“Blimey,” Nick breathed.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Daphne asked, easing the cork out of a bottle of Dom. “Mother favors The Savoy, but I wanted something new. Living on the edge, as it were.” The cork shot over the balcony. “Perhaps too literally.”
“The downside of living in London is that you never get to stay in a hotel in London,” Nick said, easing into a canvas deck chair and stretching his legs out to rest his feet on the edge of the firepit. “It’s a treat.”
“How long are you staying, Daphne?” I asked. “I didn’t even know you were coming.”
“I was meant to fly back tonight. It’s such an easy day trip. But I changed it to tomorrow morning so that Freddie and I could at least have coffee and one of your sausage rolls,” she said. “I was a bit nervous to be by myself, but Mother convinced me to, as she said, live a little.” Daphne blushed. “There is a security officer in the next suite, but only one. It’s a start!”
“Good on both of you,” Freddie said, dropping a slice of orange in my spritz and handing it to me before taking some Champagne for himself.
I took a greedy sip of my drink, and then felt my stomach lurch, so I set it down onto the lip of the firepit. I had been cutting back on alcohol, just in case. I knew that countless women found out they were knocked up after a month of carousing, and their babies turned out fine, but I felt increasing pressure to create the most perfect possible environment. Come on in; this uterus has been eating organic.
“Since I came over for the state dinner, Mother has invited me on all her trips here,” Daphne explained. “She likes to shop in London. The attention we get at home isn’t what you all receive, but she does find it easier in the UK, and she thought I might, too. She calls these our missions, and every time we successfully complete one, we both feel a bit more ready for me to spread my wings.”
“It’s been a very handy way to keep in touch,” Freddie said. “Lax apparently needs a lot of scented candles.”
“She says Jo Malone smells more authentic if she gets it here,” Daphne agreed.
“Please drag me along on your next mission,” I said. “I need to see the kind of damage Lax does to Harrods.”
Daphne smiled. “They adore her, as you might imagine. She is always telling me she wants me to dress more outrageously.” She looked down at her gray flannel dress, prim and long-sleeved but undoubtedly expensive. “The last time we were here, she kept sneaking leather trousers into my dressing room, even though I am so obviously not a leather trousers person.”
“You don’t know that,” Freddie said.
“She would tell me, ‘Be more open-minded. You’ll surprise yourself,’” Daphne said. “Wise advice for us all, perhaps.”
The autumn night air nipped at us, so Daphne lit the firepit with the push of a button, and conjured up warm chocolate chip cookies from her kitchenette. The hotel had also stocked her living room with a hoard of old board games, and we ripped through a round of Yahtzee, before moving on to Cluedo (and my accompanying rant about how Americans were correct to rename it the more sensible Clue, which both Nick and Freddie had heard multiple times, and Daphne politely tolerated). The entire experience had a cozy, quaint feel. Freddie was obviously fond of Daphne, and as the night progressed, I waited for that spark of chemistry that would make Nick and me jump to our feet with excuses to leave them alone. But even when they touched each other—a pat on the back, a teasing smack, a light hug—I saw none. It was like drinking a flat soda: You can only taste the echo of the real thing, in a way that makes you want to give up and go find it. So we stayed, and played until the wee hours, until I arrested Colonel Mustard one last time.
“Bloody cheek of him,” Freddie complained. “How can it possibly be Colonel Mustard again? What is that, three times tonight?”
“It’s always Colonel Mustard,” I said. “That’s just a fact. It’s like guessing C on your multiple-choice exams.”
“Wait, is that true?” Freddie asked. “I could have used that information sooner.”
“Oh, please,” Nick said. “You paid people to take your exams.”
“Once!” Freddie protested in Daphne’s direction.
“It’s harder to do that when you’re homeschooled,” Daphne said. “My tutor would have noticed if suddenly the cook was doing my mathematics in a wig.”
Freddie drained his drink. “Another round?”
“It’s hideously late,” Nick said, standing up and rubbing his hands on his thighs. “I’ve got to be up in a few hours. We should let you get to bed, Daphne.”
“Nonsense. I’ll have another,” Daphne said.
“As you should,” Freddie said. “I’m too sozzled for Stout’s driving, so I’ll pass out in the spare bedroom.”
Daphne walked us to the door. As Nick turned away and pressed his phone to his ear to ring Stout, she gave me a hug.
“Freddie seems like he’s been good for you,” I said, returning the hug.
“Good for me, and good for my alcohol tolerance,” she said. “Or perhaps bad for it. But it does feel as if I’m catching up on what I was too timid to try when I was younger. Staying up all night, drinking too much. Eating
