7
ROSIE
Isabelle and Killian were kept busy all afternoon. Bertie found work for them in the dining room by asking them to fold a giant pile of freshly laundered napkins. In a genius move, Maureen tasked them with finding heart-shaped stones in the gravel driveway. The twins had taken the job so seriously that it had kept them quiet for nearly an hour. They were still out there, carefully picking through the gravel, and checking each one carefully and either discarding or putting them into a small paper cup.
François walked in to the office. ‘Hello, ladieez.’
‘Hello, François,’ said Rosie.
‘François!’ Grace stood up, adjusting her kaftan and dropping her fan, which moments earlier has been positioned pointing at her armpits. ‘How are you? Or should I say,comment va tu? Am I right?’ She turned to Rosie. ‘François has been teaching me a smattering of the oldFrançais, am Idroit, François?’
‘I sink you need a few more lessons,’ he said. ‘But I understand what it is you are trying to say.’
‘Ah,merci.’ Grace smiled at him. ‘Are you here to talk menus? Or is there something else you would like? Hmm? My phone number?’ She laughed loudly. ‘My little joke, François. In Ireland, it’s the kind of thing we do all the time, don’t we, Rosie?’
Rosie nodded obediently. She had no idea Grace was remotely interested in François, but now thinking back to just how many meetings Grace had insisted on having with him regarding the menus for the wedding weekend, she realised Grace obviously had found him rather tasty and not just his food.
‘Very amuzzing,’ he said, smiling back at Grace. ‘Very amuzzing indeed. You are hot, yes? In this windowless cell, it is like the Bastille, no? The kitchen is roasting, like an oven. We are being cooked like chickens.’
‘You so look very hot, François,’ said Grace, giving him a once-over.
‘As do you.’ He fixed her with a look which made Grace flush. ‘Now,’ he went on, ‘the menus are all finalised, are they not? I have just taken delivery of some magnifique smoked salmon. The sausages for the beach barbecue are here.’
Grace nodded. ‘We have your lovely, posh food and then a few sausages. Irish people don’t consider an event an event without sausages. But we won’t lower the tone completely. We have your special sauce to add to them. But I’ll pop into the kitchen later and we can have another chat.’
‘If you can stand the heat,’ he said.
‘I can withstand anything,’ said Grace, reaching for her fan again.
‘Au revoir, ladieez,’ he said.
‘Au revoir.’ Grace turned to Rosie, her face a picture of innocence. ‘He’s such a good cook, isn’t he? So talented. Now, let me go through my checklist again…’
Laurence was next to arrive. ‘I’ve just seen my children sitting on the gravel outside,’ he was saying as he walked in. ‘They were so engrossed in what they were doing, they told me to go away. Who knew childcare was so simple? I’ve spent years trying to keep them occupied. Next is counting blades of grass or raindrops.’ He flung himself into the armchair. ‘Talking of which, when is it going to rain?’ He pulled the fan towards him so it blasted on his face, making his hair ripple in the cold breeze. ‘I didn’t think it was possible to sweat so much…’
‘TMI, Laurence,’ said Grace, who was putting the final touches to her wedding welcome pack together for the guests, with all the information and itinerary for the wedding. ‘I have a sensitive constitution and can only hear things which do not make my stomach recoil.’
‘But it’s true. Honestly, maybe I should ask the twins to mop up my sweat… It’s pouring off me… it’s like someone has put on a tap.’ He sniffed under his armpits. ‘I mean, I’m pungent. No deodorant is strong enough for me. It’s like I’ve beaten the entire product range of GlaxoSmithKline with the power of my sweat.’
Grace held up a hand. ‘Enough. Laurence. Seriously. I am going to throw up if you continue in this vein…’
Laurence laughed. ‘I’m bored, that’s all. Managing a golf course isn’t really work. No one needs managing. All the staff know what they are doing and every time they see me, they hide. Maybe I’m imagining it, but they certainly don’t want me around. So, I’m here for fun and I was hoping you two would provide me with some.’
‘You’re only back from a golf trip, aren’t you?’ said Rosie.
‘Man, that was a bit wild. We made the mistake of having a poker night while we were there and Wiggy and Kip, right, lost the game and their forfeit was that they had to play the next day’s round in boxers. So Wiggy…’ He looked at Rosie’s and Grace’s faces, and quickly realised that he was speaking to an unenthusiastic audience. ‘Suffice to say we all nearly got deported and if it wasn’t for the fact that Kip is a barrister and knows all the tricks, we’d still be there. Banged up abroad. But it was hilarious all the same.’ He shook his head, remembering the mirth that must have ensued. ‘But that was weeks ago now and there’s nothing going on. I’m so bored of never having any fun, letting my hair down. Letting my pants down!’ He laughed to himself again. ‘Sorry, just remembering a stag weekend with the lads in Amsterdam. God, that was good craic. Those were the days, pre-twins, pre-getting old. Pre-losing my hair and packing on the pounds.’
‘Only boring people are bored, Laurence,’ said Grace drily, still staring at her clipboard, her biro dangling ready to tick things off or add more in.
‘Well, you must be extremely bored,’ said Laurence. ‘As boring as me. Why don’t we find some fun?’
‘I can’t,’ insisted Grace. ‘Wedding all weekend.’
‘Oh yes!’ An idea was dawning on his face. ‘Nessa told me. You should do more of them. We have them at the golf club all the time. It’s such easy money. Dad’s motto is: feed then, fuel them and then fleece them.’
Grace looked at him, unimpressed. ‘There’ll be no fleecing going on. We’re not charging too much and keeping costs down by keeping it low-key and manageable.’
Laurence nodded. ‘Dad doesn’t care who he fleeces as long as he’s making money. For our wedding, he charged me and Nessa top tier. No family discount or free bubbly or anything.’ He sighed. ‘So, who are the happy couple?’
