“Rosie.” He nods his head, not smiling. And just for a moment, as his eyes plead for understanding, I’m tempted to listen to whatever he has to say…but only for a moment.
“How’s your wife, Luke?” I ask him coldly, but I have a polite smile pinned to my face so that no one can suspect that we are anything but polite acquaintances.
“I’m—sorry you found out about that the way you did,” he begins, pushing his hands into his pockets. “I wondered if that’s why you didn’t call me, twice, but there’s—”
“But me no buts.” I hold up a hand, my smile cracking. If he tells me that his wife—whom I’ve just spotted talking to Elaine, and she is just as exquisite as she was the first time I saw her at the Christmas fund-raiser and the second time I saw her in the Ritz—doesn’t understand him, then I will scream.
“There is a very complicated, yet actually very simple, logical explanat—”
“There always is.” I dive right back in, my voice low in case of eavesdroppers. “And you can’t have it both ways. It’s either simple or complicated, but at the end of the day, you should have had the decency to tell me about her so that I could choose whether or not to cheat on her with you.”
Wow, am I giving him chapter and verse, or what!
“And, anyway,” I continue, “it was just one of those meaningless things. A one-night stand after a party. It happens,” I shrug, as if it meant nothing to me. “Forget about it. I have.” A small white lie in the name of pride…
Usually, when it comes to this kind of confrontation, which is not a regular occurrence in my life, I become tongue-tied and forget what I want to say. But this time, I am so proud of myself for being so clear and firm, and for not stumbling once.
“I see. Fine, fine,” Luke tells me, looking at the floor. “I understand, sorry to disturb you, won’t happen again. I just couldn’t think of a way to avoid the wedding without hurting Ned—” And as he turns to go, Charlie chooses this moment to come dashing across.
“Luke, how the hell are you?” Charlie grabs his hand, shaking it vigorously. “You’re looking as scrumptious as ever, isn’t he, Rosie?” he says, oblivious to the undertones between us. “Lewis, this is Luke Benton. Luke, this is Lewis.”
“Ah, yes, I’ve heard all about you,” Luke says. “Glad to meet you.”
“Luke here was an absolute angel at Flora and Ned’s engagement party,” Charlie twitters on. “He’s a doctor,” he adds as Carmen and Jess arrive next to me.
“A-ha, the mysterious doctor who ministered to Elaine,” Carmen says, giving me a sly, sideways glance. “I’m Carmen,” she tells him, eyeing him speculatively. “What are your feelings about McDonald’s coffee?”
God, I can feel my face flaming. Carmen, who is suspicious about everything, knows, somehow, that there is something I am not telling her.
“You’ll have to excuse idiosyncratic questions from Carmen,” Charlie tells him. “She tends to the suspicious and whimsical on occasion, but we love her for it—you see, our Rosie here has an inclination toward handsome doctors, and Piccadilly Circus, but that obviously wasn’t you. Oh, what am I babbling on about?” he laughs. “Let’s just say you had to be there—private joke,” Charlie finishes, very unhelpfully, and my face flames even more.
“McDonald’s coffee is, in my opinion, completely unforgettable,” Luke tells Carmen, and I wonder if I should just slit my wrists now. “I drink it at every opportunity. In fact, I wouldn’t drink any other brew,” he tells her, and I can see that she’s instantly charmed by his easy manner.
“I think I’m going to like you,” she tells him bluntly.
But I can’t help wonder if he means that I’m unforgettable.
Also, I’m not sure I want him charming my friends.
“You’re the doctor who saved Flora’s engagement party,” Jess, a couple of beats behind the conversation as usual, tells him, holding out her hand. “I’m Jess. Are we talking about Rosie’s doctor? She likes doctors. Except for Dr. Foot Fetish,” Jess adds, and I wonder if there’s an empty grave in this churchyard that I can bury myself in now.
“But that’s all changed since she met her handsome lawyer.” Lewis, who is a highly perceptive human being, somehow senses my embarrassment, probably because my face is redder than his bow tie, jumps in, giving my arm an encouraging squeeze. “Where is your man?” he asks me.
“Looking after Mum and Gran,” I say. “Well. Better go check on my handsome boyfriend, hahaha. I hope you and your wife enjoy the wedding,” I add to Luke, glancing at Carmen as I place emphasis on the word “wife.”
I’ll speak to her later about putting her foot in it.
Fuck. I don’t believe this. Fuck, fuck and thrice fuck.
I am truly beginning to believe that someone out there has it in for me.
“Darling, I’m so sorry,” Flora says over my shoulder as I gaze in dismay at the seating plan from hell. “I should have checked.”
“It’s okay, Flora,” I say quickly, because she doesn’t deserve any last-minute anxieties. “It’s only for dinner. It will be fine,” I lie and briefly close my eyes.
“I shouldn’t have let Elaine anywhere near the arrangements, but she was so insistent on helping, and Mummy was so busy, and I was totally up to my neck at work—” she says, building up for a panic, which is not like my lovely, unpanicky Flora at all.
“Here, drink this,” I say, grabbing a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter. “Take deep breaths.” I grab a glass for myself and swallow it in one gulp. “This is your day, and a little, piddly thing like a seating plan is not going to interfere with it,” I say, in a much calmer, positive manner than I’m actually feeling.
After the encounter with Luke, and the agony of having wonderful, yet embarrassing, friends, and the stress of worrying about Mum, this is all I need.
It truly is the fucking seating plan from hell.
Clarke and I are sitting with Elaine and Harry, Jonathan and Samantha, and, of course, Luke and Rowan. But at least no one knows that I’ve slept with Luke, which is a relief. Having to make small talk with his wife, however, is not.
“Are you sure, dear girl? I’m sure we can do some last-minute switching if we need to—”
“What are you doing?” I ask her. “Stop this. Go on, get back in there and find your lovely groom. I’m commanding you to have fun.”
“Thank you,” she says and kisses my cheek. “Thank you.”
“Shoo,” I add, and she sets off toward the top table, where the bride, groom, best man and parents of the bride and groom are all to sit.
“I hope we’re sitting together,” Carmen says as she and Jess come over to check out the floor plan.
“You two are,” I say. “You’re sitting with Paul, obviously, and with Philip, Grace, Charlie and Lewis. Unfortunately, I’m not so lucky.” I grab another glass of champagne.
“Grace seems very nice,” Jess says, obviously not quite with me. “Are she and Philip, you know, an item?”
“I’m not sure,” I tell her.
“Because he deserves to find a nice girlfriend, doesn’t he?”
“Absolutely,” I say, finishing my second glass. As the bubbles hit my bloodstream, I decide that there’s only one way to get through this. Every time anyone says anything to me at dinner, I will simply fill up my mouth with whatever comes to hand, and thereby avoid the need to speak.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Carmen fumes, her eyes blazing fury. “She’s done it again. If she weren’t pregnant, I’d take a swing for her, I swear I would.”
Did Elaine do this on purpose? I mean, I really thought she’d softened…
“Oh dear, oh no,” Jess sighs, as she finally gets it. “I’m sorry. But at least you have Luke and Rowan to chat to. They seem like really nice people.”
“Yes, they do,” Carmen says, eyeing me speculatively, and I flush. “Rowan’s lovely—apparently she’s involved with a lot of charitable events. Christmas fund-raisers, and such.�
��
“Really?” I am all nonchalant.
Because after I left them with Luke, earlier, I did notice that they were all having a very nice, cozy chat with him. And then he introduced them to his wife. I mean, that’s just so bloody unfair, isn’t it? These are my friends. I don’t want them hobnobbing with the enemy.
Not that they know that Luke is the enemy…
“Yes,” Carmen tells me. “In fact, she arranged that function you attended last Christmas.”
And I know that Carmen knows. She’s always been too clever for her own good.
“Well, what a coincidence,” I say, brazening it out. “And while we’re discussing coincidences, can we please forget all about that McDonald’s event in Piccadilly Circus? Honestly, it was just so awkward of you to put me on the spot like that.”
“Excuse me for breathing,” Carmen says, eyeing me suspiciously. “It was supposed to be a private joke. He wouldn’t get it, anyway. I was just teasing you for fuck’s sake.”
“Well it wasn’t funny,” I say.
“My God.” Carmen puts a hand to her mouth. “Methinks the lady protesteth too much. It was him, wasn’t it?”
“Who?” Jess asks.
“The cheating, skanky—”
“No. I was the one who did the actual grabbing—remember what I told you?” I say, backtracking on the story, breaking up her rant before it can get into its stride. “I did the instigating. He did the nice, saving-me-from-Horrible-Boss thing. Then the post-grabbed-and-kissed-by-strange-woman shocked thing. And if you say or do anything, I will never speak to you again,” I tell her, meaning it. “Promise me.”
“Well, well, well,” Carmen says, grinning rather inexplicably. “At least you have good taste. And to be fair, you didn’t know he was otherwise taken. And you didn’t, you know, exchange telephone numbers or anything…”
“Promise.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t do anything to embarrass you or ruin Flora’s wedding,” she says, and I’m immediately guilty for not trusting her. Of course she wouldn’t. “Actually, I’m impressed you had the balls. What was it like—remind me again?”
“I’ll just go and grab Clarke, shall I?” I say, determined to change the subject. I feel terrible. What would she say if only she knew I’d slept with him?
“But who did you kiss?” Jess asks, and then her eyes widen. “Not Dr. Foot Fetish?”
“No one,” I say brightly. “No one. And they didn’t kiss me, either. It’s not important,” I stress and head off to find my rent-a-man.
I really shouldn’t call him that, even in my thoughts, because everyone thinks he’s my super new boyfriend.
I feel a bit guilty deceiving everyone, but it would be even more embarrassing to admit that in my quest for a date I went to an escort agency. No, I didn’t advertise myself, because then Charlie would have known, and his mouth is larger than the Atlantic at times.
Clarke and I will simply become incompatible. In a couple of weeks’ time, he’ll disappear from my life and they’ll forget about him.
“You must get all kinds of cases,” Grace is saying to him as I approach.
“Well it’s rather like Philip, here,” Clarke tells them both. “Philip saves their immortal souls, and I save their mortal bacon.”
“I hadn’t thought of it quite like that,” Philip tells him, as Grace smiles even more brightly at Clarke.
“Darling, there you are,” I say breezily as I join them. “They’re calling us to dinner.”
“Oh, good,” Granny Elsie cackles. “The Savoy does lovely food—this is going to be great.”
“I hope I’m sitting with you, Rosie,” Mum says, frowning. “Only with all these strange people around, I want to sit with someone I know.”
“You’re with Gran at table three,” I tell her, crossing my fingers, because I don’t know any of the people who are actually sitting at her table.
“Lovely,” Granny Elsie, resplendent in fuchsia polyester dress and matching hat, jumps in immediately. “We’ll be fine together, won’t we, love?” she says to Mum. “Just you and me.”
“It’s only for the meal,” I tell her. “As soon as it’s over, people will get up and mill about, then I’ll be able to come over and sit with you,” I soothe her, because this is Flora’s day and I don’t want any panics from Mum to upset it.
“I bet you’ll have a lot of fun, Mrs. M.” Clarke flashes her his kind smile. “In fact, we’ll escort you there before we take our own places, won’t we, Rosie?”
“For goodness’ sake, you’re all treating me like some kind of invalid. There’s nothing wrong with me, I’m not a child, you know,” Mum says, rather indignantly.
And after we’ve settled them, and we head to our own table, I feel like Daniel walking into the lion’s den.
16
Cursing Cousins
Rosie’s Confession:
Did you know that the milk from young coconuts could be used as a substitute for blood plasma?
I mention this because it would be quite handy to have a few metaphorical young coconuts around just in case of Cousin Elaine stabbing me in my metaphorical back.
Note to self: am never going to hire a date again. Is just too risky…
“You must be Clarke,” Elaine singsongs in her little-girl voice, smiling coyly at him as we arrive at the table.
I can’t imagine why I thought Elaine’s pregnancy had changed her malicious streak. Because I know that I have her, specifically, to thank for this seating plan from hell.
“I’ve heard so much about you from Auntie Sandra, I can’t imagine why Rosie’s been hiding you away from us,” she burbles, and I can’t help it. I’m filled with nervous dread.
At this point, it would just be my luck if Elaine discovered that Clarke and I have a financial arrangement rather than a romantic one and publicly announced it.
“I’m Rosie’s cousin, Elaine. Do sit here, Clarke.” She pats the empty chair next to her. At least there is no danger of Elaine stealing Clarke away from me, I think, smiling cynically at her flirting.
The table is arranged boy/girl, boy/girl, and so my designated place is opposite Luke, whom I am trying very hard not to look at, because I’m going to pretend that he’s not there, even though his proximity is having a very undesirable effect on my breathing.
Also, I am to sit next to Jonathan. Which is good, because Jonathan is the least of the three evils, as far as I’m concerned.
“Rosie, you sit next to Jonathan.” Elaine states the obvious as she continues to hold court. And then, “Of course, Rosie knows practically everyone here, don’t you, darling?” she adds, and I know that she’s going to somehow embarrass me.
“Except me, I think,” Rowan smiles and holds her hand out to me across the table. “I’m Rowan Smythe-Lawrence,” she adds warmly, and I take her hand. “I’ve heard wonderful things about you,” she tells me sincerely, and I’m puzzled.
“Rosie Mayford,” I smile a bit hesitantly, not daring to look at Luke. “And this is Clarke Bradley.” I search her features for some sign of an ulterior you-bitch-you-slept-with-my-husband motive, but don’t find it.
“Hi everyone, glad to have your company today,” Clarke says very agreeably as the rest of the table introduces themselves. Harry scowls at me a bit sourly from his position between Rowan and Elaine, and I smile sweetly at him, glad that I have (a) a handsome escort, and (b) taken to ignoring both him and his phone calls at every opportunity.
“Actually, it’s rather funny, but Harry and Jonathan are both Rosie’s exes.” Elaine—as we know, not one for being out of the limelight—announces to the table at large, and laughs her tinkly laugh. “But it’s all water under the bridge, now, isn’t it?” she tinkles again, then stops, placing a hand to her throat. “Oh, dear, I didn’t mean to embarrass you in front of your new man, Rosie.”
“You didn’t,” I say, smiling sweetly, but seething. Now I could say something really awful, like “Yes, but we both had Harry, didn
’t we, you mean bitch for stealing him on my birthday?” But I don’t. Instead, I grab a bread roll and start stuffing bits into my mouth.
Why on earth this woman feels the need to belittle her family is beyond me. Actually, I do. Elaine, as we all know, is a nasty piece of work who has few friends because they all find out that she is a nasty piece of work at some point in the relationship and then drop her. How could I have believed that she’d changed?
Also, I think she hates it that I have such a great circle of old and new friends who love me. She also hates it that Flora, Philip and I get along so well with each other, and not her, and feels left out. But if only she were nice to people, she’d get on a lot better in this world, I think, feeling sorry for her, because it must be lonely being her, mustn’t it? But I don’t feel that sorry for her, because of the tortuous seating plan.
“Rosie and I don’t worry about each other’s past histories,” Clarke adds loyally. “I mean this in the nicest way,” he nods to Jonathan and Harry. “But I’m very fortunate that you’re her exes rather than her currents, or I wouldn’t be here with her.” Which is not actually a lie but is a very limited version of the truth.
Apart from the fact that I am totally ignoring him, I am acutely aware of the fact that Luke now must think that I have slept with every single man at this table. Not that I care…
“Very wise,” Rowan tells him. And then, “Rosie, I understand you run an alternative kind of employment agency in Notting Hill.”
She does? “Yes,” I say, my heart pounding at double speed as I wait for the other shoe to drop. How does she know that? From Luke? Surely I don’t deserve another public humiliation? God, I hope he didn’t confess all to her. Not that I like deceiving her, but God, I hope he didn’t tell her.
“Ned and Flora told me all about how you’d found an untapped niche in the market. And Luke, of course,” she adds, flashing him a warm smile, and I feel like dirt. “It’s so encouraging to see a woman succeeding in business,” she says, and I feel even worse that she’s praising me.
Confessions of a Serial Dater Page 20
