Orla woke up early on Saturday morning and groaned. Oh, don’t be ridiculous, she told herself sternly, lots of people feed five, six, or even ten people every day of the week. Especially women who live in the country. Man up!
She tiptoed out of the room so as not to wake Melanie, and went downstairs for breakfast. She’d have a shower down at the barn later; the time it took to run a bath was getting old. Or was she just becoming a grouchy non-romantic? Someone who preferred the quick and utilitarian —
Good grief, Orla, lay off the navel-gazing and make the marinade!
Following the directions on one of the fancy sauce bottles, she began mixing and chopping. She was pleased she could add the juice of lemons straight off the tree, and when the recipe called for mixed herbs she added a large handful from ten different plants in the herb garden. No bought packet of disguised dried grass for her.
After sliding the various meats into the marinade, Orla wandered over to inspect her latest bulk fermentation. It was looking good. Big, and with excellent air bubbles along the edges. I’ll make buns, she decided. Buns with garlic and toasted sesame seeds — that’ll show ’em. It would look like she could really cook, although the real secret of wild-yeast sourdough was how easy it was once you became accustomed to the textures and the time scale.
Orla had just finished shaping the buns when a yawning Melanie appeared with a towel over her shoulder.
‘Rough night, huh?’ Orla asked.
‘Hardly. Homemade pizza with Jack and Rosa. Rosa went to bed at nine, and Jack and I played chess.’
‘Chess?’ Orla was amazed. Melanie had the look of someone who wouldn’t know a knight from a bishop, and not just on a chess board. Really, so many people were just startling bundles of contradiction.
‘And I won,’ Melanie added, obviously aware of Orla’s incredulity. Then she sailed into the bathroom.
Orla began the cleaning. She wasn’t very fussy about her own apartment — no-one had ever called her house-proud — but this was Rosa’s cottage, and Rosa was coming to dinner. She was a little unsure as to where to draw the line: should she clean the windows, for example? The spiders vigorously and relentlessly renewed their huge webs in the corners of the panes, but she’d cleaned the windows only recently. Was it necessary to do them all again?
She decided no. If she made her preparations any more onerous, the whole occasion would become so unpleasant she’d never do it again. And she wanted to do it again. Already she was anticipating the flowing wine and flowing bonhomie, not to mention the expressions on everyone’s faces when they bit into her amazing sourdough buns.
The rest of the day passed quickly. Admittedly Orla enjoyed a long lunch in the sun with Melanie and Kiri, the latter eating as much of the ham as the former, but soon it was time to go down to the barn for her shower.
She banged on the stair wall to announce her arrival and walked tentatively up the stairs.
‘Ever heard of texting?’ Michael asked, leaning over the bannister in his towel.
‘Oh, sorry,’ she replied sheepishly, and turned to go back down the stairs.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he called after her. ‘I was joking. Do I mind if my utterly amazing body makes you hot and excited?’
Orla’s laugh was edged with scorn as she walked back up. What vanity. His ‘utterly amazing’ body didn’t do anything for her at all … Actually, it was rather amazing, now that she looked at it closely … and she was looking closely, in fact she couldn’t tear her eyes away.
‘Shall I drop the towel?’ Michael asked, batting his eyelashes.
Orla pulled herself together and went into the bathroom. Everything was perfect, of course: you couldn’t tell he’d just taken his own shower. She reached for the mixer. Cold, that was what she needed. A good, cold shower to wash away the recurring image of Michael with his towel around his ankles.
‘Everything all right?’ he shouted. ‘Will I come and wash your back?’
Yes! sprang into her mind unbidden. ‘No, thanks,’ she called. ‘My back isn’t dirty.’
She washed herself quickly — in warm water, in spite of her initial enthusiasm for cooling herself down — and refused to examine her first unexpectedly positive response to his suggestion of a back scrub.
‘Food under control?’ he asked without looking up when she came out of the bathroom in her clean dress. He was now tapping on his laptop, dressed in a fetching baby-blue bathrobe.
‘Yes. And you were such a big help.’
Now he did look up. ‘Sorry, I thought you’d ask if —’
‘It’s all right,’ she assured him with a smile. And felt mean. After all, he had been a big help. He’d taken her to Akaroa and bought all the food. ‘Anyway, I must get back to it. I’ve still got the salad leaves to pick.’
‘I like that dress,’ he murmured, turning back to his tapping. ‘Very fetching.’
‘This old thing?’ Orla was taken aback. It was a beloved, full-skirted old silk dress that she’d washed and rewashed into a soft, faded pink. Was he having her on? Insinuating she should change it?
‘I’m quite sincere,’ he added. ‘You shouldn’t be so suspicious.’
Orla went back down the stairs, secretly pleased that he liked the dress as much as she did.
Orla was sitting with Michael and Melanie under the biggest peach tree in the orchard, waiting for Jack and Rosa. It was late afternoon and still beautiful. Melanie had suggested a drink, but Orla and Michael had opted to wait for the guests. Suddenly Orla caught sight of a black-clad figure coming along the driveway. She craned her head to get a better look, and saw the figure disappearing between the trees and shrubs that dotted the path to the cottage.
She cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, ‘Up here!’
A couple of minutes later the figure was coming noisily up the steps to the orchard. She could see the top of his head — surely only a male could be that tall — and then there he was standing in front of them: Eddie.
Michael and Melanie sat up, and the way Melanie’s hand went instantly to her hair, smoothing and rearranging it, caused Orla an inward groan. She introduced them all to each other, and Eddie threw himself down dramatically in the grass.
‘My stupid car’s broken down again,’ he announced. ‘Up on the Summit Road.’
‘And we should do what exactly?’ Michael rejoined.
Melanie giggled and Eddie smiled at her.
Melanie wet her lips with the tip of her tongue.
‘I thought someone here could give me a ride home,’ Eddie said, unperturbed. ‘Unless there’s a mechanic hanging around.’
‘Someone here’ clearly meant Orla. She scrambled to her feet and brushed the grass off her clothing. ‘Of course,’ she said obligingly. Here was her chance to have it out with him.
‘Eddie, you don’t have to go right now, do you?’ Melanie demanded loudly. ‘We’re having a barbecue later on — why don’t you stay? I’m sure Orla can drop you home afterwards. It’ll be fun.’
There was a split second when anyone could have heard a pin drop — even in tinder-dry grass. Both Michael and Eddie appeared startled, each in his own way. And Orla couldn’t believe Melanie’s cheek, couldn’t believe Melanie would invite someone to her own barbecue right in front of her. How could Orla possibly object now?
Eddie was the first possum to escape the blaze of headlights. ‘Sure, that’d be great,’ he said, grinning.
‘Excellent,’ Melanie replied, delighted. ‘I’d been wondering what we were going to do before dinner. I’ll get the gin.’
She jumped up with more energy than she’d shown all day and set off towards the steps. And didn’t she just hitch her skirt up a little bit higher, Orla wondered, or am I being paranoid?
There was another awkward moment as Orla, Eddie and Michael waited for someone to speak.
‘Well,’ Michael said, clearing his throat emphatically. ‘It’s a little early for me to start drinking. So if you’ll both excuse me …’ He stood up, and without further ado disappeared down the steps.
‘Who is that guy?’ Eddie asked. ‘Reminds me of my father.’
‘He’s not old enough,’ Orla objected.
‘I can see that,’ Eddie retorted. ‘I meant the type.’
‘Type?’ Orla repeated, wondering what he’d come up with.
‘Oh, you know. So socially poised. All the right manners.’
‘Actually, he can be quite rude.’ And funny, she found herself adding in her head.
‘Oh, I’m sure he knows how to put everyone in their place,’ Eddie responded coolly. ‘But I bet he knows which fork to use.’
Orla felt a flare of irritation. ‘Would you prefer he ate with his hands?’
Eddie laughed. A bright, loud, young laugh that lit up his handsome face and tripled Orla’s irritation. She was still pulling out blades of dry grass and wondering how to get him to admit to his deceitfulness when Melanie appeared with the gin, tonic, soda and lemons.
‘Actually, I’d really prefer a beer,’ Eddie said languidly as Melanie put the tray on the ground. He was lying back and resting on one arm like a Roman emperor at a banquet.
‘A beer! Why didn’t I think of that?’ Melanie said brightly, and she tripped off towards the steps before Orla could tell Eddie to go and get it himself.
Eddie smiled at Orla. It was a smile of smug satisfaction: Michael might have the moves, it seemed to say, but I have all the pull.
Orla sloshed some gin in a glass and topped it up with tonic. She threw in a slice of lemon and began drinking. She was starting to feel angry.
Melanie appeared with the opened beer and handed it to Eddie. He gave her a captivating smile, and Melanie’s hand flew to her hair and flicked her long summery tresses away from her eyes. No doubt it was a completely unconscious act, but it looked suggestive. Soon she’d be licking her lips and pouting.
Melanie lay down beside Eddie.
Eddie looked from side to side, Orla on the left and Melanie on the right, and smiled like the cat that had got the cream.
‘So’, he said to Melanie, ‘you’re on holiday here? How long are you staying?’
A cloud passed across Melanie’s face. ‘I’m not actually on holiday,’ she muttered.
‘Melanie’s recuperating,’ Orla put in.
‘Not from some hideous infectious disease, I hope,’ Eddie exclaimed, pulling away from her.
‘I broke up with my boyfriend, if you must know,’ Melanie replied, and Orla noticed that her lower lip trembled.
Eddie didn’t notice anything. ‘Oh well, plenty more fish in the sea than ever came out of it,’ he said cheerily.
‘I suppose so,’ Melanie agreed, but didn’t look very pleased with her new, wide choice of anonymous fish.
Orla looked discreetly at her watch. She didn’t want to keep on drinking till it was time to prepare the meal. And she didn’t want to keep on listening to Eddie and Melanie batting silly witticisms back and forth.
‘More beer?’ Eddie asked, handing Melanie the empty bottle.
‘Coming right up,’ Melanie replied, and disappeared down the steps before Orla could make any comment.
‘By the way, Rosa and Jack are coming to the barbecue,’ Orla announced.
Eddie groaned.
‘What’s wrong with that? Don’t you like them?’
‘Yes. No. Oh, they’re all right. They’re just so … cosy.’
‘Cosy!’ Orla exclaimed. Eddie made the word seem like an insult.
‘Oh, you know,’ he said airily. ‘Permanently planted in front of a wood-burner.’
‘And what — you’re always bravely out in the storm?’
Eddie cracked a grin.
Orla felt like slapping him.
Melanie returned with another open bottle, and this time the smile Eddie bestowed on her was ravishing. She smiled back, putting her head on one side and twirling some tresses in her fingers like an infatuated teenager.
Orla wanted to shout, God, do you think you’re the only one? He has that effect on every female who crosses his path.
She quickly got to her feet and, mumbling some incoherent excuse, ran down the steps. She rushed to the most private part of the garden and stumbled along the narrow, meandering paths, trying to quell the feelings that had boiled up inside her.
‘So that’s the young heartbreaker,’ a voice said behind her. She turned and there was Michael, standing on the path with a coffee cup in his hand. He held it up and said, ‘I was just going up to the cottage to see if you had any milk. I’m completely out.’
Orla didn’t know if she had any milk or not. She drank her coffee black and hadn’t been keeping her eye on the milk supply. And right at that moment, she didn’t give a stuff.
‘He rather fancies himself, doesn’t he?’ Michael said.
Orla bristled.
‘Okay, that was out of line,’ he apologised.
Orla sighed heavily. What was the point of trying to pretend it wasn’t true?
‘And that Melanie—’ Michael began, and then stopped abruptly.
‘Go on. You might as well say it.’
He frowned. ‘She always accused me of being the butterfly. Going from flower to flower—’
‘I don’t think anyone really minds one flower after another. It’s the bouquet that’s the problem.’
Michael laughed. ‘You’re totally wasted on that silly boy,’ he said, adding, ‘I never tried for a bouquet—’
‘Fine. But what were you going to say about Melanie?’
‘She’s always been just as bad herself. Worse, I’d say.’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ Orla replied. ‘And about that silly boy — I’m not wasted on him, because I’m not actually his.’
‘It’s not really any of my business, but —’
‘No, it isn’t,’ she agreed hotly. Then, throwing out a lame excuse about urgently needing to do something in the cottage, she turned and fled. Shortly after, having taken refuge on her bed, she could hear Michael opening the fridge, looking for milk.
Orla lay in the soothing quiet for ten minutes and then stood up and straightened her dress. There would now be six people for dinner and she still hadn’t done the tour of the garden for salads and fruit.
She grabbed a colander and went up the steps to the vegetable garden. As she passed Melanie and Eddie under the peach tree, Orla noticed he’d now joined her in the gin.
‘Come and have a drink,’ Melanie and Eddie cried in unison when they saw her.
‘Soon,’ she called. ‘I just have to get the salad for this evening.’
Fortunately, Rosa still took a big interest in her vegetable garden. Under Orla’s supervision the patch might well have been bare. Orla found plenty of salad greens, a new planting of radishes and some coriander that hadn’t yet gone to seed. And there was another flush of late raspberries in the berry patch. She marvelled how one day the vegetables and fruit would be hard or green, and scarcely a day or two later they were bursting with colour and vigour.
As she was harvesting, Orla caught sight of a path on the other side of the vegetable patch. It disappeared into the huge old trees that lined the stream. Orla was pleased she wouldn’t have to go back through the orchard, and face another round of questions about when she would be joining Melanie and Eddie in drinking the afternoon away.
She set off down the path. It was cool and shady, but here and there the bright sun filtered through the trees and set the stream asparkle. She spied a wooden bench. The entire area was so calm and restorative that she vowed to bring a book there on the next hot day. And then she saw the glasshouse, bursting with big red peppers and a most gorgeous exotic-looking plant, hung with long, white, scented double flowers. What it was, she had no idea. And she hadn’t even known the glasshouse was there. This was definitely the best part of the garden to hide in.
Orla went into the cottage and busied herself with the preparations, carefully washing all of the produce and making a dressing. She also made a pesto from some walnuts and coriander. When she saw what her resourcefulness had produced, she was quite proud of herself. She rang Rosa and asked if she had anything to go with the raspberries — yoghurt or some cream would be fine.
Half an hour later Rosa turned up with chocolate mousse, a fine bottle of pinot gris, some sparkling grape juice, and Jack in an immaculately ironed shirt. While they were organising the chairs, Michael appeared carrying a bottle of shiraz, and finally Melanie and Eddie stumbled down from the orchard in paroxysms of mad laughter.
Orla watched Rosa’s face when she saw her friend catch hold of Eddie’s shoulder to steady herself. Rosa’s expression began as an amused smile, and ended as a grimace when Melanie kept holding on much longer than required. Orla saw that everyone else had noticed, too: Jack rolled his eyes, and Michael looked away.
It was a lovely evening. The chairs were in a semi-circle around the outdoor table and as her guests started talking and laughing over their first drinks, Orla was hopeful that the evening might still go well.
‘So, Eddie, what brings you here?’ Rosa asked, as she sipped her grape juice.
‘Can’t a guy visit without being cross-examined?’ he returned sharply.
‘His car broke down on the Summit Road,’ Melanie explained.
‘Did it?’ Jack asked. ‘Do you want me to go up with you and take a look at it?’
‘Nah,’ Eddie responded. ‘I’m sure Dad can sort it out.’
Orla now caught Michael rolling his eyes.
Jack didn’t argue. He took a sip of his wine and then jumped up to open the lid of the barbecue. ‘I’m starving,’ he announced. ‘I’ve been slaving all day on the grounds at the Hatherleys’.’
Orla went inside to fetch the nibbles to accompany the drinks, and the meats that would take the longest time to cook. Rosa followed her, and Melanie soon joined them, perhaps out of a sense of guilt. Of course Eddie remained where he was, but through the open door Orla could see Michael clearing a space on the table and putting the first of the empty bottles in the outdoor bin. Orla took the meat and oil out to Jack, and when she came back in Rosa and Melanie were in the middle of a heated discussion.
‘What on earth d’you think you’re doing?’ Rosa was demanding as she and Melanie loaded the cutlery and plates onto a large tray.
‘What d’you mean?’ asked Melanie, looking like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
‘You know what I mean,’ Rosa returned tartly.
‘Ben dumped me,’ Melanie replied, with a wobble in her voice.
Rosa, who’d been just about to walk outside with the tray, stopped in her tracks.
‘What for? What did you do?’
‘Why d’you always think it was my fault?’
‘Because it usually is,’ Rosa said drily.
Melanie stared at the floor.
Orla turned off the tap where she’d begun washing the tomatoes — again — and watched the scene out of the corner of her eye.
‘Spill it,’ Rosa ordered sternly.
‘Well, he took me to meet his parents —’
‘Meet his parents!’ Rosa exclaimed. ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’
‘Not so much,’ Melanie sighed. ‘They came over to visit, and we all went to this fancy holiday place in the Bay of Islands. I was very nervous. I felt like I was being watched and judged for the whole weekend. Ben’s mother kept going on about some paragon called Jessica, all fully qualified and doing so well now, Ben dear, and earning huge amounts and has such a lovely apartment in the central city. God knows who she was, but I got bloody sick of it.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘Drank a bit too much.’
‘Got raving drunk you mean?’
‘No! But people like that … they never eat, do they? There were endless pre-dinner drinks and no bloody dinner.’
‘Well-off people on holiday in the Bay of Islands don’t eat?’ Rosa retorted.
‘They eat very late,’ Melanie corrected herself. ‘We had to wait till Ben’s brother got home with the crayfish. It took so long I thought he must’ve gone to Kaikoura to buy it.’
‘So you knocked the booze back until — until you did what exactly?’
Melanie hung her head.
‘Tell me!’
‘Had an argument with Ben’s mother,’ Melanie admitted almost inaudibly.
‘What about?’ Rosa demanded.
‘That Jessica creature. I suddenly found myself saying — and really, it was like I was listening to someone else speaking — “So I suppose you’d prefer it if Ben had brought this bloody Jessica here instead of me?”.’
‘Oh, my God,’ Rosa said incredulously.
‘The silence in the room was deafening,’ Melanie carried on. ‘She went all tight-lipped, you know how those posh women do. Then she finally said, “Don’t be ridiculous.” I said I wasn’t being ridiculous, that she’d talked about nothing but this effing floozy since I’d arrived.’
‘You called the paragon an effing floozy?’ Orla put in, startled. She knew how badly her own mother would have reacted to this ‘language’. Mamabear was so strict that she even banned the use of ‘effing’ as a replacement for the real word.
Melanie nodded. ‘Then Ben’s mother — her name was June by the way — then June said, “Take her for a lie-down, Ben dear. She’s drunk.” So I started yelling, “I’m not drunk!” as Ben tried to drag me away by the arm. The last words I recall saying just before he dragged me through the door were, “You’re drunk yourself, you old bitch!”’
‘Melanie!’ Rosa exclaimed in a stunned voice.
‘I know, I know,’ Melanie muttered with her eyes on the floor.
‘You really have to do something about your drinking—’ Rosa began.
‘It was her fault just as much as mine!’ Melanie cried hotly. ‘I knew you’d blame it all on me. You’re such a wowser since you got with Jack.’
‘But I’m pregnant,’ Rosa protested in amazement.
Orla wondered what was going to happen next. Rosa looked quite wounded at Melanie’s accusation, and Melanie had quickly overcome her shame and was now tossing her hair around alarmingly.
‘You know what I’m going to do about my drinking?’ she declared with overt defiance. ‘Have some more. Have some more with that gorgeous hunk out there.’ With another toss she turned and marched out the door, leaving Rosa and Orla staring at each other.
‘I’m sorry about all that,’ Rosa began apologising. ‘She didn’t used to be so bad. And as far as Eddie’s concerned, I’m sure —’
‘It’s all right,’ Orla reassured Rosa quickly, in order to forestall any further discussion of the topic.
‘I’m going to have to help her, though,’ Rosa added. ‘If she carries on like this, she’ll end up an alcoholic.’
Orla didn’t answer, but drunkenly calling your prospective mother-in-law an old bitch seemed to indicate Melanie was already more than halfway there.
Grabbing the bowl of extremely clean tomatoes, Orla headed for the door. As she came out, she saw Michael standing beside Jack at the barbecue. She heard him say, ‘Yes, I’m definitely buying it. And I’d be really interested in contracting you to look after the grounds. I won’t be here all the time, and even if I were, mowing and hedge-cutting aren’t my thing.’
‘I do a bit more than that,’ Jack replied.
‘Sorry,’ Michael apologised, and Orla thought it sounded completely sincere. ‘I didn’t mean to suggest that —’
Jack exploded in laughter and slapped him on the back. ‘It’s all right, mate. I don’t take offence that easily.’
Orla put the tomatoes down on the table. Still with a gin in her hand, Melanie was now sitting quite some distance from Eddie and appeared to be sulking. Eddie wasn’t taking a blind bit of notice.
‘How do you like your steak?’ Jack asked Orla.
‘Medium rare. But no, do mine last.’
‘No, no,’ Michael said. ‘Take the weight off your feet. You’ve done enough.’
He grabbed a chair and plonked it right next to Eddie’s. Orla scanned Michael’s face as she sat down, but he now had his sunglasses on and she couldn’t even imagine what he was thinking. Was he teasing her?
‘Mine next,’ Eddie called, when Jack handed Orla her steak.
‘Ladies first,’ Michael reproved him.
‘Oh, sorry Dad, I forgot.’
Melanie giggled, and Eddie glanced at her and smiled. Orla went to the table and helped herself to salads and cutlery. She poured herself a second, small glass of wine.
‘Abstemious, aren’t we?’ Eddie commented.
‘I am. You’re not.’
‘I suppose you have to prance around in your itsy-bitsy again soon.’
‘Oh, cut the crap, Eddie,’ Jack said crossly. ‘What’s got into you? I thought you liked Orla.’
Melanie looked up expectantly.
‘I do,’ Eddie replied. ‘I’m just having a bit of fun.’
‘Doesn’t sound like fun to me,’ Jack retorted.
‘It’s all right, Jack, I’m used to him,’ Orla said, and turned to give Eddie a silencing stare. And then the strangest thing happened: Eddie’s beautiful sculptured face suddenly seemed too sharp, too angular. She looked for a bit of softness in it and came up wanting.
Unsettled, Orla put down her wine and poured herself a glass of water. She drank it standing up and deliberately avoided sitting down again. She took her plate over to Rosa, then stood beside her and talked about the garden. Melanie made the most of her opportunity and slid onto Orla’s empty chair.
Soon enough, Orla caught sight of Melanie’s hand lingering on Eddie’s thigh. Melanie had seen fit to emphasise some point she’d been making by touching his leg, but then she hadn’t taken her hand away again. Perhaps she had no qualms about resting her hand on the thigh of a male stranger at a barbecue. And Eddie didn’t seem bothered either. He made no attempt to remove her hand, or himself.
Orla was suddenly swamped by a feeling of revulsion, and she broke away from Rosa, saying, ‘I think there are more raspberries down by the barn.’ With this she ditched her nearly empty plate, and fled down the path and through the barn gate to the bottom of the garden.
Was she jealous? No! A thousand times no! What she was really feeling was … completely and utterly ridiculous. She’d seen Melanie all over Eddie like a cheap carpet — and seen herself. Like Melanie, she’d been so overcome by Eddie’s physical magnetism that she’d lost her head. Now, when the same debacle had been re-enacted right in front of her, it was clear how foolish a woman looked when she threw herself at those lips and cheekbones.
The gate creaked open, and she turned to see Michael standing behind her with a bowl.
‘For the raspberries,’ he said, handing it to her. ‘Not that there are any.’
‘I know,’ she muttered as she accepted the bowl. She didn’t look at him.
‘Sorry,’ he said quietly, having apparently caught the humiliated expression on her face. He turned to go.
‘No, wait,’ Orla implored. She had to say something that acknowledged what Michael was no doubt thinking. That she was a naïve fool who fell for any pretty face.
‘Yes?’ he prompted when she couldn’t find the words.
‘You’re right,’ she finally blurted out. ‘Eddie does fancy himself. He thinks he can get anyone — and does, that’s the trouble. But I’m sure he doesn’t really value anyone. He just chalks up another victory —’
‘Yes,’ Michael interrupted. ‘I recognise the type.’
‘Oh, maybe he prefers some to others, maybe his heart is even stirred from time to time, but …’
‘He’s just too young,’ Michael told her firmly. ‘To realise what he’s got. To fully understand the bird-in-the-hand metaphor.’
‘I suppose so,’ Orla agreed, feeling another flash of embarrassment. Had she really understood that metaphor herself? ‘Still, I think he actually prefers the two birds in the bush. I think he enjoys the chase.’
‘Believe me, he’ll stop enjoying it when things don’t go his way anymore. When the kind of woman he starts to prefer is too smart for his antics.’
Too smart, Orla echoed silently. There, he’d said it. Or at least implied it. He thought she was stupid. A smart woman wouldn’t have given Eddie the time of day.
‘Are you coming back?’ Michael enquired.
‘I suppose everyone thinks I ran off in a fit of jealousy,’ Orla replied, feeling extremely reluctant to return to the party.
‘No-one but me even noticed. Just as you left, Melanie poured herself another large gin and Rosa took it off her and emptied it in the garden. That’s the crisis occupying everyone at the moment.’
Orla couldn’t help but smile. She could easily visualise the stand-off between Melanie and Rosa. And much as Melanie might sulk, Rosa would never give in.
‘Come on,’ Michael said, taking Orla’s hand and pulling her towards the gate. ‘Let’s go back.’
Orla let herself be led through the gate and up the path. For a few moments she enjoyed the warmth of Michael’s hand, enjoyed its … kindness. She felt like she didn’t want to let it go, and was so stunned by her own reaction that she stopped dead in her tracks.
‘What’s the matter?’ Michael asked, turning towards her.
‘Nothing.’
He smiled at her. He was no longer wearing his dark glasses and she saw his blue eyes light up in a way she’d never seen before.
Confused, she pulled her hand away, squared her shoulders and marched back to the fray.
After dessert had been served and eaten, Rosa announced that she was tired and needed to go home. Jack, ever the attentive husband, immediately began marshalling jackets and car keys as he profusely thanked Orla for the lovely evening. He offered to come back and help with the cleaning up once he’d taken Rosa home.
‘No need,’ Orla insisted.
‘I’m sure Eddie can wash dishes,’ Michael said.
‘I’m sure I can’t,’ Eddie contradicted him, belligerently. Even though Rosa had emptied Melanie’s gin into the garden, Eddie had kept on stolidly drinking. And Orla noticed that Melanie was taking frequent gulps from his magical, ever-refilling glass.
‘Never mind,’ Orla said calmly. ‘We wouldn’t want you to feel like a neutered tom-cat.’
Michael laughed, and Orla felt a wave of relaxation spread through her body. Michael might think she was stupid, but he made her feel better.
Eddie jumped up and grabbed Melanie’s hand. ‘Let’s go and see the stars, babe. They’re fantastic on clear nights like this.’ Without even waiting for an answer, he dragged Melanie off into the darkness.
Orla and Michael stood in the pool of light coming from the open door of the cottage and looked at each other. It was clear to Orla that they were both thinking the same thing: was Eddie really doing what they thought he was doing? Surely not. Not right in front of Orla.
‘I guess it’s just you and me on dishes,’ Michael finally said.
‘You don’t have to —’
‘Now don’t be a martyr. I’m not going to leave you with all this mess.’
Orla smiled and went to the sink. She loved using the old butler’s sink in preference to a noisy, permanently depreciating and potentially breakable dishwasher. As she ran the hot water, she was glad the others had gone. It was much more restful to wash dishes alone, or with one other person to dry, than to command the forces of half a dozen clattering helpers.
‘You’re not upset, are you?’ Michael asked cautiously, as he wiped a glass.
‘Only a bit,’ Orla replied, and was amazed to find she really meant it. Although she was angry with Eddie, she was unexpectedly glad to be free of his unreliable charm. It had kept tugging at her like a terrier that had got hold of her dress. She thought again of how Eddie’s face had changed the instant she’d become more critical. How clearly she’d seen the certainty and cruelty of youth in his jutting chin and unpadded cheekbones.
‘Why are you smiling like that?’ Michael asked, and she realised he must have been studying her quite closely.
‘I’ve discovered I’m glad it’s not me looking at the stars with Eddie,’ she confessed.