Debbie hung up, and Opal breathed a sigh of relief, and then immediately started worrying about what to cook for dinner.
Chapter 23
Noah was pleased with his progress. He’d almost nailed the scent, although he’d had to send off for a different synthesiser; the one Opal had sourced just wasn’t up to scratch. The technology was advancing so quickly that even though it had only been a couple of years old, many of the effects he was used to having at his disposal in Rami’s studio weren’t available on the older model.
It had been a welcome change to have a purpose-built studio and lab. No more using his uncle’s chemistry classroom after hours, or sneaking into the recording studio his mate Rami worked at in the middle of the night. All his work was now done in daylight hours. It suited him. The dark circles had disappeared from under his eyes, and he knew his mother would be pleased that he was putting on a bit of weight.
What he was less pleased about was that he didn’t seem to be making much headway when it came to networking. Of course he wanted the money, but failing that, he had reasoned that if he came away with some decent friendships, it was the leg up he needed into the frustratingly impenetrable art world. Famously, it’s always who you know. But apart from Opal, hehadn’t really struck up anything much more than a conversation, let alone any sort of bond.
With Heather, he hadn’t moved past the odd hello whenever he left the studio and caught her at the tail end of a smoke break. And then Ruby and Johan always disappeared off at the end of meals to smoke together, and though no one was explicitly excluded, equally no one was ever invited.
Adam was both intriguing and a little intimidating. Noah felt both drawn to him and also unexplainably agitated in his presence, which itself was a rare occurrence, as Adam generally kept himself to himself. The only real evidence of his presence was the intermittent playing and restarting of records that would drift into the hallway – and of course the clips of his tap shoes against the hardwood floor.
Maybe, though, it was partly Noah’s own fault. The couple of times a day that they were together, either picking from the breakfast or lunch spread in the orangery, or sitting around that huge dining table, Noah invariably gravitated towards Opal. She made him feel good about himself, laughing at his jokes, blushing at his compliments, and she also made him feel, if not older, then at least moreadult. There was a sincerity with which she asked him questions, about himself and about his art, that he’d never really experienced before.
Usually the older people in his life, his parents and their friends, were a little condescending about his ambitions; they thought of his art as an unruly phase of life, one he would grow out of and look back on as foolish. Opal treated him like an equal; more than that she seemed to admire him. It was an intoxicating feeling.
He packed up the various vials and beakers of liquid andarranged them neatly in the small fridge perched on the vast counter top. He decided that tonight he would resist his urges and sit next to someone else. Maybe Heather, or if he was feeling particularly brave, even Adam. He didn’t have the energy to try and muscle in on the Ruby and Johan show.
He went downstairs a little before seven. He liked to pop into the kitchen and offer to help with ‘anything that needed doing’. He also liked to leave it just late enough that everything was already done. It was an age-old trick, and one that his mother had started to see through years ago, but Opal seemed delighted by it. Tonight, though, he found Hetty, but no Opal. It was probably for the best, lest he get hooked on her beguiling attention and abandon his plan.
‘Can I help with anything?’ He directed the question at the back of Hetty’s head. She was fervently whisking something in a large shallow pan. It smelled delicious.
She didn’t turn around. ‘Miss Opal is still upstairs,’ she muttered, swiping her hand across her forehead to interrupt the beads of sweat at her hairline.
‘Um, OK, but I can still help you, can’t I?’ Noah tried a dazzling smile, even if it was directed at the back of her head.
She turned then and gave him a look. It was impossible to discern any sort of expression from it. ‘Usually you only come down to speak with Miss Opal.’ It was disconcerting to have been found out, and by a teenager no less. For the first time since he’d arrived, he found himself wondering how Hetty had ended up here. She looked about sixteen, and yet her plain face and the tightly wound bun that sat atop her head made her seem somehow matronly. There was something in her features that tended more towards the stern than the girly.
‘Well, as Opal isn’t here maybe I can talk to you instead?’ It wasn’t going to break him into the Young British Artists network or anything, but it was never a bad idea to get on the good side of whoever was cooking your meals. Hetty didn’t take the bait, though. She turned back to the pan, now cooling on the counter. ‘You can finish laying the table.’
It was the job given to a person you wanted out of the kitchen, and out of the way. Noah obliged. As he wandered into the dining room he noticed more place mats than usual. There were eight. That meant two extra guests. One would presumably be Martin, whom Noah had instantly taken against and been pleased to see the back of when he roared down the gravel driveway at first light after that first dinner. It was Friday now, though.He must be back for the weekend,Noah reasoned. He’d have to wait and see for the other seat.
He spent a moment trying to remember which side the forks went on. He’d always had trouble remembering his left and right, and now that he placed them down the way he thought they should go, it looked all wrong.
‘Forks on the left.’ Hetty’s voice snapped him out of his bubble, and he felt embarrassed that he hadn’t even been able to complete the most menial of tasks without her assistance.
‘Thanks,’ he mumbled.
‘Don’t worry, I always used to get that mixed up.’
He looked up. Her voice had grown softer, but she didn’t meet his gaze; instead she busied herself adjusting the wine glasses, having already placed a large salad in the middle of the table. He was sure he could spot a subtle blush dancing on her cheeks.
As he finished laying the cutlery, Opal walked in.
‘Opal, hello, I was just …’ Noah looked up.
She looked different. She was more made up than Noah had seen before. Her eyes and lashes were heavy with dark kohl, and adorned by green eyeshadow. She was wearing a set of pearls, tight around her neck, and a pale grey silk two-piece, a long-sleeve blouse and knee-length skirt. Up until now he had only seen her with her wavy hair down, or loosely twisted into a clip or a pencil. Now she wore it straightened and pulled back into a demure bun at the base of her neck. It was a disarming transformation; though she still looked pretty, the hint of bohemian had been replaced with something more … conservative.
She must have registered his surprise, or his disapproval, because she crossed her arms over herself defensively, and replied as though he had accused her of something.
‘Well my friend Deborah is coming to dinner this evening, and I wanted to make an effort, you know. She and I, we … she …’ Opal trailed off; she seemed unsure of exactly what she wanted to say.
Eventually she laughed, as though to herself, but she sounded a little sad as she continued, ‘What can I say? This is what I usually look like. I’m a country club wife, after all.’
Noah heard the self-deprecation but he didn’t know how to respond. He only knew that he wanted to make her feel better. ‘I think you look lovely.’ It was a bit forward, but it was true; even with a Thatcherite edge, she was still beautiful.
‘Thanks, Noah.’ She smiled, and it lit up her whole face. Noah felt pride warm his blood. He had done that; he could make someone like Opal Fairfax feel better about herself. It was a little absurd really.
