‘Why do you call him that?’ Flora felt annoyed.
‘Just something Eva said. About him being one of the good guys. Kind and understanding and … all that.’ He waved a hand vaguely, as if concepts like kindness and understanding were bizarre, otherworldly concepts that he’d never quite understood.
‘Yes, well. Mason is very kind,’ Flora said primly. ‘It was wonderful to see him. And long overdue.’
‘He must miss you.’ Henry gazed down at the amber liquid swirling in his glass.
‘I hope so,’ laughed Flora.
‘Do you miss him?’
‘Of course I do.’ She frowned. ‘All the time.’
‘All the time?’ said Henry. ‘Wow. You don’t show it. When you’re working, I mean.’
‘Well, you know, not all the time, like every minute of the day. I mean, we have our own lives. Obviously. Mason’s very supportive of my career.’
An awkward silence fell.
Why the hell am I being so defensive? thought Flora.
She changed the subject quickly. ‘So, have I missed anything while I’ve been away? What’s been happening here?’
‘If you mean at Hanborough, I don’t really know.’ Henry drained the last of his drink and poured himself another. ‘I’ve been away a lot. In town. I get lonely staying here when Eva’s away.’
Do you? thought Flora. And just how do you deal with that loneliness, I wonder?
‘I’ve been working,’ said Henry, as if reading her mind. ‘There’s a lot going on at Gigtix.’
‘How’s your business partner?’ Flora was amazed to hear herself asking. Georgina Savile was the very last person she wanted to talk about. But she seemed to be suffering from some bizarre form of Tourette’s this evening. Maybe it was the jet lag.
‘George?’ Henry looked equally surprised by the question. ‘George is George. She’s a nightmare, as we both know. But she’s great at what she does.’
‘Which is?’
‘Raising money,’ said Henry. ‘When we started the company, everybody believed the bubble had burst for online auction-based sites. But Georgina just radiated this self-belief from the start. Investors loved her. They still do. She’s …’ he cast around for the right word. ‘Single-minded.’
‘Hmmm,’ said Flora bitterly. ‘That’s one way of putting it.’
She would never forget the single-minded way Georgie Lynne, as she had been then, had ruined her life at school, picking on her mercilessly at the worst time in her life.
‘I know she’s been rude to you when she’s been here,’ said Henry. ‘I’m sorry about that.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ said Flora.
‘No, but still. She should never have said those things at dinner. About your father, I mean.’
Flora stiffened. How on earth had they got into this?
‘No, she shouldn’t.’
She looked away. When she turned back to Henry, she found he was staring at her intently, searching her face as if it held the answer to some nameless riddle. It was quite disconcerting.
‘Why does George come to Hanborough so often?’ she asked.
‘What do you mean?’
Flora shrugged. ‘Just that she’s here a lot. And yet you don’t seem to like her any more than I do.’
Henry’s jaw tightened. ‘It’s complicated.’
‘Is it?’ Flora found herself hoping more than ever that the rumours about an affair weren’t true.
‘We run a company together,’ said Henry. ‘That throws you into each other’s path socially, more than you might like. It’s a bit like having a child with an ex.’
Flora raised an eyebrow. ‘Is Georgina an ex?’
‘No.’
Henry looked her right in the eye in a way that made Flora’s stomach flip over unpleasantly.
‘Well,’ she stood up, pushing her drink aside. ‘On that note, I guess I’d better take those measurements. It’s been a long day and I need my bed.’
Henry nodded glassily. It wasn’t until Flora reached the door that he called after her.
‘Flora?’
She spun around. ‘Yes?’
‘About your fiancé.’
‘Mason?’ Flora’s eyes narrowed. ‘What about him?’
‘Do you ever feel as if he’s too good for you? Too good a person, I mean?’
Flora contemplated taking offence, then thought better of it. She and Eva had had a few conversations about their respective relationships over the course of the summer. Flora probably had said words to this effect in one of them, about Mason sometimes being so saintly it was hard to measure up. Eva must have mentioned it to Henry. In the grand scheme of things, that wasn’t a big deal.
‘Sometimes,’ she said. ‘Yes. But he also makes me want to be a better person. And that’s a good thing, right?’
Now it was Henry’s turn to look away. ‘It is if you can be. But what if you can’t? What if you’re just not a good person? Can a bad person and a good person ever be happily married, do you think?’
‘I don’t believe in bad people,’ Flora told him, suddenly serious. ‘We can all change.’
She wasn’t sure if they were still talking about Mason, or Eva, or what exactly Henry was getting at. But she had the strong feeling they had strayed into dangerous waters.
‘Can we?’ Closing his eyes, Henry ran his hands through his hair. ‘I’m not so sure.’ For an awful moment, Flora thought he might be about to cry. But then he sat forward and exhaled loudly, laughing again. ‘Eeeugh. Ignore me,’ he said. ‘I’m drunk and talking out of my arse. Goodnight, Flora. I’m glad you’re back.’
‘Goodnight, Henry,’ said Flora.
What a strange mixture of a man he was. Rude, yet thoughtful; arrogant, but bizarrely vulnerable too.
Poor Eva had her work cut out for her there.
Barney Griffith hovered over the Nespresso machine in his tiny cottage kitchen, surreptitiously sneaking glances into the next room.
He was, if he did say so himself, quite the matchmaker. Flora Fitzwilliam and Penny de la Cruz were getting on like a house on fire.
It had been five days since Flora had returned from New York and, to Barney’s delight, accepted his invitation to dinner. Ever since that night at The Fox, Barney had been determined to get Penny and Flora together again, and to further the idea of Flora starting her own business.
Barney’s plan was simple, if not entirely altruistic. Flora couldn’t work for herself in the States. She would therefore start a business here, become wildly successful, break up with her American boyfriend, see the light (at some point), fall in love with Barney, marry him, and keep him and Jeeves in the style to which they both fervently hoped to become accustomed.
‘You have no chance with Flora, Barn,’ Eva told him bluntly, being cruel to be kind before she left for her latest Paris trip. ‘I talk to the girl almost every day and I’m telling you, she’s in love.’
Barney put his fingers in his ears and started to hum. ‘No she’s not. No, no, no, no, no. Nope.’
‘I mean it.’ Eva tried to look serious. ‘I don’t want to see you get hurt.’
Barney shrugged. ‘Can’t help it. Love is blind.’
‘And deaf apparently,’ said Eva. ‘You’ll find someone else, someone who’s meant for you. I thought I was in love tons of times before I met Henry. And now look at me!’ She beamed, holding her whopping engagement ring up to the light.
Barney loved Eva, but it was tough to take love-life advice from someone so self-evidently delusional. So he waited for her to leave and then set his plan in motion, inviting both Flora and Penny de la Cruz for dinner, along with his old lawyer friend Kenneth Bay, whose job was to make up the numbers, eat, then slope off back to London early so that Penny and Flora could talk business.
‘Can’t I stay for coffee at least?’ Ken had asked plaintively half an hour ago, looking longingly over his shoulder at Flora as Barney physically thrust him out of the back door. In fitted Hudson je
ans and a bottle-green turtleneck sweater teamed with shiny black spiked-heel boots, Flora looked ridiculously sexy tonight, like Scarlett Johansson on a really, really good day.
‘No.’
‘You do realize you are never going to pull that girl?’ Ken said bitterly, regretting his earlier promise to eat and run.
‘Yes, I am,’ said Barney.
‘No, you’re not. She’s way out of your league.’
‘Doesn’t matter. I’m a writer. Hot women love writers,’ said Barney. ‘It’s like models and rock stars.’
‘No, it isn’t!’
‘Yes, it is. Look at that writer guy Cate Blanchett married. He’s no oil painting.’
‘Andrew Upton? He’s a world-famous playwright,’ said Ken. ‘Not a sad git living with his dog in Sussex with half a novel stuffed in his bedside drawer.’
‘That’s it,’ said Barney. ‘I just removed you from my thank-you speech at the Booker Prize. Now sod off,’ he added, slamming the door in his old friend’s face before Ken could distract him any further from his mission, and turning his attention to the coffee.
‘What do you think he’s doing in there?’ Penny asked Flora, listening to the endless clinking of china and rattling of spoons coming from the kitchen. ‘He’s taking for ever.’
‘I’m not sure.’ Flora sipped the remnants of her Sangiovese and nibbled on one of Barney’s rather delicious home-made truffles. For such a big lug of an Irishman, he was quite the Marcus Wareing in the kitchen. ‘I can’t quite shake the feeling I’m being set up.’
‘You are,’ Penny said cheerfully, chucking another log on Barney’s fire and settling down next to Flora on the sofa. ‘In the nicest possible way, though. Barney wants me to hire you to design my new gallery. We exchanged last week, while you were in New York. Can you believe it’s ours now?’
Grabbing her MacBook Air off the coffee table, Penny clicked open more photographs of her new space, a vast if slightly desolate-looking loft on the wrong side of Battersea.
‘Santiago says it looks like a multi-storey car park,’ said Penny, gazing at each image adoringly, like a new mother cooing over pictures of her child. ‘But obviously he has no idea what he’s talking about.’
‘Obviously,’ agreed Flora.
‘Spaces aren’t beautiful to my husband, unless they’re green and have a pavilion at one end,’ said Penny. ‘But what do you think?’
‘I think it has huge potential,’ said Flora.
‘But?’ Penny frowned.
‘But nothing!’ Flora laughed. ‘It has huge potential. I’d need to see your work, though, to get a better sense of why you chose it. What does it say about your art? What do you want it to say?’
Penny refilled both their glasses. ‘I want it to say: “Please buy this painting for an astronomical sum of money.”’
Flora laughed.
‘But at the moment I think it’s saying something more along the lines of: “Help! I need an amazing designer who will work for next to no wages as my owner is broke, but who will help me achieve my” – what did you say again? – my “huge potential”.’
Flora popped another chocolate into her mouth and sucked on it contemplatively.
‘I’d love to do it,’ she began.
‘Really?’ Penny said hopefully.
‘Really. But I can’t,’ said Flora. ‘Even if I didn’t have contract issues, not to mention a wedding to go home for, I literally have no time. Hanborough’s like a black hole of work.’
Penny’s face fell. ‘I understand. I mean, I can imagine. The castle is enormous.’ She looked at Flora wistfully. ‘But don’t you think, sometimes, it would be nice to get out of the Swell Valley? To have a reason to come up to London? Do some new things, meet some new people? Perhaps it’s different with painting, but I find I get terribly stuck in a rut creatively when I only have one thing to focus on.’
This was sort of true. Flora’s routine of work, eat, sleep, work was not exactly conducive to creative brilliance. On the other hand, she barely had the energy for the work she was being paid to do, never mind dangerous freebies that could never ultimately lead anywhere …
‘Coffee, ladies.’
Barney walked in bearing a chipped, plastic tray with three mismatched china mugs on it. There was something about Barney’s relentless scruffiness that Flora found endearing. Mason would rather die than present his guests with a tray like that. On the other hand, she knew she could never live the life of the impoverished artist that Barney seemed so bizarrely attached to. Art was important to Flora, but not at any cost. She wondered idly whether Barney still had any savings from his former life as a lawyer – and if so, how fast they were running out.
‘Flora can’t do it,’ Penny summarized, with a sigh of resignation. ‘She’s too overstretched at Hanborough.’
‘Too overstretched to manage the whole project,’ said Barney. ‘But you could knock up a few sketches, surely? Just to give Penny some ideas.’
Flora scowled at him. She didn’t appreciate the use of the phrase ‘knock up’, as if sketching out the interior design for a London gallery were as easy as whipping up an omelette.
‘And maybe you could do something for Flora in return?’ Barney suggested to Penny, ignoring Flora’s evil eye. ‘A portrait, perhaps?’
‘Oh, yes!’ Penny clapped her hands together. ‘I’d adore to paint you. We could do it in the nude if you like. As a wedding present for your husband.’
This wasn’t at all what Barney had had in mind. The whole idea was to get Flora to forget her American fiancé, not to spend every Friday night at Penny’s, stripping off for the guy.
Luckily, Flora seemed to feel equally awkward.
‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ she muttered, blushing scarlet. Mason’s idea of a suitable wedding present would be something along the lines of a pair of Tiffany candelabra or a first edition John Steinbeck. Flora was as sure as she could be that the last thing on earth he would want to receive was a nude painting of her. In fact, she could practically hear his disapproval from here.
‘For God’s sake, Flora! We can’t possibly hang it. What if my mother came to stay?’
‘You’d look incredible, I promise you,’ said Penny. ‘I wouldn’t do a Lucian Freud on you.’
‘It’s very kind, but I really couldn’t impose.’
‘It’s no imposition.’ Penny warmed to her theme. ‘It’d be an honour to paint you.’
‘I wouldn’t have time for the sittings.’ Flora’s voice grew increasingly desperate. ‘But I’ll happily do some sketches for you,’ she blurted out. Anything to get Penny to drop it. ‘That’s no problem.’
‘Really? Would you?’ Penny’s kind face lit up. ‘Oh, that’s amazing! Thank you so much.’ She hugged Flora, letting out a little squeal of excitement. ‘And thank you, Barn, for introducing us.’
Flora shot Barney a look that clearly said, Yeah. Thanks for nothing, buddy.
‘I’ll arrange a time for you to come up to London and see it,’ Penny beamed. ‘We’ll have lunch at The Latchmere. Oh, it’ll be such fun!’
Flora forced a smile. How had she been bamboozled into this? She considered backing out quietly in a few days’ time, but one look at Penny’s face and she knew she couldn’t let her down. It would be like kicking a puppy.
Bloody Barney.
On the other hand, it would be fun to come up with some ideas for a London gallery. Flora had never designed a gallery before. And Hanborough had become terribly all-consuming.
Perhaps a change would be as good as a rest?
Eva couldn’t believe her eyes when she landed at Heathrow and saw Henry waiting for her in Arrivals.
‘You came to meet me! You never come to meet me.’ Her eyes lit up. Then, almost instantly, a cloud of worry fell over her face. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Of course everything’s all right. Why wouldn’t it be?’ said Henry, pulling her into his arms and kissing her passionately in front of the gawping
crowds. Of course people recognized England’s most glamorous engaged couple, and more than a few were snapping pictures on their phones.
In a thin black cashmere sweater and jeans, clean-shaven for once and smelling of toothpaste and Acqua di Parma cologne, Henry looked and felt heavenly. Closing her eyes, Eva inhaled him, reassuring herself that he was hers, that nothing was wrong.
That was the problem with infidelity. No matter how long ago it was, or how fully you forgave the other person, total trust was never quite possible ever again. There would always be that tiny hairline fracture, invisible to the naked eye, but at risk of cracking open at any minute.
Henry comes to pick me up and I assume something’s happened. That he must be feeling guilty. Or that he’s leaving me. I panic.
Eva didn’t want to be that person – the insecure, needy fiancée. But holding back her doubts was a constant battle.
Taking her hand in his, Henry walked her out to the car, the clicking of cameras and flashing of phones following them with every step. Even in her off-duty uniform of black jeans, sneakers and a white T-shirt paired with a Rick Owens leather jacket, Eva still managed to radiate glamour.
I’m so lucky to be with her, Henry thought, for the thousandth time. What the hell is wrong with me?
He’d been with Lucy Smart again last night, briefly, in one of the derelict outbuildings on the Hanborough Estate. Their affair was becoming dangerously addictive, like slipping into an alternative reality in which both of them were free, the rest of the world didn’t exist, and nothing mattered except each other, their bodies, the moment. Henry had tried endlessly to untangle what it was that drew him to Lucy. Perhaps the fact that, unlike Eva, she didn’t love him, didn’t need him. Too often, Eva’s devotion felt like a millstone around Henry’s neck, compounding his guilt and his growing feelings of panic about the commitment he was about to make. With Lucy there was no commitment, no weight dragging him under. But the relationship had other problems. Lucy was already talking about ending their fling.
‘No one’s been hurt yet. No one knows,’ she told Henry last night, after their brief but passionate encounter. ‘I think we should quit while we’re ahead.’
The Bachelor Page 13