“I’m sure it’s not a metaphor. I swear that salamander goop hasn’t worn off yet.”
“Oh! Did the sergeant not tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“There are no aphrodisiac qualities in it whatsoever. That’s an urban legend. She mentioned that to the toxicology lab, and they laughed at her. They’ve done tests on earlier discoveries from the same batch and found it to be only hallucinogenic. There were scientific papers published and everything.”
“Whoa.”
“I know, right?”
“You mean what we felt… It was real?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, shit.”
“Yup.”
“Well, there’s the inspiration for theLady Chatterley’s Lovertour. I’ll have to get a gamekeeper’s outfit. Though to be honest, it might be hard to feel hot in dungarees.”
“Happy to give you a second opinion. If they’re no good, I’ll tell you to take them off.”
“And if they are good?”
“I’ll tell you to take them off.”
He laughed, which filled her with dopamine more powerful than any drug. The heaviness had lifted from his eyes, leaving the playful look of earlier—though now she knew what was under the charming façade.
“Come on,” he said, standing and holding out his hand, which reminded her of the moment they met. “Let’s find a shower that still works. Create some memories we can actually remember, to send you home with.”
Home. The image that popped unbidden into her mind was of Tom, sitting on a rug with two children and a spaniel, while awoman looked out an arched window. A woman who looked very much like Amelia.
Tom waved his other hand in front of her eyes. “Amelia? Another hallucination?”
She shook her head and allowed him to pull her up. “No. Not that time. Just a surprise attack of … optimism.”
Chapter 27
Tom
“Do you think it’s possible to spend your entire life escaping?” Tom said, as he and Amelia strolled along the platform at Bath Spa railway station after a ceremonial last breakfast of Bath buns and tea. At least, Amelia strolled. He hobbled along with crutches and a moon boot, having endured a week’s worth of weighty disapproval from a succession of medical professionals for executing a rugby tackle with a broken ankle. “I mean, in a healthy way. Not suggesting salamander mucus. Why do we insist on making life such hard work? Why can’t it feel like a holiday all the time?”
“But then it wouldn’t be an escape, would it?” Amelia wheeled her new suitcase to a halt and balanced her handbag on top as she checked the electronic departure screen. “Liverpool Street Station—that’s my train,” she said, evidently trying to sound upbeat. For his benefit, or her own?
“That’s what I’m saying—we wouldn’t feel the need to escape.”
Which was all his way of avoiding discussing the issue that was really in front of them: Amelia would be on a plane to JFK by the end of the day. And sure, they could message each other—phone calls, video calls, whatever—but this was the end of the road. End of the railway line.
For the past week they’d taken escape to a new level. They’d spent the first night in an apartment that was once the kitchen and butler’s pantry of the Austen family home in Bath, dissecting how utterly bonkers their previous few days had been, before making a pact to try the living-for-the-moment lark that all the life-balance gurus blathered on about. No talk of pasts or futures. Just doing whatever made them happy in the moment, navigating the fine line between mindfulness and mindlessness. Deliberate myopia. An antidote for the intensity of the days before, and an excellent way to avoid the obvious question: What, if anything, was next for them?
They clearly had a connection, in danger and out of it. But what they’d gone through was a sprint. A relationship was a meander. Who knew if they could meander compatibly?
A whistle peeped, and a deep-blue train shunted away from the platform across the tracks, the station building’s honey-toned limestone rippling in the reflection in the carriage windows.
“Ooh, I got you a present.” Amelia pulled a Bath Souvenirs gift bag from her handbag and handed it to Tom.
He transferred his crutches into one hand and pulled out a mug with “Lord of the Manor” written on it. “Seems I’ll have to keep the abbey now. Obviously, I’ve been overthinking this. The answer is right here, on this mug.”
