Page 119 of The Honeymoon Affair

‘That’s true,’ says Charles.

I smile at him, and he smiles back.

Although somewhat reluctantly.

Iseult

I arrive at Charles’s house at exactly 6.30, a floral arrangement in my arms. It only occurred to me as the cab crossed the river that I hadn’t brought anything for his mum, so when we drove past a large Spar shop in Milltown, I asked the driver to stop. I’d been thinking of chocolates, but the floral arrangements at the doorway were pretty and so I bought one of those instead. Unfortunately, some pollen from the tiger lilies has come off on my pink cardigan, and as I wait for Charles to answer the door, I make matters worse by rubbing it.

‘You’re here!’ He beams at me. ‘And precisely on time.’

It’s as well we stopped for flowers. Otherwise I would’ve been early.

‘Am I first?’ I ask.

He shakes his head. ‘Mum and Ellis are here already. We’re having cocktails in the living room. Are those for me?’

‘Your mum.’ I show him the pollen mark on my cardi, but he shrugs and says it doesn’t matter.

‘I’ll warn her in advance, though,’ I say. ‘I wouldn’t like my gift to destroy her clothes.’

‘Don’t sweat it,’ he tells me. ‘It’s fine.’

He pushes open the door to the living room and I step inside. The two women turn to look at me.

Seeing his mother, it’s very clear where Charles gets his looks from. She’s an angular woman, very thin, though that’s probably because of her age, but with the same arctic-blue eyes and the same chiselled features. Her iron-grey hair, flecked with silver, is scooped back into a chignon that’s finished off by a black velvet bow. She’s wearing a houndstooth-check skirt and jacket, and a cream blouse. Her nails are varnished in ruby red.

Slight though she may be, she’s dominating the room.

Beside her, Ellis, who I recognise from Charles’s Christmas photos, is dressed more casually in an emerald-green silk shirt over skinny jeans and a lot of funky jewellery. Her mother has a lot of jewellery too, but it’s recognisably expensive – probably, I think, from Warren’s.

‘So you’re the new fiancée,’ says Mrs Boyd-Miller. ‘I’m glad we finally get to meet.’

‘Me too.’ I thrust the floral arrangement at her. ‘Be careful of the tiger lilies.’

‘Thank you.’ She takes it from me and immediately puts it on the sideboard.

‘I’m Ellis,’ says his sister. ‘Good to meet you.’

‘And you.’

‘What would you like to drink?’ asks Charles. ‘Actually, scrub that. We have champagne. I should’ve served it first.’

‘There’s really no need—’ begins his mother, but Charles has already left the room, leaving the three of us standing looking at each other.

It’s Ellis who tries to get the conversation going by asking if I’ve come directly from work. I’m taken aback by the question, given that I’m wearing my prettiest clothes rather than my hi-vis jacket, even if there is pollen on my cardigan.

‘I wish I could dress like this for work,’ I say. ‘But I’m not sure how effective I’d be.’

‘Of course, you’re at the front line of securing our borders.’ Her eyes twinkle. ‘Border Patrol is one of my favourite TV programmes.’

‘It’s not quite as exciting as it appears there,’ I say.

‘Aw, don’t say that and shatter my illusions.’ She smiles at me.

‘Do you read at all?’ demands Mrs Boyd-Miller.

I tell them about my love of crime.

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