A Summer In Europe (41 page)

“Thanks to you, too,” she murmured, surprised and touched that he’d say that. Knowing him had certainly changed her. It stunned and gratified her to imagine she might have impressed him in any substantial way.

The car idling settled into a low hum as the two of them sat there, looking at each other, for a few long moments.

“I’m going to pass on the London sites for today,” Emerson said finally. “But I may join in on a few excursions this weekend, and I’ll see you most definitely tomorrow night for the play.”

She might have to wait twenty-four whole hours to see him? She tried to wrap her mind around that—around her attachment to him—as she hugged him good-bye. She was beginning to miss him already. It was ridiculous, of course. It wasn’t as though they could have a relationship anyway—even if she were free to have one; they lived on separate continents.

He hugged her back, perhaps a bit more forcefully than she’d expected, and drove off in his speedy little red car.

Gwen rejoined her group in the lobby and soon found herself spending an enjoyable afternoon in London. They took a double-decker bus on a sightseeing extravaganza through the city: London Bridge, Tower Bridge, the Tower of London, Big Ben, the Houses of Parliament, Kensington Gardens, Buckingham Palace, St. James’s Park, Harrods, Royal Albert Hall and more.

“This is just to acquaint you with the city,” Hans-Josef explained. “You will have time to visit all of these places in the next few days, if you wish.” He smiled at Cynthia—one of only two Brits who’d elected to go on this orientation tour.

Cynthia smiled back, dazzling and heartfelt.

Dr. Louie and Matilda sat side by side. Gwen thought she spied them holding hands.

And Ani, seated a few rows behind the rest of the group, was paying no attention to the sights that were whizzing by. He knew them all already, anyway. His attention was focused on a pretty Finnish teen who was visiting London with her parents.

“Saija,” Kamesh had whispered to Gwen and Aunt Bea before dropping his son off for the tour. “They met on the Sudoku Gurus online loop and have been e-mailing and texting all summer. Nonstop this week.” He glanced heavenward and shrugged.

The group’s lodging accommodation in London was a seven-story hotel near Victoria Station and nearer still to a pub called The Twist & Shout—a newish place known for their ales, their classic sixties rock and their well-cooked bangers-n-mash. After the city tour, Aunt Bea, Zenia and Hester insisted on stopping there for dinner, and Gwen couldn’t bring herself to turn them down.

Even without Dr. Louie in attendance, Gwen found herself being dragged into public singing. It wasn’t quite intended to be karaoke, but Zenia belting out a musical command to shake it up, baby, (“Now!”) was infectious, and soon pub patrons at other tables were jumping in.

Gwen, a mass of intellectual puzzlement and emotional confusion after her morning with the Edwards family and her afternoon foray into London Town, found a special solace in the freedom and fun of the music. It seemed pure stubbornness not to join in, too.

They were still singing and laughing when they got back to their hotel. Gwen had never let herself be so open and carefree. It was
exciting!
And, besides, she was a tourist here in England. No one outside of her intimate little travel group even knew her. She took a deep breath and sang Zenia’s favorite line—solo this time. Zenia clapped. Hester giggled like a schoolgirl. Aunt Bea grinned at her and said, “Brava, Gwennie!”

And, just as she was punching in the up button on the elevator, another person cleared his throat and chimed in. “Hello, Gwendolyn,” the recognizable male voice said.

She swiveled around and looked for the sound. It took her a second to place it. “Richard?”

Her eyes focused and she saw him, standing at the edge of the lobby. They must have walked right past him. He smiled but he was looking at her oddly—as if she were someone he didn’t quite recognize.

He held out his arms for a welcome hug. “I’m here.”

11

Beware of What You Wish

Friday–Sunday, July 27–29

“H
ow was your flight?” Gwen stammered, stepping out of He Richard’s embrace.

He scrunched up his forehead. “Way too long, but the plane landed on time, and I got here and checked in. I was kinda surprised not to see you for a few hours.” A flash of hurt crossed his face but he looked down quickly, perhaps to mask it. “Didn’t you get my e-mail?”

“Your e-mail? A recent one?” she asked, realizing as she said it that she hadn’t checked her messages since before Brussels. “No. I’m sorry.”

He smiled understandingly and hugged her again. She was flooded with that familiarity she loved. And his warmth. And his kindness. She
knew
Richard. Unlike Emerson, Richard wasn’t some kind of enigma. She’d met Richard’s family, too, and, while his mom didn’t possess the effervescence so natural to Lucia Edwards, she also wasn’t a master manipulator of her children. A woman thinking of marrying somebody had to consider these things. After all, you never just married the man; Gwen knew you also married everyone he was close to and cared about. Could she, for instance, handle not only Emerson but his brother and his mother, too?

Suddenly, her recollection of the Edwards event that morning bordered on surrealistic and foreign. She didn’t have to be challenged by
anything
with Richard and his family. It was all so understandable with them. So clear-cut.

She’d forgotten Aunt Bea, Zenia and Hester were still standing there until her aunt broke into her thoughts. “Glad you got here safely, Richard. Hope you’ll have fun in England.” She paused. “Um, Gwennie, we’re headed up to bed. You got your room key, right?”

Gwen smiled involuntarily. Funny how her aunt had been so keen to have her “lose” her key when Emerson was the man in question. But, Richard looked tired tonight. They wouldn’t be having a wildly romantic evening anyway. “Yes, Aunt Bea, I’ve got my key. We’re just going to talk for a few minutes. Maybe in the hotel restaurant?” She glanced at Richard for confirmation, and he nodded. “I’ll be upstairs soon,” she told her aunt.

The three older women said good night and, as the elevator doors closed in front of them, Gwen could hear Zenia shouting, “Shake it, shake it, shake it, yeah!”

She laughed and turned back to Richard, who relaxed visibly after Aunt Bea and her friends were gone. The two of them meandered to a relatively quiet spot in the restaurant, ordering a pot of hot decaf between them. Then they held hands across the table and smiled at each other. It was lovely and so, so familiar.

“How was the picnic?” Gwen asked eventually.

He frowned. “Not as nice as it would have been with you there.” He cleared his throat a time or two. “I take for granted how much I’ve gotten used to spending time with you, Gwen. I got to talk with my colleagues and their families, but I’d wished you’d been with me,” he added wistfully. “Oh! I didn’t have anything to do a few weekends ago, so I watched parts of a few old movies. One of them was this musical,
The Sound of Music
. There was a nun, I think, and a whole bunch of children. They were dancing and singing in the mountains somewhere—”

“Austria,” Gwen interjected. “Mostly Salzburg.”

He nodded. “Right. I figured you’d know the one. I probably watched a good fifteen or twenty minutes of it.” He yawned. “It was kinda long, but the scenery was nice.” He yawned. “Sorry. I didn’t get much sleep on the plane.”

“It’s okay. I know jet lag is tough.” She remembered how she’d felt after landing in Rome. And, oh, she was pleased he’d watched any part of the musical on his own. That was progress! “I’m glad you saw some of
The Sound of Music,
and you reminded me of something, too. Tomorrow night we’re scheduled to go on an excursion to see
The Phantom of the Opera
. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to, but I can get a ticket for you from our tour guide if you do.”

He yawned again. “Sorry. Well ... to get to spend a little more time with you, I’d be willing to give it a shot. How long is it?”

“About two hours and twenty minutes.”

He rubbed his forehead, sighed and then smiled at her. “Sure. And, um, maybe in a day or two—once I get used to the new time zone—you can join me in my room ...” He let that thought trail off but raised his eyebrows, indicating that he’d missed their
hanging out
time. “Would you like that?”

She smiled back at him. “Sure.”

The whole of Friday was spent sightseeing in London.

Richard was still not quite acclimated the next morning, but he was clearly trying to be a good sport. He joined her for visits to Trafalgar Square, Westminster Abbey, Piccadilly Circus and the Globe Theater—rebuilt to honor William Shakespeare.

Neither of the Edwards brothers were in attendance on these excursions, but Davis picked up the quoting torch they’d left behind. After a significant look at Matilda and Dr. Louie walking side by side near the Globe’s stage, then a glance at Hans-Josef and Cynthia talking privately by some theater seats in the corner, he turned to Gwen and Richard and said,
“ ‘Can I go forward when my heart is here?’ ”
He patted his chest.
“Romeo and Juliet.”

Richard looked at him with a baffled expression, but Gwen smiled. It was funny how quickly she’d grown accustomed to these quirks. How rapidly she felt herself to be a little less naïve, a little more knowledgeable ... and after just these few weeks in Europe. Nothing like Emerson or Thoreau, of course, but she sensed the differences between her and Richard in that regard immediately. He’d always been the more worldly of the two of them when they were back in Iowa, so this burgeoning feeling proved an interesting reversal.

That evening, the two of them went to a neighborhood pub for an early dinner alone before getting ready to go to the play. Richard had yet to try traditional English fare, so Gwen wanted to introduce him to fish-’n’-chips and shepherd’s pie. In spite of a few protests, he let her order these for them.

“You can have most of the shepherd’s pie, if you like that best,” Gwen said, unable to keep from thinking that such a meat-and-mashed-potatoes dish could hardly be distasteful to him. “I think you’ll love them both, though.” She’d tried it for dinner in Surrey, the night before she met Emerson’s mom, and she’d really enjoyed the flavors. Thoreau, however, claimed their mother made the best version ever. Gwen doubted she’d ever get to try that one.

Richard yawned. He was beginning to drag again after such an active day. “I’ll taste it,” he said, which was very adventurous indeed for him. It was not his usual baked chicken after all. “I’m getting a bit tired, though. Did you say the play is going to last for over two hours?”

She nodded, getting that sinking feeling. “Look, if you don’t want to go tonight, Richard, I’d understand—”

He yawned again. “Oh, I do. I do,” he insisted, but he didn’t come across quite as convincingly as he had the night before.

When their meal arrived, Gwen picked up one of the large “chips,” which looked like what Americans called steak fries, and held it up to Richard’s mouth.

He backed away. “Um, what are you doing?” he asked.

She grinned at him. “Take a bite.” She brought it closer to his lips again. “It’s good. Sometimes my British friends will dip their fries in vinegar, which is different but, also, kind of interesting. Very tangy.”

He shuddered and backed away again, leaving her holding the large fry in the air between them. “Just put it on my bread and butter dish, Gwen. I’ll try it in a sec.”

She swallowed and slowly put it down on the small white plate.

He smiled tightly. “Thanks.” He then fished something out of his pocket. Hand sanitizer. “Can’t be too careful these days. Lots of, you know, foreign germs,” he explained.

She didn’t say anything, but she watched him clean his hands. He offered a dab to her, too, which she took reflexively. It smelled of citrus and antiseptic. As she slowly rubbed the sanitizer between her fingers, she watched as he picked up the fry and took a tentative bite from the side she hadn’t touched.

“Not bad,” he said pleasantly.

“Would you like some fish?” she asked, motioning with her fork at the platter nearby. “Could I hunk off a piece for you and give you a bite? I haven’t touched my fork yet,” she added hopefully.

“Oh, I can do it myself,” he said, using his knife to cut off a section and his own fork to stab into it. Then he took his clean spoon and put a few scoops of shepherd’s pie onto his little bread plate. “This is good,” he said, after tasting it.

“I’m glad you like it,” Gwen murmured, but she realized there would be no feeding of English pub food to each other that night. She couldn’t help but feel that this left something lacking in the meal. It was just
eating
together. It wasn’t a romantic dining experience.

A couple hours later, they disembarked from the bus hired to take them to and from the Haymarket section of the city’s West End. Richard, always impeccable with his clothing, earned a rare nod of approval from Hans-Josef as the tour guide handed them their theater tickets and ushered them all inside. He nodded at Gwen, too, and added a smile.

“We will be sitting all together in a block on the first level,” Hans-Josef informed them. “Several of the British members of the tour will be joining us for this performance and may already be seated. For anyone going back to the hotel afterward, we will meet in the lobby following the show. So, if you want to buy some souvenirs then, you will have a chance.”

Next to them, Hester was growing impatient with excitement. Her eyes grew wide as they entered Her Majesty’s Theatre, where Andrew Lloyd Webber’s
The Phantom of the Opera
had been running since October 1986. Four levels. More than 1,200 seats. Rich and ornate in every detail. “Ohhh, this place is better than a haunted house for a misadventure,” Hester said in awe. “Just look at all those heavy railings up there.” She pointed. “Could bash someone’s head in real easy on those.”