Back to Life Ch. 01

"I often wonder what people find so enticing about bars," she said, "to make them return every day." She turned to look at him briefly, before turning her gaze back over the crowded room.

"I suppose it's a socializing spot," he said. "It's where their friends are, where they can relax after a long day, where they can play. "

"I get that," she replied, "but I don't get the drinking. Why drink so much that they leave at least buzzed, and often drunk? What's the pull?"

She sounded genuinely puzzled, and it occurred to him that she might be more inexperienced than she appeared to be, and for some reason it drew him to her more.

"I take it you're not a frequenter of pubs, then?" he asked, smiling.

"I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I've been in a bar, with fingers left over," she answered on a laugh. Then, as it occurred to her that he might think she was unhappy with having been brought to a pub, she hastened to add, "Not that I'm complaining about where we are. Please don't misunderstand me!"

Peter saw the faint blush on her cheeks and knew she thought he might be offended at her words. Her concern for his feelings did something to him inside, and he had to struggle not to react. He merely smiled and nodded, and finished his drink, raising his hand for the check.

"Nevertheless, perhaps it's best that we go now. I have a full day of touristy things lined up tomorrow with the students, and the day after, it's back home for us."

Karen waited until they were once again strolling down the sidewalk back to her hotel before asking,

"And home is...?"

"Leeuwarden," he answered, "about two hours away from Amsterdam."

"My knowledge of The Netherlands, before my visit to Amsterdam two months ago, is limited to what I learned in geography class as a girl in high school, and what I read in Betty Neels' novels." She chuckled merrily.

"Betty Neels?" he inquired, steering her round an obstacle in their path.

"A writer of romance novels back when I was a girl," she replied. "Her heroes were always impossibly tall, handsome, and virile Dutch doctors or consultants, and her heroines were always English nurses or other caregivers. Many were Plain Janes, in their own eyes at any rate, but every once in a while, she had a raving beauty as a heroine. I loved her stories," she added. "They were sweet and tender, no sex at all, and maybe only one or two hot kisses, but lots of suggestive sensuality. They were good for a teenage romantic who had no interest in sex or descriptions of it."

Peter smiled. He loved that she was sharing something of herself with him. "Sounds like something that could happen," he said. "The Dutchmen and the English women, I mean. We like traveling to England."

Karen smiled back at him, a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. "English girls not as feisty as Dutch girls?" she asked, and was rewarded with a laugh.

"I don't know about that, but I do know we enjoy the English landscape. It's unlike ours, which as you know is flat, and yet it can often be a comforting reminder of home."

"She married a Dutchman herself," Karen added, "so she must know something of their character. Enough to make her replicate them in her stories, although her husband had been a sailor, not a doctor."

They walked the rest of the way in companionable silence, and at her door, he waited till she had opened it before saying,

"Thank you for accepting my invitation. I had a lovely evening."

Karen smiled up at him. "So did I." Her smile was suddenly shy, and his heart skipped a beat.

"When are you leaving London?" he asked, acutely aware of her breast close to his arm, and of her soft breathing, and of the fact that he didn't want to leave her.

"I go back on Sunday," she said, her eyes suddenly wistful before she lowered them from his gaze.

There was a short pause, during which neither spoke, nor looked at each other. It was awkward, and neither seemed to know how to break it. Then Karen stuck her hand out, breaking the spell that had them caught in its grip.

"It was nice meeting you again," she said. "Have a safe trip home."

Peter took the proffered hand and held it, not moving or speaking, trying to process the thoughts that whirled in his brain. He didn't want to leave, but of course he had no choice. He wanted to stay in contact with her, but couldn't think how to do that. He'd have to figure it out before Saturday morning. He became aware that he was still holding her hand, and he let himself feel her soft skin before releasing her.

"Thank you! I hope you find a job soon. Take care!"

A brief smile, and he turned on his heel, before he did the most outrageous thing imaginable and kiss her. They were still strangers, and his libido would not be excused for taking such a liberty. He could feel her eyes on him as he walked away, and he only managed to let out the breath he had been holding when he rounded the corner to get to the elevator. The whole way home he wrestled with how to stay in touch with her, and by the time he got to his room, he had a plan.

Next day, during the break for lunch, he excused himself on the pretext of running an errand and took a cab to her hotel, where he left a note for her with the front desk. Satisfied that he had done all he could, he returned to his group and spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon wearing himself out on the activities they had planned. He took the requisite pictures of the sights, and of the students, but found he was subdued, almost listless by the time they returned to their host homes, despite the evident good time that his group had at the fun fair.

The one bright spark of his day had been the purchase he had made in one of the stalls, of a pretty crystal pendant, suspended on a length of leather. He could see it hanging on a silver chain around Karen's neck, nestled in her cleavage, drawing eyes to her generous bosom. He knew it had probably been a stupid thing to do, buying such a personal gift for a stranger, but he had submitted to the impulse, and could not find it in his heart to regret it, even after he had had some time to think about how, if ever, he would get it to her, and whether or not he would purchase the chain to go with it also. He excused himself from dinner, pleading a headache, and sat next to the window in his room staring out over the street.

That one woman could so unsettle him, after all the years of emotional drought with Alijd in the last years of their marriage, and then after her death, was startling to him. He had assumed his chance had passed, and that he would never again feel the stirrings that were now driving him crazy. He wished he could go back to room 413 and ... what? The thought of the things he wanted to do to a woman he didn't know made him blush with embarrassment. If she knew where his thoughts strayed to, she would run a thousand miles from him.

He sighed and finished his packing, then sat down to write a letter, the first of many, to Karen Mullings. It took him an hour to say all that was on his mind at the moment, and after he had sealed it in an envelope and slid it into the secret pocket of his suitcase, he changed and went to bed. They would need to be up early in the morning for a long day of traveling.

By Saturday afternoon, while Peter was on the last leg of his journey home, Karen had been out and about in a kind of stupor. She had no intention of letting the curious lethargy, and its accompanying feeling of letdown, ruin her unplanned mini holiday. She had gone to another museum, had taken a boat ride on the Thames, had braved the London Eye, had toured the Tower of London, and was finally back in her room, exhausted and hungry. She took a shower and then sprawled on top of the cool sheets clad only in an oversized T-shirt and panties. She thought about the note that Peter van der Meulen had left at the front desk for her. His handwriting was so ... European, she mused as she reached over to snag it from the side table and re-read it.

"Dear Karen," it read, "I cannot help but think it serendipitous that we bumped into each other again after so long a time apart. I don't know why we met again, but I find myself grateful that we did. I would like to stay in touch, if that's all right with you. This is my number at home, and my cell phone number, should you wish to call. " She skipped over the numbers. "Or, if you prefer, drop me a line. I'll be sure to respond, whichever way you use to contact me. Have a lovely weekend! Peter."

His e-mail address was also written in the note, and she wondered, as she put it back on the table, what his home address was, and if he lived in a house or an apartment. And then she wondered, with a frown, why she was wondering where he lived. It was a bit presumptuous of him to suppose she would be interested in keeping in touch with him, but she acknowledged at the same time that, given the way she had felt all Thursday evening in his company, if he were in the same condition, his note was very restrained. She lay back, wishing for sleep to overtake her, wishing she knew why she felt as though her dog had died. After an hour of tossing and turning, she fell into a fitful slumber, from which she was awakened by her cell phone's drumming alarm, waking her for dinner.

She dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt, and on a whim, went back to the pub where she had had a late supper with Peter. It was much more crowded, but she managed to find a space to sit in the back and sipped the soft drink she had ordered while her fish and chip supper was made. People came and left over the next hour, while she ate her solitary meal and tried to soak up the ambiance. Once or twice she thought she caught someone looking at her, but when she returned her gaze to him, he was looking elsewhere. She wasn't frightened by the scrutiny, and wished he would come over and say hello. Although she had no interest in a relationship, she didn't mind company.

She ordered a glass of wine with dessert, and as she ate, she thought about how she could possibly meet Peter again. The second meeting had been sheer coincidence, and there was absolutely no hope of its being repeated. Her musings were interrupted by a deep voice in her ear.

"I like a woman who doesn't mind her own company," it said, an amused undertone sounding in it.

Karen looked up into the blackest eyes she had ever seen, and recoiled, as though she had been stung.

"I beg your pardon?" Her voice was cold, aloof, unwelcoming.

The man smiled and sat down. She bristled. "I don't recall inviting you to sit down," she commented acerbically.

"Sorry, lass, but I'm too tired to cross swords with you. I need a seat, and there's one here."

His voice remained amused, as though she were a toy meant for his entertainment. She drew her brows together, and sat up.

"I would have thought common courtesy would dictate that you at least ask if I mind!" she snapped.

"If courtesy were that common, we'd all have it. Now calm down and eat your tart." He flashed a smile at her, and put out his hand. "I'm Niall, by the way, Niall McLaren. And you are...?"

Karen was tempted to say "Leaving", but she bit back the retort, as she wasn't ready to leave just yet. Against her better judgment, against all common sense (He was right; if it were so common, everyone would have it, and she clearly didn't!), she was intrigued by this brash stranger. She liked the way his full lips curled up when he smiled, the way his eyes twinkled with amusement, the cleft in his chin. She liked his broad shoulders and bulging biceps. Maybe he would help take her mind off Peter van der Meulen, who was as fair as he was dark, and as different from him as night from day. However, she wasn't about to give him her name just like that.

"I am debating the wisdom of giving my name to a stranger!" she retorted, and watched his face. When he burst out laughing, she couldn't hold back the grin that creased her cheeks.

"Good one, lass!" he said, keeping his hand outstretched.

Karen took it and felt her hand gently engulfed in a big, warm grasp. "I'm Karen Mullings," she said. "Are you satisfied now, Mr. McLaren?"


"Niall, please," he invited her. "And yes, it satisfies me to know your name." He raised the stein of beer to his lips and drank deeply before continuing, "You've been the subject of some speculation this evening. Did you know that?"

Karen sipped her drink and looked at him curiously. "No, I didn't. Who was speculating, and why?"

"I heard one man to say you didn't look like a woman who had just been dumped by her lover," he said, watching her face as he drank his beer.

"Lover? What on Earth...?"

"Were you here last evening?"

"Yes, with an acquaintance." Karen looked into Niall's black eyes, and smiled. "In fact, I bumped into him for the second time two days ago at the British Museum. We came here for a drink and a late supper." She chuckled before adding, "You have the distinction of being only 50% less well acquainted with me than he is."

Niall chuckled with her, and she noted a look come and go in his eyes. "What?" she asked him.

He didn't pretend not to know what she meant. "You are a very beautiful woman, Karen," he said. "Any man who would dump you is either blind or stupid or both."

"If beauty were the only reason for keeping me, it wouldn't be enough, surely?" she argued reasonably, amused by his observation. She was not a vain woman. "No one remains beautiful for life."

"I beg to differ," he said. "Beauty is not just about what you look like on the outside."

"And how would you know then, on the basis of one meeting, that I am beautiful on the inside?" she retorted, laughing at him.

He was silent for a long moment, taking another swallow of beer, regarding her with serious eyes. When he spoke, his words held quiet conviction.

"It's very easy to see the beauty inside you," he said. "It's in your intelligence, your feistiness, your sense of humor. It's in the way you look directly at others, in the way you stick to your guns, and do only what feels right to you. That's beautiful!"

Niall watched her blush and lower her eyes, and wished he could know her better. He had also seen her with the unknown man the night before, and something told him not to try for her, even though right now he wanted to take her away from the eyes he could feel on them, somewhere quiet, somewhere private, so he could take what he knew she would not give him as easily as she had given him her name. She was different from most of the women who threw themselves at him, and he found he wanted to spend time with her, sharing her quiet good humor and her unique view of the world.

"As this is only the second time I've noticed you here, I assume you're not from around here," he observed.

"And you'd be right," she replied, and sipped her drink.

Niall grinned at her. She was feisty for sure. She wasn't about to give him any more information than she thought he needed, and it made him want to reach across the table and kiss her. But that wouldn't get him any closer to his goal, so he let it go. No matter what happened, he was determined to get to know this woman. At the very least, he wanted to be her friend. He sensed that she would be a steadfast and loyal friend.

"I'd hate to think we met too late," he murmured.

"Too late? For what?" Her gaze was quizzical.

"For us to become friends," he answered. "If you're going home, how can that happen?"

Karen studied his face for a long minute, and Niall found himself feeling nervous. She had an unwavering gaze, and it pinned him like a specimen being studied under a microscope.

"Are you sure it's only friendship you're interested in, Niall?" she asked, finally, her face and voice serious.

The question did not surprise him, nor did he evade it. "Obviously, since I am a red-blooded male, I wouldn't object to there being more, but going there at this point would be premature, don't you think? I'm sure you've heard enough pick-up lines to last your lifetime, and I'm not in the market for a quick fix."

He drained his beer stein and stood up, suddenly needing to put some space between them. "Would you like another?" he asked, indicating her empty glass. "I need another pint."

"No, thank you," she answered.

"Will you be here when I get back?" he wanted to know, his question serious.

Karen smiled. "If you like," she said.

He returned her smile, liking her more every second. "I'll be quick, then."

Karen watched him walk away. He was a big man, a little taller than Peter, and wider, though she didn't see any surplus fat anywhere on him. He must be at least six inches above six feet. She cast her eyes around the room, and observed a number of women watching him as he laughed at something the bartender said, and smiled with a patron sitting at the bar. She watched them watch him walk back to her, his strides long and measured and confident. She watched their eyes take in his smile as he sat down again and took a long swallow of his drink.

"Apparently, you're getting your fair share of attention as well," she commented with a grin. "I can see why, too."

Niall cocked an eyebrow at her. "Why?" he wanted to know.

"I have a friend who would describe you as a 'chick magnet'," she returned, and laughed when he choked on his beer, narrowly missing spewing a mouthful all over the table. She watched him clean up the mess with the napkins on the table, and swallow again before he answered her.

"Interesting," he said, and inhaled deeply. "Then I guess we're even."

Now it was Karen's turn to stare inquiringly at him. "How so?"

"I watched all the men watch you last night," he said, "and again tonight. They can't keep their eyes off you. And if I don't miss my guess, I know exactly what they're thinking, too."

A small silence greeted his words, and then she said, "How can you be so sure about what they're thinking? Is it because it's what you're thinking, too?"

It was a challenge, and Niall was never one to back down. "I wouldn't insult your intelligence by pretending otherwise," he admitted. "But the difference between me and the rest is that I'm prepared to take 'No' for an answer, and not hold it against you." He paused, waiting for his words to sink in. "I meant what I said about being a friend."

Karen remained silent, only nodding her head to acknowledge that she heard him. She needed to go, as she had to get an early bus back to Birmingham, but she was really enjoying Niall's company. She found his honesty delightfully refreshing, but wished he had not come to further complicate her emotions. She could fall for this man, as surely as she could fall for Peter. The last thing she needed was two men vying for her attention. She had never been very good about making decisions like this.

"I'm afraid I'll have to call it a night," she said finally. "I have to catch an early bus tomorrow."

Niall watched her rise to go and pay the check. He said nothing, letting her go, but watching till he saw she was ready to leave. He stood with his glass in hand and walked toward her, escorting her out of the crowded room. They stood together on the sidewalk, under the bright green awning.

"Thanks for enlivening the end of my evening out, Niall," she said on a smile. "It was nice talking with you."

"I'm glad I was pushy, then," he said, and smiled down at her. "Take care of yourself, until we meet again, Karen."

Karen hid her smile at his comment. How they would meet again she didn't know, nor was she going to ask. But she admitted to liking his ebullient spirit, and to wishing she were not just a visitor. He might make a good friend, indeed. She shook his hand and walked away, thinking how funny life is. A year ago she had been so wounded in spirit she never thought she would recover. Resigning her position in the high school, selling her condo and moving to England had all been part of her "take back my life" plan. But she had not expected to ever find any man even remotely interesting, and had not met anyone at all...until two months ago. And now, suddenly, there was another man. She shook her head...it probably meant nothing, and was merely coincidence.