Page 57 of The Suit

She slowly sipped her wine, and I waited for her to tell me how amazing it was, but she didn’t. “Why?”

“Dunno really. It started as a tradition when I was in my first year of Harvard. Murray, Penn, and I used it to get away, have a break from studying, then it continued when I went to law school and they were doing MBAs. It was too good to give up, and we needed the downtime.”

“But they’re not here now,” she frowned.

“You’ll meet them tomorrow.” I held her gaze, wondering what the fuck was going on behind them. It wasn’t the first time either.

No, I’d wondered so much I’d lost count.

I expected her to get up and declare she wouldn’t be meeting anyone; to announce that she wanted to go. But apparently she’d taken a leaf out of my dad’s handbook of ‘How to Behave Least Expectedly’, and offered up nothing.

I reached for one of the little toast and pâté things that Pierre had made, crunching down on it while I watched her curl up on the chair, tucking her feet underneath her. Even without her ridiculous heels adding almost half a foot, she seemed so much smaller than usual, more delicate. Her hair had started to curl as it dried, the glossy, sleek mane she’d sported the last few weeks was gone, returning to the girl with the wild ringlets I’d met a decade ago.

She really was quite extraordinary.

The sound of footsteps approaching tore me away from my thoughts, even if the person belonging to said footsteps was trying his hardest not to make any noise.

“Bonjour, Pierre,” I didn’t need to look behind me to know it was him. It was a game he’d played with all four of us as kids; seeing if he could sneak up to us before we noticed, something he’d learned at Le Cordon Bleu. Only my sister, Blaine, was yet to be defeated – though she did have larger ears than the rest of us, so it wasn’t really a fair game.

“I can see I need to open another bottle for you, Master Raferty.”

It made no difference that he’d lived in the States for thirty years, he hadn’t lost a shred of this thick French accent that made my name sound like a budget continental airline; Raf-aiiiirr-teeee.

I got up and hugged him, meeting his grin with one of my own. “You’re too good to me, Pierre. I came to find you earlier to say thank you,”

“De rien. You selected some good bottles, and it’s good to see you’ve remembered a few of the things I’ve taught you at least,” then he moved me to one side. “And who is this charming young lady?” he asked Beulah, whose eyes shot wide again, having only recently returned to normal size.

I wasn’t sure whether to be amused or bemused. She was Ivy League educated, worldly, the company she worked in certainly wasn’t known for its frugality – it didn’t even offer a pro-bono service - yet she was behaving like she’d been let out on day release and was seeing the sun for the first time.

I didn’t know which one of us was becoming more self-conscious. If that is what she was, I was still learning this new capable-of-human-emotions Beulah.

“This is Beulah Holmes. We were at school together,” I replied, taking her cue because I still hadn’t figured out the answer to the question I knew he really wanted to ask.

“Tell me, Beulah, what would you like on your pizza? The same as Master Raferty? Or is your palate a little more refined?”

He topped up her glass then shot me a look to ensure I knew exactly how he felt about my pizza choice, something I was very comfortable with and would not be shamed for.

Beulah, however, smiled for the first time all day. A wide beam that split her face and I realized I don’t think I’d ever seen it. Not a genuine one, anyway. Not one which competed for space with the sun sinking on the horizon. I’d only seen the ones which smugly asserted her authority, which this had a little of, but mostly it was genuine.

And beautiful.

“Oh, it’s definitely more refined,” she chuckled, glancing at me as she did.

“Trés bien, I shall make you something special then.”

“Thank you, I can’t wait.” She rubbed her hands together, her eyes glittering with a level of glee I wanted to keep there.

I dropped my head, trying to hide my own delight as Pierre waddled off, no doubt to make a pizza covered in utterly unacceptable toppings.

“What?”

I glanced back up, to see her staring. “Nothing, but if I’d known taking the piss out of me would have added such joy to your day, I would have brought Pierre out sooner.”

The glittering died down slightly, but not entirely.

“What’s your unsophisticated topping?”

I sat up proudly, rolling my shoulders back. “Cheese.”

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