CHAPTER 13
Honor
That evening, Noah’s not his usual, relaxed self. Something’s off. He drinks quickly during cocktail hour on the terrace. He’s more silent than usual, less ready with the easy conversation he made last night. No good vibes from him this evening. He looks amazing, though, an open-necked white linen shirt and pale pink shorts showcasing his tan. He’s like an ice cream. Good enough to eat.
I fiddle with the thin shoulder strap on my Missoni dress and take a swig of champagne. The dress is a new purchase. Missoni has worked its knitting magic with this: rows of its signature chevron in metallic hues that undulate from copper, to rose gold, to gold, to silver, to icy blue, to turquoise. It fits me like a sheath and ends at mid-calf. It needs no accessories, and very little in the way of underwear, except for a tiny nude thong. Nothing else will fit under it.
Angus is regaling Elaine and Philippe with some amusing tale involving Evelyn’s first attempt at hand-milking a cow. He’s a great story-teller—very droll—but I can’t quite focus on the story. Instead, I turn my head to Noah. He’s sittingwhere he sat last night, and he’s looking at me, but the expression on his face is intense, unsmiling.
‘Are you okay?’ My voice is a whisper.
‘I could ask you the same question.’ His gaze flicks to tumbler he’s circling in his hand and back again to me.
‘Oh?’
‘I saw the news about your husband.’
I keep my voice light. ‘I didn’t have you pegged as aDaily Mailreader.’
‘What? I think everyone’s running it. I saw it on Sky News when I was getting changed.’
‘Oh, really? Shit.’
He edges closer to me. ‘I’m so sorry. If you want to… I don’t know, talk, I’m here.’
That this man is sitting here, pitying me, makes me a little nauseous.
‘I’m fine, honestly. It’s under control. I’d just rather forget about it and enjoy my evening.’
‘No problem. As long as you’re okay.’ He nods and scoots away from me to his original position, and I can’t shake the feeling I said the wrong thing.
A guffaw from Philippe breaks the tension as Angus reaches the climax of his story (I’ve heard it before; the cow takes a huge dump right in front of Evelyn) and the moment is gone.
Much wine isdrunk over dinner. Much glorious, incredible food is served up, and the others tuck in. I take it relatively easy, given the various stresses compromising my appetite and the unforgiving nature of my dress, but I swoonover the mouth-watering bream and the fragrant ratatouille Chef Gui serves up.
Afterwards, we disperse. I suspect my and Noah’s personality failures dampened the atmosphere at the table, and I feel bad about it. The guilt jostles for position with my humiliation and frustration over Jackson having chosen the publicity of his new show over respect for his wife. And children. If he thinks this media circus won’t affect his kids, he’s naïve at best.
Elaine and Philippe have retired to bed. Angus and Evelyn are upstairs with their kids—Rose has grizzled on and off over the baby monitor all evening, and Eddie came down towards the end of dinner, adorable, tow-headed, and clearly having not received the memo from himself that he’s utterly exhausted. I’m not sure where Noah’s got to, but he made a pretty quick exit after dinner.
I’m restless and definitely not ready to lie on my bed and try to avoid the news apps on the phone. After I’ve ascertained that Serena and Rollo are in the deepest of sleeps, the drone of the air con providing the perfect white noise, I head back downstairs and pour myself a glass of rosé in the kitchen. Go to put the bottle back in the fridge and think better of it. Keep hold of it. Maybe I’ll just lie by the pool for a while and try to wind down.
But, as I walk through the hallway and across the terrace, the strains of some beautiful melody, and the purest voice, reach me, and as I head down the steps, Noah comes into sight at the side of the pool. He has his back to me and his legs in the water. A glass of wine next to him, and a portable speaker playing the music.
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ I freeze. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb your peace.’
He turns around and scrambles to his feet. ‘You’renot disturbing my peace.’
There’s that voice again, the voice that he’s been usingwith me all evening, as if I should know exactly what he means when he speaks to me.
‘I was just going to—’ I point at the nearest daybed. ‘Chill out. Get some headspace.’
‘Go for it.’
A pause.
‘Will you join me?’ God, Honor. Notwould you like to join me, butwill you join me?Needy, much?
His eyebrows shoot up. ‘Of course.’
