door.
Out on the walkway, Sarah looked over her shoulder and grumbled under her breath. “Always running late.” A frown pinched her lips. “You were talking in your sleep again last night, by the way. Mumbling like mad.”
Yeah, probably telling you off for taking my denim skirt again without asking. Leia filled her arms with her parka and scarf and followed her sister outside. “I woke up around one. I’d missed Dad’s text saying he’d landed, so I called him.” She slammed the door, locking it. “We ended up talking until two or so. You must be happy. He thinks Jordan’s great.”
“That’s ’cause he IS!” Sarah swung onto the Bride Street sidewalk as Leia juggled her belongings. “Gimme your stuff and put your coat on.” Shaking her head, she slowed to a stop. “What time did Dad get back?”
Leia set her bags on Sarah’s lap and slipped into her coat and scarf, playing catch-up. “Six-thirty Toronto time, but they sat on the plane for two hours because of thunder snow!” She laughed. “Gotta love Canada in January.”
“God, I don’t miss Canadian winters at all.” Sarah sniffed as Leia claimed her bags. “How many times did I get stuck because some idiot didn’t clear the snow from their sidewalk?”
“Too many.” Leia rested her garment bag over her forearm and walked quickly, keeping pace with her sister who pushed the hand rims of her wheels and sped along the pavement at a fast clip. “But Christmas here without snow felt like just another day, nothing special.”
“Yeah, but you don’t always get a white Christmas back home either.”
“I know, but at least it’s not drizzling and damp. How do you deal?” Leia scowled at the threatening sky and held up her bare palm, checking for raindrops. “It’s depressing. Everything’s gray and blah.” Her eyes skipped to the street and its dead end, the high brick outer wall of Pentonville Prison.
