Page 42 of Short Stack 3

“He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?” he whispers. “Bit wild, though. I’ve heard some tales.”

I look back at Ralph. “Tales youwillbe telling me. I need every detail.”

“Pimm’s tent later?”

I brighten. “They have one of those?”

“Oh yeah. And food stands. And loads of shops.”

“What? There are shops here?” I look down at Bertie, who’s attempting to sidle closer to a nearby Great Dane whose lead is being clutched rather ineffectively by a woman. “Bertie, our day is looking up.”

“And then the doctor said to me that a prolapsed womb is nature’s way of telling you to slow down.” I blink, but my companion continues undeterred. “He’d obviously never experienced the feeling of one’s womb attempting to escape while on the pirate ship at Alton Towers.”

I raise my latest glass of Pimm’s and drain it. “Goodness, where has that gone?” I say brightly. I gesture, and a waiter pops up next to me with all the verve of a pantomime performer. “Oh, thank you. Could I have another Pimm’s, please? Julia?” I ask my companion.

“Thank you, darling. That would be lovely.”

I settle back into my chair, giving Bertie’s ears a rub and hoping that the waiter has broken my companion’s story run — no such luck.

“And did I tell you about the time that I got fibroids?”

“I don’t think so, but I’ve only known you for an hour, Julia, so I could be mistaken.”

She chuckles and gives me a gentle shove. “You’re far too charming for your own good, Henry. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“I think I might have said it a few times myself.” Ivo’s voice comes from behind me, and I look up, grinning at him. His jeans are smudged with dirt, and there’s a dusty streak on his forehead, but his golden eyes are bright and full of life.

“Alright, dearest?” I ask.

He drops a kiss on my nose and slides into the seat next to me, bending to pet Bertie, who’s greeting him as though he’s been away for a few years. Once he’s appeased our canine lodger, he straightens, placing his bag on the table.

“How did it go?” I ask. “Julia, this is my boyfriend, Ivo.”

“Oh, the photographer,” she coos. “We watched you for a while. That’s how I met Henry. He told me all about your job.”

It had been fun to watch Ivo in his element. Ralph had been treated as though he were Harry Styles on a horse, and even now, a bunch of his groupies are lurking near the flower troughs, giggling and talking in heated whispers.

Ivo had attracted his own share of admiration, though. It’s not just that he’s beautiful. He’s also charismatic and has the same aura about him as his mother. They command attention, as if the fairies sprinkled them with magnetism dust when they were born.

“It’s very boring,” he says, smiling at her and accepting with thanks the glass of Pimm’s that our waiter hands him. “I’ll just have this one because I’m driving home later.”

“Well, I must be off,” she says, standing up and draining her drink in the manner of a sailor on shore leave. “It’s been lovely talking to you, Henry.”

“It really has,” I say. She’s nice, even if I know more about her insides than her gynaecologist.

“Nice to meet you, Ivo.” She nods, smiling, and wanders away.

Ivo sips his drink and gives a happy sigh. “God, that’s nice,” he says, smiling at me and tangling his feet with mine under the table. “It’s hot out there.”

“Ralph seems to have done well. I kept hearing his name mentioned. How’s Guy?”

“Rather chaotic. He fell off his horse three times before he got round and then threw up in the water jump. The judges aren’t happy with him, and I just left him listening to the shrill tones of his agent.”

I snort. “I liked them both.”

“They like you too.” He looks to the side and then freezes. “What are all these bags, Henry?”

I brighten. “Oh my god, there are real shops here. I’ve had such a lovely morning. I ate waffles and drank mimosas and then went shopping.”

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