Page 92 of Just Come Over
Candy pressed her cheek to Zora’s in an air kiss, then sat back and said, her blue eyes widening, “Oh, my goodness. I just got the oddest feeling, a goose walking over my grave. I had the idea in my head that your husband had passed away. A rugby player was right, surely, but where did I get the rest of it? It must have been somebody else’s husband. And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. A goose walking overyourgrave, now.”
“No,” Zora said, feeling like her smile was pasted on, “you were right. My husband was Dylan Fletcher, and he did pass away a couple years ago. This is his brother, Rhys.”
“Oh.” Zora would call that “stunned silence.”
The server came back, and Rhys asked Zora, not a flicker of his expression suggesting embarrassment, “Would you like a drink? They do pretty good cocktails.” He looked around. “Anybody else? Cognac?”
“Sounds like you’re familiar,” her dad said.
“I’ve heard,” Rhys said evenly. “Been here for the steak before, but I’m not much of a drinker, at least not before the game.”
“A Mai Tai, please,” Zora said, absolutely recklessly. She was wearing a black dress, as well as the highest, thinnest heels she’d ever owned. She wanted the whole fantasy, and never mind that she’d be having it in front of her parents. “I’ll pretend we’re on a tropical holiday. Rhys and I both have our busiest days tomorrow, but we’re indulging tonight. How have you been, Candy? Are you still...” She struggled to remember anything about the other woman. “Doing your volunteer work?” she hazarded.
“With St. John,” Candy said, and Zora passed a mental hand over her forehead in relief. “What a gorgeous necklace. I’ve never seen it worn that way. How unusual. It’s almost... savage, isn’t it?”
All right. The not-your-dead-husband had been one thing. Zora was remembering something about Candy after all. That she was Nils’s second wife, for one, and that she’d been his nurse. “Yes,” she said. “That’s what’s so appealing about it.” Candy was between her and her mother, so she couldn’t actually see her mum go rigid. She could imagine it, though.
“They look absolutely real,” Candy said. “So much luster. And so does the clasp, although diamonds are easier that way. Where did you get them, can I ask?”
Zora’s mother said, “I was thinking I didn’t want a sweet, but I’m changing my mind. Passionfruit sorbet. Doesn’t that sound good? Or Earl Grey crème caramel, maybe, though it’s naughty.”
Zora was thinking,Not as naughty as chocolate torte. What is it with all the unsatisfying desserts?And also,Could Candy possibly have thought of anything more insulting to say?Then Rhys said, “She got them from me. The pearls, that is. I brought them home for her from Tokyo last week.”
Candy said, “Oh. Beautiful.”
“M something,” Zora said. “The jeweler.”
“Mikimoto, possibly?” her mother asked.
“That was the one,” Rhys said. “Busy place. In the Ginza.” The waiter arrived with drinks, and Zora took a sip, and then another one. The tartness of lime and the sweet sting of rum, with the orange lingering behind. That was nice. In alcohol, fruit suited her fine.
Rhys reached across and took the glass from her, tried a sip of his own, and said, “That’s good. I could make you share.” A not-quite smile, and Zora thought,Don’tdothat,even as she thought,Oh, yeh, boy. Do that.It was turning out to be such a confusing dinner, and they hadn’t even started yet.
Her mother may have been down, but she wasn’t out. “The pearls are lovely,” she said, and set her serviette on the table. “I’ll be right back. Come with me, darling. Keep me company.”
“Better to order first, probably.” That was Rhys. Who else? He said it without emphasis, but with absolute assurance. She wasn’t sure how he did that, but it was so bloody sexy.
Her mother sat down. “You’re right, of course. What are you going to have, Zora? I did the fish. A grilled lemon sole that was so light, it was barely there. Lovely.”
Rhys said, “Surely, the point of going to a steakhouse is to eat some good steak.” He looked across the top of his menu and told Zora, “If that’s what you want.”
“I do,” she said. “I’d like an eye fillet, in fact, or something else boneless and tender and easy. And Yorkshire pudding, and maybe some kind of veg.”
“Salad?” he asked.
“No, thanks. I don’t want a salad. Call that a declaration.” She could practically hear her mother moan.
“Oysters to start?” Rhys asked. “I know you love oysters. And whitebait fritters as well, maybe. My own favorite. We can share some more. What kind of wine would you like?”
Her mother would be pressing her fingertips to her forehead now, doing a desperate calorie count in her head.Whitebait fritter: four hundred fifty calories. Eye fillet: four hundred. Mai Tai: inconceivable.
“I’d like,” Zora said, “to let you choose. I love not deciding. That’s either the ultimate luxury, or the ultimate danger, don’t you think, Mum? And there are too many choices of steak on there. Japan. Australia. New Zealand. Mind-boggling. Could you order that for me as well, Rhys? I’m sure you know them all.”
“Yeh,” he said. “I could.”
“You can share my rum,” she said, and he smiled a little more and said, “I’ll take that invitation.”
“While the girls are gone,” Nils Larsen said, “you could tell me what you’re planning, Rhys, there at the Blues, and how you expect to go about winning tomorrow. You’ll have a battle on your hands, won’t you, against the Crusaders?”
