Chapter 26: New Equipment

“Oh no!” Faye exclaimed. “It’s broken. One of my ovens is broken. I’ve been trying to keep it going as long as possible but it won’t work anymore.” She was upset and disappointed.

“Can you order it?” Rachel suggested.

“You can, but that would take weeks and I can’t run the bakery with one oven down. We’ve been pushing what we’ve got as much as possible as it is. I’d have to take a day and go to London, that is if they have it or not.” She concluded in utter exasperation.

“I see...I could go, if you want.”

“That would be wonderful, Honey.”

“I’ll see if I can borrow Arthur’s car.”

“Just tell him his second grandma needs a favor, and I’m sure he’ll either loan it to you or take you in it himself.”

###

Faye was right. He agreed despite knowing that a trip to London and back would mean another lost day of studying. But an adventure with Rachel seemed much more exciting at that point in his life, so he didn’t hesitate to take her. They left early the next morning.

“Thanks for agreeing to do this, Arthur. It’s hard to refuse to help Faye, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

Arthur was not a morning person and this was becoming evident. They rode there in silence, each in their own world. Rachel made a few half-hearted attempts at conversation but it was not until they arrived in the heart of London after what seemed like endless, rush hour traffic, that he came to life.

Both of them had skipped breakfast in order to get an early start. She was feeling hungry and thought he might also want to eat. She offered to treat Arthur to brunch for the good deeds: the use of his time and the gift of service with his car. She asked him if he could recommend a place.

“When I was studying at Oxford, there was a place in London we students would go to. They had a fantastic curry. I think it’s very close to here and they might be open this early, although they mainly cater to a lunchtime crowd.”

“Great. Let’s go.”

He was much more upbeat once he had eaten. He offered to show her the sites of the city on their way to get the replacement part. He drove with one arm around the back of her neck.

“Have you ever been to London, Rachel?”

“I have....I mean, I rode through it to get to Clovelly in my cab from the airport. Does that count?”

She was getting better and better at her little omissions and “white lies” that she told to preserve her identity in the role of “Rachel: fearless, young, American woman abroad”. The secret to her lies was their believability. She also never embellished with detailed answers to people’s questions. She gave them the answer that they were expecting or its exact opposite and then either changed the subject or remained silent while they talked about themselves, most people’s favorite subject.

This was true in most cases, although not all. Arthur was proving to be the exception to the rule, asking ongoing follow-up questions and coming close to treating their conversations about her background like a deposition or worse, the cross examination of a hostile witness. He was learning to notice when she was going to change the subject, and, this time, he changed it right back.

At one point while on their journey he seemed so vexed by her efforts to steer the conversation away from herself that he pulled over and shouted, “Why on earth are you making it so hard for me to get to know you? What are you hiding?” He demanded, instantly withdrawing his arm from around her, flashing angry eyes, along with erupting into a loud tenor voice with a deeply critical tone.

There it was. He wanted to know her. But which her did he want or could he handle? The billion dollar heiress or the shop girl? The engaged young woman or the runaway bride? The whole truth of her past or all of the lies that she had carefully placed at the foundation of their relationship?

As she got to know him better, she still could not predict when he would explode into one of his fits of anger. Did he deserve her truth or were constructed omissions satisfactory for someone with his anger management issues that he seemed to keep on reserve just for being rude to her. That was the biggest thing holding her back from moving forward with him to a real boyfriend-girlfriend relationship from a fake one with a friendship foundation. He would get angry, explode, then apologize. Was this behavior cycle something that she wanted to condone?

“I’m...why are you assuming that I’m hiding something, anyway?

“There you go again!”

“What? Are you predetermining how I am allowed to respond to you, too? Is that fair or even polite? But you’ve proven over and over again that politeness is not something you care about as far as your interactions with me are concerned. Since you are so full of questions, why do you demand that I trust you with all of my baggage when I can’t consistently rely on you not to be mean to me with your eloquence and your Oxford education. Did they teach you to belittle people as part of your course of study there. ” She realized that she was no better than him with the tone and temper she was using to defend herself and her efforts to hurt him.

“Okay, Rachel,” he said, pulling the car over to the side so both of them could calm down from their heated exchange of words. “It’s clear to me that you are going to avoid my questions by responding to my questions with a question. You’re going to keep the focus on me to keep the focus off you. I’m not moving this car until you answer my question: Rachel, who are you?”

“I’m the same woman you were rude to on the plane; that you startled by sleeping in my bed; that you apologized to at your grandma’s; and that you kissed in the bakery. But most of all, I am the same woman that thought she was starting to feel real feelings for you on a fake date! Is that real enough for you?” She said, with her eyes tearing up and her voice wavering.