She marched into the house, her high heels clicking a tattoo on the wooden floor, and Hilary looked at Jonathan and gave a sigh. ‘Sorry about this, Jonathan. She’s my oldest friend, she lives in a posh gaff in London and she has a housekeeper, and how typical that she arrives when the house is a tip,’ she fussed. ‘And now I’ve to go and cook, just when we were having a delightful evening.’
‘The house isn’t a tip. It’s a home! You sit there and I’ll slap the steak on the pan, that’s if you don’t mind me rooting in your fridge and presses,’ he added hastily.
‘No, you sit and relax!’ she protested.
‘I wouldn’t know what to say to her. She’s très formidable.’ He made a face. ‘I’ll cook and you get her tiddly and take the edges off her.’
‘OK, there might be some cheese in the fridge that’s gone a bit mouldy, it might be smelly,’ she warned him.
‘You should see mine,’ he comforted. ‘I’ve a carrot that’s shrivelled up – at least I think it’s a carrot – and a cucumber that’s going to have to be poured out! Here she comes, get that wine down her. Are you sure you want me to stay? I feel I’m intruding.’
‘Oh please do stay, Jonathan. You’re not intruding at all. I was enjoying our evening so much. I’m not in the mood for “my wonderful life in London” tonight,’ Hilary sighed, feeling a tad disloyal but irritated nevertheless.
‘I’m doing chef,’ Jonathan announced gaily when Colette joined them. ‘Steak . . . medium, well done or rare?’ He gave her a saccharine smile.
‘Oh!’ Colette was thrown. ‘Um . . . medium to rare, please.’
‘No bother, sit and relax, ladies. Your champers will be out forthwith. Where are the glasses, Hil?’
‘The press on the left-hand side at right angles to the sink,’ Hilary instructed, sitting down at the table.
‘Righto.’ Jonathan cleared the dishes on the table and sashayed into the kitchen. Hilary hid a smile at his antics. He was really camping it up for Colette’s benefit.
‘How did you meet him? He’s certainly making himself at home.’ Colette frowned. ‘I can’t believe you only met him today and he’s rooting around your presses already.’
‘We met at a lighting design course. He’s an interior designer and a potential new customer, and, I have to say, I haven’t had as much fun in ages. I feel as if I’ve known him forever.’
‘He’s a typical queeny gay, isn’t he? And—’
‘Oh for God’s sake, Colette!’ Hilary interjected crossly. ‘What’s that got to do with anything! Say I’d met someone else, who was straight, you wouldn’t be sitting there saying he’s a typical hetero, would you?’
‘You’re very ratty, Hilary. I was merely going to say he’s gay and pushy. Lots of them are.’ Colette scowled, taken aback by her friend’s rebuke.
‘They’re not another species, Colette.’
‘I know that! I’m not homophobic, Hilary. There are lots of gay people in our circle. It’s just you don’t know him more than a day and he’s making himself completely at home and I was surprised, that’s all,’ Colette said sulkily. ‘I was hoping to have you to myself. I’ve loads to tell you.’
‘What are you doing home anyway? I presume Jasmine’s not with you?’ Hilary changed the subject.
‘No, it’s too short a visit. Des had to come over on business so I said I’d come and see the parents and you, but you don’t seem too happy to see me!’
‘I am, I’m delighted. I wasn’t expecting you, that’s all, and I’m a bit the worse for wear; we’ve been drinking since we got home,’ Hilary said in a more conciliatory tone.
‘I wish I was plastered,’ Colette said glumly.
‘Why, what’s wrong?’ Hilary gave an inward sigh and prepared herself for a litany of gripes. She knew her friend of old. When Colette was worried about something, it was inevitable that she would dump on Hilary.
‘Des seems to think he’s in with a good chance for a big promotion, which means we’ll be relocating to New York!’ Colette made a face.
‘Fantastic! But what’s wrong with that? You adore New York!’ Hilary exclaimed.
‘Yes, for shopping and holiday breaks. Going to live there is a different kettle of fish. It’s like starting out all over again to get anywhere on the social scene. And they’re very cliquish on the East Coast. And then there’s Jazzy. She’ll have to get used to a new house, new school and a new nanny.’
‘Oh yeah! That’s true.’ Hilary could identify with that. Jasmine was a precocious five-year-old who reminded her of the younger Colette. Always looking for the attention that her parents didn’t have time to give her. Privileged, pampered, with everything she could want, her childhood was almost a replica of Colette’s own, and Hilary was surprised that her friend had behaved just as her own parents had. Surely she would have been determined to raise her own daughter differently from the way she had been raised herself, reared by nannies or palmed off to be minded by Sally and others. Motherhood had not diminished the me, me, me trait Colette had always exhibited. Nannies had played a major role in Jasmine’s life from her birth. ‘It’s not the worst age to make a big change. Jazzy’s young and adaptable.’ Hilary sipped her wine.
‘She’s very demanding sometimes though.’ Colette shook her head.
Only because you don’t spend enough time with her. Hilary bit back the criticism, having seen Jasmine throw some magnificent tantrums in the past. ‘When will you know if Des has got the job?’
‘Sooner rather than later. Des seems to think he’s got it, but I’m not going to say anything to Mum and Dad or anyone else until it’s in the bag,’ she added hastily. ‘So say nothing, not even to Niall.’
‘Mum’s the word!’ Hilary
