Page 91 of From Notting Hill with Love…Actually
Sean looked skeptical.
“Anyway, you’re supposed to be the hot-shot businessman—I thought you of all people would approve.” I half turned away and folded my arms defiantly.
Sean shook his head. “I deal with property and companies that are in trouble. I buy and sell commodities, Scarlett—I don’t deal in people.”
I turned my head back and this time when I stared coldly at Sean I meant it. I could feel tears beginning to well up inside my eyes. But I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing them fall.
“That fact, Sean, has been all too apparent since I met you, I’m afraid.”
Sean’s whole body tightened as his face drained of color.
But he’d asked for that—suggesting I was selling my soul and all his other clever analogies. “And now, I’m going to go to bed—before one of us says something we may regret, even more than what’s already been said and done in this room tonight. Good night, Sean,” I said, walking to the door. I turned back briefly to look at him.
Sean was facing the window again, so I couldn’t see his expression.
“Good night, Scarlett,” he said coolly. “Sleep well, won’t you? If your conscience will allow you to, that is.”
Twenty-Six
The atmosphere on our journey back to London the next day was muted. When we did speak to each other we were polite and civil, but we only conversed briefly on subjects that were necessary to our journey home—like flight times, taxis, and luggage allowances.
When we finally reached Notting Hill, Sean paid the taxi driver and then, without asking, carried my suitcase to the top of my steps.
“Will you be all right from here?” he asked, choosing not to make eye contact with me.
“Yes,” I said, suddenly feeling very self-conscious in his presence. “Thank you, Sean, not just for the case—I mean for coming with me this weekend, helping me with my mother and everything.”
“Not a problem. If that’s all?” He walked back down the steps, pausing at the bottom to look up at me.
I couldn’t think of anything more to say, so I smiled at him half-heartedly.
“See you later, Scarlett,” he responded with a tight smile. But it was the “see you later” that meant “see you around sometime” rather than “I’ll see you very soon,” and immediately the thought that I wouldn’t be seeing Sean later on today, or even at any time in the near future—other than perhaps on these very steps, as we happened to enter or exit our houses at the same time—filled me with sadness.
Sean sprang up the steps to his own house and quickly disappeared through the front door with his suitcase. Despondently I unlocked the door to my temporary home. It felt cold and empty as I walked inside.
Even Buster’s wailing seemed subdued as I swiftly silenced him, picked up the post, and made myself a cup of tea. I spent most of the afternoon and evening sobbing, as I sat and watched every film that I could think of containing a touching or tear-jerking scene that Belinda and Harry had in their vast collection.
I didn’t know whether I was crying because I wasn’t going to see Sean anymore, because Sean had made me face up to a few home truths about my life, or just because I was a complete sucker for a soppy scene in a movie.
The only thing I knew was that every time I watched one of those big romantic finales, I was more certain than I’d ever been that I never would experience one for myself. And that thought made me cry all the more.
***
The next morning I waited in front of the big bay window that looked out on to Lansdowne Road. I hoped I’d see Sean heading off to work, so then I could just “happen” to be going outat the same time as him and we would “accidentally” bump into each other again.
But he must have left pretty early that morning, because at 11 a.m. there was still no sign of him.
I sighed as I sat in the window. I didn’t like this feeling—up until now everything had been fun and new since I’d arrived in Notting Hill. I’d always had somewhere to go and someone to go with. But now I had no one. I felt very, very alone.
This routine continued for the next couple of days. I’d rise early and wait fully dressed and made up for Sean to leave his house—but every day I seemed to miss him. I’d then watch movies or, if I was desperate, the occasional bit of daytime TV for the rest of the day, until I thought it might be time for him to return in the evening. I would then begin the same vigil by the window, just watching and waiting. During this time I played Belinda and Harry’s copy ofBridgetJones’s Diaryover and over again. Not always the whole movie, quite often just the part where Bridget mimes to “All by Myself,” as it seemed particularly appropriate.
I had to pop out occasionally for food and supplies, and it must have been on these brief occasions that I missed Sean returning to his house.
I didn’t know why I was going through this ridiculous charade every day—after all it was me that had cooled it between us in Paris, not him. But I couldn’t bear the thought of us not being friends, not after everything we’d been through together recently. I just needed to see him again and hear his voice reassuring me everything was all right between us.
But after nearly three days of waiting, I still hadn’t seen him.
I knew I should really try to start going out a bit more, there was no point in spending my remaining time in London shut up in the house. But I just couldn’t summon up the enthusiasm if Sean wasn’t there alongside me.
