The Lie(40)

“All right,” I say with resignation. I get up. “I’m going to take the car out anyway.”

“Be back before twelve-thirty,” she tells me. “I’m not burdening Carol with Hamish on our lunch.”

“Right,” I tell her.

I stride out of the room, say goodbye to Hamish, kissing him on the head, grab my keys, and go.

I get into Moneypenny, the old Aston Martin, and hope she turns over easy. I need to get out of here, fast.

She coughs and stutters.

I slam my fist into the wheel.

“Fuck!”

I yell and yell, my face going red, spit flying out of my mouth. I throttle the wheel, as if I could strangle the car, the key digging into my other hand until finally she gives in.

My heart is racing. Sweat drips from my brow. I gun the car out of the driveway and onto to the road, nearly losing control on the sharp bend by Braeburn Pond. I drive and drive, taking the corners wide, cutting off cars, my mind caught in a whirlwind. Thoughts just tumble into each other without going anywhere, around and around and around.

Without even thinking, I end up in Natasha’s neighborhood, on her street. I pull the car over and stare at her building. I can drive off. I can go blow off some steam with Lachlan. I can drive and scream and wish to god that things were different.

But I don’t want to do it alone.

I get out of the car and head to her flat.

I knock on her door, wondering if she’s even in, if she might still be sleeping. It’s still early on a Saturday and we don’t see each other on the weekends without it being work related, such as seeing a classic film at the cinema. I hadn’t planned to talk to her until Monday, her last week of work as my research assistant before going back to London.

My heart pinches at that thought.

She’s leaving me.

What the hell am I doing?

But then the door opens slowly and she’s staring at me with wide eyes, her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, a fluffy robe around her body.

“Sorry,” I say quickly, immediately feeling bad. “Did I wake you up?”

She yawns. “Kind of, but I should be getting up anyway. What’s, um, up?”

I rub my lips together. “I…I wanted to know if you wanted to go for a drive?”

“Where?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Far away. But not too far. I have to be back by twelve-thirty for Hamish.”

“What time is it now?”

“Eight-thirty.”

She rolls her eyes. “And you were wondering if you woke me up. I should still be sleeping for at least another two hours.”

I nod, embarrassed at my enthusiasm. I’m being inappropriate. “I should go.”

I turn around, but she reaches out and grabs my arm, holding tight. “No, don’t,” she says quickly. “I want to go with you. Just give me five minutes, okay?”

I turn to look at her and she’s flashing me a persuasive smile.

“I’ll be in the car,” I tell her.

Somehow she’s true to her word. In five minutes she’s jogging down the steps of her building, dressed in jeans and a tank top that shows off the tawny warmth of her summer tan. She hasn’t touched her hair at all; it’s still up in that bedhead bun, and there isn’t a bit of makeup on her. She doesn’t need it. She looks joyful. She looks absolutely beautiful.

“You’re fast,” I tell her as she slips into the passenger seat.

She giddily drums her hands across the dash and beams at me. “I’m fast when I want to be. I love this car. Where are we going again? Oh right, somewhere far away. Can we get coffee first? I’m dying.”

I can’t help but grin at her as I turn the key. The car starts on the first turn. She’s my good luck charm. “You don’t seem like you need coffee.”

“I always need coffee,” she says emphatically. “You know this. So where to?”

“I honestly don’t know. You pick.”

“Do you have a map?”

“Of Scotland?”

“Yeah.”

I nod at the glove compartment. “In there.”

She opens it and it falls open with a clunk. She takes out an old faded road map and starts looking it over.

“Anything strike your eye?”

“I’m looking for Loch Ness.”

“That’s too far.”

“Okay, is there like another lake with a swamp monster?”

“Nearly all the lochs are in the Highlands.”

“Arrrrrrrrrr in the Highlands,” she says playfully, imitating my accent.

“Okay, maybe no coffee for you.”

“Don’t be cruel, Professor Blue Eyes.” She goes back to studying the map but the mention of my nickname makes a small fire build inside me. And not one of anger.

She points on the map. “Here. Balmoral.”

“That’s where the Queen lives.”

“I know. I want to say hello.”

“It’s a two-hour drive,” I point out.

“Well, then we better get cracking,” she says. “The Queen is expecting us.”

She’s definitely full of spirit today. It seems to latch onto me and I ingest it like a tonic. She’s erasing all the humiliation and pain from the morning.