Page 25 of Handle with Care
The next two weeks pass by with relatively few bumps. Of course, Will and I have the occasional squabble over something, because it’s us, but together, we start to find something like a rhythm in collecting exhibits. We go out in the morning to pick up objects and return to the office in the afternoon to make arrangements for the next day and beyond.
What I didn’t expect to find out is how comfortable Will is talking with curators and registrars, fine-art transporters and couriers. I have no problem talking to people, and it’s fine, but he seems to have an extra charismatic knack when he’s on. In contrast, when it’s just us, he’s lower-key, quiet, and reveals his true introvert roots. He’s read both books now and asked if I had any others, so I’ve given himCurating Collections, which he’s tearing through.
Meanwhile, aside from making solid progress on the exhibition and at work, I’m as dedicated to my ongoing dating life. I’m not quite out every night, which both Stephen and Russell tease me about, but I’d say I’m averaging three dates a week. And I’ve got another weekend date lined up for good measure to keep my stats up.
We’ve come in early because there’s a lot to do today, here at 8:00 a.m., despite the odds. I’m texting my date back as I wait for my computer to start up, wanting to check messages before we head out. Today, we’re going all the way to Cumbria.
“Still up for this today?” I ask Will, glancing up from my collection of screens. “It’s a lot of driving.” I reach for my tea, still groggy.
Will nods, back at his usual end of the boardroom table. As ever, he’s bright-eyed and ready to go. “I’m double-checking the traffic and route. It’s going to be fine. No bother.”
“You make it sound like we’re going for a drive around the neighborhood.”
He smiles.
The plan is to have a whirlwind trip to somewhere past the scenic Yorkshire Dales near the village of Kirkby Lonsdale, where we’ll visit a designer’s workshop to pick up several exhibits. It’s about five and a half hours by car, which is a lot of driving for Will, but he doesn’t seem to mind. I’m not meeting my date till 10:00 p.m., so there’s plenty of time to get back.
Will packs his laptop to bring along, and we head out to the parking area behind the museum. Parked beside the director’s Mercedes SUV is Will’s shiny green Land Rover. Even knowing nothing about cars, it looks cool, all sporty, and even with a bit of mud on it.
“Sorry, I didn’t have time to get it washed this week.” He looks contrite.
“It’s not bothering me. I suppose it’s good that your SUV leaves asphalt and finds dirt like a real 4x4.”
“It does that,” he agrees. The lights flash as he unlocks the doors with the remote key, and I get in as he opens the back to put in his messenger bag, while I tuck mine by my feet in the footwell. Inside, it’s all sleek leather and gloss surfaces andexpansive electronics panels. As I sit, I try not to gawp like a tourist as Will gets in and settles in the driver’s seat.
“Nice ride,” I quip. “I can see why you like it, I guess.”
Will chuckles and fastens his seat belt. He adjusts the rearview mirror. “It’s not bad.”
Again, I wonder about what’s happened to the McLaren, and admiring my self-control like I’m a newer, better man, I don’t bring it up. Leave it. It’s great intel being in his vehicle, and I can tell my museum friends about my experience. If I want to.
Nobody could believe I was going with Will up north together, even for a day trip for work. “He’s going to be unbearable,” Nancy said yesterday when we caught up in the tearoom on an afternoon break. “Mark my words.”
“In case you’re worried,” Will says as he starts the vehicle, backs out of the parking stall, and starts down the back lane behind the museum, “I’ve topped up the petrol and checked the tires and fluids.”
“It didn’t occur to me to worry.”
Will smiles at that and puts on his sunglasses. “Good. How about you pick some music that you like and relax? We’ll make good time once we’re through London.”
I do, finding some indie rock that we both can agree on. And I settle in, letting Will worry about getting us out of London because there’s literally nothing for me to do right now but sit. Instead, I take in the view of the city, the bustle of the morning, the promise of another hot summer’s day ahead in July. And honestly, I’m excited to see England beyond London. I miss the mountains back home.
We drive, and Will takes us out of London as efficiently as he can to avoid a couple of accidents following the wisdom of his GPS. I’m glad he’s calm behind the wheel, not given to rage even when someone cuts him off. Before too long, we’re easing out of the sprawl of London to greener countryside.
As we drive, we don’t say much, listening to the music instead. Will breaks the silence eventually, nodding at a road sign for the turnoff to Grantchester near Cambridge. “That’s home.”
“Home?” I ask, curious to know more about this surprising personal reveal.
“My parents’ home,” he explains, unreadable. “Actually, outside of Grantchester. Don’t worry, we’re not going there. I’ll show restraint and ignore where I usually turn.”
I smile. “Good of you to ignore your homing instinct. What’s your parents’ home like?”
Will shrugs, eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel. He’s relaxed. “It’s alright. My parents have a home in the country. It’s a quick drive into Grantchester or Cambridge if we need anything. Though traffic in Cambridge is always a nightmare.”
“I’ve never been,” I admit.
Startled, he glances over. “Never?”
“Never. This is my first time to the UK. I arrived in London three days before starting the internship. I spent those days trying to get over my jet lag and settling in.”
