with a shrug. ‘I can see why you left New York. We all can.’
The waitress appeared with two sweet teas and Connor took a sip.
‘I’ve been thinking. If I come back to Savannah every fortnight and you to fly to New York every two or three weeks, we’ll still see each other almost every weekend. I reckon I can put eighteen months in at Goldman’s and then I can strike out on my own. Hedge funds, property . . . I can be more flexible with location when I own my own company.’
She knew that for Connor, this was an incredibly sweet gesture. His own version of buying a fluffy puppy to say ‘I love you’.
She looked up and grinned at him.
‘How about you?’ he said more guardedly. ‘Have you had a chance to think about things?’
‘I want to make a documentary.’
‘A documentary?’ He didn’t say it unkindly, but it still reminded her of a teacher who had just been told by a five-year-old pupil that he wanted to be an astronaut.
‘Visual arts was the bit I liked most about my course,’ she replied cautiously. ‘Besides, I think we are living through interesting times, the fallout from the crazy eighties. We’ve got friends who’ve graduated summa cum laude working in gas stations; have been brought up to think that one in two marriages ending in divorce is normal. We haven’t really got anything to rebel against any more, so we just get cynical, resigned to it all. I thought it was worth recording.’
Connor’s face had softened into something that almost resembled pride.
‘You’ve thought about this then.’ He smiled.
‘I was out on the water this morning and couldn’t think of anything else.’
She felt a wave of relief wash over her, as if she had been transported back to the ways things used to be before they went off to college, when Connor was the perfect gent, the only grown-up she had met in a sea of silly boys who just wanted to get their hands in her panties and then tell all their friends about it.
The waitress brought their food and they started picking at it.
‘Where did all this come from, then?’
Under the circumstances, the way they’d been getting on so well for the past hour, she decided not to tell him it was Jim Johnson’s idea and that they had concocted her life plan on a moonlit walk after she had abandoned Connor in the bar.
‘Don’t you think it’s a good idea? A plan, at least,’ she said, avoiding the question.
‘Have you even got a video camera?’ he asked sceptically. Jennifer didn’t blame him. She’d met girls who were seriously into film at college; intense students with posters of Jim Jarmusch films on their walls and a working knowledge of Czechoslovakian cinematic history. Among her own favourite movies were When Harry Met Sally and Moonstruck .
‘Not yet.’
‘Come on then,’ he said, wiping his chin with his napkin. ‘It’s time to go shopping.’
They went to an electronics store at the mall and Connor paid for her brand-new Sony camcorder. He insisted. He would be working at Goldman Sachs within the month; he would be earning and wanted to treat her.
She opened the box on the car ride back to Casa D’Or, stroked the smooth black casing, and it felt like the start of something good.
It was late afternoon by the time they approached the house, and lazy peach light was streaming through the leaves of the live oaks along the drive.
‘Why don’t you pick up an overnight bag and come back to my parents’?’ he offered.
‘Are they going to be at home?’
‘They’re entertaining tonight. But we could go to the guest cottage.’
‘When they’re entertaining, aren’t you supposed to put in an appearance?’
‘ Then how about you come tomorrow instead? Bring that.’ He smiled, motioning at the camcorder. ‘Maybe we can have a little fun with it,’ he added as Jennifer slapped him playfully on the wrist.
Connor parked the car outside the house. As he switched off the engine, Jennifer could hear noises from
The waitress appeared with two sweet teas and Connor took a sip.
‘I’ve been thinking. If I come back to Savannah every fortnight and you to fly to New York every two or three weeks, we’ll still see each other almost every weekend. I reckon I can put eighteen months in at Goldman’s and then I can strike out on my own. Hedge funds, property . . . I can be more flexible with location when I own my own company.’
She knew that for Connor, this was an incredibly sweet gesture. His own version of buying a fluffy puppy to say ‘I love you’.
She looked up and grinned at him.
‘How about you?’ he said more guardedly. ‘Have you had a chance to think about things?’
‘I want to make a documentary.’
‘A documentary?’ He didn’t say it unkindly, but it still reminded her of a teacher who had just been told by a five-year-old pupil that he wanted to be an astronaut.
‘Visual arts was the bit I liked most about my course,’ she replied cautiously. ‘Besides, I think we are living through interesting times, the fallout from the crazy eighties. We’ve got friends who’ve graduated summa cum laude working in gas stations; have been brought up to think that one in two marriages ending in divorce is normal. We haven’t really got anything to rebel against any more, so we just get cynical, resigned to it all. I thought it was worth recording.’
Connor’s face had softened into something that almost resembled pride.
‘You’ve thought about this then.’ He smiled.
‘I was out on the water this morning and couldn’t think of anything else.’
She felt a wave of relief wash over her, as if she had been transported back to the ways things used to be before they went off to college, when Connor was the perfect gent, the only grown-up she had met in a sea of silly boys who just wanted to get their hands in her panties and then tell all their friends about it.
The waitress brought their food and they started picking at it.
‘Where did all this come from, then?’
Under the circumstances, the way they’d been getting on so well for the past hour, she decided not to tell him it was Jim Johnson’s idea and that they had concocted her life plan on a moonlit walk after she had abandoned Connor in the bar.
‘Don’t you think it’s a good idea? A plan, at least,’ she said, avoiding the question.
‘Have you even got a video camera?’ he asked sceptically. Jennifer didn’t blame him. She’d met girls who were seriously into film at college; intense students with posters of Jim Jarmusch films on their walls and a working knowledge of Czechoslovakian cinematic history. Among her own favourite movies were When Harry Met Sally and Moonstruck .
‘Not yet.’
‘Come on then,’ he said, wiping his chin with his napkin. ‘It’s time to go shopping.’
They went to an electronics store at the mall and Connor paid for her brand-new Sony camcorder. He insisted. He would be working at Goldman Sachs within the month; he would be earning and wanted to treat her.
She opened the box on the car ride back to Casa D’Or, stroked the smooth black casing, and it felt like the start of something good.
It was late afternoon by the time they approached the house, and lazy peach light was streaming through the leaves of the live oaks along the drive.
‘Why don’t you pick up an overnight bag and come back to my parents’?’ he offered.
‘Are they going to be at home?’
‘They’re entertaining tonight. But we could go to the guest cottage.’
‘When they’re entertaining, aren’t you supposed to put in an appearance?’
‘ Then how about you come tomorrow instead? Bring that.’ He smiled, motioning at the camcorder. ‘Maybe we can have a little fun with it,’ he added as Jennifer slapped him playfully on the wrist.
Connor parked the car outside the house. As he switched off the engine, Jennifer could hear noises from
Similar Books
