The Secret Life of Evie Hamilton - Catherine Alliott [123]
‘D'you think? I mean…’
He turned in his seat, his arm resting on the back. Smiled. ‘In light of what I've said? Look, Evie, I realize I've shown my hand, but I'm not going to jump on you. I'm not fifteen.’
I smiled into my lap. Nodded. ‘No. I know. I'm sorry.’
‘You asked me if I'd been attracted to anyone since Estelle died. Not if I was wasting away in a garret writing love-sick poems. Carving hearts on trees. Succumbing to thunderbolts.’
That put me in my place. ‘Quite.’
‘No cause for alarm. I believe it's what's called an idle crush.’ He grinned.
An idle crush. Well, I'd had a few of those in my time, who hadn't? I remembered a certain floppy-haired Italian boy behind the cheese counter at Waitrose; Ant and I had eaten a lot of Dolcelatte for a while. Oh – and a heavenly Latin teacher at Anna's school who I'd fondly imagined declining a few verbs with – but nothing more. For idle read harmless. I felt relieved. Flattered. But also… no, not disappointed. What did I need with thunderbolts?
I took a deep breath. ‘I'd love a drink.’
As we got out and walked across the road, I glanced doubtfully down at my jeans and pink jumper.
‘I'm not exactly dressed for an engagement party, though. More a rural weekend in Yorkshire.’
He looked me up and down. ‘I think you look terrific.’
It was a casual, throwaway remark, but it didn't do to toss remarks like that at vulnerable, insecure women. It verily made my knees knock, at the same time as making me feel about ten foot tall. My heart was going like a kettledrum anyway, so a knee trembling, heart thumping giantess loped along beside him. We went up the few steps to the front door, which the last couple, seeing us approach, had left open in a friendly fashion. Another couple, I realized they imagined, as they smiled back at us. We followed the sound of merrymaking up two flights of cream-carpeted stairs.
The party was indeed at full tilt. Plenty of bright young things were packed in like so much human lasagne, knocking back champagne, shrieking and braying at each other in a high-ceilinged room with an enormous chandelier hanging pendulously in the middle. Amy Winehouse was doing her best over the noise but it was nip and tuck. God, I hoped Ludo's sister was younger, I thought, looking around nervously as we plunged into the scrimmage, otherwise I'd just arrived with a toy boy.
‘They look about nineteen,’ I shouted over the din, accepting a glass of champagne from a passing waiter who was squeezing his way round with a tray above his head, having a precarious time of it.
‘Twenty five-ish,’ he shouted back. ‘Alice was an afterthought. Ten years after my little brother Ed. Ah, here she is – Alice, this is Evie. Evie – Alice.’
‘The bride.’ I smiled as an attractive blonde with very pink cheeks swayed towards us in a pissed fashion in a plunging black dress. She looked vaguely familiar. ‘Congratulations!’ I shouted.
‘Oh, we've met!’ she squeaked. She reached out and clutched my hand. ‘Don't you remember?’ She staggered a bit. Steadied herself on a friend's shoulder. ‘Oops.’
‘We have?’
‘Yes – you were having trouble with your poos!’ she yelled.
I flushed. It was true, I did suffer spasmodically from constipation. Had news of it reached this side of the street? Had flags been hung out, or even noses pinched, when movement was finally achieved?
‘Really?’ I gasped, several shades brighter than my jumper.
‘Little annoying ones you had to pick up in your hands.’
No. I was pretty sure I'd never… ‘Oh!’ It dawned. ‘Hector's!’
She shrugged, eyes like road maps.
‘The horse,’ I hurried to reassure Ludo, whose eyebrows were gently raised. ‘I was mucking him out, and your sister was in the kitchen and – oh, you're getting married at the farm!’
‘That's it.’ She beamed happily. ‘Caroline Milligan's place. It's so fabulous – well, you know. You keep your horse there.’ She waved her champagne glass at me and some spilled down my jumper.
‘Yes, I used to live there, actually. It was my home.’
‘Really?’ Her bloodshot eyes widened. ‘Gosh, how could