When in Rome...: A Novel - Softcover

Townley, Gemma

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0345467566 ISBN 13: 9780345467560

Verlag: Random House Publishing Group, 2004

Inhaltsangabe

When in Rome, do as Audrey Hepburn would do. Failing that, run off with your ex-boyfriend, carry suspicious packages through customs, and lie to the person who loves you. . . .

Georgie Beauchamp is totally happy and in love with her wonderful, dependable boyfriend, David. So why does she always daydream about running into her gorgeous ex-boyfriend Mike? It can’t mean she’s still in love with him—especially since the cad dumped her so horribly. As luck would have it, when Georgie’s daydream actually comes true, she is dressed in unglamorous sweats and carrying a curtain rod down the street, while Mike is driving an expensive sports car and looking better than Brad Pitt at the Oscars. She longs to have the glamorous life Mike can offer—and starts to think that he might want her back in his arms.

But when he invites her for a weekend in Rome, Georgie is torn. David has always said he’d take her there for the romantic getaway of a lifetime, but his work keeps him totally tied up. So she must choose: David, all comfort and reliability, or Mike, all flirtation and butterfly-stomachs. The decision isn’t too hard to make, and faster than she can say Vespa, she’s off to Rome with Mike, full of plans to frolic on the Spanish Steps and sip wine in intimate trattorias. But when David shows up unexpectedly, this roman holiday gets a hell of a lot more complicated. . . .

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

GEMMA TOWNLEY is also the author of Little White Lies. She launched her writing career at the age of sixteen with a book review in Harpers & Queen. While at Reading University, Gemma, a singer, cellist, and bassist, found time to record two albums with her band, Blueboy, with which she toured the U.K., France, and Japan. After graduating, she worked on and contributed to a number of magazines, including Homes and Ideas, Pay Magazine, Expat Investor, and Company. She also wrote about music for style magazines including G-Spot and Second Generation. She later became an editor at Financial Management magazine.

Gemma is a fellow of the Royal Society of Arts and is studying for an MBA at Henley Management College. She lives in West London with her husband, Mark.

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1

I have this little fantasy. I’m walking down the street, on my way somewhere really cool, when I see Mike out of the corner of my eye. I’m looking good; I’ve lost a few pounds and have just got back from somewhere exotic, so I’ve got a nice tan. I’m walking along hand in hand with Pierce Brosnan, or maybe Russell Crowe—you know, so long as he keeps his temper under control. Or even Brad Pitt. I mean, I know he’s married to Jennifer Aniston and everything, but I’d only be borrowing him. The point is that I’m with someone gorgeous, glamorous, and obviously besotted with me. Whereas Mike is on his own and looks really lonely. His horribly thin blond girlfriend has left him and he is looking terrible. I can tell just from looking that things are not going well—he has lost his arrogant swagger and is sort of shuffling along the street. And when he claps eyes on me he suddenly sees how stupid he was to dump me. He immediately understands that things started going wrong from the moment we split up, and he realizes that he has never stopped loving me. He looks at me and smiles hopefully. Do I stop and talk to him? Do I, hell. I walk past, giving him a sympathetic smile as Pierce/Brad/Russell and I make our way to some glamorous party.

That’s the way it’s meant to go. That’s the way I’ve imagined it for the past two years. Unfortunately, life doesn’t always go as planned.

In reality, it’s Sunday afternoon when I bump into Mike. A dreary, rainy Sunday afternoon, and David and I are on our way back from Homebase, the hardware store; my curtains have fallen down and David has offered to help me put up a new rail. We’re walking along carrying this stupid iron rod thing and I’m not really looking at anything except my feet. So when a car slams to a halt next to us and drenches us with water, I go over to the driver’s window and start shouting stuff about Sunday drivers and people not looking where they’re going. I’m wet through and my new Jimmy Choos are ruined (I know I shouldn’t have worn them, but I was watching old episodes of “Sex and the City” last night, and was inspired to turn a boring shopping trip into a glamorous expedition by wearing high, frivolous shoes). And then the car window comes down and a really sexy face looks up at me and says “Georgie?”

I mean, I’m over Mike. I really am. And I’m also completely in love with my boyfriend, David. But that doesn’t mean that I’ve forgotten that Mike dumped me by leaving a note on the kitchen table. That after two years of running around after him, he didn’t even have the decency to say good-bye. Naturally, I think he’s despicable. And I’m very pleased that he never got back in touch (not even to see how I was or anything), because I have absolutely nothing to say to him. It’s just that I’d like to know, you know, that things have gone downhill since we broke up. That he can’t believe how stupid he was to leave me. That he hugs his pillow at night, pretending that it’s me. That he would do anything to get me back. Just so I can turn him down, you understand.

The thing is, Mike’s the sort of person people like me don’t usually get to go out with. I mentioned Brad Pitt earlier, remember? Well, Mike’s up there with him and Jude Law and Hugh Grant and Robbie Williams. He’s drop-dead gorgeous. Everyone loves him. When you walk down the street with him people stare. And for two whole years he was going out with me.

So there I am in the street, with hair stuck to my face, looking at Mike sitting in some amazing car, grinning. He starts saying something about how great it is to see me, and then he sees David.

I should probably mention that David and Mike don’t get on very well. Actually, they hate each other’s guts—done since school. It’s never been an issue—I didn’t start going out with David until after Mike left, and I haven’t seen Mike since. But it does make chance meetings like this a bit awkward. For a moment I kind of revel in the idea of two men staring each other out because of me, but then I start feeling a bit sorry for David. He’s always been the one who did well for himself, got a proper job and everything, while Mike has been doing sod all since leaving university (he didn’t do much there either by all accounts—he gets very sketchy when you ask him about his degree), and now here’s Mike in a swanky BMW looking like a pop star or something, while we stand on the road feeling cold and miserable. Or is that just me?

Either way, this is not the time for conversations with Mike. I have no time to compose myself and to suddenly appear cool and successful. So I tell him we have to be getting on (“you know,” I want to add, “got a couple of premieres to go to . . .”), then he winks and says “Bye, gorgeous,” and he’s off.

David and I stand by the road for a couple of minutes not saying anything. Like we’re not quite ready to go back to our boring existence just yet.

“Come on, darling,” David manages eventually. “Let’s go home and have a nice cup of tea.”

We get back to my flat and David puts the kettle on. David’s response to any crisis is to make tea. Which is good—I mean, Mike used to go out and buy a bottle of whiskey if things didn’t go his way. Tea is much better in my opinion.

I sit at the kitchen table, watching him methodically warming up the teapot (tea is important to David; it just doesn’t taste the same if you don’t use a pot) and adding the right amount of tea leaves. The curtain pole is leaning up against the wall and the rain is still pouring down.

“Is that the first time you’ve seen Mike since—”

“Yeah.” I’m trying to sound uninterested, but since Mike drove off I’ve been going over and over our encounter in my head. What did I look like? How did I come across? Did he look single?

“You’re okay?”

“Okay? Of course I am. Why shouldn’t I be? Actually, I think he looked rather podgy. Don’t you think?”

I want to talk about Mike, I want to discuss in minute detail everything about our meeting, to analyze every look and nuance. But I can’t, not with David, anyway.

“Really? I couldn’t tell,” says David in measured tones.

“Must be all that good living.”

“Good living?”

“Oh come on—the car, his clothes. He’s obviously doing well for himself,” I say, as airily as I can. I hope I don’t sound as bitter as I feel.

“Mike doing well for himself? More like doing well off of someone else,” says David evenly as he swirls the teapot.

“You think his girlfriend is rich then?”

I haven’t met or seen the girl Mike left me for. For all I know he could be on his fifth girlfriend since me, but I always picture him with the same person, and I generally imagine her to be incredibly annoying and rather stupid. All I know is that she is blond and thin. My neighbor saw her picking him up in a Mercedes when he walked out on me. He didn’t remember much about her—although he described the car in detail—but I could tell from what little he told me that she was your average nightmare. Pretty. Long legs. You know the sort.

“Girlfriend, parents, friends—anyone he can get money out of.” David brings over two mugs of tea and a packet of biscuits and sits down opposite me. I sometimes forget how good-looking David...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Random House Publishing Group
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2004
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0345467566
• ISBN 13: 9780345467560
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Auflage: 1
• Anzahl der Seiten: 321
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar