Searching For Captain Wentworth (9 page)

‘Does this
belong to you?’

I started and
stared, both at the glove in his hand and the face
looking down at me. Although I’d never seen this
face before, I
immediately
recognized the mop of chocolate curls. Registering the
lightly tanned skin and deep velvet eyes; brown as
the bed of the
brook I paddled
in as a child, I watched sensuous lips curve into a
smile revealing white teeth. I’m sure my mouth fell
open in
surprise.

‘I’m sorry if I
made you jump,’ he said, ‘but I just saw your
glove fall to the floor a moment ago and someone
tread on it. The
next thing it
had been kicked to one side, and I thought you might
not notice, or find it yourself.’

I managed to say
thank you, but I couldn’t utter another word.

‘Are you sure
you’re okay? You know, you look really pale.

Would you like
to sit down?’

I couldn’t
believe my eyes. It was Josh whatshisname. Though
I hadn’t seen his face before, I knew the rest of
him so well.
Standing right
next to me, he was so close, I could have put a finger
up through one of those long, loose curls that
tumbled in dark,
unruly waves. I
could just imagine what Lara would have said
about his leather jacket, the silver chain he wore
round his neck and
his snug fitting
jeans. I admit I was slightly over-awed; he had such
presence. He was one of those people that command
attention, who
everyone stares
at when they enter a room. His large, expressive
eyes were looking at me in concern, but he smiled
again, a sort of
f
unny, half smile
that just hinted at a sense of humour. I was
shocked, utterly dumbfounded. I just kept thinking,
he must
wonder if I’m
totally stupid as I stood with my mouth open doing
a very good impression of the copper fish on the
water pump
behind the
counter. It was so unexpected.

‘Have you come
for your usual, Mr Strafford?’

‘Yes, line them
up, Toby,’ Josh said, thumping the counter,
‘I’m ready and willing!’

Toby, the
pumper, poured three glasses of spa water and
placed them before Josh. I watched him drink the
first, draining the
glass without
flinching once. I noticed his hands, like artist’s hands
I thought, with long, slender fingers. He looked at
me again with
those eyes that
seemed to acknowledge the effect he was having on
me and he winked playfully.

I felt myself
blushing but, at last, I found my tongue. ‘You’re
not going to drink them all, are you?’ I asked,
before I realized that
I’d
actually spoken my thoughts out loud.

He paused to turn
and grin at me. ‘Every morning without fail,
I’m here to take the waters. Isn’t that right,
Toby?’

‘That’s correct,
Mr Strafford,’ replied the pumper, with a tone
that suggested a certain pride in what he obviously
thought was a
very admirable
habit in his customer.

‘But, do you
actually like it?’ I persisted. Drinking one glass
had been quite enough as far as I was concerned.

Josh licked his
lips and grinned, his eyes sparkling
mischievously. ‘Don’t you?’

I wanted to say
yes. I know that sounds ridiculous, but I really
wanted to agree with him. I hesitated.

Picking up the
next glass, he threw back his head in a
theatrical manner and I watched his throat move as
the liquid
disappeared.
‘One to go,’ he cried, dashing the glass down noisily
upon the wooden counter top.

Then he suddenly
leaned towards me, which surprised me so
much that my immediate reaction was to back off,
but there was
nowhere to go as
I was up against the edge of a tall column. He
buried his face in my hair and I remembered thinking
how sorry I
was that I
hadn’t had a bath or shampooed my hair that morning,
but hot water was something in short supply and I’d
just had a
quick wash.
Thank goodness I’d drenched myself in perfume, I
thought.

‘The water is
disgusting,’ he murmured, ‘but don’t tell Toby,
it would break his heart.’

I couldn’t help
but laugh. Toby, I noticed, was on the other
side dispensing more water to hopeful clientele.
Josh now turned
away looking
straight ahead as if there had been no communication
between us, all innocent and quite like a small boy
who has just
been very
naughty.

‘Can I get you
another?’ he asked, with a twinkle in his eye,
just as Toby passed by.

‘Oh, no thank
you, but it was delicious,’ I said, loud enough
for Toby to hear and be rewarded with a smile.

‘I’m Josh,’ he
said, putting out his hand very formally, the
smile friendly, but less conspiratorial.

I should have
said, ‘Yes, I know, you live in the flat below
me.’ But I didn’t. Why didn’t I do that one thing
that would have
made everything
simple? Perhaps if I’d explained, it would all have
been fine. But, I didn’t. And, I knew why. Because
the irony of the
situation was
that he’d gone out of his way to return my glove and
as I had gone out of mine to steal his, I was
feeling very guilty. So,
I put out
my hand and pretended I knew nothing about him instead.

‘Hi, I’m
Sophie.’

‘Are you here on
holiday, Sophie?’

I hesitated.
‘Yes, I suppose so.’

‘Are you not
very sure?’

‘Well, it’s a
sort of working holiday, meant to be, anyway.’

‘I’m intrigued.
Doesn’t sound much like a holiday if you’re
meant to be working.’

‘No. Well, I
haven’t really started doing anything very much.

I plan to, of
course.’

I looked down at
the floor, knowing that I wasn’t making very
much sense, or being very forthcoming and thought
how boring I
must sound. By
the time I looked up again, he was checking his
watch and looked as if he had had enough. ‘Well,
Sophie, I have to
be getting back
to work now. It was nice to meet you.’

‘And you. Thank
you for retrieving my glove.’

For a moment, I
wished he’d ask for my number, or question
me about where I was staying, though I was relieved
when he
didn’t. I wasn’t
sure I could feign surprise when he realized we
lived in the same building. Watching him depart, I
saw him weave
his way through
the tables of middle-aged ladies nudging their
friends and casting admiring glances at him as he
passed by. Well,
at least it was
over, for the time being. However, the thought struck
me that if we ever did meet in the pub, it might be
pretty
embarrassing if
Lara were to start talking and he’d be sure to
realize that I already knew about him. I would just
have to avoid
them both was
all I could think.

I left as soon
as I could. I didn’t want him to think I was
following him, though I had to walk that way
myself, and I saw him
turn
right by Upper Borough Walls. I couldn’t see anything of him
by the time I’d got that far up and turned the
corner and, in any
case, I needed
to head off for the supermarket. I selected a couple
of ready-meals that I could heat up in the ancient
cooker, thus
avoiding the
necessity of going to the pub and bumping into him.
Adding grapes and clementines, milk, butter, a
camembert cheese
and a loaf of
bread, I selected a bottle of wine from the chiller
cabinet, feeling rather decadent.

I took my lunch,
a plate of crusty bread and cheese, into the
sitting room and filled one of the beautiful lead
crystal glasses I’d
found in a
kitchen cupboard with the cool, gold wine. I thought
about the meeting I’d had with Josh. He seemed
nice; and then
scolded myself
for the use of that insipid word, which Jane Austen
surely would not approve of after she made Henry
Tilney tease
Catherine
Morland about it in
Northanger Abbey
.
I admitted to
myself that I
liked Josh. He’d really cheered me up and made me
realize quite how much I’d begun to miss human
contact.

I felt guilty
about the glove and stared at the box on the table,
imagining I could see through it to the contents
within. Perhaps I
should just be
brave, come clean and tell him the whole truth. Now
I’d met him, I could just say how I’d tried to
return it, but he’d
never been in,
or something like that. Taking it out of the box, I
turned it over in my hand. I’ve always loved the
smell of leather
and the touch of
the fine kid made me lift it to my face to stroke it
against my cheek. I wondered who it had belonged
to, and if it had
been some
illustrious captain in the Navy in Jane Austen’s day,
perhaps Captain Holburne himself. Slipping my
fingers inside, I
hoped to get a
sense of its owner.

I was feeling
very light-headed from the wine, but the
sensation that the room and all my surroundings
were beginning to
blur grew
stronger. I could see the looking glass above the
mantelpiece quite clearly and hear the distinctive
tick of the clock,
but now I could
see that there were flames in the unlit grate, which
was strange, as I’d not even raked out the coals
from the night
before. The
light from the windows shone very luminously, forcing
me to blink back the tears that welled at the
overwhelming
brightness. When
I brushed them aside, I could see that although
the room had reverted to the dim afternoon light of
before, now
t
here were other
people in the room with me.

I stared at
them, not knowing quite what to feel. Even though I had
no idea who they were; I didn’t feel frightened
immediately, it was
as if they
belonged in the room. I can’t explain it any other way, but
I felt a part of the whole picture. There was a man
standing by the
windows talking
to a lady who looked so familiar, I immediately
felt at ease even if I couldn’t think why. Dressed
in a long gown of
dark, printed
cotton, her grey hair curled under a lace cap. The man
in breeches with a dark blue coat over a frilled
shirt wore his short
hair
brushed forward and was very animated as he talked, waving
his arms about. I couldn’t hear what they were
saying, but it clearly
had
something to do with the very pretty girl who sat on a chaise
longue on the other side of the fireplace. Dressed
in sheer,
embroidered
muslin, she wore a silk shawl around her shoulders
with her hair swept up onto the top of her head in
elaborate curls
that fell around
her face. A pink slipper nudging under her hem was
beribboned with a silk rose, which trembled as her
foot tapped up
and down with
more than a little impatience. As if trapped in a
dream that felt far more real than any dream I’d
ever had, I watched
them become more
than the shadows they had appeared at first.

Then, to my
great shock, the gentleman turned to me and spoke.
For the first time, I could hear him.

‘And, where have
you been all morning, Sophia?’

Tall and with an
imposing air, his whole appearance suggested
fastidious observance of fashion. From his
carefully dressed
“Grecian”
hairstyle and elaborately tied neckcloth stiffly arranged
above an exquisitely embroidered waistcoat, down to
his coat and
tight, moulded
breeches cut with precision, I wondered how he
would manage to undress. No wonder he had such a
pained
expression
– his breeches were clearly causing him grief.

‘I’ve been out
walking in the gardens with the Miss Austens,
Papa,’ I heard myself say.

‘Yes, I saw you
in company with them from the window. They
are a respectable enough family, I suppose, if one
wishes to be seen with a country curate and his spinster daughters, but a
clergyman is nothing in society. He has no
influence or importance,
and no
one wishes to know him better. His daughters will frighten
away your suitors if you allow them any kind of
intimacy. Such
independent
creatures, and what airs they give themselves
considering their questionable position amongst the
noble families
of Bath. As for
the mother, who lets everyone know of her far
distant connection to the Leighs of Stoneleigh, her
society is
intolerable. I
heard her braying at someone in the Pump Rooms the
other day, pronouncing in a loud voice that she is
very proud of her
aristocratic
nose. Gentlefolk do not have to degrade themselves by
resorting to such devices in order to get
introductions. If you see
them
again, I would prefer that you cut them.’