‘Got to keep the pressure up, Livvy. Chop-chop!’
‘Oh let him finish his coffee, for goodness’ sake.’
Marcus continues to stare out towards the grass verges like an embarrassed child who knows he is being argued over by his warring parents.
‘Besides, I’d like to discuss some more details about the kitchen,’ she adds.
Tobias grunts.
‘He’s an architect, not an interior designer. You’re not interested in all that fluff are you, Marcus?’
‘Actually, I do need to discuss one or two final ideas,’ he counters. ‘About the flow of movement from the kitchen through to the lounge. And we still need to make a decision on the worktops and floor tiles. Remember, I sent through some samples?’
Tobias throws his hands up in the air as if he has lost patience with the pair of them.
‘Fine, you know this kind of thing bores me senseless. I’ll leave you to discuss your twinkly bits of stone. See you up at the site later.’
Marcus raises a hand in agreement and Olivia reaches for the cafètiere, breathing a sigh of relief at her husband’s retreating back.
‘Doesn’t he ever take a day off?’ asks Marcus under his breath.
Olivia sighs.
‘No, not really.’
Tobias is one hundred per cent focused, whatever he’s doing. Always has been. First to arrive, last to leave. Their friends used to joke that he was married to the job, as though it was something to be proud of. But it’s never left much time for anyone else in his life. Even on holiday.
‘Classic workaholic,’ she says sourly. ‘Sometimes, he even used to sleep in the office.’ Marcus’s face registers a twist of irritation, she notices, before he looks back to the gardens. ‘What did you get up to last night?’ she enquires after a pause, trying not to sound like some kind of jealous lover, or worse, a nagging mother.
‘Long shower and an early night,’ he answers, avoiding her gaze.
Why is he lying to her, she wonders? She has spent enough time around her children and their friends, witnessing their evasive behaviour and shrouded comments, to know. What is it he’s not telling her?
‘And you?’ he asks her in return.
‘Oh, much the same.’ She takes another sip of coffee. ‘I’m going to finalise the let on the old fishmonger’s shop I was telling you about,’ she says with more enthusiasm. ‘The landlord wants to move fast, apparently. Must be in need of the money, I expect. Doesn’t want it to stand vacant for long. I’m not surprised, given the state of the place. Maybe you could give me a hand with the interiors at some point? It will need new flooring, lighting, a bit of a makeover.’ He smiles at her non-committally. ‘You know, when you have time. The renovation is the main priority obviously.’
He nods, distracted. ‘Where are the kids this morning?’ he says, changing the subject. ‘Bella and Drew?’
‘Oh, I left them both in bed. They’ll be down soon, hitting the breakfast buffet like a swarm of locusts, I should think.’
She tries a smile but he is not looking her way.
‘Is everything all right, darling?’
She says this quietly, aware of the other guests.
‘Yes. It’s just this heat,’ he says, straightening up in his chair and plucking at his shirt. ‘Of course I can help with the shop.’
‘Gallery and studio space,’ she corrects him good-naturedly.
He nods.
‘I’ll take a look soon, when you get the keys. Who’s the landlord, by the way? Do you know?’
She frowns, trying to dredge up a name from the conversation she had with the lettings agent, Beth. The girl had mentioned something about a local family, how the business had been passed down from generation to generation, but she must admit she wasn’t really listening at the time.
‘Ted something or other,’ she says, grasping at the air. ‘Stark, was it? Old fishing family, which makes sense I suppose, since it was a fishmonger’s. Anyway, he obviously has no need of it any more. Charging a pretty penny in rent for it though.’
