Nadia Knows Best (14 page)

Annie wasn't having a great time. Beforehand, the prospect of meeting James's family had been scary, if only in a five-out-of-ten kind of way. Now that she was actually here, it was turning out to be more of an eight-out-of-ten level of scariness. Tilly, whom she'd thought she could count on to be on her side, was clearly torn by the arrival of her mother. Leonie, whilst perfectly polite on the surface, had a disconcerting habit of saying things in a jokey fashion then glancing at people so as to signal that she hadn't been joking really. Nadia, who would have been an ally, was busy helping Miriam with the barbecue. Edward seemed nice enough but Annie couldn't begin to imagine what kind of conversation she might hold with a consultant neuropsychiatrist—unless he'd like to hear her recurring dream during which she jumped from a great height into a child's plastic bucket and all her teeth fell out.

Annie hated it when that happened. Upon waking, she always had to leap out of bed, race to the mirror, and check her teeth.

But Dr. Welch—sorry, Edward—would no doubt be bored to tears by this. Happily, she hadn't had the chance to ask him about her dream.

Less happily, this was because she was being interrogated by Clare. And not in a relaxing way.

“Annie, you
must
try the kebabs, they're fantastic. Ooh, careful, bit hot. So whereabouts exactly
do
you work?”

This was what Clare had been doing, urging Annie to try the kebabs, or the king prawns, or the roasted peppers, then asking her a question the moment her mouth was full. Anxious not to appear rude, Annie was then obliged to frantically chew and swallow far too soon, so that she could feel the lumps of food fighting their way down her throat. She just hoped it didn't look as painful as it felt, like in
Tom
and
Jerry
when Tom gulped down a fish sideways and you could see the head and tail bulging out either side of his neck.

“It's the newsagents on Quorn Street,” she finally managed to say.

“That's it, a newsagents.” Clare pulled a rather-you-than-me face. “God, is it awful?”

“I like it there,” said Annie.

“And you live in Kingsweston? Is yours one of those big houses by the village green?” There was a glittery look in Clare's eyes. She was a pretty girl, enviably slim in jeans and a midriff-baring black T-shirt, and with her long dark hair falling like a waterfall down her back. But she was definitely having a dig.

“No,” said Annie. “One of the small cottages next to the phone box.”

Clare raised her plucked eyebrows. “Have you tried the scallops yet? Here, you must try a scallop. So why did Dad have to come and pick you up this evening? Is there something wrong with your car?”

Not falling for the scallop trick, Annie said calmly, “I don't have a car.”

“No car? Heavens, you poor thing! Still, it must be nice being driven around in Dad's Jag.”

Even James, just back from switching on the lights around the terrace, couldn't miss the insinuation this time.

“Clare.” He shot her a look of warning.

“What?” Apparently mystified, she shook her head. “I'm just saying it must be nice. Better than having to catch some smelly old bus, surely.”

“Buses don't bother me. I'm used to them.” Annie steadfastly refused to rise to the bait. “This mayonnaise is brilliant, by the way. I must ask your grandmother where she bought it.”

Clare snorted with laughter. “Bought it? She'd throw you onto the barbecue if she heard you say that. Miriam wouldn't allow shop-bought mayonnaise in the house.”

Now that the lights were on, the garden was looking even lovelier. What a shame the same couldn't be said for Clare's personality. Wondering if anyone had ever given her the slap she deserved, and preparing to move away, Annie said, “In that case, maybe she'd give me the recipe. I think I'll just ask her.”

But Miriam was nowhere in sight and a phone was ringing somewhere inside the house. Moments later Miriam emerged clutching a bowl of potato salad in one hand and the cordless phone in the other, into which she was saying sympathetically, “…and I'm so sorry to hear about your grandmother.”

Annie watched the color drain from Clare's face.

“I can't hear you, dear, you'll have to speak up.” Miriam raised her own voice. “Say that again? Oh, right. Well, that's good. Here's Clare, I'll pass you over to her now.”

Mutely Clare held out her hand for the phone.

“Darling, fantastic news, Piers's grandmother has been miraculously resurrected. She's absolutely fine, not dead at all. You might need to shout though, it's a dreadful line. Almost sounds as if Piers is ringing from some crowded pub.”

Clare couldn't believe it. Her palm was so slippery with sweat she almost dropped the cordless phone. Bloody Piers, how could he do this to her? He'd never even called her before on this number; until now he'd always rung her mobile.

“Yes?”

“Clare, hey, sorry I couldn't make it, got held up in Clifton. We're all at the Happy Ferret if you fancy joining us.”

“No thanks.” Clare spat the words out like pebbles; she'd never been so ashamed.

“Suit yourself.” It came out as shoot yourself; Piers had clearly been held up in the Happy Ferret for a while. “Anyway, what was all that about just then? My grandmother isn't dead.”

Actually, shooting herself might not be such a bad idea.

Annie had cheered up considerably. The way Miriam had winked at her as she'd passed the phone over to Clare had helped a lot. Miriam, she guessed, was perfectly aware of what Clare had been up to.

Now, with the sky darkening and the citronella candles flickering away in their water bowls, Annie settled back into her chair on the terrace and surreptitiously undid the button on the straining waistband of her trousers. She had eaten a huge amount, to Miriam's evident pleasure. She'd also learned that the secret ingredient in the mayonnaise was fresh tarragon. She'd even managed, by some miracle, to hold a lively conversation with Edward, who'd turned out to be a lot less intimidating than she'd imagined. He might know everything there was to know about brains, Annie had discovered, but he could also talk entertainingly about TV quiz shows, the bizarre selection of magazines stocked in hospital waiting rooms, and wild parties he had attended during his time as a medical student, including the one where a pickled brain had somehow tumbled out of its bucket and fallen into the host's swimming pool.

“Edward, that's disgusting,” Miriam had protested. “You're putting me off my lamb cutlets.” She'd paused, her kohled eyes bright with curiosity. “Did it sink or float?”

Now, music was drifting out through the living-room windows and Miriam and Edward were dancing on the terrace. James was turning the last of the kebabs on the glowing barbecue. Leonie kicked off her shoes, grabbed Clare's wrist, and dragged her up to join in the dancing. Tilly, sitting on the stone steps with her arms wrapped round her knees, watched them and tapped her feet in time with the music.

“Top up,” Nadia announced, pouring wine into Annie's almost empty glass. Shaking back her curls and collapsing onto the chair next to her, she said, “So, are we not so scary as you thought?”

Annie smiled. “I've enjoyed myself.” Well, most of it.

“Miriam likes you. That's always a good start.”

“I think your sister thinks I'm a gold-digger,” said Annie.

Nadia looked astonished. “Tilly?”

“
No
. I meant Clare.” Too late she saw Nadia's teeth gleaming in the candlelight. “Oh, right, joke. But she does, and I really wish she didn't.” Earnestly Annie added, “I promise you, I'm not interested in your dad's money.”

“Don't take any notice of Clare, she's in a state because of this so-called boyfriend of hers. Posh Piers.” Nadia pulled a face then said mischievously, “Posh
rich
Piers, from what I hear. Unlike the rest of us, Clare isn't used to being mucked about by men.”

It occurred to Annie that she wasn't used to it either, but only because she'd been so busy nursing her mother that no men had had the opportunity to muck her about. Now, at the deeply embarrassing age of thirty-eight, she had all this to look forward to.

“How about you?” said Annie.

“Oh God, heaps of experience! All the way back to my school days when the boys laughed at my braces and my acne and my sweet little moustache.” Nadia grinned at the look on Annie's face. “Not to mention my puppy fat and my hairy legs, because Miriam wouldn't let me shave them. Oh yes, I was a scary sight. And then I hit sixteen. The braces came off, the spots went away, I got taller and thinner and, best of all, discovered the joys of depilatory cream. So I thought, wow, this is fantastic, from now on all the boys will be completely in awe of me, I look so gorgeous they'll never be horrible or treat me badly again.”

“And?”

“Well, of course I was wrong.” Nadia smiled and shook her head. “They carried right on being horrible and treating me as badly as ever.”

Annie laughed. “That's boys for you. But how about now?”

“My last proper boyfriend dumped me almost eighteen months ago. Edward's son,” Nadia added, nodding toward Edward and Miriam. When they'd first broken up and the subject had arisen, she hadn't been able to stop herself explaining to strangers who Laurie was, just so they understood she hadn't been dumped by anyone ordinary or middle-of-the-road. Nowadays she didn't bother. Since the breakup, Laurie's flying visits to his father had been few and far between and she'd always made a point of making herself scarce during these times. It wasn't that she was still bitter, she just didn't see why she should feel obliged to be amicable and pretend they were still jolly good friends.

Because it did still hurt, deep down. Of course it did.

“Edward's son. Gosh,” said Annie. Sympathetically she went on, “Must be awkward.”

“Not really. Edward doesn't talk about Laurie when I'm around. Nobody talks about Laurie when I'm around except Clare sometimes, because she likes to wind me up. Anyway, he's in America now, which makes things easier.”

“And you've not met anyone else since then?”

Suddenly feeling like Miss Havisham, Nadia mentally brushed away a few cobwebs. “Well, no, but I haven't given up yet. They can just run faster than me, that's all. Once I learn to use a lasso, they won't be able to get away.” She mimed twirling a lasso above her head and aimed it at James as he headed toward them, bearing yet another plate piled high with lamb cutlets.

Anxious not to look as if she was part of the catch-a-man plan, Annie said hurriedly, “Tilly's going to be gorgeous when she grows up.”

The song that had been playing came to an end. Leonie, her gypsyish velvet skirt swirling around her ankles, murmured something to Clare and disappeared through the French windows into the house. Clare, her mood evidently improved, danced over to Tilly and dragged her to her feet as the next track began.

Plenty of thirteen-year-olds wore more makeup than Lady Gaga, but not Tilly. She didn't even own so much as a lip gloss. Her baby-fine blonde hair hung loose and unstyled around her shoulders and she was wearing a gray T-shirt over baggy green shorts that flapped around her bony knees. But for all her apparent gawkiness, she could dance. Maybe not at the school dance when everyone was judging her and she became paralyzed with shyness, but out here on the candlelit terrace, surrounded by her family…

Watching with pride, Nadia said, “She'll be fine.”

***

Leonie had been to the loo and was on her way back outside when the front doorbell rang.

From the sitting room Harpo squawked, “Somebody get the bloody door.”

Since there was no one else around, Leonie did as Harpo suggested.

Blimey. And very nice too.

Smiling playfully up at the visitor, Leonie said, “Let me guess. You're the bad boy.”

The visitor said, “I'm sorry?”

“The naughty one.” Leonie stepped to one side and ushered him into the hall. “Oh yes, I've been hearing all about you.” She wagged a finger at him. “Still, at least you're here now. Better late than never. I'm Leonie by the way. Clare's mother. Come along through, everyone's outside.”

“I think we may have our wires crossed,” said the visitor. “I just wanted a quiet word with Nadia.”

Since he wasn't moving, Leonie said, “Aren't you Piers?”

“No. Jay Tiernan.”

“And you're a friend of Nadia's? Now this
is
interesting,” Leonie teased, “because I've heard absolutely nothing about you. Were you supposed to be here earlier as well? Honestly, what is it with my daughters and reliable men? And why so
formal
?” she went on, brushing her hand against the lapels of his dark suit. “I mean, it's a very
nice
suit, but not what most men would wear to a barbecue.”

“It was my brother's funeral this afternoon,” said Jay. “I haven't—”

“Stop! Foul! Repetition,” Leonie shouted in triumph. “We've already had death-of-a-close-relative, you can't just copy someone else's excuse,” she chided with a playful prod to the chest. “That's
so
unoriginal and boring. Come on now, try and think up one of your own.”

“Sorry,” said Jay. “OK, just tell her my watch stopped and that's why I'm late. Now could you go and find Nadia and let her know I'm here?”

Anyone else would have been mortified, but all Leonie did was shriek with laughter when she learned the truth. Leaving her in the back garden, Nadia made her way through to the hall. Pausing en route to check her reflection in the living-room mirror and to give her hair a quick comb-through with her fingers, she saw that she was harboring a blob of garlic mayonnaise in her cleavage.

See? This was why it was always important to check.

In the hall, Jay was looking handsome but strained, as though the day had taken its toll. Thanks to several glasses of wine, Nadia was able to give him a hug. Nothing erotic, just one of those brief poor-you ones.

“I'm sorry.”

“About what?”

“Everything. All of it. Especially my mother. When I was young, I used to be embarrassed that she was never around. Nowadays I'm embarrassed when she is.”

“Don't be. No need.” Jay half-smiled. “When she told me who she was, I assumed you'd already told her about my brother. Otherwise I'd never have mentioned the funeral.”

“I don't talk to my mother about that kind of stuff.” Nadia waggled her hands in apology. “We don't have girlie chats. She wasn't even invited here tonight, she just turned up.”

“Anyway, it's OK. If Anthony could hear her, he'd think it was funny. Anyway”—Jay glanced up as a burst of laughter filtered through from the garden—“I didn't realize you had a party going on. I'll just leave—”

“No you won't.” Nadia put a hand out to stop him as he moved toward the front door. “What made you come here?”

Jay hesitated, then shrugged. “After the funeral we all went back to the Kavanagh Hotel. I've spent the last six hours being suitably solemn and not drinking and accepting condolences from a load of people I've never met before. The last guests left half an hour ago. Belinda's parents have taken her back to Dorset. I just gave a couple of people a lift home and it turned out they live not far from here, in Druid Avenue. So when I'd dropped them off I practically had to drive past your front door. I just stopped by on the off chance that you might be free to join me for a much-needed drink.”

It was horribly inappropriate, but Nadia couldn't help it. A little knot of lust was busily forming in the pit of her stomach, because with those shadowed eyes and that dark stubble and the sexily loosened tie around his neck, Jay really was looking fantastically attractive.

Of course he didn't want to be at home on his own after the traumas of the day. He needed someone to take his mind off all that and cheer him up.

And she was just the girl to do it.

“I'm free,” said Nadia, “and I'd love to go for a drink.”

“But what about—?”

“They'll understand. Just give me two minutes and I'll be right out.”

In the event, Jay came through to the back garden with Nadia while she told her family she was leaving. Miriam threw her arms round him and said, “My poor boy, what a rotten thing to happen. I'm so sorry.”

Leonie, in a whisper that wasn't far enough under her breath, said to James, “I can't keep up with the shenanigans in this family. Clare's chap was supposed to be here tonight and he didn't make it. Now this one appears when no one was even expecting him. So is he Nadia's boyfriend or not?”

Clare said encouragingly to Jay, “You know what would make you feel better? Buying a painting from a struggling but very talented artist.”

“Please excuse my sister, she has no shame.” Hurriedly Nadia steered him back toward the French windows. “Come on, let's go.”

***

“You look different,” Jay commented as he led the way through to his kitchen. The lights flickered and came on, and he reached into the fridge for a bottle of Meursault.

“That's because you've never seen me in a dress before. Thanks,” said Nadia as he handed her a brimming glass. Pouring an equally large one for himself, he downed half of it in a matter of seconds.

“Blimey, are you sure that's the way the wine experts say to do it?”

Jay shrugged. “Right now, I'm not bothered with what it tastes like. I just want to blur the edges of a truly godawful day. Sorry, I don't suppose I'll be great company tonight. I won't be able to drive you back home either.”

“That's why we have cabs. And I don't mind a bit,” said Nadia. “So long as you're paying for it.”

Jay smiled. Dangling the already half-empty bottle from his fingers, he showed her into the living room. “Have a seat. Sorry about the mess.”

Like a lot of men, he really didn't have a clue.

“Call this a mess?” Nadia surveyed the room. Presumably he was referring to the sweater thrown across the back of a chair, the newspapers on the coffee table, and—oh
horror
—the dirty cup on the floor next to the sofa. “Crikey, you should take a look at my sister's bedroom. When you haven't seen your carpet for six months because it's knee-deep in clothes and CDs and magazines and empty potato chip bags, now that's a mess.”

“True, true. My bedroom used to be like that too. So did Anthony's when we were teenagers. Pigsties, our mother used to call them.” Jay pulled a face. “I got tidy without realizing it. I don't even remember it happening.”

The sitting room was huge, high-ceilinged and unfussily decorated. The walls were covered with dark blue wallpaper, the carpet and curtains were cream, and the navy sofas squashily comfortable. Above the fireplace hung the telephone box painting. Other less imposing pieces of artwork adorned the walls. Nadia, sinking into one of the sofas, watched Jay shrug off his jacket, remove his tie, and fling them onto the back of another chair. Then he topped up his glass and drank some more, his tanned throat moving as he swallowed.

Blimey, at this rate she may as well order the taxi now. He'd be out cold in thirty minutes.

“Come and sit down,” said Nadia, feeling sorry for him but still not quite able to ignore the squirrelly feelings in her stomach. She meant come and sit down in the general sense, i.e., on any chair or sofa in the vicinity, but Jay took it as an invitation and joined her on the sofa to the left of the fireplace.

“D'you know what gets me? It's all so fucking unfair. Two brothers, more or less the same age. One's single, the other one's married with a baby due any time now. The single one used to smoke, the married one never did. The single one enjoys a drink, doesn't go to the gym, and has eaten more than his share of junk food. Needless to say, the married one's always taken good care of his body. So which one of them dies of cancer? The married brother of course.”

Taken aback, Nadia said, “Are you telling me you wish it had been you?”

Glug glug, another refill.

“I'm not that noble. I don't wish it was me. I'm just saying that, statistically, it should've been.” Jay held up the empty bottle. “Guilt trip, I suppose. I'm still here and Anthony's gone.”

“That's normal.” Nadia nodded wisely. She'd watched enough episodes of
Oprah
to know that.

“I know. But it doesn't stop me feeling guilty. Bet you're glad you came here now,” Jay added drily.

“I'm fine. Don't worry about me.”

“You're not drinking.” He indicated her almost full glass, and Nadia obligingly knocked it back. Actually, it was really nice wine.

“Better.” Jay nodded his approval. “Could you find your way back to the kitchen, d'you think?”

“Why?”

“There's another bottle in the fridge.”

Over the course of the next hour, Jay slowed his rate of consumption and they talked about Anthony. And death. And what it was like to have a sister, and whether brothers were better than sisters. And what heaven would be like if you could design it yourself. And where the corkscrew had disappeared to. And whether the same landlord was still running the pub where they'd stayed when they had been snowbound, because if anyone deserved to be dead it was him.

By eleven o'clock the second bottle was empty. Well, Nadia reassured herself, it had seemed rude not to join in. She hadn't been invited over to sit there like a prune sipping water.

“Shall I tell you the good news?” said Jay, resting his head back against the sofa cushions and tilting it to one side.

“Definitely. Always glad to hear a bit of good news.” Nadia nodded and found it quite hard to stop, which was always a clue that she'd had a bit too much to drink. “Tell me your good news this minute.”

Another sign was repetition.

“I might be nicer to work for. I know I haven't been in the best of moods recently. It's been tough, not wanting Anthony to die and knowing deep down that he was going to. At least that part of it's over now. Give me a while and I should get back to normal.”

“You told me that before.” Nadia dimly recalled him saying something similar the other day.

“And now I'm telling you again. When I hired you, you came to work for someone you thought you knew and got a completely different person instead. I did feel guilty about that.” Jay touched her bare arm and all the little hairs on the back of it instantly leapt to attention; luckily he'd had far too much wine to notice. “But things should start to improve.”

“You mean you'll stop being an ogre?” Nadia thought about easing her arm away, but it didn't seem to want to move.

“Was that what I was? Really, an ogre?”

“No. Well… no.” She shook her head, because to be fair he hadn't been. “But you're right about not being what I was expecting.”

“I'm sorry.” Jay's smile was rueful, his hand still in contact with her forearm. Idly, without even realizing it, his fingers were stroking her overheated skin. Now would definitely be a good time to move away, Nadia thought fuzzily. Oh, but it was such a heavenly feeling. And it would be churlish to move, surely. The man had just buried his brother. Well, not personally, of course. He was in a state of grief. She was here to cheer him up.

Crikey, thought Nadia, and I
could
cheer him up.

“What are you thinking?” said Jay.

Ha, not going to tell you
that
.

“Nothing.”

“You must be thinking something. Go on,” Jay prompted, taking another drink.

Nadia's gaze was drawn to the hand holding the glass. “Nice watch.”

“Wrong. That wasn't it.”

“I was just wondering what it must feel like to have hairy wrists.”

Jay's mouth twitched. “No you weren't.”

Oh yes, this was more like the old flirtatious Jay Tiernan she remembered so well.

“OK, cleverclogs, why don't you tell me what I'm thinking?”

This time he smiled properly. Their eyes met.

“Fine. I'll tell you. But only telepathically.”

“That'll be useful.”

“Trust me. We can do this. I'll tell you what you're thinking, then I'll tell you what I'm thinking, then you can tell me if I'm right.”

“And we do all this telepathically?”

Jay nodded, his gaze fixed on hers. Dark brown eyes with wickedly long black lashes. Tanned skin surrounding them, showing paler laughter lines at the outer corners. Shadows like faint bruises beneath his eyes. Crooked nose separating them. Unable to tear her gaze away, Nadia knew exactly what was going through his mind:

You want to sleep with me.

I
don't.

Oh yes you do. And I want to sleep with you, so why are we wasting time?

Bloody hell, you're a bit sure of yourself, aren't you?

Just being honest. We like each other, don't we? We're both adults. And we're unattached.

I suppose so.

You don't sound very enthusiastic. OK, never mind, forget I mentioned it…

Nooo!