Page 19 of Unlikable

“I gave it to your father,” Felix says coolly, slapping his hands behind his back.

I am on my hands and knees in the corridor where I lost the list of names yesterday. I was just about to look under a cupboard when he startles me with his presence.

“What did you give him?” I ask dumbly, hearing for myself how incredulous I sound. Reluctantly—because I fear his judgement and curse myself for putting so much value on it—I get up and slowly turn to face him.

“Your list of names. For the banquet.”

I look around sheepishly, just to seem busy with something. “I had indeed lost that.”

Felix chuckles, but to my great relief it does not sound mocking. “Then you must be glad it was found.”

When I say nothing, he removes his hands from his back and reaches one out to me. “Come.”

I stare at his hand as if it were something strange.

He raises his eyebrows.

“What are we going to do?”

“Head into town.”

“It’s five-thirty in the morning.”

“And we both can’t sleep anymore, it seems.” He moves his hand up and down, as if there is a sweet in it and I am a dog he is trying to lure. “What do you say?”

No hand has ever looked so tempting, and that is not just because this man is stirring feelings in me that I have never had before. I am tired of being cooped up inside, of wandering aimlessly. Still, I hesitate.

Felix lowers his hand and looks at me from under his eyelashes. “What is it?”

“I…” I stare at the closed curtains in the corridor which the sun tries to penetrate through the cracks. “I don’t dare.”

“We won’t go far,” he promises me. “There’s a small village not far from here. It’s closer than central London.” He doesn’t ask why I’m scared, doesn’t even try to beat around the bush. “It will do you good.”

I look at him, really look at him. His green eyes are still a little sleepy from the night, and his hair is a little more tousled than usual, but he looks cheerful and…not irritated.

“Aren’t you going to ask why my list of names was here?” Immediately I regret my question.

But Felix’s smile does not disappear, it only widens and a spark of mischief flares in his eyes. “It is not wise for a man to meddle in women’s affairs.” He looks around, but at this hour there is no one in sight. Then he takes a step forward. He is so close to me now that I can feel his breath on my skin. His teeth have just been brushed, as a minty smell meets me. “Besides,” he continues, amused, “it saves me time explaining the situation to you. You probably heard everything.”

“That was not my intention.”

“But of course.”

I take a step backwards because I don’t know what else to do. Felix remains standing but still looks at me cheerfully. “Does Father know about this?”

He shakes his head. “No, and for my part, it’s not something we should worry about either. Nobody knows, your reputation has not been hurt and the list of names for the banquet is in place. What exactly are we worried about?”

“It’s not about my reputation,” I bring out. “I…” I search for the right words.

“Surely, Miss Prime, it's better to let these things go.” Felix extends his hand to me again, his eyes inviting. My heart makes uncontrollable leaps. “I promise you that all we have to worry about this morning is the strength of the coffee.”

I stagger from one leg to the other. A flash of memories of drawings of Junior R’s victims shoots through my mind. To my mind, danger lurks around every corner.

“Miss Prime,” he insists.

I put my hand in his.

· · ·

As promised, we go to a village not far from the manor house. Kennington is not as beautiful as Canterbury in my eyes, but as we walk the old streets, I enjoy the view: big trees, vast fields and picturesque cottages where you can see the history of the village in the stones.

“We should have brought Everett or Jonathan,” I whisper and look over my shoulder to see if we are being followed. “What must people be thinking right now?”

“If you are talking about your reputation, you have nothing to worry about.” Felix chuckles. “Afraid of being seen with me?”

I quickly shake my head. “It’s not that. It’s just…It’s not right to be out and about together. It’s not…”

“Not as it should be?” he guesses.

“People will talk.”

Before I realise it, he grabs my hand and brings me to a halt. We are in the middle of the street, but no one’s in sight. I stare at Felix’s hand holding mine and then at his face. He looks at me seriously. “Perhaps you are not yet used to the idea, but we already have the right to walk down the street together.” He strokes a finger over mine, where the ring I got from him sits. “When people talk about us now, it is because they are happy for us. Or jealous.”

I swallow away the lump that has formed in my throat as I realise I am wearing an engagement ring and Felix’s skin against mine stirs more feeling in me than is good for me. “Jealous?”

“Of you.”

“Don’t you mean of you?” I raise an eyebrow. “If you are trying to compliment me, you are saying it wrong.”

“I say it right.” He laughs. “Of you. Because now look closely.” He lets go of my hand, takes a step back and gestures to himself. “Who wouldn’t want to marry me?”

I stare at him for a few seconds. Then I start laughing hard. “This is a very different conversation from that one time when we walked to a town together.”

Felix casually put his hands in his pockets and smiles briefly. “That was something else. You drove me crazy.”

“The feeling was mutual.”

“You still do.”

“I’m glad nothing has changed.”

“Still,” he says and starts walking again. “After all, I have learnt to count to ten before I burst into rage.”

For a moment I feel disappointment. Really just for a moment. My naivety had hoped he would say something like “I have come to appreciate you” or something similar, but who am I kidding? This is Felix Clifton. The man who has done nothing but insult me from the first moment since I’ve known him. The man who has made his intentions clear regarding this marriage: a marriage of convenience where we both benefit. No romance, no obligations. Except for a few things we can’t get out of. That’s it. Nothing more and nothing less.

We turn into Kennington Road, and then Felix points to something that looks like a ruin. “There’s not much left to see, but the Black Prince used to live here.”

I squeeze my eyes together slightly in an attempt to see better, but I can’t. “There was a house here?”

“A palace.” Felix makes a big gesture with his hands. “Actually a villa, but they called it Kennington Palace . Edward of Woodstock, the Black Prince, inherited it from his father, who in turn inherited it from a servant of the king. Eventually, the palace was razed to the ground by Henry VIII so that he could use the materials for his own palace in Whitehall.”

“How do you know all this?” I ask, still staring at the ruin that can actually no longer be called a ruin because there is so little left to see.

Felix proudly raises his hand in the air. “I think architecture is the most beautiful thing there is.” He pulls a face. “Only Kennington Palace couldn’t exactly be called beautiful. Very medieval, not to my taste.”

I grin because his facial expression is so funny. “What is to your taste then?”

“Hm.” He thoughtfully brings a finger to his chin and raises his head in the air. I look away from him because the sight of his jawline now clearly visible makes blood rise to my cheeks.

Control your wayward thoughts, Eleonora.

I pull a little on the hideous safety collar around my neck to get more air. How uncomfortable that thing is. It almost pinches off my windpipe. “Well?” I exclaim hoarsely, curious about what he likes. Curious about everything he likes, what interests him, what he enjoys.

“Roman architecture,” he then concludes, looking at me with a broad smile on his face. “I love that. If I ever have a house built for myself, I want to create a combination between Neoclassicism and Neo-Renaissance.”

I am not going to admit that I have no idea what he means.

“I’ll show you my drawings sometime,” he says cheerfully. “I’m curious to hear your opinion.”

He is curious about my opinion.

More and more people seem to be waking up and starting their day. A young boy pushes forward a wooden cart containing freshly baked bread. Windows are thrown open, and bedding is hung outside. A grocer opens his door, and men in neat suits gather by a large tree before walking to work together.

I notice that many women and even young girls wear safety collars. Even here, outside London, Junior R’s existence has not escaped people’s notice. Many of those collars look as awful as mine. I suddenly feel a lot less like a fool.

As the boy with the bread cart passes us, the smell of fresh bread fills my nostrils. My stomach immediately starts grumbling.

“Hungry?” Felix laughs.

“Perhaps a little.”

“You haven’t had breakfast?”

“No, I didn’t have time for that. Someone insisted on dragging me out of the house.”

“That’s convenient because I haven’t had breakfast yet either.” Felix comes to a halt and puts his hands to his sides before looking around. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Bread.” I look after the boy who has almost disappeared from sight. The crowd of people seems to swallow him up.

“We can go to the bakery, but we can also…” He falls silent and fixes his eyes on a pub whose front door is open. “On a scale of one to ten, how big is your empty stomach?”

I grin. “A twelve.”

“My goodness. You will eat me poor.”

“Men like women with good appetites, don’t they?”

“Is that so?” Felix looks at me obliquely. The wind plays with his hair, blowing it up playfully. The sun shines straight on his face, making the three birthmarks on his right cheek more visible. Something in my stomach squeezes together, making normal breathing impossible. “Then let’s have a quick breakfast before you lose your good mood.”

The pub reeks of alcohol and sweat. There are no guests, but the man behind the bar and the young woman cleaning the tables are busy. Probably the pub was never closed and the last guests have just left.

The woman, who is also wearing a safety collar, looks up in irritation when she hears us. She opens her mouth to say something but closes it again when she sees Felix. “Mr Clifton,” she says in surprise, but clearly not disappointed. She stops polishing a table in dire need of replacement and straightens her back. Her cheeks grow red, and I wonder what is running through her mind. I don’t rate her much older than Felix.

“Poppy,” Felix says in greeting.

Poppy? He calls her by her first name?

I feel a stab of jealousy, which I immediately push to the background. I am not going to act like a jealous fiancée.

Poppy grins her yellow teeth bare, and despite her unsavoury teeth, her face starts to glow and she seems to become twice as handsome.

I ball my hands into fists next to my body. Okay, maybe I am the jealous fiancée after all.

“My fiancée and I haven’t had breakfast yet. Is the kitchen open yet?”

Poppy’s golden smile immediately disappears from her face at the word “fiancée”. Then she looks from Felix to me and back again in surprise. I try to keep my face neutral, but the word triggers something in me too. I can do nothing but grin sheepishly.

“Mr Clifton is asking you something, Pops,” sounds the raucous voice of the man behind the bar who is almost twice the girl’s age. There are sweat stains under his armpits and, judging by his tousled beard, he needs a shave.

“Yes, sorry dear,” Poppy responds with a pout. She blinks a few times at Felix and then gestures to the table she was cleaning. “Take a seat, Mr Clifton. The cook won’t start for another couple of hours, but I will prepare something for you myself.” She doesn’t even look at me when she says it.

Felix nods and then looks at me. “Take a seat.” That came out very forcibly. Poppy seems to think so too as she pulls a strange but amused face. Felix clears his throat and quickly adds, “Darling mine.”

I look at him wide-eyed and feel a fit of laughter coming on. I walk quickly to the table and keep my head down to hide it.

Felix runs after me and awkwardly pulls my chair back so I can take a seat. The chair legs scrape across the floor with a grim sound. If people were still sleeping in the village, they are definitely awake now.

Then he grabs the chair facing me and places it to my left so that we are sitting on the same side of the table.

Once Poppy has taken our order, only then do I dare to look at Felix again.

He apparently doesn’t do the same. Instead of looking at me, he stares with a reddened head at the still dirty tabletop. The beer stains seem to have become one with the wood.

“Is everything all right, darling mine ?” I ask in a whisper and with jaws clamped together to hold back my laughter.

“Stop,” he begs me. “What should I have said then?”

I giggle like a small child; I can’t help it. “I’m sure you can think of something.”

“I’m not used to this.”

“Try and fool someone else, Mr Clifton.”

Felix looks at me, the red colour on his face disappearing. “I swear on my mother’s grave.”

“You must have accompanied a woman before, right?” I ask cautiously, already knowing the answer. Actually, I don’t want to know at all, but then again, I do. Ideally, I want to know everything. How many women he has already courted. How many he has already courted beyond just exchanging a kiss.

“Most of the women I see I don’t take to a pub. I don’t take them anywhere, to be honest. Usually we leave a pub, and they take me with them.” He says it so airily that I wonder if Felix Clifton actually has feelings.

“I see,” I say dryly.

“Do you, really?” Now he gets a grin on his face. He leans his elbows on the table and looks at me with a tilted head, amused. “Then you also understand that I never nickname those women because I never see them again. At those times, my head is somewhere else.”

I fall silent.

“Two glasses of water,” suddenly sounds the man’s voice. His arms appear between Felix and me, and he places two large goblets of water on the table. He does so with such brute force that the table wobbles, causing the cups to shake up and down, spilling water all over Felix’s trousers. The man doesn’t seem to realise and walks back to the bar without another word.

Felix looks stoically at his trousers. “If this is how the morning starts…”

I let out a sigh. “You know, actually I’m glad you’re still your old, irritating self. For a moment, I was afraid something was wrong.”

He looks at me with a frown.

“Your behaviour the last few days has been…strange,” I continue, at the sight of his beautiful eyes, slightly less sure. I look away from him and fidget at my cuticles.

“I’m not following you.”

“I mean…” Yes, what do I mean? I’ve noticed in recent days that he is less blunt with me. That he’s being nice, not making fun of me anymore. I would almost think he’s up to something, but I can’t think what. His arguments about marriage are reasonable. I can’t find anything strange behind that. However, the fact that he has gone from “stay away from me” to “let’s explore the village together” gnaws at me. Something doesn’t feel right. I hope I’m wrong. Oh, God, I really hope I’m wrong.

“You wonder why I don’t snap at you more,” he says, guessing my thoughts.

I look at him, trying to keep my expression as neutral as possible. “Yes, that’s right.”

He gives me a half smile. “We are engaged, and it doesn’t seem comfortable for either of us to fight all the time.”

Of course. That makes sense and is something I could have thought of myself. I am ashamed of my gullibility.

“Look!” Poppy walks hip-wiggling towards us and comes to a halt next to Felix. She presses her bosom against his shoulder, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or he pretends not to notice. Then she looks at him so sweetly that suddenly I am no longer hungry, after which she puts his plate in front of his nose. She keeps looking at him, but Felix is still looking at me. His eyes serious, his lips still in that half-grin.

When Poppy realises she is not going to get any attention from Felix, her face twitches and she walks towards me with obvious reluctance. She nearly throws down my plate in front of me. When I look at her to thank her, she throws me such a deadly look that I quickly turn my attention to the food.

Or what passes for it.

Felix got a big piece of chicken with freshly sliced bread and gravy. That looks scrumptious. I, on the other hand, have a plate of soup—which a mouse will not yet be satiated by—that looks like ditch water. It even smells like ditch water.

“Sorry, love,” Poppy says a little too kindly. “The stock has to be replenished. I did my best for you. There’s a lot of love in there.”

“Um…” I turn the plate around a quarter turn. “It looks good.”

She smiles, exposing her yellow teeth again. “Bon appétit.” Then she walks back into the kitchen.

Before I can even consider having a taste, Felix slides my plate aside and then moves his between us. His hand briefly touches mine in the process.

I stiffen.

He stiffens.

We have touched each other before. He held me on the balcony. Still…

This time is different.

We look at each other, and the world around us seems to fade away. The sound of rumbling in the kitchen, of glasses clinking against each other behind the bar, of people talking in the street, fades into the background, hushes.

And for a moment, just a moment, I seem to see a longing in the green of his eyes.

Then my stomach starts grumbling again.