Page 42 of Searching for Mr Tilney

‘I had a lovely evening, Caroline,’ he said, moving away just a little, but still tracing a finger down my cheek and along my jaw line. ‘And I like kissing you very much.’

He was gazing at my mouth again, and I knew I had to act quickly or he’d be kissing me again.

‘I enjoyed it too, Dante … I haven’t been out for a while, and it was lovely to forget all about my work and get to know you … a little. I just want to say thank you for inviting me to your studio … this is so difficult to say, but I don’t think I ought to come tomorrow, after all. I’ve so little time left of my course, and I think it will be better if I concentrate on my studies.’

My heart was in my mouth when he leaned forward again and kissed me on my cheek. He smiled, and I saw it was going to be okay. I was sure he couldn’t be a complete wolf ready to devour me in one sitting or Piers would never have introduced us, but I also felt he was probably thinking he’d never met anyone quite as naïve.

‘Perhaps we can meet up when you’ve finished your degree … no strings attached,’ he added, putting his hand over mine and squeezing it. ‘And I hope you’ll invite me to your showcase. I know lots of people who could be very helpful, and I’d love to introduce you to them.’

With that, he took a crisp cream card from a silver case he fetched out from the dashboard and put it in my hand. It had his name, address and phone number, and as he got out to come round to my side of the car to open the door, I felt even more horrible than before. He was being so nice, and I thought how I’d probably kick myself in the morning for being overly dramatic about the whole evening.

He held out his hand, and I took it, staggering slightly as I got to my feet when the fresh air hit me.

‘Let me see you inside,’ he said. ‘I promise I’ll step right out again the moment I know you are safely home.’

He did more than that, seeing me safely upstairs, and opening the door for me when I struggled with the key in the lock.

Dante really is a lovely guy … but I know in my heart he just isn’t for me.

***

I’ve woken this morning with a searing headache, and there have been several cringing moments thinking about the night before, but I feel better now Piers has phoned me and we’ve discussed it all. Apparently Dante phoned him to say he is completely besotted, though how that’s possible after one night I don’t know, but thankfully he realises I am probably in love with someone else. And I know the real truth of that statement. However hopeless the case, I cannot just switch off my feelings.

I’ve since drunk a gallon of water and had another sleep, and now I’m awake again I feel quite refreshed. It’s wonderful to think it’s Saturday with the whole weekend stretching ahead. Imogen wants to tell me all about Alexei, and the fact that he’s arranged to see her again. I know Piers will be pleased that at least one of his matchmaking schemes has gone to plan, and I shall listen to it all over a bacon sandwich and a mug of tea, while images of Harry keep surfacing in my head.

Chapter Twenty One

Caroline

Fitzrovia, London

April 1976

I’m not sure why I feel compelled to pick up this journal again. It isn’t as if I make a regular habit of keeping it up, but I would like to try and keep a record of this year, if only for the fact that when I’m an old lady I can look back and remember what it was to be young. Another month has flown by, but just lately I’ve done nothing but work, which is probably why I’ve not felt tempted to write anything. It’s hardly exciting to read about sewing ten dresses, three different blouses, a pair of trousers and an embroidered waistcoat, but they are ready for the show at last, and means all I’ve got to finish off is the coat I’ve designed, and also put the finishing touches to a formal dress. It doesn’t sound very much, but I know they will probably take me up to the deadline, and now I can’t wait for it all to be over.

Imogen and I have been out on a few occasions when she can spare me the time. Alexei is now part of her life, and it looks as if she’s met the man of her dreams. They asked me to make up a foursome one evening, and we went to see a horror film, which was fun, but I made it very clear from the start that I wanted no part in hand holding or anything else. Needless to write, I haven’t seen Boris again. I’m coming to the conclusion that perhaps I don’t like men very much, after all. Even when a very good-looking and talented sculptor at art school asked me to go to the end of term ball, I declined. All I can think about is getting my work done, and I’m not going to lie, I think about Harry quite a lot. I can’t help wishing that he would like me as much as I like him, but there’s nothing I can do about it.

How long does it take to mend a broken heart? I’ve asked that question so many times, and when my friends suggest it might get easier if I accepted some of the invitations I’ve had off other guys, I know they’re probably right. The truth is I’m far happier being miserable and dreaming about what can never be.

Whenever I feel especially fed up Piers comes round or I go to his flat, and he cheers me up like no one else can. I haven’t seen him for a while, but very early, at an ungodly hour, he phoned to say he was taking me out for tea at the Savoy today, and that I should dress up because it’s a special occasion. I can’t think what we’ve got to celebrate, but I hope it’s something good for him; he’s so lovely and has been such an incredible friend to me.

I can hardly write this down - I’m so excited because the day has turned out to be so wonderful - I will try and write in as much detail as I can, without rushing too quickly to the end, for I know this will be a good memory forever, whatever the eventual outcome!

I’ve never been in such a beautiful tearoom as the one at the Savoy, and as I sat down, I couldn’t imagine being in such a place on a daily basis like the ladies who sat casually at cloth covered tables, against the banks of hothouse flowers, looking almost bored by the idea of afternoon tea. There were so many different kinds of tea I didn’t know which to choose, and in the end, Piers suggested we have a pot of Earl Grey and a pot of Assam. He also asked for a bottle of champagne, though he added mysteriously, that we would only open it after he’d spoken to me about a little matter he needed to discuss. Then I couldn’t think any more about that because a waiter hovered, and poured the tea for us with a flourish, draped napkins over our knees and made so much fuss of me I felt I could very quickly get used to having such service permanently.

‘How are you, Caroline?’ Piers started when the waiter moved off. ‘I’m very worried about you. Imogen’s told me you’ve been working too hard, that you’re looking pale and exhausted, and I can see she’s quite right. I know you love a bit of gothic horror, but that haunted expression and pale skin are doing you no favours.’

‘Well, thank you for that … it’s nice to know my friends think my bloom has faded. I feel like Jane Austen’s Marianne Dashwood or Anne Elliot.’

‘It’s not meant as a criticism; anyone can see your divine bone structure is unaltered, but the dark rings beneath your eyes tell me you’re not getting much sleep.’

‘I have been working very hard … you know I’ve been trying to catch up, finishing my collection for the show.’

‘But, you can’t get away with telling me half-truths,’ said Piers, and his eyes were so kind I nearly burst into tears. ‘You’re still pining for Harry, aren’t you? And it’s getting worse, not better.’

I bit into a smoked salmon sandwich, as I contemplated my answer. ‘I am getting used to the idea that I am never going to see him again. I suppose it’s just going to take longer than I thought. I don’t know, Piers, I can’t reconcile what we seemed to have in Bath with this total silence since I came home. I just don’t think he liked me as much as I adored him. And then I think I was silly to think we could have sustained a relationship. We neither of us are in a position to take it anywhere.’

‘But, perhaps he’s just been giving you time to think about what happened … giving you a bit of space in case it was just a holiday romance after all. He might have been unsure about your feelings. For all you know he might want to see you more than you think.’