‘For heaven’s sake, stop skulking here and come and mingle. We’re going grouse shooting. Go and change,’ he instructed.
‘Go without me, I’m not sitting shivering in that damp weather waiting for you to shoot some poor unfortunate birds. I told you that I wasn’t going shooting.’
‘Some help you are,’ he’d muttered angrily, stomping off, and she’d thought how exhausting it was climbing the social ladder sometimes.
Colette grimaced at the memory. They had found their niche in London – her aunt’s connections had proved invaluable – and she was very comfortable with their place in the haut monde. If they went to New York it would almost be like starting afresh and those Waspy East Coasters were notoriously cliquish as she’d found on their frequent trips Stateside over the years. And they’d have to take Jasmine out of prep school and away from her little friends. It wouldn’t be easy. But, on the other hand, she loved New York. And what a feather in their cap it would be, and how impressed her parents would be, if Des got this plum job and they ended up living on the Upper East or West Side of Manhattan? The Met, MoMA, the Guggenheim, the Morgan and L&M, and so many more cultural delights, all on her doorstep. Des would have Wall Street but they would be her pleasures.
Colette brightened up as they merged onto the M25 speeding towards the exit for Heathrow. She could see planes in their holding patterns circling in the distance and hoped there’d be no delays to their flight. It was rare these days to take off on time.
Now that she was on her way Colette had started looking forward to her trip home to Ireland. She wouldn’t say anything about her husband’s job interview until it was in the bag, though. It would be too ignominious if she’d spoken about it and then Des didn’t get the position. Image was everything in your own home town.
She’d tell Des to drop her at Hilary’s, and have a good chat with her friend about it. Colette wouldn’t mind saying it to her. She knew better than anyone the person behind the bright, self-confident façade Colette put up. She could always depend on Hilary for advice. Besides it would be more enjoyable having a drink and a chat with Hilary than having to make polite conversation with Des’s colleagues. He had reservations for dinner in Guilbaud’s, but tonight she wasn’t in the mood for fine dining, hovering waiters, and over-rich food. She actually had a strange longing for a kebab, she thought in amusement, remembering how Hilary used to go mad when she’d eat half of hers after a night out.
‘I want you to drop me off at Hilary’s when we get to Dublin. I’ll take a cab to the hotel later,’ she said as the driver swung around the roundabout and drove towards Terminal 1.
‘But we’re going to Guilbaud’s.’ Des looked at her, perplexed.
‘I’m not in the form, darling. I’m tired. That dinner for the Americans took a lot of work and energy and I just want to flop with Hilary for an hour or two and wind down.’
‘Fine, if that’s what you want,’ Des said, packing away his laptop. ‘Have you told your folks we’re coming over?’
‘No, I’ll ring them from the hotel tomorrow and we can arrange to meet up.’ Colette refreshed her lipstick and ran a brush through her hair as they pulled up at the set-down area.
‘They won’t be too happy that you haven’t let them know you’re coming,’ Des warned.
Colette shrugged. ‘I know they’ll be in a huff. I’ll worry about that tomorrow.’ She slid gracefully out of the car, making sure she had her copy of Vanity Fair in her Louis Vuitton travel bag. She would read her favourite magazine in the comfort of first-class on the short flight home. Now that she was at the airport she was dying to surprise Hilary and have a good girly natter.
‘It was like being in an Aladdin’s cave of lighting. They’re beautiful showrooms – you should be very proud,’ Jonathan remarked as he and Hilary divvied up spring rolls, crispy duck and lemon chicken and rice, in her kitchen. He had meandered around the showrooms, particularly enjoying the uplighters and downlighters and the glittering cascades of the sparkling chandeliers that were displayed artistically throughout.
‘Thanks. I like to keep up to date with new designs but I like classic fixtures as well. It’s all about keeping the balance right.’ Hilary drizzled hoisin sauce over the shredded duck and added some cucumber and shallots.
‘Were you always interested in lighting as a career?’ He topped up their glasses of Bin 555, their second bottle, and followed Hilary outside to a patio enhanced by an array of planters overflowing with vibrant, fragrant blooms, and where she had set a round mosaic table beneath a pale green parasol.
‘Oh nice,’ he approved, glancing around appreciatively.
‘I love being outside, now sit and eat,’ Hilary instructed.
‘The lighting career?’ he prompted as he sat opposite her.
‘Not at all,’ Hilary laughed. ‘I got lumbered with it. Dad has heart trouble and my sister was in the middle of her degree and I was just about to start university, so she couldn’t give it up and it fell to me to keep the show on the road, and here I am well over a decade later.’
‘And what would you have liked to have done?’ Jonathan asked, licking hoisin sauce off his fingers.
‘I wanted to study languages. I was good at French and Spanish at school. I became fluent in
