Page 63 of You Had Me at Chateau
‘We were beginning to think you weren’t going to show,’ Mandy says, her eyes narrowing suspiciously as she watches me sit down.
‘Sorry, I got caught up doing some research,’ I reply, trying to sound as casual as possible. My voice wavers slightly, because I’m worried my breath will still smell of five different desserts, and they’ll realise – even though I’m pretty sure I drank enough alcohol to make my entire body sterile enough for surgery.
Gina raises an eyebrow and grins mischievously.
‘Research, huh?’ she replies. ‘Were you rolling around in the snow with a boy?’
I laugh, though it feels a bit forced, but I’m happy to move the conversation along.
‘If only,’ I say with an easy-breezy scoff. ‘No, just a lot of thinking, looking around and note-taking.’
Bette, playing hostess, takes to her feet and leans over the table.
‘Well, if you were, I’m sure you’ll be hungry,’ she says.
I’m sure she’s just being friendly, and that she isn’t at all suspicious, but I’m paranoid. Without waiting for a response, she loads my plate high with stew, the thick gravy sloshing around as she does so.
Oh God, I feel sick just looking at it. My stomach, already stretched to capacity, churns in protest, but I force a smile and take my seat.
‘Oh, you are hungry,’ Bette says, noticing the sound.
Mandy eyes me with suspicion, her fork hovering over her plate.
‘So, research, hmm? What kind of research?’ she asks.
‘Oh, you know, just exploring the area, getting a feel for the place,’ I say, trying to keep my tone light. ‘It could be a great place to set a book.’
‘Come on, dig in, dig in!’ Bette encourages me.
I stare at the mountain of food in front of me, and the thought of taking even one bite is just too much. But I can’t let them see, I need to keep a lid on it. I pick up my fork and push the stew around my plate, trying to make it look like I’m eating.
The ladies continue chatting about their writing schedules, discussing how relaxed things are, and when their deadlines for their next books are. I try to focus on their words, hoping to distract myself from the smell of dinner.
‘I’m actually ahead of schedule for once,’ Mandy says. ‘It’s so much more enjoyable when you’re not writing under pressure.’
‘Same here,’ Gina chimes in. ‘I’ve got most of my first draft done, just need to polish it up – there’s months until it’s due though.’
Imagine having a first draft and months to spare!
Bette looks at me, her eyes narrowing.
‘What’s wrong, Amber?’ she asks. ‘You’re not eating.’
‘Oh, um, I don’t eat meat,’ I blurt, because it’s the first thing that comes to mind. Of course, now I’ve left myself open to plot holes, if I don’t stick with my storyforever.
Mandy gives me a quizzical look, her brow furrowing in confusion.
‘Didn’t we see you eating chicken?’ she asks. Suddenly she smiles, excited at the thought of catching me in a lie.
‘Uh, it’s beef I don’t eat,’ I tell them.
‘This is lamb,’ Bette points out.
Oh, for God’s sake.
‘Right, er, I meant red meat,’ I clarify. ‘I don’t eat red meat. Just chicken and fish. It’s okay though, I’ll just eat the veg.’
I stab a mushy, gravy-soaked carrot with my fork and pop it into my mouth. It feels like it’s dripping with grease, and tastes absolutely minging, but that might just be my overstuffed stomach rebelling against any more food.
