Page 102 of The House of Hopes and Dreams
‘I’d forgotten you had legs, Angel.’
‘Ho, ho,’ I laughed hollowly. ‘I assume, since you’re here, the man-eating spider-woman didn’t gobble you up when you dropped off her suitcase?’
‘No – I dumped it on the doorstep, rang the bell and drove off again,’ he admitted cravenly.
‘Coward,’ Nelson said. ‘We know she wants Carey really, but I’m sure you’d do if she was desperate.’
‘It’s hard to imagine anyonethatdesperate,’ put in Sukes, but Nick just grinned.
I’d been putting Fang’s blue boots on and someone had tied a blue and white spotted triangular scarf round his neck, so he looked quite festive.
We all walked down together, except for Carey, who’d gone ahead to switch on the lights. The room was lit only by the heart-shaped ones, the workbench lamps and a series of tea lights up the centres of the long glazing tables. Jorge put on some soft music while we uncovered thefood and Carey mixed his punch. I now had a small fridge in the back room, so we’d crammed extra ice cubes in the top compartment and fruit juice in the rest.
‘It looks magical, doesn’t it?’ I said, gazing round the workshop. ‘Thank you, everyone, for all your help.’
‘It does look great,’ Nick agreed.
‘We’ll shoot a bit of film now, then more when the guests start arriving … and it’s almost time,’ Jorge said.
‘I didn’t show you what Jorge gave me for Valentine’s Day,’ Sukes said, exhibiting a small jade heart, edged in silver, on a long chain. ‘It’s my favourite colour – and I didn’t know he had a romantic bone in his body!’
‘You’d be surprised,’ he said.
I was sure I’d seen the pendant among other luscious jewellery in Cam’s gallery, and since Sukes habitually dressed in shades of green, like the floaty tunic she was wearing over her jeans now, guessing her favourite colour hadn’t really been a mind-stretch.
They did a bit of filming and then, as at all parties, just when you’re wondering if anyone’s going to turn up, the guests arrived all at once. They milled about just inside the room, like a slightly confused shoal of fish, before sorting themselves out.
Rufus and Izzy had brought me a gift – a small wooden sign for over my door, lettered in gold with ‘Angelique Arrowsmith Art Glass’.
‘Carey told us what you’d called the business,’ Izzy said.
‘You know, a sign for outside is something I’d totally forgotten,’ I said. ‘I’ll have it fixed over the side door, so it faces the drive.’
Cam and Lulu had collected Jonah and Tom Tamblyn on their way, and Tom gave Carey a big glass bottle of water from the Lady Spring.
‘Do I drink it, or pour it over my leg?’ Carey asked, thanking him.
‘I’d drink it, but as soon as the weather’s warm enough, you should come and swim in the pool.’
‘It’s big enough to swim in?’ he asked, surprised.
‘Oh, yes – though not huge, just a couple of strokes each way,’ Izzy said. ‘I start going in quite early in the year, because it never seems anywhere near as cold as the air around it.’
Then she said her aunt Debo and Judy were coming once they’d finished the evening kennel round, bringing the kennel maid, Sandy, with them and her sister, Foxy.
The room by then was getting quite full, and noisier as the level of the punch bowl went down. There were Molly and Grant, Ivan and Louis, the Rigbys from the farm, Chris, the dog whisperer, with his teenage daughter, Liz. She was a pretty girl with soft brown hair framing a heart-shaped face and big dark eyes. I noticed that she and Louis naturally gravitated towards each other, as the youngest people there by a mile.
Fang happily hoovered up dropped crumbs, pausing only when the door opened on a cold blast of wind that blew Vicky and Daisy in.
Everything seemed to freeze for a moment – even the music – and I have to admit they looked quite striking. Both were tall, pale blondes, though Daisy’s more ethereal beauty made Vicky look a bit sturdy and wholesome.
Daisy was wearing what I think they call a Bombshell Dress: tight, low cut and producing curves she didn’t really have. She certainly looked as if she should be mooing into a microphone at the front of a forties dance band. Vicky was clad in something like a bandage wrapped horizontally round her from mid-thigh to just above her bust, and both wore killer heels, which I hoped wouldn’t kill my new vinyl flooring.
For a minute the two pale figures stood in the doorway like twin vampires in a low-budget horror film, then everyone got back to whatever they were doing before, which in my case was standing with Carey behind the cake, about to cut it, while Molly and Grant were handing round the glasses of bubbly for a toast.
Camera lights flashed as I plunged in the cake knife. I pretended it was Daisy, which made it even more enjoyable.
‘Toast!’ called Carey. ‘Here’s to the new workshop. Every success, Angel!’
