Page 66 of The Honeymoon Affair

It’s forty minutes after the party was due to start when we arrive at Riverside Lodge. I was terrified of being too early (whenever Steve and I went to parties, nobody even thought of turning up before the pubs closed), but I can see through the lighted windows that there are already plenty of people inside. There’s an actual red carpet leading up the steps to the hallway, where there’s also a real-life doorman. Seriously, how much money has Charles Miller made from writing books?

‘Have fun, ladies. Stay safe,’ says Uncle Paul as we get out of the car.

‘Don’t worry, Dad. If we’re stuck, we’ll definitely call you,’ says Celeste.

We walk up the steps to the house, and the doorman checks our names off a printed list.

‘Have a great evening,’ he says as we step inside.

For a moment I’m reminded of Steve’s posts from the art gallery in Florence. Not that the house is anything like the art gallery, but it’s evoking the same vibe of glamour and sophistication and potential for a James Bond lookalike to knock back a shaken-not-stirred martini before quietly disposing of the villain, though I don’t know who would be the villain in this crowd of tuxedos and cocktail dresses. Celeste and I have barely taken a couple of steps into the room when a waiter offers us champagne, and have hardly gone any further when another puts a plate of mini bagels in front of us.

I’m absolutely starving, so I grab two and shove one into my mouth. Celeste takes a couple as well. We smile at each other.

‘It’s very flash, isn’t it?’ she says.

‘Oh, not flash. More . . . refined.’

‘It won’t be refined by midnight,’ she observes. ‘It’ll be the usual heave of drunken lunatics.’

‘Probably,’ I admit. It doesn’t matter if you’re in a tux or jeans. Once you’ve tipped yourself over the edge, you’ve tipped yourself over the edge.

We wander through the interconnecting rooms. Celeste is awestruck by the decor, even if it’s been taken over by Christmassy stuff.

‘I feel like we’re in a TV show,’ she murmurs. ‘Or maybe even a movie, where we’ve been transported to somewhere amazing.’

‘There’s a touch of Grand Designs about it all,’ I agree. ‘Though this is more of a grand restoration than anything.’

‘Both of our houses would probably fit on the ground floor,’ she observes.

‘I know.’

‘I wonder who owned it before Charles.’

‘I think he said it was a wine importer. Or maybe it was a tobacco importer.’

‘Gosh, you could’ve stopped the wine or tobacco at customs.’

‘Before my time, but you never know.’

We both laugh at the thought.

‘Ladies, you came.’ Suddenly Charles is standing beside us, and the noise of conversation and laughter seems to disappear. ‘I’m so glad,’ he says.

‘Thanks for asking us,’ says Celeste. ‘This is an absolutely fabulous house.’

‘Would you like a tour?’ he asks.

‘Oh, yes please.’ She beams at him, and I can’t help thinking that he really does know how to turn on the charm.

‘I’ve seen it already,’ I say. ‘I’ll stay here.’

‘Are you sure?’ He frowns.

‘Yes. I want to eat a few more of those yummy bagels.’

‘I’ll bring some with us.’

He grabs a platter from a passing waiter and leads us into the hallway. We do the same tour as he did with me, although this time without going into his bedroom. Celeste loves it, especially the hi-tech kitchen.

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