“Abby?”
“Yes. Rick heard it from Jim, who witnessed it from the harbour. Maybe that’s why she’s not answering.” She picked up her phone and called Tristan. He answered immediately and she listened while he gave her a summary of what had happened. “She’s in bed now? Okay, well I don’t want to wake her, so I’ll see her tomorrow.”
She ended the call and stared at Luca. “Tristan says she’s okay apart from a cut on her leg. He said she was tired, but that was partly stress and partly a hangover—literally—from last night. Do you think I should go to the hospital to check on Chrissy?”
“Where’s her husband?”
“He’s in London. Rick said Chrissy called him but as it seems Holly is going to be okay he decided to carry on with the meetings he has planned for tomorrow and come up for the weekend as planned. What a total b—” She stopped herself in time but Luca nodded.
“I agree. I was thinking the same thing, only in Italian.”
“Who does that? She needs his support. She’s on her ownwith a baby and a sick child. He’s probably staying with his girl-friend or something, do you think?” She felt awful for Chrissy. “I think I should go to the hospital. Will you hate me if I desert you? Sorry.”
“Why are you apologising? I agree we should go to the hospital.”
“You don’t have to come.”
“I do. I don’t want them feeding Holly any old rubbish. She’s particular about what she eats, and food is an important part of recovery.”
Evie grabbed a few things she thought Chrissy might find useful and stuffed them into a bag. “I had a glass of wine. We’d better call a taxi.”
“I didn’t drink. I’ll drive. My car is parked up the road next to yours.”
“Why didn’t you drink?”
He flashed her a wicked smile. “I didn’t want to risk impairing my performance later.”
Her insides melted and she grabbed the front of his shirt and tugged him towards her. “There’s something I need to tell you. Right now.”
“Could you tell me without tearing my shirt? I don’t think Chrissy wants to see me bare-chested.” But he slid his arms round her and pulled her close. “What did you want to tell me?”
She lifted herself on her toes until her mouth was a breath away from his. “I like you. I really like you. And not only because you can make pizza and have eyelashes like Bambi.”
“Good.” He lowered his mouth to hers, his kiss swift but devastating in its impact. “Because I really like you, too.”
She sighed against his mouth and reluctantly pulled away from him. “And now we really have to go.”
“We really do.”
“But we’ll come back here after.”
“We definitely will.”
She scooped up the bag and her house keys and then paused. “Wait—fish goujons?”
“Excuse me?”
“You said you make Holly fish goujons, but they’re not on the menu.”
“I know they’re not on the menu. I make them just for her. She was going through a fussy eating stage when she arrived a month ago, sending everything back to the kitchen, so she and I had a heart-to-heart about what she might enjoy. She was clear. Nothing slimy, nothing yucky, nothing smelly. My niece likes my fish goujons, so I tried those. Holly loves them. She also loves my peanut chicken wings.”
“Aren’t they smelly?”
“They’re a good smell apparently.”
“And they’re also not on the menu.”
He shrugged. “I want happy diners, and Holly knows what she likes. She might be a restaurant critic one day.”
