‘Oh, hello, Ruby.’ Opal seemed flustered. Her hair was loose and fell in waves over her shoulders. She wore an oversized white linen shirt and loose khaki drawstring trousers. She was flushed, as though somehow undone, caught out. Johan by contrast looked entirely composed, his dark grey silk shirt unwrinkled. It hadn’t been tossed to the floor recently. But then again maybe he’d kept it on while he fucked her, just pulled out his cock and had her right up against the wall, like he’d tried with Ruby that first night.
Despite herself, Ruby felt a pang of something hot and sharp running through her. It was jealousy, tinged with desire.Suddenly she was yearning for it, a shag so intense, it’d bring her to tears.
‘Afternoon, Opal. What have you been up to today?’ It was an innocent enough question, but Opal averted her gaze, and clawed at the back of her neck as she spoke.
‘Not much really, just showing Jojo around some of the paintings in the house.’
It was a believable lie, thought Ruby, and she’d come up with it on the spot, which was impressive. Her overfamiliar use of his preferred nickname prickled, despite the fact that Johan had insisted on multiple occasions that Ruby use it and she had refused stubbornly. He preferred his lovers compliant, perhaps.
Maybe Ruby had been too quick to judge Martin. She couldn’t help it; she was primed to take a woman’s side, regardless of the circumstances, but in this case it was worth keeping in mind that it takes two to tango, and Opal was not like any woman Ruby had met before. Maybe Opal was not the blameless wronged wife she appeared to be.
‘How lovely. Anything take your fancy?’ This question she directly squarely at Johan, who shrugged.
‘It’s all a bit too … antique for my taste.’ There was glint in his eye. Ruby realised he was teasing her. Could he somehow sense the ache between her legs? He was goading her, and with Opal standing right beside him, it was shameless. It all made Ruby even hornier.
‘Anyway I better get on with some dinner.’ Opal looked from Ruby to Johan. She seemed to sense that she was no longer wanted, and Ruby smouldered with satisfaction. Opal was the antique, and Johan had decided he wanted something fresher.
Ruby watched as Opal shot Johan one last longing look as she walked down the stairs. When she was out of earshot, Ruby leant against the banister, hoping to feign nonchalance.
‘So, what were you two really up to?’ She picked at her nails as she spoke.
Johan laughed. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know.’ He seemed to be enjoying himself.
‘Well yeah I would, or else I wouldn’t have fucking asked.’ Ruby was appalled by how snappy, how wounded she sounded.
After that first night neither of them had made a move, each too proud to be the one to beg. Instead they stayed up late smoking and gossiping, exchanged loaded looks over dinner and found small excuses to touch each other. When Johan laid his palm on Ruby’s shoulder as he leant to pick up the milk at breakfast, Ruby remained staunchly unreactive. For a week she had played her role to perfection. He needed to believe that he wanted her more than she wanted him, and then in a single sentence she’d broken character, and her true feelings were laid bare.
Johan leant forward and stroked her arm patronisingly, a smirk on his face. ‘Oh, Ruby, jealousy is not a good look for you at all, and anytime you want a seeing to, you know where my bedroom is.’
Ruby jerked her shoulder away. ‘Oh please, Johan, don’t pretend you’re not gagging for it. If you ask me it’s a really desperate move to go as far as shagging an old lady to get a rise out of me.’
Ruby didn’t get the reaction she’d hoped, despite loading her words with venom. Johan just laughed again. ‘Oh come on, Opal is fit and she’s only thirty-six. You’re not so far off in age …’
Ruby knew he was winding her up. The worst thing was, it was working. ‘Yeah, what’s a decade I guess,’ she retorted, seeping each word in sarcasm.
‘Exactly, you two could be sisters!’ Johan grinned, knowing he had won this battle. Ruby took a deep breath. She was too worked up to think clearly. She wanted to punch Johan as much as she wanted to kiss him. Instead she stormed to her room. It was petulant, but she couldn’t help herself.
Chapter 22
Opal had been ignoring Debbie’s calls for a week. The thought of having to explain her feelings about her new ‘guests’ made her a little hot under the collar.
Debbie had been broadly supportive of the whole endeavour. Although she had asked a lot of questions that Opal didn’t know how to answer, about who all these artists were. ‘Where did they go to art school? Who are their parents? What will they do with the prize money?’
Debbie had seemed baffled by the idea of welcoming people who were essentially strangers into her home. ‘What if they steal things? Have you thought about that, Opal? It does happen, especially when people are poor and struggling …’
In the end that hadn’t been the issue, and Opal was loath to admit to Debbie that what was in fact the unforeseen consequence of her impulsive decision was that she was struggling with not being universally liked. She just couldn’t shake the discomfort of having so many people in her home who felt, at best, ambivalent towards her.
That afternoon spent with Johan had soothed her a little. Even though she knew that he was mainly using her for his project, being a muse sure did trump being a villain. And sothis time when Debbie called, Opal picked up quickly, before she could change her mind.
‘Hello, sorry I’ve been rubbish on the phone. How are you?’ Opal wanted to pre-empt any sort of reprimand.
Now she thought about it, though, she couldn’t recall a single time in their friendship where even one harsh word had left Debbie’s lips. It was something that Opal had first dismissed as naivety.
When she had been a shell of herself in the weeks after they lost Emma, this new, bubbly neighbour, in her matching Prada-esque tweed sets felt abrasive to her pain. Debbie would turn up unannounced in the middle of the afternoon with something she had freshly baked and then settle herself at the kitchen table for hours.
Opal felt guilty now, remembering how she would always groan and roll her eyes when the doorbell rang. Martin would encourage her to ‘be nice and neighbourly’, and so, reluctantly, she’d invite Debbie in.
Opal couldn’t place an exact moment when these drop-ins turned into something she looked forward to. Thinking back, how could she pinpoint the afternoon where their chit-chat began to soothe her loneliness rather than aggravate it? Whenever it was, it was also the time that Opal came to see Debbie for what she so clearly was: kind-hearted.
