CHAPTER TEN

I was showered, dressed and on the road by 6am for the long 3 hour drive from London to Stortford. At least I knew there wouldn't be traffic headed in this direction on a Saturday morning on a fall September day. With the cold weather encroaching, and with the chilly fall wind setting in, the little village of Stortford had no doubt morphed back into a sleepy market town from the tourist destination it was during summer months with the Castle as the main draw. It was just me and Pesto now. I was looking forward to enjoying a continuous drive on a beautiful scenic route in the peace and quiet and admiring the color of the changing leaves. No music. No Alicia whining or pouting or yammering on about something superficial. I had even turned my phone off after receiving 22 text messages from Alicia within mere hours. Even though I blocked her number, I was sure she would find some other way to harass me by phone. I wanted to gather my thoughts, assess my situation with Clarke and brainstorm without interruption.

As a businessman, I knew that all successful ventures began with a business plan. I would approach this no differently. For starters, I needed to plan a course of action as to first locate Clarke. Then, I needed to strategically plan how to win her heart. That, of course, would be more complicated with varying factors. As much as I was brimming with anticipation that Clarke may have always been 40 paces from the Castle door, I was a realist. In my dreams, I knew every part of her body. I could distinguish every giggle. We came together because of my situation. Yet, in real life I was thankfully not a disabled man, she not my carer. I was nervous to meet her. Would she be as I remembered? Would she be an altered version of herself? Would she even like me? What if she found me too direct? What if I were not direct enough? What if she didn't care for my sarcasm? Or, perhaps find me snobby? Or, perhaps think I could take what I wanted because I was an entitled Traynor? Or, maybe she would find me to be nothing more than a playboy and an incurable flirt? Maybe she would find me to be a complete arse? That, however, I readily admit to being! What if she was already married, and I was too late? That would be the worst case scenario! My mind raced with what-ifs! I had to play this smart. I had to play all my cards right. I couldn't just walk up to her and confess my love. Even I would think that was sheer craziness. I needed to calm down. I decided it best to take my cues from her, play it by ear, according to her responsiveness to me.

My dad had rung me late Tuesday afternoon requesting my presence this weekend. "Nothing sinister," he said. "Just business with the Castle is all." My dad would often consult me on matters with Stortford Castle, so I didn't think much of it. The last time I visited, he was still tossing around the idea of building a refreshment area within the Castle itself. I assumed he wanted my opinion on the blueprints. Before hanging up, he extended a personal invite from my mum to Alicia to join us. I knew my mum would be furious to find out I broke things off with her. It was after all she and her old college roommate, Mary Rawlinson, who schemed to match us at some awful dinner party. Mary was Alicia's goddaughter, and I think my mum and Mary have been planning our elaborate engagement party and wedding before we even met. I knew that by the end of the weekend, Alicia will have called Mary heartbroken and Mary will have called my mum, who in turn would apply pressure on me to make up with Alicia. I was dreading that conversation.

I entered Stortford at quarter past 9. My parents were expecting me by noon, so I instead drove to Main Street and parked near the souvenir shop entrance, just across the street from the Buttered Bun. An internet search of the café yielded no results last night, so my search for Clarke would fittingly start at the cafe in person, at the place of her last sighting. I was hoping to see Clarke for myself, perhaps make small talk to feel her responsiveness out, or at the very least observe her for a future interaction. If she wasn't there, it became only a reconassence mission, gather Intel – her name, her hours, whatever I could find out.

I sat in my SUV hesitating for about 20 minutes whether to go in or not. The pragmatist in me said that the likelihood Clarke would fall madly in love with me at first sight was in one word - remote- not even a good or fair or reasonable bet. The odds were stacked against me. The prospect she would hate my guts was more probable than love at first sight but much less possible than garnering at least a modicum of interest. That was, in fact, the likeliest of outcomes. In any event I had to be prepared to think fast and find new ways to approach her and appeal to her under any circumstance. I realized that my procrastination was being driven solely by a fear of rejection, the rantings of a madman who let his mind wander adrift again. Pesto sat on the seat next staring at me. I took a deep breath and uttered aloud, "I'm really going to do this." And with that Pesto and I made our way to the door of the Buttered Bun.

Before I entered I took note of the sign outside: "Shop Hours Saturday and Sunday 8am-Noon, M-Fri 7am-5." Good to know, I thought. I admit I never visited the café when I came home. Maybe my life would have been completely different if I had.

The café was small but airy with a charming small village appeal. There were about 7 tables inside, and from the looks of the menu that hung above the counter they served mostly tea, coffee, pastry and sandwiches. I assessed my surroundings quickly. No Clarke, but that didn't mean she wasn't out back in the kitchen area. I kept alert for any changes to my environment.

I was one of 6 patrons in the café this morning. As I stood behind a red-haired woman who was disputing her bill with the gentleman in his 50s situated behind the counter, I began to hear whispers behind me from the direction where 2 older women wearing pink hairdresser smocks sat.

"Oh, he's even better-looking than the one in scrubs!"

"Isn't he?"

"I wish I were young again!"

Just then I heard the café door open. I turned briefly to see a man about my age and wearing blue scrubs with a windbreaker enter.

"G'day, Nina! G'day, Cherie!" He smiled broadly as he greeted the hairdressers in an Australian accent and stood behind me in line.

"Handsome George," one of them shouted out apologetically. "The Adonis in front of you is going to give you a run for your money,""

"Aye, Nina, thanks for the heads up!" he responded laughing.

I turned to smile at the ladies and amused I shook my head at the man in scrubs.

"Don't mind them. Their bark is worse than their bite," he replied.

"I'm Will, by the way."

"Nathan."

"Not George?"

"No, mate. Handsome George is only a nickname." He broke out in a fit of laughter, "They think I look like George Clooney from his early ER days with the Caesar haircut and scrubs!"

"Dear God!" I cried. Nathan obviously was a regular. Perhaps he could assist me. "Wasn't there a young woman with long dark hair who works here?"

"Yeah, mate. Lou." So Clarke has a name. Lou. Why does that sound so familiar? Short for Louise? Louisa? Lucy?

"Just to be certain, she looks like that girl from Games of Thrones, right?"

"Yeah, that's her. She hates when people tell her that, but she's a good sport about it. She always threatens to shave her eyebrows off. She loves that show though."

"Do you know if she's working today?"

"Nah, Lou doesn't work weekends. With the end of the tourist season the weekend hours are abbreviated. No reason to keep it open. Frank, the owner here, handles it alone."

I couldn't hide my disappointment. The next time Clarke would be here in the cafe is when I'm back at work in London! I wanted to ask more but feared if I pressed on Nathan may mistake me for a stalker.

"Why are you looking for her anyway?" Nathan asked curiously.

"Last time I was here my girlfriend was rude to her, caused a big scene. I wanted to apologize." I sounded convincing, even to myself.

"Oh, yeah. Lou's a sweet girl. She takes a lot of abuse from customers, but she's used to it. "

"Next!" the man behind the counter shouted and cut Nathan off.

"I'll have a croissant with a black coffee to go." I said.

I arrived at Granta House about 10am. My mum must have heard my engine and came to greet me outside in the courtyard with a hug and kiss.

"Will! You're early. I wasn't expecting you till noon. What happened to your sports car?"

"I traded it in."

"Where's Alicia?" She looked around, dumbfounded.

"I traded her in too."

"Honestly, Will! When will Alicia will be joining us?" She was losing patience with me.

"Mother, I broke up with her?"

My mum's face stiffened. "Is this your idea of a joke? Alicia was perfect for you. Why?"

"Why? Because she's unlikable and too high maintenance. I warn you not to get involved when Mary Rawlinson calls because I'm sure Alicia will go crying to Mary if she hasn't already, and then Mary will be calling you to intervene on Alicia's behalf. Please just stay out of it. "

"You make me so angry sometimes, William!" she stammer on.

"I'm an adult, Mother! I can make my own decisions. Promise me you won't get involved?" I changed the subject quickly. "Now is dad around?"

"No, he went out."

"Do you know where he went?"

"No," she snapped. "You know your father doesn't share that information with me."

"Do you know why he's summoned me here then?"

"I'll let your father explain all that." I could tell something wasn't quite right but dropped the matter.

I returned to the SUV to retrieve my bags and Pesto.

"Will, is that a dog?"

"Yes, I think that's what you call them, mother. His name is Pesto."

"When did you get a dog? Never mind." She was dismissive. "I don't want you walking him on the grounds or in my gardens. Take him down to the stadium park. Walk him there."

Since my dad wouldn't be back for another 2 hours, I left my bags in the foyer and headed back out with Pesto, this time to the stadium track!