Hence his standing on the doorstep of an empty house on a kind of dry run, just to quell his nerves a bit. He had always seen himself as an alpha male, maybe not a death-defying lorry-leaping James Bond, but certainly a man who knew his own mind, managed his love life easily and wasn’t daunted by anything. He wasn’t liking this change in personality very much.
Still on the doorstep and dithering, he scolded himself,Who are you? Just ring the bloody doorbell.A mixture of relief and disappointment flooded him as he did so and nothing happened. Of course she was out; it would add credence to his boyfriend theory. What the hell was he doing standing on a doorstep like a moping teenager, reluctant to go home? She wasn’t suddenly going to appear, all single and full of smiles and cooing over his orchid, perfect ribbon or not. If he didn’t pull himself together he’d soon be sporting greasy hair, acne and a notebook full of badly written poems.
He tried one more time, just in case, and then wandered back down the path and home again. As he entered the living room he found Angelina had managed to dress herself in something far too expensive for a quiet night in and had a very determined glint in her eye. Wishing he had stayed pining on Rosy’s doorstep, he knew this signalled the beginning of something he absolutely was not going to want to do.
And he was right. It wasn’t long before he was being dragged at full tilt by his sister into some sparkling Cornish mansion, thrumming with people and noise, looking like it had been decorated by Hollywood and crammed full with both the overdressed and people in jeans who looked like they hadn’t seen a shower in days. He suspected he fell into the latter category. Noticing a gentle four-piece band in the corner, he glanced at his watch and then flashed a smile at a passing waitress as he declined a glass of pink champagne. Angelina grabbed two, knocked one back and then cast her eyes around the house with her this-is-where-I-belong look on.
‘Happy now?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Mattie, I’m always happy. Although admit it, it was perfect timing meeting Marion yesterday otherwise we’d both be at home, and frankly your moping was beginning to bring me down!’
‘My moping? I don’t know how to begin to—’
‘Ah, there she is. Marion, Marion.’ Angelina stood up on her tiptoes and waved as her friend from the night before weaved unsteadily through the crowd, wearing some kind of sequinned bodycon dress, hair and make-up slightly askew.
‘Darling, hello, so glad you’re here, I’ve got so many people ready to meet you! But first of all do say hello to Richard. Oh, and Matt, dear man, how good of you to come. We have such a lot to talk about!’ She squeezed his arm so tight he was amazed it didn’t pop out of its socket, although the tingling indicated there was a good chance she had managed to stop the circulation. ‘And Rosy’s here somewhere, I’m sure she’ll be pleased to see you.’
‘Rosy’s here?’
‘Ugh, for God’s sake, don’t mention Rosy to him. Do you know he got her a plant—’
‘Did you say Rosy is here?’ Matt asked again, attempting to cut his sister’s stream off and shake some feeling back into his arm.
‘Yes, yes, darling. I think she was outside last time I saw her.’
Matt turned and headed for the vast glass doors that opened towards the garden, ignored by Angelina and Marion, who were still talking ten to the dozen about him as he left.
‘…and I said to him, women only respond to diamonds, decent handbags and holidays. A plant, for goodness’ sake! There’s no hope for him at all.’
The professional in him had to admit that the garden was stunning; as he wandered through he couldn’t see a single thing he would have done differently. As at Penmenna Hall everything was in bud, bar the camellias which were in full bloom. It was as busy out here as inside, with groups of people chattering, giggling and swaying. Many were gathered around a violinist playing in the depths of the garden. He was beginning to suspect there would be a harpist in the bathroom.
His eyes lit upon an old horse chestnut, its trunk as thick as three burly men, with lights strung around the very lowest hanging boughs. And there, at its base, on a wooden slatted seat, sat Rosy. He felt his heart still for a second before galloping at runaway-train-on-a-steep-hill speed. She looked perfect, a smile on her face, the lights casting a glow that made her look as if she were framed by starlight.
His feet sped towards her, halted by another man reaching her first. Insufferably good-looking and impeccably dressed, he had features that wouldn’t be out of place in one of those men’s magazines, all blond and tall like a cartoon hero. He might look like he’d be far more at home in a manicurist’s chair than an old bench in a garden but it didn’t seem to stop him sinking down with ease as he handed Rosy a champagne saucer and received an intimate smile in return.
Balls! What should he do? Matt couldn’t seem to drag his eyes away, and felt a muscle in his thumb pounding. Then his cheek joined in. This was no good. The two looked to be deep in conversation already. His feet felt stuck but there was no way he was slinking back into some bushes. Having already had the man or mouse conversation with himself once today, he knew man had to be the answer. It was just that to approach the two of them, heads together, felt more like masochist than man, a self-flagellating medieval priest kind of madness.
Getting closer he saw that whilst their body language seemed synchronistic, and their conversation was flowing animatedly, there was no overpowering sexuality to their interaction. You could tell when people were sleeping together and his radar was beeping a loud ‘no’ at this point. Even if he was wrong, and he admitted he could be, he doubted these two were a forever match. He might be back in the game! His face relaxed again, the smile returning to his lips. Maybe Matt the scruffy gardener was more her type after all; she could be left cold by cartoon princes with perfect nails. It seemed there was a distinct lack of spark here, whereas when he and Rosy were in the same space there was a magnetic field compelling them together, sparks electric blue and whippet-quick flying around their every interaction.
Talking of whippet-quick, Rosy’s head whipped around, the bond between her and Cartoon Hero instantly dashed. Matt couldn’t help but grin so hard that his cheeks hurt and his ears stretched. Rosy leapt to her feet – could this be it? Would she realize how daft she had been last night and hurtle headlong towards him? She was looking a tad hurtle-y actually, swaying a little and raising her right hand and pointing at him. That didn’t look like a look of love. In fact, now dead close, his face froze as she raised her hand up again, resting her fingers on her forehead and her thumb just below her lip, her jaw set rigid and her chin jutted slightly. The specific emotion she was feeling was just outside his reach, but whatever it was, it was making him feel less than positive. What had he done now?
He had no choice but to take a couple of steps closer, his grin now fixed and insincere. He may be used to full-on barrages of abuse from Angelina but this was something else. The square set of Rosy’s face and silent stare laid heavy on his shoulders. Then, as finally they stood face to face, a few feet apart, the thought of greeting her with a kiss on the cheek was as ridiculous as snow in June.
‘Rosy?’
She withdrew her hand from her face; she was no longer static, her arms were sweeping furiously, everywhere, taking in the whole garden, violin, canapé trays and all.
‘All three, Matt, all three! Home, then work and now, now this. And today of all days. What is wrong with me? Why do I do this? Why are you doing this? Huh? What is it about you? Why did you choose me to do this to? Surely, the law of averages, it can’t be me again, it just can’t!’
‘Rosy, I’m sorry, I don’t… here… let’s sit down—’
‘Oh no, don’t even think about touching me! Do not think about it!’ She shook herself, slapping at his hand. ‘You haven’t left me a single place… you’ll be popping up at Lynne’s next. Should I give you the name of my GP, my dentist? Make it all a bit easier for you. Just accept it as a fait accompli?’
She was shouting now and Cartoon Hero had moved forward, next to her, shoulders drawn tall in warning to Matt but also shooting looks of complete astonishment at Rosy.
‘Rosy, really I—’ Matt tried again.
‘Just stop! Don’t say anything. I can’t believe I could get it so wrong again. The bloody Rule, I should have kept The bloody Rule.’ Her voice was breaking now and whilst this made no sense at all, Matt just wanted to draw her in and wrap her up, stroke her hair and make it all right. But her anger was clearly directed at him, and common sense dictated that as much as every bone of him wanted to stay, he needed to leave for her sake.
