Cecelia Ahern - If You Could See Me Now

“Can I remind you that the last time Elizabeth Egan made a date with anyone for non-business purposes was five years ago. Five years ago, Ivan,” she stressed. “Can you tell me why you undid all that?”

“Because he’s dirty and he smells.” I laughed.

“Because he’s dirty and he smells,” she repeated, making me feel stupid. “Then let her figure that out for herself,” Opal said. “Don’t overstep your mark, Ivan.” With that she looked back down at her work and continued writing, the feather blowing as she scribbled furiously.

“What’s going on, Opal?” I asked her. “Tell me what’s really going on?”

She looked up, anger and sadness in her eyes. “We are incredibly busy, Ivan, and we need you to work as quickly as you can and move on instead of hanging around and undoing the good work you’ve already done. That’s what’s going on.”

Stunned by her chastising, I silently left her office. I didn’t believe her for one minute, but whatever was going on in her life was her own business.

She’d change her mind about Elizabeth canceling her dinner with Benjamin

as soon as she saw what I had planned for the twenty-ninth.

“Oh, and Ivan,” Opal’s voice called out.

I stopped at her doorway and turned around. She was still looking down and writing as she spoke. “I’ll need you to come in here next Monday to take over for a while.”

“Why?” I asked with disbelief.

“I’m not going to be here for a few days, I need you to cover for me.”

That had never happened before. “But I’m still in the middle of a job.”

“Good to hear you’re still calling it that,” she snapped. Then she sighed, put down her feathered pen, and looked up. Her eyes were tired and she looked like she was going to cry. “I’m sure Saturday will be such a success you won’t need to be there next week, Ivan.”

Her voice was so soft and genuine that I forgot that I was angry at her and realized for the first time that if it were any other situation, she would be right.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Ivan placed the finishing touches to the dinner table, snipped a stem of fuchsia that was growing wild, and placed it in the small vase in the center. He lit a candle and watched as the flame darted around in the breeze, like a dog running around the garden yet chained to his kennel. Cobh Ciúin was silent, just as the name suggested, christened hundreds of years ago by the locals and untouched since then. The only sound was the water gently lapping, swishing back and forth, and tickling the sand. Ivan closed his eyes and swayed to the music. A small fishing boat tied to the pier bobbed up and down on the sea, occasionally bumping the side of the pier and adding a soft drumbeat.

The sky was blue and beginning to darken with a few stray wisps of teenage clouds lagging behind the older clouds of hours ago. The stars twinkled brightly and Ivan winked back at them; they too knew what was coming. Ivan had asked the head chef at the work canteen to help him out tonight; he was the same chef responsible for catering the tea parties in the back gardens of best friends, but this time he went all out. He had created the most luscious spread Ivan could have imagined. Starter was foie gras and toast cut into neat little squares, followed by wild Irish salmon and asparagus cooked in garlic, followed by a white chocolate mousse with dribbles of raspberry sauce for dessert. The aromas were lifted by the warm gulf wind and carried past his nose, tickling his tastebuds.

He played around with the cutlery nervously, fixing all that didn’t need to be fixed. He tightened his new blue silk tie, loosened it again, opened the button of his navy blue suit jacket, and decided to close it again. He had been so busy all day arranging the setup that he had barely taken time to think about the feelings that were stirring inside him. Glancing at his watch and at the darkening sky, he hoped Elizabeth would come.

Elizabeth drove down the narrow winding road slowly, barely able to see past the end of her nose in the thick blackness of the countryside. Wild flowers and growth reached out to brush the side of her car as she passed. Her full headlights startled moths, mosquitoes, and bats as she drove in the direction of the sea. Suddenly, the blackness lifted as she reached a clearing and the whole world was spread out before her.

Ahead of her were thousands of miles of black sea, glistening under the moonlight. Inside the cove was a small fishing boat tied up beside the steps; the sand was a velvety brown, the edges being licked and teased by the approaching tide. But it wasn’t the sea that took her breath away; it was the sight of Ivan standing in the sand dressed in a smart new suit beside a small, beautifully set table for two, candle flickering in the center, casting shadows across his smiling face.

The sight was enough to bring a tear from a stone. It was an image her mother had stamped in her mind, an image she had whispered excitedly into her ear about moonlit dinners on the beach, so much so that her mother’s dreams had become her own. And there Ivan was, standing in the picture Elizabeth and her mother had painted so vividly and that had remained etched in Elizabeth’s mind. She understood the phrase, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, and so she unashamedly did both.

Ivan stood proudly, blue eyes glistening in the moonlight. He ignored her tears, or rather, accepted them.

“My dear”—he bowed theatrically—“your moonlit dinner awaits you.”

Wiping her eyes and smiling a smile so big Elizabeth felt she could light the entire world, she took his extended hand and stepped out of the car.

Ivan inhaled sharply. “Wow, Elizabeth, you look stunning.”

Elizabeth smiled proudly. “Wearing red is my favorite thing to do now,” she said, imitating him, taking his arm and allowing him to lead her to the dinner table. After much hemming and hawing Elizabeth had purchased a red dress that accentuated her slender figure, giving her curves she never even knew she had. She had put it on and taken it off at least five times before she left the house, feeling too exposed in such a bright color. To prevent herself from feeling like a traffic light she had brought a black pashmina to drape over her shoulders.

The white Irish table linen flapped in the light, warm breeze and Elizabeth’s hair tickled her cheek. The sand was cool and soft beneath her feet like fluffy carpet, but was protected in the cove from the sharp wind. Ivan pulled out the chair for her and she sat. He reached for her serviette, which had been wrapped in a stem of fuchsia, and he laid it on her lap.

“Ivan, this is beautiful, thank you,” she whispered, not feeling able to lift her voice over the peaceful lapping water.

“Thank you for coming.” He smiled, pouring her a glass of red wine. “Now for starters, we have foie gras.” He reached under the table and retrieved two plates covered with silver lids. “I hope you like foie gras,” he said, frown lines appearing on his forehead.

“I love it.” Elizabeth smiled.

“Phew.” The muscles in his face relaxed. “It doesn’t really look like grass,” he said, examining his plate closely.

“It’s duck liver, Ivan,” Elizabeth said, laughing, spreading some on her toast. “What made you choose this cove?” she asked, wrapping the shawl tighter around her shoulders as the breeze began to chill.

“Because it’s quiet and because it’s a perfect location away from streetlights,” he explained, munching on his food.

Elizabeth frowned slightly, but thought it better not to ask any questions, knowing Ivan had his own peculiar way.

After dinner Ivan turned to look at Elizabeth, who had her hands wrapped around her wineglass and was staring wistfully out to the sea. “Elizabeth.” His voice was soft. “Will you lie with me on the sand?”