Alphabet Weekends - Elizabeth Noble [58]
The man on her left was clearly intended to be ‘hers’ – Pete’s suggestion, Rose had whispered to her in the hallway, thus absolving herself of all responsibility. Which was fortunate. Because he was a bad choice.
Funnily enough, both Simon and Tom would have been hilarious about this. One kinder, perhaps, but both fairly scathing and probably quite badly behaved.
Tom had gone out with Patrick and Rob tonight for a curry. She could have been with Lucy or Serena. Or at home with a face mask on – or poking cocktail sticks into her eyes. Most other possibilities seemed appealing right now.
She couldn’t figure out whether this guy meant to be offensive or was just thick enough to assume that everyone else shared his views on homosexuals, asylum-seekers and Oasis.
When Rose got up to collect the dessert dishes, she winked at Natalie and twitched her head to the side. Natalie jumped up and followed her into the kitchen, balancing a few plates in one hand.
‘Christ, Rosie. How did I offend Pete?’
‘I know, I know. I’m sorry. He’s a complete tit, isn’t he?’
‘What on earth made Pete think he and I might get on?’
‘I don’t think it was a deep and meaningful connection he foresaw. He just said he’d only joined the firm recently, and that he was good-looking. And he is, in a way, isn’t he?’
‘He’s all right until he opens his bloody mouth.’
‘I’m sorry, babe. Really. God, it’s dull in there.’ The real Rose was back. She put her old persona back on when she’d stepped through the kitchen door and tied the Cath Kidston apron round her waist. Now she was taking cellophane off the kind of cheeseboard that hadn’t come from the supermarket and didn’t have any Cheddar on it.
‘What the hell is that? It can’t possibly be cheese.’
‘Don’t panic. It’s an organic fig cake. Goes really well with cheese, apparently.’
‘So does Branston pickle. Chuffing hell, Rose, cheeseboards are for thirty-somethings.’
‘We are thirty-somethings, Nat.’ ‘Speak for yourself. I’m not that kind, at least. Have you got anything to drink out here?’
‘Cooking brandy. I flambèd the kidneys in it earlier. There’s loads left.’
‘Thank you, Dr Lecter. That’ll do. Pass it here.’
Rose reached for two glasses from the cupboard. ‘Me too.’
They drank the first shot in one, then poured some more.
‘Do you think this’ll make Enoch Powell any more attractive?’ Rose giggled.
‘Not a chance.’
‘So… my noble experiment didn’t go so well.’
‘Are we talking about the food?’
‘No! The food was sublime.’
‘Course it was, honey. I like my pork escalopes rare.’
Rose smacked her arm lightly. ‘It was cooked to perfection.’
‘Ask me tomorrow.’
‘I mean my experiment to help you realise that there are men out there who aren’t either Simon or Tom…’
‘If that in there represents the cream of that particular crop, I’m in big, big trouble.’
The brandy tasted a little like meths but got more palatable with each mouthful.
‘Besides,’ Natalie added, ‘I thought you were a yes vote for Tom.’
‘I am, I think. I love Tom. I just don’t want you to fall into something because it’s easy and comfortable. And because you’re afraid that’s all there is. I want it to be a conscious decision. That’s the only way it can work.’
Natalie looked fondly at her friend. ‘You really love me, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do, you soppy eejit.’
‘And you really love Pete, don’t you?’
‘God, yes.’
‘That’s really lovely. I love you too.’
‘I know.’
‘And I love Pete. Despite…’ she gesticulated with the brandy bottle in the direction of the door ‘… this, I really love him. You two are so great together.’
‘And you really love cooking brandy as well, apparently.’ Rose prised the bottle out of Natalie’s hand, and put it back beside