He said it with such honesty that she felt a sudden pang of affection for him.
‘Want a ride home?’
‘I’ve got my bicycle.’
‘We can come back for it later. Come on, let me take you for lunch.’
They drove into the city, and it was such a hot day that Connor suggested somewhere by the water. They headed to River Street, past the old cotton mills and the paddle steamers moored at the dock, and found a diner that served jambalaya and key lime pie. Jennifer wasn’t sure that the two dishes went together, but the morning’s sailing had made her ravenous.
Connor was solicitous from the moment they had got into his sports car to sitting down for lunch, deferring to her choice on everything from restaurant to aperitif. She thought it distinctly out of character but found herself enjoying the afternoon and his company.
‘I’ve written a letter to your parents apologising for the business with the gallery,’ said Jennifer, wanting to clear some of the awkward stuff out of the way.
‘My dad didn’t become successful wasting his time on things that weren’t going to materialise into anything,’ said Connor 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.