Mark’s hand squeezed the car key like a stress ball. ‘If you want to get cracking early, we could raise some cash by selling this monster – she’s a bloody accident waiting to happen out here.’
Emily straightened and said tartly, ‘Find something else tosell. That’s mine. It might be your cash that paid for the Bentley, but I earned it subjugating my life to your career for decades.’
His eyes widened. ‘Hey, it was just an idea. We could import it but that’s silly with the nearest dealership in Lisbon, so we need to sell. Residents can’t drive foreign-plated cars.’
She beamed at him. ‘We’re resident? Well done!’
‘Not quite. But it’s all on track.’
At least he was making progress. Emily couldn’t wait to get cracking with Miguel’s makeover. She let go of Tosca’s collar, and slammed the front door shut.
‘Can I show you something please?’ she asked, leading the way to the master bedroom. She wasn’t living with this lopsided teenager-in-a-rush bedmaking effort she’d been presented with all week.
Emily pulled out the bedsheets, then tucked the bottom one in, stopping at the foot of the bed. She created a neat triangle of sheet. ‘It’s called a hospital corner,’ she grunted, hefting up the mattress.
‘Got it,’ he snapped.
‘I’m excited about meeting Alex’s new girlfriend, aren’t you?’ she said looking up at him. ‘I thought we’d take them to Monica’s on their first night, then I’ve booked Paixa—’
He cut her off. ‘Restaurants? Why can’t you cook?’ He threw a pillow at the headboard as if defending himself from attack.
‘Why can’t you?’ she spat.
‘Ican’t.Youcan,’ he spat back.
‘I never cooked when we had visitors in London.’ She picked up the pillow, pushed it in and out like a set of bellows, puffing up the feathers, then replaced it and stood back. ‘See? It’s much better with fatter pillows.’
He tilted his head and mimicked her voice. ‘It’s much better with fatter pillows. You do it if you want fatter pillows.’
‘It’s not my turn.’ He gave her a quizzical look. ‘Check the rota.It’s your turn all week.’
‘Rota?’ he asked as if questioning the meaning of the word. ‘What rota?’
‘The chores rota, at the front of the red book.’
His head jerked backwards is if pulled by a piece of string. ‘What red book?’
She left the room, returning with a red lever arch file, which she handed to him saying, ‘I put it in your study.’
Mark sat down, creasing the smooth bedspread.
‘Seriously?’ he said, opening the file. ‘A rota for chores? This isn’t a kibbutz.’ He flicked through a few pages, his eyes widening. ‘How can you know the dishwasher will be full on the specified days?’ he demanded, a note of irritation in his voice.
Emily pushed him aside. He stood up, and she bent over to smooth the creased bedspread.
‘You can do all the washing up if you prefer. But don’t try fobbing me off. Alex will expect us to entertain this girl properly.’
He snapped the folder shut. ‘Alex couldn’t give a damn provided someone else is doing all the work. And why don’t you cook anymore? You used to take pride in cooking Alex’s meals from scratch. Why not rekindle that talent?’
‘The restaurants are booked now.’
He put the file down on the bed. ‘Well, unbook them.’
She turned to face him, passing back the discarded file. ‘Take this with you. We’re eating out ... and please don’t use the e-word!’
His hands were clenched round the file, his knuckles white. ‘I’m going to say this slowly because you clearly haven’t got it yet. We. Need. To.Economize.’
A few days later, siting in the shade at Martin’s tennis centre, Emily took a sip of her lemon water. ‘My son and his new girlfriend are arriving today,’ she said to her tennis partner, who picked up a large glass of ice-cold rosé wine.
