We went out into the blazing sunshine where, thankfully, most of the crowd had dispersed.
“You’re getting married?” I yelled as soon as we were outside.
“Please don’t make a scene.” As always, it was someone else’s fault with Simon.
“We slept together when you had a boyfriend.”
“No! No, that’s not right, we had broken up, we only got back together after—”
“So, sleeping with me convinced you to go back to your ex, and then you proposed?”
“Listen—”
“No, you listen,” I snapped. “I don’t care what you’re up to, you’ve made it clear you don’t like me, and I was just a tumble in the hay, but don’t act like you’re innocent-Mr-High-and-Mighty like you always do.”
“Just don’t tell Riz, okay? That’s all I ask.”
I scoffed. “I’m not getting involved in your life any more than I have to.”
There was a silence. “You promise you won’t say anything?” he asked.
“Promise. None of my business, besides, you’re adamant that we did nothing wrong, so why would I?”Look at me being brave. Usually, when it came to being accused of wrongdoing, I panicked and worried I’d be made the suspect regardless of any guilt.
“That’s right. I got back in touch with Riz the day of Arabella’s funeral.” He paused and looked at me for a moment. “I was drunk and upset, and I wanted someone to talk to. And one thing led to another, and now three months later, we’re engaged.”
“How romantic.”
Before Simon could answer – or deck me – Sonia joined us outside. “Odette is crying because Nigella said she’s a stupid cow for going on about the baby kicking when it’s too soon for it to be doing that. She’s locked herself in the toilets.”
Chapter 4
An hour later, after dropping Sonia off at the office and – thank Jesus – depositing a hysterical Odette at her doorstep, Nigella and I were having a G & T in her garden and discussing the day’s events.
I’d never seen her garden in hot weather before, and I’m sure she was doing her best to keep her flowers from wilting, but in this heat, even a green thumb like Nigella’s had to admit defeat; parched brown grass and droopy flowers abounded.
“So, you shagged Simon on that filthy carpet in your living room?”
“It’s clean!” I said, protesting.
“Fine. Not filthy. Threadbare.”
“It wasn’t planned.”
“No,” she said, and sipped her drink. “Your conquests never are. I’m beginning to see the pattern.”
“Rude.”
“And he won’t tell Riz? Gosh, even Matteo and I didn’t start on that bad a foot when we got married.”
I cocked my head. “Problem? Where is the mister, anyway?”
“Milan. As always. Mamma clicked her fingers and off he flew. Some minor manufacturing hiccup that a middle manager could have fixed in two hours, but off Matteo went. Even though he made all sorts of promises to help Guy with his campaign, and not to mention help with the boys.”
“Oh, Gella, I’m sorry.”
“Ah!” She waved it away. “Marriage. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.”
The doorbell dinged from the other side of the house. “That’s good timing. I have a surprise for you.”
