by Celia Hayes
“Don’t worry, I’ll be right back. Will you excuse me?” he asks the two of us.
“Of course, no problem. Miss Watts, why don’t we sit at the table?” suggests Richard, giving me his arm.
“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” I reply, sensing from his eyes that we are both interested in moving away from prying ears.
At that very moment, however, the bell rings and we all stand looking at each other, wondering who is still missing.
“The dessert is here,” the host begins with some relief in his eyes. “I thought it’d never turn up.”
“George, the drawer,” urges Elenoire.
The poor man doesn’t know which way to turn – he wants to go and open the door and resolve the ongoing crisis in the kitchen.
No one moves.
In the other room they haven’t even heard the doorbell.
“Please go, I’ll get it.”
My inborn pragmatism prevails and spares him the dilemma, for I offer to take care of the newcomer.
“Magnificent, dear. Richard, go and sit next to Stuart. We’ll be with you right away” Mrs Mason intervenes, towing George away with her. He has no choice and in two seconds flat I find myself in the company of only the cat, who is staring at me impatiently.
“Okay, show me the way.”
The hairball raises his tail with an angry gesture and, swinging his hips, precedes me into the hall, passing an overloaded coat rack. The bell rings again, so I open it saying “Just a moment”, sensing the deliveryman’s impatience. Behind a huge white box I find Ethan, whose eyes widen in surprise when he sees me. He probably didn’t expect to find me here. Well, that makes two of us. I didn’t imagine he would be here either.
“Trudy…” he says, staring open mouthed at the stupid red dress I decided to wear. I don’t know what I was thinking. I was depressed. Horace’s message had been devastating. When I got home I wasn’t myself. I was about to pull out a pair of black trousers, then I saw this old satin dress that I hadn’t worn for a lifetime in the corner of the wardrobe and… Come on, it’s not that short! It reaches mid thigh. And it’s not particularly low cut. Not that there’s much to see. Maybe it’s the colour. Perhaps the fact that it’s very closely fitted. Or maybe it’s the padding in the bra. I put on a cotton cardigan to try and dampen the effect, but apparently…
Come on, say something!
“I didn’t know you did catering,” I say to break the silence, trying to help him with the box.
“Ah… I didn’t make them myself,” he corrects me, recovering from the momentary shock with a funny shake of his head. I don’t know whether to take it as a compliment or not. Is it so incredible that even I have boobs? “I went to Penny’s as soon as I finished at the pub,” he tells me, as he overtakes me. “Don’t worry, I can take it. It’s not heavy.”
He gives me a kiss on the cheek.
Ooh, that was a low blow!
“Will you come with me to the kitchen?” he continues in an innocent tone. “I don’t know if I can open the door with this in my arms.”
“Wha… what? Oh, yes, of course,” I stammer, in the wake of the scent he leaves behind.
Today he’s… different. For the first time since I’ve known him he’s left all his metal-head bandanas and bracelets and old boots at home. He almost looks like a normal person. Of course he’s not wearing a suit – that would be too much – but he’s put on a shirt and his jeans don’t have a single rip on display. I bet he’s even done something to his hair, which isn’t as messy as usual.
“Ethan, you’ve come at last!” one of the girls from the post office greets him, running over and embracing him. Embarrassed, I step aside and wait until she stops her groping.
At this point the question arises: should I stay or should I go?
“Let me help you. Come into the kitchen and we’ll find somewhere to put this,” she chirps.
“Hang on!” shouts the traffic warden, almost tripping over the carpet. “I’ll come too!”
“Me, too,” the teacher joins the queue.
“If you want, I’ll help with the decorations!” We gain the piano teacher as well.
At this point, I would say that my presence is superfluous to requirements.
Chapter 16
Promising Accountants
“Wow!”
“It was in the sale.”
“What, the turkey?”
I hate it when the buffet’s more of success than two hours of
make-up and a personal shopper.
“Finally, we’re ready!”
George appears, bearing an overflowing tray in his hands.
He’s not the only one. Slowly, everyone files in and the table is filled with deliciously aromatic food. The last to arrive is the Reverend, who sits at the head. After the first exchange of jokes, he asks for a moment of silence to thank the Lord for Mrs Mason’s meat pies and reads a psalm, forcing us to sit in silence for about ten minutes. Distractedly listening to his words, I let my gaze wander over the guests, studying their expressions, until my attention is drawn to strange movements beside the cupboard. Someone approaches on tiptoe, hoping not to disturb the prayer. It’s the infant school teacher, who drops into the first empty chair, smoothing her skirt, her cheeks burning. Right behind I can’t but notice Ethan, who follows her with his hands in his pockets, either unaware or just oblivious to the effect his sessions in the gym have on the oestrogen levels of the ladies present. It’s an embarrassing scene.
If they go on like this he’ll find himself half naked.
I’m speechless.
The strange thing is that he doesn’t seem at all willing to go along with them. Quite the opposite. He tries to avoid them, positioning himself behind the chairs and, when one of them tries to grab him, suddenly hiding behind Mayor Mason and coming to sit right… No, come on, why did he have to sit right next to me? And when he realizes that there’s no space, he forces Richard to move down a place, so that the only reason for me being here vanishes.
Why? Why is it that whatever happens, anywhere in the world, he always has to end up in my life?
“I’m starving!” he whispers in my ear, rubbing his hands.
“Shh!” I shut him up. “Don’t interrupt the Reverend.”
“Okay,” he says cheerfully, grabbing a bun from the basket and biting into it.
“Will you stop?” I whisper in irritation. “Can’t you wait a minute?”
“I’m hungry!” he says. I’m not moved. I pull the bun out of his hand and cover it with mine, next to my plate, daring him with my eyes to try again.
Reaction?
Not being able to eat the bread he moves on to devouring me with his eyes.
How childish.
“It’s not working!” I say, frowning at him.
“You’re unbearable,” he says, pulling a strand of my hair.
“Ouch!”
I let go and he seizes the opportunity to lean over the table and reclaim the bun before I can stop him.
“Mine!” he exclaims triumphantly, chewing with his mouth open an inch from my nose just to make me lose my temper.
“I swear, I’ll strangle you…”
“Oh yeah? Bring it on!” he challenges.
A sudden “Amen!” brings us back to order.
“At last!” He follows.
“Hmm… What a delicious smell,” says Elenoire, sniffing the air.
“Adeline made these, they look really inviting,” replies George.
“Taste these, they’re fresh,” I hear someone elsewhere.
“A drop of wine?”
“A… A drop of wine?” says the same voice.
“Trudy…” it says again, and only then do I realize that Ethan is holding a bottle and waiting for my reaction.
“What? Oh, yes, thanks,” I reply, handing him the glass.
“Are you okay?” he asks me, anxiously.
“I… Yes, sure,” I nod. “I’m just really tired.”
&
nbsp; Dinner quietly resumes. I eat a bit of everything and, between one glass of wine and the next, I also manage to make conversation. Ethan tells me a bit about himself, about his studies and his passion for photography. I tell him about a couple of episodes from my university years and I literally leave him stunned when I reveal that I was part of a small theatre company for a couple of seasons. If at nine I was as stiff as frozen cod, at eleven, thanks to one glass too many, I even laugh merrily at George’s jokes, listen to hunting stories and flirt with the party’s charmer. I’m almost enjoying myself.
“I propose another round!” exclaims the Mayor raising a bottle. “Miss Watts, keep me company.”
“Heavens no,” I move my glass away. “I really can’t. I’m starting to see double.”
“You just need a little air,” suggests Ethan. “Would you care to join me?” he proposes, pulling out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. “I’ll show you the garden.”
“I—”
“George… George, look who’s here!”
We all turn round to greet the newcomer who appears next to the fireplace…
Wow!! Another member of my tribe!
Yes, there’s no doubt about it: dark suit, perfectly knotted tie, rings under his eyes, obsessive watch checking. He’s a city boy! What the hell is a city boy doing here? I feel as excited as the last male mammoth looking at the last female of the species.
“Adam, what a pleasure to have you here,” gushes the Mayor’s wife, overdoing it with the hugs and pats on the shoulder.
Poor man. I almost pity him.
I use the next few minutes to observe him carefully. Let’s see…
Height: satisfactory – I think about five foot eight. Nothing extraordinary, but I’m five foot seven, so if I’m careful, I won’t be forced to bend down when I greet him, to avoid drowning him in my cleavage, even when I wear heels. His hair is a coppery blond and short, flattened with gel. A nice modern look! Yes, I’d say he’s passable. Lean physique. Beautiful hands. Very well manicured. Eyebrows maybe a tad too defined. Does he pluck? Mmm… I don’t know what to think about that. I’m still reflecting on it, when Elenoire accompanies him to the table and is about to introduce us.
“Adam, have you met Trudy already?”
“Not yet.” He holds out his hand.
“Trudy, darling, this is Adam, one of the most promising accountants in Turriff.”
“Now let’s not exaggerate,” he replies sheepishly.
“Oh, what nonsense! Don’t be modest, you can’t fool us,” she reproaches him good naturedly.
“I’m not going to argue, I’m too hungry,” he confesses, returning her smile with affection. “So? Is there a little place for me?”
At the table, however, there are no free seats. To overcome the inconvenience, George moves over and suggests joining him at the foot of the table, but he doesn’t seem to want to stray too far. He moves around the table with the first free chair he finds.
“Forgive me, George. Don’t take it personally, but I don’t know when I’ll next have the chance to poke my nose out of the office and I don’t want to waste my only free evening talking to you. I love you, but not that much,” he jokes, provoking general hysterics. “May I?” He asks Ethan at that point, indicating that he wants to put his chair between ours. Ethan doesn’t seem particularly enthusiastic. I wonder if the next step is to pull out the cheese knives and embark in a duel to the death, but Ethan doesn’t seem inclined to such drastic measures. He studies him with a touch of irritation, then nods and moves back. Adam, in turn, demonstrates equal diplomacy. He’s not flustered. Indeed, he takes Ethan’s reaction very cheerfully, thanking him heartily, and gives him a vigorous pat on the back to introduce himself before trying to exchange some small talk, but receiving only a handful of monosyllables in reply.
“So you’re from London, then?”
And from that moment, I become the only guest he pays attention to.
“Yes,” I confirm. “I’m here temporarily.”
“When did you arrive?”
“A month or so ago.”
“And I only met you today?” He asks me, upset.
“I don’t go out much.”
“She never goes out!” interrupts Ethan, pouring himself a glass of water.
“Why not?” asks Adam, aghast.
“The fact is that I’m—” I gasp in difficulty.
“A sociopath,” concludes Ethan for me, smiling.
“I’m not a sociopath.”
“Oh, yes you are!” he says, undeterred.
“Don’t worry, I don’t believe that you’re a sociopath,” Adam reassures me, more inclined to accept my version.
“Then why are you always holed up at home?”
“Maybe she just hasn’t met anyone it’s worth going out with,” Adam replies for me, before giving me a provocative look and adding “But things change…”
I shouldn’t lead him on, but I haven’t heard any mention of the Financial Times for so long that I can’t help it. I don’t answer, it doesn’t seem elegant, but at least I smile and this seems to put him in good spirits. But not Ethan, who gives me a dirty look and leaves the conversation, going off to discuss sport with the Reverend.
Adam proves to be good company. I spend the rest of the evening investigating his life and I discover three interesting details; he has a job that absorbs him completely, he’s single and he finds my eyes irresistible. Isn’t that the best possible start for a friendship?
Hey, I said friendship! Don’t get any funny ideas. Do I need to remind you how it ended last time?
Well I’m not planning on giving an encore. I’m merely exchanging innocent small talk with someone who has the same interests as me, magically forgetting where I am and what time it is until suddenly there’s an explosion of applause in honour of the retiree.
“Oh goodness, it’s one o’clock! Mr Bailey, I’m mortified, but I think I have to leave.”
“What,” he grumbles. “Already?”
“I’m sorry…” I apologize, abashed. “I have to work tomorrow.”
“Shall I give you a ride?” proposes Ethan, getting up from the table.
“Don’t worry, you stay here,” says Adam. “It’s late for me as well – I’ll take her home. It’s on my way…” he says, not knowing that Ethan and I live in the same house.
“Actually, I came by car,” I say, pulling out a set of keys from my bag. Ethan can’t contain an amused grimace, but is forced to swallow it when Adam exclaims “Well that’s perfect! You can give me a lift. I thought I’d offer you a walk in the moonlight – my car’s in the garage until next Monday.”
“Adam!” Elenoire scolds him. “That’s not very gallant. What will she think?”
“Don’t worry, it’s just a tactic,” he winks. “This way she’ll be forced to accept a dinner invitation so that I can return the favour,” he says, giving me a conspiratorial look as he walks away towards the coats.
A little dazed by everything, I gather my things and look at the table.
“I only managed to exchange a few words with you,” says Richard regretfully, coming over to say goodbye.
“Yes…” I say.
“I wanted to ask you how it’s going at Wilbourgh. I won’t hide the fact that I’ve been following events at the branch with interest. It seems that you’ve been faring very well.”
“Mr Marshall, I haven’t done anything extraordinary.”
“I don’t think so. I don’t think so at all. You’ve done so much so that RBS’s interest has been renewed through Wilbourgh’s legal department. You must certainly have been informed about our intentions.”
I would like to answer, but I notice the proximity of Mr Bailey and his curious look, so I find it more appropriate to defer.
“I’ve heard something… But why don’t you pop by my office on Wednesday? We could chat in peace, what do you think?”
He looks around and understands immediately.
“I’ll
be there at eleven!” he mutters softly, allowing me to follow Adam towards the front door.
“Have you been swallowed up by the umbrella stand?” I joke as I walk through the lobby to the entrance. As I walk past the stairs, I try not to trip over the cat, and in addition to his irritated meow, I hear a sudden sob. Curious, I back track a few steps and peek through a half open door, thinking that I must have imagined it. But in the room I see Catherine. She’s crying, her nose hidden in a big chequered handkerchief. She’s not alone. Percy is with her, trying to comfort her, stroking her back. Standing there peeking isn’t polite, but I can’t leave. Maybe something serious has happened?
“Oh, there you are. Miss Watts – you’d forgotten this.” The former branch manager comes over, handing me my glasses case. Following my gaze he sees the same scene, but doesn’t look surprised. “Hmm… Sad stuff,” he murmurs in my ear.
“Mr Bailey, what’s happened?” I ask.
“Her family situation isn’t easy. Her mother’s been ill for years, her father passed away recently and now the prospect of finding herself jobless without any means or connections. Poor Miss Hunt…” he sighs.
“Well, she has the job in the bank and lots of friends to support her.”
“Miss Watts,” he interrupts me “You are a dear girl. An intelligent woman and I’m sure that everyone admires you very much, but it isn’t that hard to work out why you’ve been sent to Turriff. RBS’s interest is all too manifest to go unnoticed even to a less attentive eye than mine.” And he gives me his hand, while a smile sweeps away the shadowed expression of a moment before. “But let’s not think about that for the moment – will you allow me to accompany you to the door?”
Chapter 17
Simply Enchanting
Sometimes they come back…
Then they see the Doberman and have second thoughts.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think that opening a sex shop for the visually impaired can be considered an investment in line with our current policies on lending,” I explain, as I accompany a customer to the door. He doesn’t seem convinced, but finds himself pushed out of the bank and can only wave and leave, reconsidering the idea of accepting that position as a metalworker in his father’s workshop.