Page 47 of A Very Irish Christmas
I shake my head in exasperation, and say: ‘I’m sure you are, Ryan. Practice makes perfect after all.’
‘Any time you fancy a hands-on demonstration, Cassie, you just let me know…’
I have no desire to become another notch on this man’s tool belt, but I can’t deny that a little thrill runs through me as he says those words. The dreaded blush starts to creep over my skin, delighting him so much that he laughs out loud.
I’m saved from having to respond by Charles waving me over, and I grab my notebook and run. He wants to ask me about flowers, as Mary Catherine has suggested we contact the florist in Marshington Grange to order table decorations. I’m standing at his side discussing it when a very uncharacteristic hush fallsover the pub. I’ve never seen anything that shuts this lot up before, and I look up to see what’s happening.
A strikingly beautiful woman has walked into the room, all lustrous dark hair and eyes that flash like diamonds. She’s dressed casually in skinny jeans and a red cashmere sweater, but everything about her – from the top of her glossy head to the tips of her skinny-heeled boots – screams class and elegance.
Running around her feet is a puppy – a Spaniel, I think – black and white, all adorable gangly legs and floppy ears. Everyone stares at her for a second, then the noise levels return to normal. I glance at Charles, see his nostrils flare and his body tense.
Ignoring everything around her, she strolls towards the bar. Cormac nods, and simply says: ‘The usual, Lenny?’
‘Yes please, darling.’
He takes a bottle of whiskey from the top shelf, and pours her a double on the rocks. She looks around, sipping, her eyes taking in everyone present and finally deigning to settle on Charles. There’s no way she didn’t know he was here but she feigns surprise, and trots towards us.
‘Charles!’ she says, widening her eyes and actually batting her lashes. ‘How splendid to see you – slumming it tonight, are we?’
Her laser-like gaze falls on me at his side, and I feel like a butterfly pinned to a collector’s board.
‘Leonora,’ he replies simply, his tone dripping ice. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Can’t a wife pop in to see her hubbie and child when she has a spare moment?’
‘Ex-wife. And no, she can’t.’
‘Oopsy, silly me then. Well, as I’m off to spend Christmas in Cape Town with Simon, I wanted to pay a quick visit to Georgie. I bought her a gift.’
She gestures down at the puppy, who very promptly squats and pees on Charles’s brogues.
‘Did you train him to do that?’ he asks, shaking it off.
‘No, but it was rather funny! Look, there’s no need to go all prickly on me – I genuinely just want to see her. I know you all miss Jasper, so when I saw this little fellow, I couldn’t resist. Obviously you can change his name, but I’ve been calling him Jasper as well. Thought it might be easier for Allegra.’
This seems like a thoughtful thing to do, but nothing about Charles suggests that he is relaxing. I glance over towards Ryan and Eileen, and see them both sitting with faces like thunder. Wow. Lenny really isn’t popular here. She must know that, it’s impossible to ignore the atmosphere, but she doesn’t seem to care – that, or she’s a spectacular actress.
‘I didn’t expect you to be here,’ she adds. ‘Just called in for a little Dutch courage. I’ll only stay for the night, be out of your hair tomorrow, I promise. I haven’t seen her for so long, darling.’
She sounds genuinely sad about this, and there is a pleading quality to her voice. I have no idea what kind of custody arrangements they have in place, but I remember Ryan saying she moved to the South of France. The impression I’ve always got is that she simply left, walked out on all of them, including her daughter. Families are complicated, and I’m not one to judge.
‘Fine,’ he says, relenting. ‘But please don’t turn up unannounced again. Mother is confused enough. And thank you – for the dog. He’s rather lovely.’
He crouches down and rubs the dog’s face between his hands, and Jasper the Second wriggles in delight.
While he’s otherwise engaged, Leonora stares at me, and if looks could kill I’d be six feet under. I’m taller than her, even with her high heels, but somehow she still seems to be looking down on me. Her eyes take in my loose hair, my chunky sweater,my jeans and sneakers. Take them in, then spit them out. I feel like a dirty-faced street urchin next to her – especially because she smells of Chanel, and I smell of stray dog.
‘Charles,’ she says, as he stands straight, ‘have you finally given in to temptation and found yourself a lovely village colleen to keep you company?’
‘No, he hasn’t!’ I snap back. I am not by nature an aggressive person, but this woman is just plain rude.
She laughs, and says: ‘Oh, a colonial! Well, that’s different.’
‘You say both those things as though they’re an insult,’ I reply, wondering if she’d look so smug if I punched her on the nose or threw her whiskey in her face. ‘But I’m happy to be both a colleen and a colonial. At least we have manners.’
‘That’s the spirit!’ she answers, infuriatingly unruffled.
Charles steps between us, and it immediately calms me down. This isn’t the right place for a catfight – in fact, nowhere is the right place for a catfight. I was raised better than that, even if she wasn’t. For all her obvious social standing, she’s clearly a mean girl, and I’ve had my fill of those.
