“I don’t know. I suppose I just feel like trying somewhere different for a change.”
“Really? On the plane, you were saying how much you were looking forward to getting back into our routine. You even mentioned our café.”
By “our café,” Ethan knew she meant the one they often went to for lunch on the weekends. “Right, and I am—we are. But why not bring some new flavor into the routine? I haven’t been to the Snug in ages. Besides, the gastropub food got four out of five stars in theTimesrecently, and we might even see a celeb or two,” he added, offering a little background color that he figured might appeal to her.
She laughed, looking incredulous. “You researched this place?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say I did any full-blown research, but I just came across a review, only yesterday actually,” he said, muddling his way through an explanation. “Don’t be fooled by the outside. I know it seems a bit shabby, but the menu really does look impressive.” The look on her face wasn’t communicating much, and Ethan wasn’t sure if she was impressed with his thinking or suspicious of it.
“You’ve just never struck me as the Irish-pub type,” she finally said.
The observation set him off-kilter. Just what typedidshe consider him? In fact, what type did he consider himself? As they stood there on the path across from the pub, the cold breeze suddenly became a wind.
“Okay then, I must admit I’m slightly intrigued,” she conceded. “As long as you don’t ask me to guzzle back Guinness and start singing rebel songs, I suppose we could try it.” She smiled and brushed the snow out of her fair hair.
Ethan threw his head back, catching snowflakes on his tongue. “Great. You’ll love it.”
“You seem pretty sure of yourself.”
Did he? This was something she had never said to him before. He quite liked the sound of it, as in truth, since Jane’s death, he didn’t think it was possible to be sure of anything. He grabbed her hand and led her across the street.
Seated inside the pub dining section at a white-linen-topped table, Vanessa voiced her approval. “Well, I have to admit…it’s not exactly what I expected. No neon shamrocks in sight. Actually, it’s rather nice.”
“Good.” Ethan smiled, feeling almost as if he’d won a battle of wills of sorts. “Seems I was right then.”
Lunch passed pleasantly. Vanessa enjoyed brown bread and homemade potato and leek soup while Ethan devoured a platter of fresh oysters. Halfway through, he decided that a Guinness would complement the meal perfectly, and since the glass was only halfway empty by the time his plate was clean, he then decided he needed something else to finish things off. Apple crumble with custard did the job nicely.
“Good God, Ethan. Did you bring this appetite back with you from New York?” Vanessa laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat like this before.”
He chuckled. “I know. Pretty good, eh?” But the mention of what he might have brought back from New York merely reminded him of what hehadn’t.
He grew quiet for a while, and Vanessa said little in return. It was as if the mention of New York had brought into focus the weight of unspoken questions hanging between them. They hadn’t talked all that much about the trip since their return, and while Vanessa had insisted she’d enjoyed it, he knew that she sensed, however vaguely, that something had shifted in their relationship while there. He could only imagine how his seemingly out-of-the-blue distraction and evasiveness since Christmas Day had come across to her since.
When she’d asked how the “meeting” with the New York literary agent had gone, he’d been deliberately ambiguous, telling her that it wasn’t really a meeting at all, more of a brief chat over coffee until the agent was called away.
“So what did she say about the proposal you sent? Will she be offering representation?”
“I’m not sure. She needs to read more of the story before she decides.”
“Well, you’d better get cracking on that then, hadn’t you?” she’d teased, and Ethan had tried to divert it off topic by presenting her with yet another gift, a little silver apple charm for her bracelet.
He’d picked it up in Tiffany’s on the way back from meeting Rachel at the hospital and had hoped it would act as a peace offering of sorts and a memento of their time in the city together.
Or more likely, Ethan admitted, a weak attempt to salve his own conscience for lying to her.
Now, two days back in London, he was still no way further down the line to retrieving his engagement ring and wasn’t sure what his next move should be. Since his return, he’d called Rachel Conti’s number again under the guise of inquiring about Gary Knowles but only got voicemail, upon which he’d left his own contact details.
He had to trust that the situation would automatically be resolved once the man recovered from his injuries and subsequently examined his bags and became aware of the mix-up. Then, he and Rachel would put two and two together, and Ethan would have the ring back in no time.
“Shall we?” he asked, reaching for the bill.
“Absolutely. It’s nearly time for you to pick up Daisy, and I need to go home tonight as I haven’t quite unpacked yet. But I can still take her to her ballet class tomorrow afternoon if you like. And then dinner?”
“Sounds good.”
Later that evening as the sun went down, Ethan came in from the balcony of the two-story town house he shared with Daisy in Richmond.
He sat in the leather chair adjacent to the dancing flames of the fireplace, and with his elbows on his knees, he leaned forward and bit softly on the thumbnail of his left hand.
