And there we are. Together. Semi-naked under undone dressing gowns, with a very big sexual elephant in the room.
Nadia is saying absolutely nothing.
I’m really keen to be on my feet and dressed, so I bite the bullet. I swing round with my back towards Nadia to do my gown up and hustle myself back to the changing room.
It’s easier said than done because some of my muscles have gone to jelly due to the firmness of the massage, but I manage not to groan out loud (I don’t want to remind either of us of last night, during which I think there might have been a fair amount of groaning) and say, ‘Good massage. I’m going to get changed. I’ll meet you in the hotel restaurant shortly. I think Carole said the table was at one. I’ll see you then.’
‘Great,’ says Nadia, her voice sounding distant, I’m guessing because her head’s still turned away from mine.
I take my time getting changed and then I slide out of the changing room – there’s no sign of Nadia I’m pleased to say – and then take myself off for a brisk, brain-clearing country walk.
* * *
I’m back for lunch and in the restaurant by five to one, because I don’t want to seem rude.
I slightly wonder whether Nadia will turn up at all, given that I’m the one who left her room this morning and how she didn’t sound super happy at that moment, but I think she probably will, because she won’t want to let Carole down.
Clearly we just need to eat the lunch and drink a bit of champagne, while making polite conversation, take a cab to the station together, and then sit separately on the train (I hope).
Nadia turns up at one minute after one.
Once the waiter has her seated, he immediately pours us both a glass of champagne before telling us he’ll be back in a few minutes to take our orders.
Nadia looks me right in the eye and says, ‘What a lovely restaurant; what a lovely treat. The massage was great too. Carole’s very kind.’
‘Yes, she is,’ I agree, very carefully. IthinkNadia’s signalling that she will not under any circumstances be initiating a discussion about last night, but I don’t want toassumethat.
Nadia opens her menu and begins to read it very intently.
‘This looks lovely,’ she says after a few seconds.
I open my own menu. ‘It does.’
We make desultory conversation about the menu. Nadia is careful to bolster the incredibly mundane food chat whenever it starts to wane, and I do my best from my end too. We continue our dull conversation after the waiter has taken our orders (unbelievably annoyingly Carole has very kindly prepaid for us to have starters, mains and puddings; I’d been planning on going for just a main).
‘Yes, the décorislovely,’ I agree, dutifully looking around the room. This is such hard work.
‘Our starters!’ Nadia says, with the most genuine enthusiasm I’ve seen her display all day.
We both direct our full attention to our plates.
‘Your scallops look lovely,’ I say.
‘So does your terrine.’
And then we both start eating, both of us going really slowly – a full mouth is an excellent excuse for not talking much – and not saying anything other than how good the food is (actually itisgood).
We time the end of our slow starter-eating very well, because our mains arrive within only two or three minutes of our plates being cleared.
We eat the mains slowly too.
We eat our puddings quite fast, both of us as though we’re pulling a sprint finish out of the bag after an arduous long-distance run.
‘Can I get you a cup of coffee to finish?’ the waiter asks as he clears our plates.
‘No thank you,’ we say simultaneously.
‘I have to go very soon,’ Nadia says the second he’s gone. ‘I have things to do in London. I’m going to call an Uber.’
