‘This is wonderful,’ I say, before biting into a pork pie.
‘I have been meaning to ask you, have you seen Juliet at all?’
I smile. ‘She came in the other day, and I gave her Miguel’s book.’
‘Wow, that’s great. I bet she was pleased. Did you tell her about my request?’
I nod. ‘She’s going to keep you updated. Apparently, she’s been learning Spanish and has now booked a trip out to Spain.’
‘Juliet is giving love a chance,’ says Oliver, holding my gaze. ‘This is good therapy for you and me.’
‘How was your day?’
‘I thought a lot about the footman and the scullery maid.’ His hair falls softly across his forehead, and his eyes are sparkling with mischief. He looks so handsome sitting in the dappled sunlight.
‘Do they meet at midnight?’
‘Let’s finish the picnic, and I will fill you in.’ His voice is warm and low, reminding me of our lovely late-night chats over the pillow wall. I am captivated by his deep brown eyes and his boyish smile.
We make a serious dent into his picnic food and then clear everything away. Our hands brush several times, and my curse is still silent.
Once the blanket is clear, he lies on his side, propping himself up on an elbow. I sit on the far edge of the blanket, hugging my knees but secretly longing to lie down beside him.
‘Our maid, Mary, gets caught attempting to sneak out by the lady of the house,’ Oliver says, holding my gaze. ‘She’s sent to help clean up. The leak causes chaos. Everyone in the house goes into a frenzy.’
‘Oh no. Does that mean…’
Oliver sits up and nods. ‘Our footman, John, is left alone in the garden. He thinks she doesn’t love him.’ He hangs his head, and I feel an ache in my chest.
‘Has he been hurt before?’ I make circles with my finger on the picnic blanket.
His finger starts to follow mine. ‘Yes, he has, but he can’t stop thinking about the maid, her beautiful smile, her sapphire-blue eyes and the way she makes him laugh on the stairs.’ He pauses. ‘Our footman can also feel the heaviness of lonely nights in her heart while the streets below echo with laughter.’
I don’t know how this happened, but we have both inched towards each other. This story he’s made up about the lonely footman and maid has made me throw all common sense over the park’s railings behind us.
‘I want to get to know you, Nelly.’
‘Me?’ My heart starts to thud. There’s not much to tell apart from a lot of books, a leaky ceiling, a cat who should be renamed Houdini… oh, and a curse.
He smiles. ‘Don’t look so scared. This is me. Let’s start with something easy. When was your last holiday?’
‘Umm… I can’t remember the last time I went away.’ I would love to go on holiday and explore distant places, but the thought of enduring a long-haul flight and witnessing a stream of sad, tragic scenes from fellow passengers has put me off.
‘Okay. What’s the last music concert you went to?’
I squirm and fidget on the blanket. ‘I’ve never been to a music concert.’
He stares at me. ‘Really?’
I nod. My face is reddening, and it feels hot. My curse has kept me away from the pain and suffering that love can bring; however, the price it demands is that I relinquish aspects of life like music concerts, theatres and holidays.
‘Ah,’ he says, ‘I bet you’re an avid theatre goer.’
This is too much. ‘I’m not feeling too well.’
‘Oh, I am sorry,’ he says, looking crestfallen. ‘You have gone very pale.’
‘The picnic was lovely,’ I say, getting to my feet. ‘I need to go back inside.’
