‘Well, I’d appreciate it. You know, sooner or later?’ I gave a little laugh, realised I’d done little but utter volleys of nervous laughter interspersed with garbled explanations about the state of my marriage. I tried to be business-like and said, ‘The thing is, I’ve a lot of cooking to do.’
‘Oh?’ The man didn’t seem overly interested. ‘Sunday lunch?’
‘It’s actually Monday. And I’m about to open a new restaurant.’ I reckoned we’d need punters like this one if The White House was going to be a success. Fabian would be pleased with me when I told him I’d been promoting the place.
‘A new restaurant?’
‘Yes. It’s a converted summer house called The White House. We’ll be hopefully opening in three or four months’ time.’ My pulse raced at the very thought.
‘Yourrestaurant?’ The man pulled a disbelieving face, glancing once more at me and then across at poor old battered Vera where the words J SIC DIN were all that remained of my former business.
‘I have a third share of The White House.’No, you don’t, Jessica, you great big fat fibber; you’re going to be one of the chefs there.Why was I trying to impress this man when he hadn’t even been polite enough to introduce himself? I’d still no idea what he was called.
He held out a hand in my direction. ‘Henry…’ Of course, someone with his good looks, accent and living in this pile wasn’t going to be Darren or Wayne or… or Dean. This man was as upmarket as Fabian. ‘…Henry Cavendish-Brown.’ He smiled down at me.
Hell, he was rather attractive when he smiled.
‘Listen… Jessica? I think the girls are having a good time here. Why don’t we get your daughter…?’
‘Lola.’
‘Why don’t we get Lola home after the pair of them have eaten? I’m sure Kateryna will oblige on both scores?’
‘Well, if you’re sure?’ I looked at my watch once more. I did need to get back to let Arthur out, had another pudding to plan and… Oh hell, the police were on their way round at some point to talk to me about Blane Higson’s accident.
* * *
‘So, how come you’ve never mentioned this Ruby before?’ I put a plate of spaghetti Bolognaise in front of Lola. Despite Henry CB offering to feed Lola at his place, she appeared to have had nothing but crisps and sweets.
‘Ruby Cavendish-Brown,’ Lola said proudly, tucking in. ‘A double-barrelled name. I’m going to start calling myself Lola Butterworth-Allen.’
‘Fair enough.’ I smiled, pleased that Lola was actually talking to me after what she’d overheard and learned about her dad’s propensity for putting it about. Although, shouldn’t it be Dean Lola wasn’t speaking to, after learning that? ‘Look, Lola, about what you heard Granny Pat and me discussing yesterday…’
‘And isn’t her house fabulous?’ Lola didn’t appear overly interested in what I was trying to say; trying to apologise for. ‘She has ahumungousbedroom all to herself. With a double bed and a bathroom in the bedroom…’
‘An ensuite?’
‘…and a walk-in wardrobe. Like Sorrel says she’s got at Kamran’s house.’
‘Itisfabulous. Not sure about those three dogs though.’ I laughed. ‘Fussy little things.’ I bent to stroke Arthur’s silky ears. ‘Nothing like Arthur here.’
‘Oh, therealdogs were at the back of the house.’
‘The real dogs?’ I stared. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, the Pomeranians – they’re Pomeranians, Mum – belong to Ruby’s mum. But she’s gone off somewhere…’
‘Poor Ruby!’
‘Oh, she says she doesn’t care. It’s not her real mum anyway.’
‘Oh?’ I sat down across from Lola, intrigued. ‘Where’s her real mum then?’
‘She died when Ruby was a baby. Actually, giving birth to her.’
‘Really?’ I pulled a face. ‘That’s very unusual these days.’
‘Well, it wasn’tthese days, was it?’ Lola was back in combative mood. ‘It was eleven years ago. Anyway, her real mum isdead’ – Lola uttered the word, attaching as much romantic ghoulishness to it as though describing a poor little orphan in a Victorian novel – ‘and therealdogs are behind an electric gate.’
