“He’s always been very...” my mother starts.
“He stood up to a very difficult man this week,” Hex continues conversationally, as if they’re discussing the weather. “Refused to be intimidated. Held his ground completely.” He picks up his wineglass, doesn’t drink from it, sets it back down. “Most people wouldn’t have. He didn’t even think twice.”
The table is quiet.
“Well,” says my mother, after a moment. “I didn’t know about that.”
“He doesn’t talk about himself enough,” says Hex. He looks at me then, directly, and his eyes are soft and warm and completely, unmistakably Hex. “That’s his only fault.”
I clear my throat. “Does anyone want more gravy?”
It’saroundthecheesecourse that things start to go wrong.
It starts small. Hex’s right hand spasms again, harder this time, knocking his cheese knife sideways. He rights it. His smile doesn’t flicker. But his head tilts suddenly, sharply, to an angle that is slightly too far, and he pauses mid-sentence with a blankness crossing his face that lasts just a fraction too long.
I watch him. My stomach tightens.
He comes back. Smooth as anything. Finishes the sentence. My aunt laughs. My cousin reaches for the port.
But then his left hand jerks. His chair scrapes back an inch. His eyes go briefly, horribly blank, and for just a second I can see someone else in his face. Someone confused. Someone frightened. Someone who absolutely did not agree to be at a dinner party in Exeter tonight.
I put my hand over my mouth and fake a cough.
“Are you alright?” Priya asks me.
“Fine,” I say. “Just went down the wrong way.”
Hex’s stolen body gives a full, violent shudder that he converts at the last second into what appears to be a sneeze. Several people say bless you. He nods graciously. His jaw is working slightly, like he’s concentrating enormously hard.
I need to get us out of here.
“Sebastian,” I say, as naturally as I can manage. “Didn’t you say you had that thing?”
Hex turns to look at me. His eyes are flickering. Red, dark, red, dark, like a dying light.
“The thing,” I say pointedly.
“The thing,” Hex repeats, and his voice has gone slightly strange. Layered. Like two people talking at once. “Yes. The thing.”
“We really should make a move.” I push back from the table and stand up. “I’m so sorry, it completely slipped my mind. We have to be somewhere.”
“Oh but we haven’t had coffee!” my mother protests.
“I know, I’m so sorry.” I am moving along the table, grabbing Hex’s chair. Hex stands, which involves a slight wobble and a hand slapped down on the table for balance that rattles the glasses. “Wonderful dinner, Mum, honestly, the roast was brilliant.”
“Is Sebastian alright?” my father asks, watching Hex with a slight frown.
“Long week,” I say firmly. “Very demanding job. You know how it is.”
Hex straightens up. He pulls together what is clearly a heroic effort of concentration. The flickering stops. He smiles at the table,and it is a good smile, it is a devastating smile, and he says, “Forgive me. I have an early flight to Geneva. Adam very kindly agreed to see me off.” He looks around the table. “This has been one of the most entertaining evenings I’ve had in a very long time.”
The way he says entertaining clearly means something slightly different to what the table thinks it means.
He shakes my father’s hand. He kisses my aunt’s cheek, and she goes pink. He tells James it was wonderful to meet him and says, with complete warmth and sincerity, “I’m sure we’ll all be hearing great things from you one day.” James thanks him, and it’s only afterwards, I suspect, that he’ll realise he’s not entirely sure that was a compliment.
My mother gets a second kiss on the cheek and a promise that next time he’ll bring the good champagne. She sees us to the door with an expression on her face that I have genuinely never seen before and don’t entirely know how to categorise.
The door closes behind us.
