Page 59 of Mirrors of the Past

‘Sure. Sorry.’ She laughed — she actually laughed. ‘I guess I am trying to talk to an English person. I wanted to make you feel guilty for being such an idiot.’

‘You sure did that, honey.’ Laurie’s American accent was so bad it verged on comical — even he knew that — but she laughed again. ‘Then next, we meet at my sister’s. Where we argued again.’

‘Very true.’

‘And then more arguments at that wretched ball . . .’

‘I’m not sure we actually argued at the wretched ball. We just — didn’t say enough to each other. You did rescue me from that fellow who was so entirely obnoxious that I could not have stood another minute in his company. That was a nice thing to do.’

‘He was utterly vile. Can’t stand the man. And after that, Halloween. Less said about that the better.’

‘Yes.’ Viola wasn’t going to elaborate on that one either. They stood in an uneasy silence for a moment. ‘Then here. Today. I nearly slip on the ice and you appear again.’

‘And El tries to be the most indiscreet matchmaker I have ever encountered.’ Laurie shuddered, then indicated that they should keep moving. It was bloody cold out there. ‘I can only apologise for her.’

‘I know. It’s not your fault. It’s fine — you had every right to shout and stomp like that. I might have done the same if it was Sam doing that.’

‘But I am right in thinking that we can tolerate each other well enough to not spoil the wedding, am I?’

Viola smiled. ‘Oh, I should think we can do that well enough, Laurie.’ Then her attention was caught by something further up the street. ‘Oh, look!’

Laurie looked, and, towards Russell Square, there was music and laughter, and something altogether festive going on.

‘Shall we go and see what it is?’ she asked. ‘You know — to try to have a better time together than we usually do. So we know how to play nice with one another on the twenty-second?’

Laurie looked at the beautiful, perfectly oval face staring up at him, her eyes dancing and a smile most definitely on her lips now. He felt his heart and stomach do an awfully strange kerchung sort of swooping movement and he blinked.

‘Yes,’ he heard himself saying. ‘That would be wonderful.’

* * *

Viola laughed. She put on an English voice as bad as his attempt at an American one. ‘That would indeed be wunnerful — wunner — wun . . .’ She reverted to her normal voice. ‘No. I can’t say it. Why is that?’

‘You obviously need to spend a little longer in England,’ Laurie told her. ‘Anyway — shall we?’ He nodded up ahead to the Christmas fair or market, or whatever it was. He didn’t offer his arm, or ask to take her hand, or any of those terribly gallant things young men usually did, and Viola didn’t know whether to be relieved or put out at that. Be relieved, her sensible side told her. You are aiming for a truce, nothing more.

It would have felt awfully awkward to walk up to that square on his arm as if they were — together. But she did notice a little movement where Laurie pushed his hands further into his pockets and if she was a romantic at heart — which she was not — then she might have taken it as a sign of gentlemanly restraint and been a little hurt that he hadn’t offered his arm.

But she wasn’t interested in him romantically and she truly didn’t care if he took her arm or not, so she straightened her shoulders, tilted her chin up and walked as smartly as she could towards Russell Square . . . making sure, though, that she didn’t actually walk too smartly, in case he thought she was trying to walk away from him and that she did not want his company.

‘Doesn’t it look beautiful with the snow everywhere?’ she asked. ‘We have some dreadful snow in New York, but this is nice snow. Not too much of it and just thick enough to make it look really Christmassy.’

‘In a few hours it will have turned to slush,’ said Laurie. ‘So you really have got the best of the day here.’

‘I am inclined to agree. And I wonder what we have in the square — oh! Can you hear that?’

As they got closer, they could hear the festive noise and cheer resolve itself into the familiar words of Christmas carols — a group of people were singing beneath a tree that had been hastily decorated in holly and ivy — as evidenced by the bucket containing that festive greenery, which was being carefully looked after by a very stern lady in a red coat. Children were running around in the snow, building snowmen and playing games. A toboggan or two was being dragged around the grass, and a mulled-wine stall and a roast-chestnut stand were cosily situated in an area radiating warmth from the fires the stallholders had lit. People were standing listening to the carols, enjoying the wine and chestnuts, and smiling at the children scattered around them.

‘Oh, how utterly perfect!’ said Viola, entranced. ‘I didn’t know this was happening today. Would someone have said?’ She looked up at Laurie.

He shook his head, but there was a smile on his face. ‘Not necessarily. The choir might have decided to come out because of the weather and once the chestnut and mulled-wine sellers found out, they would have come along too. And — well — children gravitate to places like this in weather like this, so it’s just a perfect scene, really.’

‘It is. It’s . . . magical. I’ve never had a roast chestnut before. They smell divine.’

‘They’re an acquired taste. And take some skill to eat. Wait here — I’ll show you what I mean.’

He headed towards the chestnut seller, and, after a quick conversation and some money changing hands, Laurie was presented with a bag of the hot, delicious-smelling festive treats. ‘These are better than that thing for warming your hands,’ he said, returning to Viola and nodding at her hand muff. ‘I promise.’

Viola extracted her hands, and, laughing, took the bag of chestnuts from Laurie. ‘You’re right!’ she said, holding the knobbly parcel carefully. ‘It’s almost a shame to eat them.’