‘Ah-ha!’ said Viv when she opened the door. ‘The sexy purple. Are you out to entrap someone in particular or is it just a lure for any unsuspecting male who happens to be passing?’
‘It’s either part of a cunning plot to overthrow the Government and change civilization as we know it or a sad and desperate attempt to inveigle some feebleminded myopic man with excess testosterone into chatting me up. You choose. So you don’t think it shows off my stomach too much?’
‘I see there’s been no unexpected rise in self-esteem on the stock market then.’ Viv waved her in.
Bella raised one eyebrow. ‘Call yourself a hostess?’ she said. ‘I’ve been here 45 seconds and not been offered so much as a Twiglet. Have you got anything decent to drink or shall we have what I brought?’
Viv slavered garlic and herb butter onto slit baguettes while Bella tipped pistachios and olives into dishes.
‘Getting enough to eat there, are you?’ said Viv as Bella cracked open yet another pistachio nut with her teeth. ‘Are you all right, babe? You look a bit peaky.’
‘I’m fine. Give me a top-up, will you?’
‘Steady on. You’ve got a whole evening to get through. What’s up?’
‘Nothing. Everything. It sounds stupid.’
‘What’s stupid?’ Nick breezed into the kitchen. ‘Ah, do I spy pistachios?’ He scooped out a handful from the dish.
‘I just saw Will in the supermarket with a trolley full of nappies.’
‘What a bastard!’ Nick shook his head. ‘What? I thought that’s what I’m supposed to say. Thought I’d get it in before you did. Who’s Will anyway?’
‘Bella’s garden man. I said you bloody liked him. Well, he’s obviously not worthy of you, then.’
‘I feel such a fool. Ever since I met him, there seemed to be this thing between us –’
Nick raised his eyebrows suggestively.
‘Go away,’ said Bella and Viv at the same time.
‘This unspoken assumption that we like each other. I bet he flirts with all his clients just to butter them up. He’s probably turning to his wife and cooing over their baby – and laughing about me and my stupid boxes and my stupid mural – and I hate him now only not as much as I hate me and I wish I’d never met him. It’s really all my fault because I allowed myself to like him which was stupid, stupid, stupid. And I can’t even send him away because he’s started and there’s soil everywhere and if he doesn’t finish the garden, it’ll look like a total tip and the house already looks like a warehouse. More wine, please.’
‘Oh, babe. I’m sorry. We’ll find you someone nice, won’t we, Nick?’
‘Me? What are you looking at me for? You’re always saying my friends are clueless.’
Bella dug into the pistachios again. ‘Forget it. It’s a lost cause. I don’t care any more. I’m going to be celibate for ever and devote myself to art.’
‘Like Sister Wendy?’
‘Yes. But with a better orthodontist.’
‘Right, that’s your lot.’ Viv plucked the dish of nuts out of her grasp and put it in the sitting-room. ‘By the time you two’ve finished, we’ll have to put them out in an eggcup.’
Nick loosened his tie, rolled up his sleeves and waggled his fingers, as if limbering up to perform a little something by Chopin on a concert grand.
‘If someone,’ he nodded at Bella, ‘would care to chop the tomatoes for the salad, I will prepare –’ he paused for effect’- the dressing.’
‘Oh, darling,’ Viv pouted and opened her eyes wide in mock awe. ‘May we really stay and watch?’
He washed his hands and held them up straight, surgeon-like, from the elbows.
‘You may,’ he said. ‘Towel?’
The Making of the French Dressing – Nick’s sole culinary skill – was a five-act epic drama starring Nick, ably supported by a pestle and mortar, fat cloves of garlic, two types of mustard, some extremely overpriced olive oil from one particular Tuscan olive grove, and other rare unguents that Nick liked to hide from view ‘to preserve the mystique’.
Bella washed and chopped the tomatoes, while Nick embarked on Act One: The Crushing of the Garlic with the Sea Salt.
‘It’s a joy and an education to watch you, Nick,’ Bella said. ‘Have you thought of giving master-classes?’
‘Mock if you will,’ said Nick, ‘but I have yet to see you leave so much as a caterpillar on your plate when I serve up a salad.’
‘True, O Great One, but it’s such a waste for so small an audience. Why don’t you wait till the guests arrive, then we could judge your performance and give you marks.’ Bella raised her hands in turn as if lifting score placards: ‘Technical merit, 5.6. Artistic impression, 5.9.’
* * *
The doorbell rang. Nick was still on Act Three: The Mixing of the Two Mustards with the Garlic, and Viv was ‘elbow-deep in bloody lollo rosso’, so Bella went to the door.
It was Sara and Adam, a couple whom Bella had already met, and Nick’s cousin Julian, who had been sent out for more paper napkins but had tried three different shops with no success and arrived back at the same time. Bella offered them drinks and tried not to look at Julian too much.
More people started arriving and Bella got hooked up in an argument two couples were having about nursery schools. When she ventured an opinion, all four of them turned as one and gave her that look; one woman voiced the predictable statement on their behalf: ‘Of course, when you have children of your own, you’ll feel differently.’ How could she argue with that? She felt about six years old, being admonished for yet another piece of naughtiness or folly, her mother giving her that patronizing look – When you grow up … When you’re older … Then you can do what you like. Hah! When would that magic day ever come? She was tempted to embarrass the couples, to tell them that, tragically, she could never have children because … because she had some horrible disease, she had donated her womb to science, her Fallopian tubes had been mangled by a mad surgeon, her ovaries refused to release any eggs without written authorization.
From across the other side of the room, Julian caught her eye, raised his glass, and beckoned her with his head. God he was tasty. Bella hastily excused herself from the cul-de-sac argument – ‘Must just … old friend … excuse me’ – and tried not to appear to be rushing over towards him.
She should definitely have stopped drinking at that stage because she’d already had more than she was used to. At some point in the evening, she noticed a burst of too-loud laughter and was inwardly curling her lip in smug disapproval when she realized that it was her own; but she didn’t seem to care any more. For once, she wanted to forget about being sensible and play the wanton woman, to act the bimbo, flirt outrageously and simply enjoy the obvious effect it had on men. So she found herself laying her hand on Julian’s arm and gazing at him with rapt attention while she asked him to tell her all about his travels. He returned her eye contact with frank interest and happily talked about himself.
It was well after one a.m. when the last guest had finally been folded into a taxi, and Viv had ushered her into their spare bedroom.
‘Don’t argue. You’re in no condition to go anywhere,’ she scolded affectionately. ‘Julian‘s volunteered to have the sofa bed, so you’re in here, though I think he’d have been more than happy to squeeze in here with you judging from the way he’s been eyeing you all evening.’
Viv started to make up the bed. Bella pulled pathetically at one side of the sheet but subsided into giggles when she tried to remember how to do proper hospital corners.
‘Will you stop it?’ said Viv, suppressing a spurt of laughter herself. ‘You’re supposed to be the sensible one.’
‘He could have this little corner here.’ Bella keeled slowly over onto the bed while it was still only half made. ‘I promise not to touch him. Or only a little bit. Do you think he fancies me then?’
‘Shift off. If he’d stood any closer he’d have been in that dress with you. But I wouldn’t bother if I were you – he’s off to Washington in a few days. Anyway, he may be quite hunky, but he’s not all that interesting really and he’s got an ego the size of the EU butter mountain.’
‘Nice shoulders.’ Bella smacked her lips in appreciation. Viv sighed and pulled the quilt over her. ‘Night-night,’ she said. ‘No rush to get up in the morning.’
‘Just ask Room Service to send him along,’ Bella mumbled into the pillow. ‘I’ll look after him. He’ll be quite safe with me.’