Master of the House

‘Lucy? Is that you?’

‘Joss.’

‘Aren’t you in Poland or something?’

‘Hungary. No. I’m back. You’re still there.’ My words came out in stupid monosyllables while the laconic drawl I’d been aiming for whirled somewhere out of reach.

‘Of course. You heard about the old man?’

‘Yes, just now. I’m sorry.’

‘Thanks.’

To call the silence that followed awkward would be like calling Antarctica a bit nippy.

‘So, er, to what do I owe the pleasure?’ he said, saving me from having to blurt some nonsense.

‘I’m just … you know … got back from Hungary and thought I’d say hi.’ It sounded lame and I thought perhaps I should return my journalism qualification to the college that so mistakenly conferred it on me. ‘Wondered if you might like to …’

‘Meet up?’ he said. He sounded quite eager, for some reason. ‘Yes. We should have dinner. Catch up with each other. When are you free?’

Well, this was surprisingly easy.

‘Oh, any time, really.’

‘Tonight? What about the Feathers at eight? I know it’s short notice but I’m busy tomorrow and it looks as if I’ll have to go to London next week so –’

‘No, tonight’s fine. I can do tonight. The Feathers.’

‘It’s changed a lot since you left. I’m not some cheapskate trying to fob you off with a microwaved pie and crinkle-cut chips.’

I laughed.

‘I know – I went past it earlier. Where will I go now for my Vimto and crisps?’

It was his turn to laugh, and the genuine warmth of it, with a little hint of regret, snagged at my heart like a fish hook.

‘Oh, Lucy-in-the-Sky-with-Vimto,’ he said.

Stop it or I’ll cry.

‘Eight in the Feathers, then,’ I said, determined to sound businesslike. ‘Will you book?’

‘Leave it with me. See you later then.’

‘Yes. Goodbye.’

‘I’m looking forward to it,’ he said softly before hanging up.

What a bombshell to leave me with. But it was all just veneer, I told myself sternly, simply the standard-issue Lethbridge charm, taught on the playing fields of Eton and showered over all and sundry.

More importantly, what was I going to wear?

Chapter Two

I went for the snake-print shift with the shoulder ruffle. It was vital that I looked grown-up and sophisticated, a woman in control of her destiny. I wanted the traces of what I was before I left Willingham to be completely erased, so that he had to double-take and harbour some doubt that I was the same person.

At least I was driving, so there was no chance of overdoing the wine and getting maudlin or antagonistic or, worst of all, amorous.