By five thirty Clementine’s insides were a tangle of nerves. She logged off her computer and took the tray of paperwork to the filing cabinets to file. As she put them away in the correct folders, all neatly labeled in alphabetical order, she noticed her hands were trembling. She heard Mr. Atwood on the telephone, talking to his mistress, no doubt. She didn’t imagine he called his wife “cowgirl.” As she tuned into his saccharine sweet-talking she didn’t hear the door open, nor the squeak of embarrassment from Sylvia, who was still at the front desk.
Rafa greeted Sylvia, but his attention was drawn to the back of the room where a slim girl in a well-cut navy suit and stilettos was standing by the filing cabinets. It took him a moment to recognize her, at which point she turned.
“Clementine?” He looked surprised. She closed the drawer and walked over.
“Rafa.”
“Dios mio, you look fantastic.”
She flushed happily. “Working attire. I have something less formal in my bag. Do you mind waiting while I change?”
He put his hands in his pockets. “Of course not. Sylvia can keep me company.” But he didn’t take his eyes off Clementine until she had disappeared into the ladies’ room.
Sylvia smiled uncomfortably, hoping he wouldn’t refer to the evening before. She wished Clementine would hurry up. Rafa leaned on her desk and grinned down at her. “Working hard today?”
Clementine wriggled into her dress and slipped her feet into flip-flops. She let her hair down and scrunched it between her fingers. She remembered with disbelief the afternoon daydreaming that the handsome Argentine she had met in the Black Bean Coffee Shop would saunter into her office to find her. Now he had, and the evening stretched out before her, full of promise.
20.
Clementine sat in the passenger seat of Rafa’s hired car, barely able to believe that they were finally off together, just the two of them. She rolled down the window and let the sweet scents of summer billow in on the breeze. At first their chat was awkward, both talking at the same time, stumbling on their words, laughing to mask their nervousness. The atmosphere had changed. Clementine didn’t know why it had changed, or when, but a frisson existed between them that hadn’t been there before.
Rafa, casual in jeans and white shirt, glanced across at her every now and then and grinned. He wore dark glasses, and his thick hair stuck up as the wind blew through it. She had always found him handsome, but now, knowing him a little better, she saw that his good looks ran so much deeper. He had a gift for seeing the best in everyone and a generosity of spirit that gave his eyes and smile an exceptional brilliance.
Above all, she liked who she was when she was with him, as if, in his eyes, she was a better version of herself: braver, wittier, prettier. She gazed out over the countryside and noticed how very lush it was. The bright green of the leaves and the dazzling blue of the sky filled her up until she was ready to burst with happiness.
They pulled up into the lay-by, and Rafa walked round to open the boot. “What have you got in there?” she asked, leaning on the gate and allowing her gaze to drift over the house that God forgot.
“Supplies,” he replied with a grin.
She turned to see him pull out a canvas bag. “What’s that?”
“A picnic.”
“Who made it for you?”
“Heather.” He peered inside. “Qué bueno, she’s included a bottle of wine.”
Clementine’s spirit swelled. “Where are we going to have it?”
“Down on the beach, I think. Don’t you?”
“Good idea.”
However, it hadn’t been such a good idea to wear a dress. The path down to the beach was narrow and lined with brambles. She hadn’t thought about practicalities when she had planned her wardrobe.
“I’ll give you a piggyback,” Rafa suggested.
“Oh, no, I’m far too heavy,” she protested.
“No, you’re not. The faces I pulled last time were in jest. You’re tiny. I could swing you over my shoulder and barely notice you. Here, you carry the bag.” He crouched down. “Climb on.”
Wishing she were a few stone lighter, she tentatively sat astride him. The blood boiled in her cheeks at the intimacy of their bodies, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it. He stood up, hooked his arms beneath her legs, and set off down the path. “You see, I barely know you’re there.”
“Liar.” She laughed.
“Who said that?” He turned round, pretending to look behind him. She laughed again. He swung around the other way. “And that? I thought I was alone.”
“Silly!”