Chapter 35

As they headed over to the Ellison on Saturday evening, Lara said, “Look, I can’t help it, I know I keep going on about this, but you know how sometimes you have a dream and it just makes so much sense? Seriously, it’s like this one was an actual sign.”

“You do keep going on about it. Mum, give it a rest,” Gigi scolded. “Poor Evie, she won’t be able to look at him.”

“OK. Sorry.” Lara mimed zipping her mouth shut. It had been amazing, though; last night she’d dreamed that Harry and Evie were married! To each other! And they’d been completely perfect together, despite having to live in a stripy circus tent and do their washing-up in a paddling pool. But none of that had mattered; Harry had been relaxed and laughing, they’d held hands and barely been able to leave each other alone, and as she’d knelt on the grass outside their tent, washing the dishes in the blue plastic paddling pool, Evie had merrily announced, “Thank goodness I didn’t marry Joel.” Prompting Harry to add with genuine relief, “Thank goodness I divorced Lara!”

Oh, and there’d been a baby dolphin leaping around in the washing-up water too. Read into that what you will.

The party was being held in the ballroom. Both Maz and AJ were filming as hotel guests, staff on their evening off, and other invitees from heaven knows where milled about. Music was playing, but not the bleeding-ears kind that had caused all the complaints in the first place. Tonight it was Frank Sinatra all the way. Enjay, having scrubbed up like nobody’s business, was wearing an immaculate made to order gray three-piece suit, dazzlingly white high-collared shirt, and brogues you could see your reflection in. He was also sporting diamond cuff links and an eye-boggling diamond-encrusted fob watch on a chain. As you do. He was currently wielding a microphone and singing “New York” to a terrified-looking woman in her seventies clutching a champagne flute of orange juice.

“Poor thing,” Gigi murmured.

Lara said, “He’ll probably try to kiss her in a minute.”

“Here’s Harry.” Evie gave her a nudge. “Don’t mention your dream.”

OK, she wouldn’t. But it was intensely frustrating when you suddenly realized something brilliant and weren’t allowed to make it happen. Couldn’t Evie see she was right?

“Hello. Having fun?” Unlike dressed-to-the-nines Enjay, Harry was wearing a pair of chinos and a beige Flying Ducks shirt.

“Not yet. I want to know what really expensive champagne tastes like.” Lara waylaid a passing waitress and helped herself to a glass from the tray. “Hmm.” She took a glug and concentrated hard. “Tastes like cava.”

Harry said, “That’s because it is. The cheap stuff’s in the glasses on the trays that are being taken around. The real deal’s still in the bottles, being poured out for the important guests so they can see the labels and be suitably impressed. Put that down,” he instructed Lara, “and we’ll get you some of the fancy stuff.”

“Here, you can have this one.” Lara handed the glass to Gigi. “Your taste buds won’t know the difference.”

“Don’t do that,” Harry warned as Enjay launched into the next song and Gigi waved to him across the room. “If you’re not careful he’ll come and serenade you. Everyone’s scared it’s going to be them next.”

“If he sings to me,” said Lara, “I’ll join in. That’ll make him stop.”

***

Despite the decided weirdness of the occasion, over the course of the next hour the various guests began to relax. Alcohol loosened their inhibitions, some people began to dance, and a hatchet-faced old man who looked like a tax inspector took everyone by surprise when he joined Enjay onstage and sang like Dean Martin.

Once the Rat Pack medley was over, Evie watched as Enjay resumed chatting to the guests, working the room. It was an exercise in PR and the power of charisma. The scantily dressed girls in their twenties were doing their best to attract his attention, but Enjay was concentrating his efforts on the difficult guests. And winning. Give it a bit longer and he’d have them up dancing to a bit of hip hop.

“Everything OK?” Harry came over to join her. Thank goodness he didn’t know about their adventures last night inside Lara’s head. Lara might have decided they’d make a great couple and Harry was lovely—in lots of ways he was exactly the kind of man she should go for—but at the moment all she could think about was Ethan.

Ethan who hadn’t contacted her since their kind-of date a whole week and a half ago. Having expected to feel nothing, the connection they’d made had been startling. She’d really thought it was mutual too. Why hadn’t he been in touch?

Anyway, never mind that now. Evie said, “I’m fine. And it looks like everyone’s enjoying themselves. How about you?”

“Well, I’m not going to be singing, that’s for sure. But I may venture onto the dance floor at some stage.” Harry paused. “In a sedate fashion, of course. Nothing too wild.”

Evie smiled; his brand of understated charm really was captivating. “You wouldn’t want to be wild.”

“I know, I’d only end up doing my back in.” Harry glanced at her. “Although Lara did say I should ask you to dance. How does that sound? Not right now, of course. But maybe later?”

He was only asking her because Lara hadn’t been able to resist sticking her oar in. Evie pulled a face. “It’s OK, you don’t have to be polite.”

“I’m not just being polite.”

Which was, self-evidently, the only possible response a genuinely polite person could make. Evie said, “Fine then, maybe later when you’re feeling brave enough. We’ll try really hard not to step on each other’s feet.”

***

The ballroom was situated in the west wing, bright, gilded, and high-ceilinged, and with full-length French windows opening out onto the sweeping terrace. The other end of the hotel was altogether darker and more enclosed, with narrow wood-paneled corridors and smaller rooms.

Evie emerged from the ladies’ cloakroom and, rather than head straight back to the party, decided to do a bit of casual exploring first. There had been no sign of Ethan this evening, but he could still be here. She hadn’t asked a member of staff; the last thing he’d want to hear was he was being pursued by that desperate female he wasn’t remotely interested in. There again, she was an invited guest at a party being held in the hotel, which meant she had a valid reason for being on the premises. Which meant if she happened to bump into the owner of the hotel while exploring the facilities, it didn’t make her a stalker.

And if she did encounter him, she would be casual and polite. She definitely wouldn’t clutch at his shirt front and wail, “I really liked you and I thought you liked me, so WHY HAVEN’T YOU CALLED ME, YOU UTTER BASTARD?”

Anyway. There was a sweeping staircase leading up to the first floor, with a minstrel’s gallery at the top and a discreet sign indicating the way to the library. Evie climbed the stairs and followed the sign along the corridor. The library, when she reached it, contained shelves of books, a couple of computers for the guests’ use, a slew of glossy magazines on the low marble-topped coffee table, and a box of board games beneath the window. There was also an unknown couple in their twenties, wrapped around each other and kissing enthusiastically on one of the velvet-upholstered banquettes.

A floorboard creaked beneath her foot and the couple broke apart, turning to stare at her.

“Sorry!” Evie backed away and left them to it, heading back along the corridor to the staircase.

She’d reached the minstrel’s gallery when she saw Ethan making his way across the hallway downstairs. Evie’s heart did a rabbity skip at the sight of him, the intensity of the jolt taking her by surprise. Clearly he was never going to be the type to wear a suit; in his untucked check shirt and corduroys he still looked like a gardener, but there was more to the laws of attraction than the clothes people wore. He paused at the reception desk as his phone began to ring.

“No, no, I’ll be ten minutes. There’s something I need to do first. I’ll take care of it when I get there, don’t worry.” Ending the call and attracting the attention of the girl behind the desk, he added, “Can you get hold of Tina, send her through?”

Would he look up and see her watching him? Leaning forward, resting her elbows on the polished wooden rail, Evie willed it to happen. But she was out of his field of vision; Ethan headed off along the corridor to the right of the reception area and disappeared through the third door along on the left.

Evie hesitated, considering her options. The next moment a dark-haired girl in a chambermaid’s outfit came hurrying across the hall and down the same corridor. Reaching Ethan’s door, she knocked and waited before entering.

OK, what now? From what he’d said on the phone he wouldn’t be in there for long. And further down the corridor was the ladies’ cloakroom she’d visited earlier. In order to casually bump into Ethan, the simplest plan of action would be to make sure she happened to be passing when he emerged from the room. But since the receptionist couldn’t see her from that angle, it wouldn’t matter if she loitered for a few minutes in the corridor.

Evie descended the stairs and the receptionist smiled at her for the second time in ten minutes. She was either going to think she had raging cystitis or that she’d been knocking back far too many pints.

Right, best not to stand directly outside the room itself. Halfway between it and the cloakroom would be preferable. And she could pretend to be looking for something in her handbag, or appear engrossed in her phone, as if reading a particularly riveting text…

“…I don’t care how ill they are, I don’t want to hear about your bloody kids!”

What? Evie jumped. That was Ethan’s voice, raised in anger.

“Oh, but p-please, I need to b-be wiz zem.” The girl was upset, clearly begging for time off.

“Not my problem.”

“But zey are too szmall… Anya eez only four… I do anyzing…”

“Listen to me, we’ve already been there.” Ethan sounded bored. “The only thing I want from you is a proper day’s work. If you can’t manage that, I’ll find someone else who can.”