Page 65 of Is She Really Going Out with Him?
“You’re kidding me,” I say, letting a laugh slip out.
“I never jest when it comes to Jane,” Michael says, sitting up a little straighter and adjusting the fold of his high collar.
Our tea arrives, and I find myself intrigued by Michael. I’ve never met anyone like him. He tells me he readMansfield Parkat school and that Fanny Price was his first literary crush. I confess mine was Jo March fromLittle Women, then we have an animated discussion about which fictional characters we’d like to invite to dinner. Michael doesn’t ask me anything about my job, my family, or my divorce, he only wants to talk about Austen and books. It makes a refreshing change.
Once we’ve finished our tea, he takes me on a tour of the museum and launches into a lengthy explanation of the Austen family tree. Watching him talk, my mind begins to drift. What kind of woman might be attracted to Michael? He’s not unattractive, he’s passionate and well-read, but for me, there’s no spark. What is it that creates that chemistry, that attraction to another human being? Meeting Dan so young, I took it for granted that if it hadn’t been him, I would have met someone else. But maybethe perfect confluence of factors that makes for a good relationship is a rarity. To haverealchemistry, to be at the same stage of life, to want enough of the same things and be compatible companions—maybe that doesn’t come along very often.
My mind darts to Will. He has stopped flirting with me at work. We’re not even playing the chair game anymore, he’s let me keep the ergonomic monstrosity all week. When we cross paths in the office, he’s professional and courteous, but that’s all. He’s also been out of the office more than usual. On Wednesday, he took a day’s holiday. Who takes a day’s holiday midweek? He’s also started calling me Anna rather than Appleby, which feels significant. Honestly, I’m relieved. It makes my life simpler. I can get on with my work without being distracted or nervous about the retreat next weekend. I don’t have space in my life for a confusing and time-consuming workplace flirtation.
“Let me show you my favorite room,” Michael says, pulling me back to the present. He opens a door with a sign saying “Staff only.” “The costume cupboard. Do you want to play dress-up?”
I do not want to play dress-up, but when I say as much, Michael looks so disappointed that I am forced to relent. The room has rails full of Regency outfits, and I let Michael pick out a blue Empire-line gown with a matching bonnet that he deems suitable.
“You look sensational,” he says, kissing the tips of his fingers, then throwing me the kiss through the air. “Shall we take a turn around the Royal Crescent?” he asks, then whispers, “They let me borrow these, just for a short outing.”
“In public?” I ask, horrified. “Won’t people stare?” He looks wounded by this, and I hear myself saying, “Maybe just a short walk. Then I really must get back.”
The Royal Crescent is arguably Bath’s most famous street. An impressive feat of Georgian architecture, a sweeping crescent of historical terraced houses, overlooking Royal Victoria Park. It’s not far from the Circus, where Will lives, and I briefly imaginewhat it must have been like to grow up in a house steeped in so much history. Even when you’re not dressed the part, it’s hard to walk along this street without feeling as though you’re starring in your very own period drama. Michael takes my arm in his, and we amble along the garden side of the crescent. The sun is warm on our faces, and Victoria Park is abloom with yellow tulips. To my surprise, I think I might be enjoying myself.
“Being a Janeite is more than a hobby,” Michael tells me. “Some women find this level of commitment challenging.” He lifts his hat to greet an elderly man walking toward us, who smiles in bemusement, as though we are lost circus performers.
“My ex Gail was supportive, well versed in the literature. But she also refused to commit to the ball,” he tells me. “I’m on the organizing committee, it’s important to me, but she booked a trip to Rome the same weekend.”
I don’t need to ask which ball he’s referring to. Each summer, Regency enthusiasts throw a formal, Austen-inspired ball. People travel from all over the world to attend and it’s the focal point of Bath’s summer calendar. “She also insisted I meet her parents in ‘normal clothes.’ That’s not who I am, Anna. This is normal to me.” Michael turns to face me, looking for understanding.
“I’m sorry Gail disappointed you,” I say, hugging his arm a little tighter in mine.
Michael squeezes my arm right back. “Do you know what Austen prescribes as the finest balm for the pangs of disappointed love?”
“Wine?” I suggest.
“Friendship,” he says. “And I hope you won’t mind me saying that whilst I don’t see a romantic storyline developing between us, given you have only read two of Jane’s novels, I hope that we may become friends?”
“I would like that very much,” I say.
As we walk arm in arm, ahead of us one of the doors opens, and a man and a woman step out onto the street. They look familiar, and as we get closer, I realize, with a rising sense of dread, the man is Will. Oh no, oh God, he’s going to see me dolled up like a Regency clown. Then I notice the woman he’s with, and she is familiar too: she’s wearing a bright red top with purple dungarees and has a Liberty-print silk scarf around her head—oh God, it’s Loretta, from the theater.
“Anna?” Will says in surprise, looking me over from my bonnet to my feet to fully absorb my ridiculous outfit.
“Will, hi. Um, this is Michael,” I say, feeling flustered. Will looks delighted by my lack of composure, then his face starts to look pained, as though it is taking him a huge amount of effort not to burst out laughing. Michael raises his hat in greeting to them both.
“You look very sweet,” Will says, regarding me strangely, as though I have sprouted wings. Loretta looks at me, confused. She can’t place me.Please don’t let her be able to place me.
“We’re on an Austen-inspired date, hence the getup,” I explain, feeling my palms begin to sweat.
“Of course you are. This is a friend of mine, Loretta Fields,” Will says. “We’re on a fundraising committee together, for a charity choir.” Then it happens. Her face shifts into the most enormous smile as she works out where she knows me from.
“Anna, of course! My, my, is that a wig?” She reaches out to stroke my hair. “It looks fabulous—youlook fabulous.”
“Lovely to see you again,” I say, desperately thinking of a way to get out of this conversation without appearing rude. “I would love to stay and chat, but we, um, we have to get these costumes back by six—”
“There’s no rush to return them,” Michael says, oblivious.
“How do you know Will?” Loretta asks me.
“We work together,” I explain.
“Anna makes my life a living hell,” Will says with a smile, and the glint in his eye, which has been gone all week, is back.
