‘Do you think they’ll have kids? Maybe they’re too old now, would you say?’
‘Scarlett,’ he says, slightly louder than normal. ‘I really have no idea. It’s all new; I doubt even they know the answers to your million questions yet.’
I scowl at him then watch the cars in the middle lane of the motorway as we fly by. My nerves build as we pull off the main road and drive closer to Lara’s house. The last time Lara saw me, she was begging me to forgive her son. I was cold and uncompromising.
‘Gregory,’ I say meekly, ‘do you know your mum came to see me? It was after my dad died. Before… before you came that night in the rain.’ The memory of Gregory’s face flashes painfully in my mind. ‘You should know that I was sharp with her.’
Gregory’s jaw tenses. I wish I could read his thoughts.
‘Whatever happened between you is private. Unless, she didn’t upset you, did she?’
‘Oh, it’s not that, I just don’t want today to be awkward.’
‘Scarlett, my mother invited you,’ he says, resting his hand on mine.
‘She told me some stuff. About you… About Pearson.’
He takes his hand away and concentrates on the road. He swallows subtly but the sinews in his neck tense. He’s not ready and I won’t push him.
The road becomes increasingly lined with conifer trees and flanked by grass. Gregory pauses the car at tall, black, iron gates and waits until a voice comes through a speaker on the white wall.
‘Where are we?’ I whisper, so the intercom voice can’t hear me.
‘Cobham. Surrey.’
He picks up speed as we drive another hundred metres or so along a tarmac pathway. The trees come to an abrupt, perfectly straight, trimmed end, exposing an enormous, white mansion, three triangular peaks and floor-to-roof windows marking the front of Lara and Lawrence’s home. Gregory rolls the DB9 around to one side of the house and stops in front of a four-door garage. An inordinate amount of land is accessed at the back of the house by twenty or so steps leading down from a large veranda. A pool house extends from the side of the house furthest away from us. On the lawn, maybe fifty metres from the house, men are working to construct what looks like a grand pavilion.
‘It’s for the party,’ Lara says, having appeared from the front of the house.
‘Party?’ I ask Gregory as Lara approaches.
‘Hi, handsome,’ Lara says, kissing her son on both cheeks. ‘Go on, get inside.’
I know immediately she wants to be alone with me. Gregory does as instructed and walks to the front of the house but not without casting one last look over his shoulder to me.
Lara stands in front of me, putting us face to face. The last thing I want is conflict. Doubt begins to ask me why I agreed to come.
‘How’re you holding up?’ she asks me softly.
She’s not pissed at me? It takes a moment for that to hit home.
‘I’m okay, thank you.’
She places one hand on my shoulder. ‘I don’t know why or how or what convinced you and I don’t ever need to know but for his sake, I’m pleased you changed your mind.’
I study her face, trying to understand the mens rea, the motive, the hidden meaning, but there’s nothing to uncover. We both wait in anticipation of me finding the right words to say but they don’t come. Eventually, she rubs her hand briskly up and down my shoulder and that’s the end of the matter.
‘Come on, you must be freezing,’ she says, turning on her patent heel, her wide-legged trousers swinging to expose their full width. She offers me a flexed arm that’s sheathed in a silk blouse.
‘What’s the party in aid of?’ I ask, linking my arm through hers.
‘That son of mine hasn’t told you yet? I throw a bonfire night party every year. A hideously extravagant thing but I love it. You have to come.’
A housemaid opens the large, white, double front door for us and I smile at her as I step inside.
‘If nothing else, it’s an excuse for a new dress,’ Lara adds as she scuttles along the high-polish, wood floor and dips into a room to the right of the hallway.
‘She’s a whirlwind,’ the housemaid says. ‘I’ll show you along. This way.’
