One Day in May - Catherine Alliott [120]
‘Oh! Hi, there, how lovely,’ flustered my sister, putting on her most social smile. I gaped in horror. ‘Um, Hattie, I don’t know if you remember – well, of course you do, how silly of me. And of course, you saw each other the other day. Um, it’s Letty’s brother-in-law, Hal Forbes.’
23
Obviously I wanted to die on the spot. And, horror of horrors, he was advancing steadily, in a crisp checked shirt and jeans. Smiling, moving in for a kiss. A polite social one, of course, two perhaps, one on each cheek. Not to be borne.
‘No! No, I stink!’ I warned. ‘Unclean!’ I took a hasty step away, stumbled, and reared back into a rose bush. My feet went out from under me as I landed, tits up in the thorns.
Hal blinked down, astonished.
‘Hattie’s been in the tip,’ Laura purred, hastening to help. ‘She’s from London,’ she explained, as if I were cerebrally challenged. ‘Didn’t realize you don’t actually have to get in, just pop the bags over the edge. She thought we—’
‘No, no, I knew that,’ I gasped, struggling to get up. ‘But there were some other people there, and I threw my car keys in the middle and—Ow!’ My ankle had gone. I sank back, wincing.
‘What, like after a dinner party?’ Laura’s eyes popped above me.
‘What?’ I squinted up at my sister.
‘Car keys in the middle? Well, not us, obviously,’ she flustered nervously. ‘Hugh and I never do. But… isn’t that what swingers do?’
‘But at a tip?’ Hal frowned, mind clearly boggling at visions of unsavoury characters – unshaven tattoo artists, rancid bag ladies – gaily tossing keys to souped-up Escorts, untaxed Mondeos…
‘No – no,’ I breathed, struggling to my feet and wishing Laura would just shut up. She had offered to help me, but thought better of it on seeing my outstretched hand. ‘I threw my car keys accidentally in the middle, as I endeavoured to help a sweet old couple throw their rubbish away.’ I was vertical, finally. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me…’ I glared at my sister as if she, personally, had pushed me in, and turned, mustering what shreds of dignity I could, on my heel.
Feet swimming in my shoes – to say they squelched barely hints at their condition – I limped away in a haze of eau de dump, trailing alphabet spaghetti in my wake.
Some time later, having nearly taken my skin off in the shower, I threw my clothes in a plastic bag, and hastened them to Laura’s laundry where I set the dial to boil. Clad only in a towel, I hurried back to my room to get dressed for dinner.
Hal again. On my patch, again. But then… it was his patch too, wasn’t it? As he’d neatly pointed out in France. His family had grown up at The Pink House; indeed, I’d first met my brother-in-law there. It was only natural Hal might be here, having dinner, perhaps even shooting tomorrow, but still… Laura might have warned me. But then again, I’d been pretty much incommunicado all week, hadn’t I? Perhaps she’d emailed me that too? I miserably cast off my towel. And I couldn’t have looked more terrible. Couldn’t have smelled more terrible. I shuddered as I recalled. Well, if that doesn’t put him off, nothing will, I thought as I shimmied into an evening dress. I stopped. Stared at my reflection in the cheval mirror. Put him off? He’s engaged, Hattie. And why on earth would he be On in the first place?
Nevertheless I found myself taking an inordinately long time over my make-up. I removed my mascara when it clogged and reapplied it. Told myself I always wore scent behind my knees at a dinner party. But I eyed myself carefully as I removed some pearls from my ears and switched them for something more glitzy. More shimmering. I’ve always had to be on the lookout for subversive behaviour. Skulduggery. But it wasn’t just me, I decided defiantly, as I slicked on some lipstick and pressed my lips together to seal it. Something in his eyes, Hal’s eyes, had arrested me. I’d spotted it in France and, despite my disgusting state, I’d spotted it again today, from the depths of the rose bush. Something lit from within. He’d disguised it quickly