What’s his name?” she demands of Geoff. “Your boss there. What’s he called?”
“He’s called Mr. Warwick,” says Geoff stiffly. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“My friend’s planning to spend the rest of her days with him and have his babies,” retorts Nell. “So it is my business.”
Geoff eyes me with a supremely dubious look but doesn’t reply. I’m not sure what to say, either, so we all stand there waiting for Dutch to return—and when he does, it’s with a thunderous frown on his face.
“I’m sorry,” he says directly to me. “I’m so sorry. I have to go and do a work thing.”
“On a Saturday?” I can’t hide my dismay.
“It’s a weekend conference. It’s…” He exhales. “Sorry. But I’ll be back. As soon as I can. Tomorrow. And we’ll…take it from there.”
He looks so miserable and apologetic, my heart melts. I don’t know what went on during that phone call, but his brow has darkened and I know he doesn’t want to leave.
“Don’t worry!” I say, trying to sound cheerful. “Go and do…whatever you have to do. And I’m sorry about Harold,” I add to Geoff, who just sniffs in reply.
“Nice to meet you.” Dutch lifts a hand in greeting to my friends. “And you, Harold. I hope to make better acquaintance with you another time. But I have to go.” Then he turns to me and for a moment we’re both silent, gazing into each other’s faces. “I guess the bubble had to burst sometime,” Dutch says at last.
“I guess so.”
“But this doesn’t change anything. I love you.”
“I love you too.” I swallow hard. “So much.”
“And we’re going to make this work.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Oh, look at them!” I can hear Maud exclaiming to Nell. “They’re adorable!”
Dutch has taken hold of my hands and I’m not sure I can bear to let go—but Geoff is making impatient noises, so at last, feeling noble, I release him and say, “Go. Do your thing.”
I watch as Dutch follows Geoff to a nearby big black corporate-looking car and slides into the back. That is so not the car I was expecting him to have. Nor a driver who opens the door for him. Nor the Financial Times waiting for him on the backseat.
“Wait!” I say, as Geoff is preparing to shut the car door. “What is your thing? What do you do?”
“It’s a family company,” says Dutch, looking even more tense than before. “So…Anyway. That’s it.”
“But you talked about a workshop,” I say in confusion.
“Yes. There’s a workshop in the design studio.”
“But what do you do?” I say in slight frustration. “What does the company do?”
“We make dollhouses.”
“What?” I stare at him, thinking I must have misheard.
“Dollhouses,” he repeats. “And dolls. We’ve been making them forever. People collect them all over the world….It’s a thing.”
He’s in dollhouses? I didn’t see that coming either.
“Right,” I say, trying to think of something to say about dollhouses. “Well…that’s super-cool! I’ll see you soon.”
“Can’t wait. It’s been amazing.” He meets my eyes again. “Truly.”
“I’ll miss you!” I say impulsively.
“Me too.” He nods, then turns away. “OK, Geoff.”
Geoff closes the door and gets into the driver’s seat. The engine fires up and the car is moving away when I realize the most dreadful, horrendous thing. I pelt after the car, Harold barking madly, and bang on the glass till the car comes to a halt and the window winds down again.
“You haven’t got my number!” I blurt out.
“Shit.”
“I know!” We stare at each other, both wide-eyed at the enormity of what nearly just happened—then I whip my phone out. “Type it in here,” I say breathlessly. “Oh, and one last thing. What’s your name? I’m Ava. Who are you?”
“Oh, right.” Light dawns on his face. “I never told you.” He finishes typing in his number, then looks up. “I’m Matt. Short for Matthias.”
“Matt!” I smile, because Matt is a good name, even if it isn’t Jean-Luc. I save his contact under Dutch/Matt, ping him a text, and breath out in relief. “Hi, Matt. Nice to meet you.”
“Hi, Ava.” His eyes crinkle. “Nice to meet you. Good save.”
He closes the window again and I watch the car move off, my mind turning over this new information. Matt. Matthias. Dollhouses. (Dollhouses?) Matt Warwick. Matt. Meet my boyfriend, Matt. Hi, this is Matt. Have you met Matt?
It feels right. It feels familiar. I think I knew he was called Matt all along.
Eight
By the time I’m standing on a street corner the next afternoon, I feel almost limp with the