A Time for Friends Page 6

‘You’re bilingual,’ Hilary remarked before taking a slug of her red wine.

  ‘Tri, actually, Ms Hammond,’ he said smugly. ‘I know Irish as well, ta and spring roll ana mhaith ar fad.’

  ‘I’m suitably impressed, Monsieur Harpur.’

  ‘I’m only teasing,’ he joked. ‘I have schoolboy French and the only other Spanish I know is la cuenta, por favor and ningún hombre podría compararse a ti.’

  Hilary chuckled. ‘“No other man compares to you!” You charmer.’

  ‘You have to have the basics when you travel abroad,’ Jonathan declared airily, leaning back in his chair and looking out over the shrub-filled garden. ‘This is lovely and private. When I get a place of my own, privacy will be a huge priority for me. I always think the garden should be an extra room, so to speak. This one works extremely well.’ He studied the verdant lawn edged with curving flowerbeds and an array of blossoming shrubs. The branches of an old apple tree and a damson tree on either side of a winding stone path met in a tender embrace creating a shady emerald archway that drew the eye to another raised seating area with a small water feature and a variety of ferns and bamboo. ‘That’s a charming feature down there,’ he said.

  ‘That was my baby,’ Hilary said proudly. ‘My Zen garden. That’s where I go for a bit of peace and quiet, and to read whenever I get the chance, which is rare.’

  ‘You did a great job of it, and the garden.’

  ‘Well, I can’t take responsibility for the rest of the garden as such,’ she confessed. ‘It was well matured when we bought the house. An elderly couple lived here, the McMillians. They were great gardeners and then the husband died and the wife had to go into a nursing home. She interviewed every person who put in an offer and chose us, because she felt we would look after her garden. She was a very feisty lady. I used to visit her in the home and take photos for her, and we had her visit for tea every now and again until she got too frail. It gave her great happiness to sit and look at the damson tree and apple tree, especially in the spring. Oh Jonathan, it’s absolutely glorious with the arbour of frothy pink and white blossoms. It would be perfect for a wedding,’ she sighed dreamily, feeling deliciously tipsy.

  ‘You could rent it out as a wedding venue.’

  ‘Now that’s an idea, I must suggest it to Niall.’

  ‘He’s dishy,’ Jonathan approved. He’d seen their wedding photo on the mantelpiece in the lounge.

  ‘Umm, can’t argue with you there.’ She leaned over and topped up his glass before refilling her own.

  ‘Are you happily married?’ He smiled across at her.

  ‘Very,’ she nodded. ‘Very, very happy.’

  ‘You’re lucky. I’d give anything to be in a stable, happy relationship,’ Jonathan confided.

  ‘It will happen, some day when you’re not looking. He’ll come into your life, and you can have a ceremony under my trees,’ she grinned. ‘But not in the autumn because you might get conked on the head by a windfall.’

  ‘There’s a good crop budding already.’ He glanced over at the fruit-laden branches.

  ‘We generally have a good harvest of damsons and apples. The girls love picking them. Every autumn I used to make Mrs McMillian damson jam and apple chutney with her own fruit. She loved it. The girls used to bring it to her in a little basket with a bow on it. She passed away a couple of years ago.’

  ‘You are a kind person, Ms Hammond,’ Jonathan said, raising his glass to her.

  ‘Not at all, I’m a grumpy wagon most of the time,’ Hilary retorted, embarrassed.

  ‘Perhaps that too, but kind nevertheless. And talented. Perhaps we could go into Zen garden design while we’re at it.’

  ‘Steady on, Harpur, we haven’t got any clients yet.’

  ‘Oh we will! Never you fear, we will. Today has revitalized me. We are going to go far, missus, you and me, I can feel it in me waters. This is the life.’ He raised his glass to her.

  Hilary lifted her face to the last rays of the sun as it began to set. She was feeling completely relaxed. It had been a gift of a day, so unlike her usual run of the mill stuff, and how rare was it for her to have the house to herself and to be able to sit drinking with someone she knew was going to become a dear friend. And tonight she was going to have the luxury of the bed all to herself. What bliss to spreadeagle herself to the four corners and sleep until she awoke of her own accord without the tyranny of the alarm clock or hungry children. She would nip across to the supermarket and get fresh croissants and the paper and sit out on her patio in the morning if it was fine and have a lazy relaxed breakfast before going to collect the girls from her sister’s. She hadn’t had a free night like this since she could remember.

  The sharp, intrusive buzz of the doorbell through the patio doors was like a cold shower and Hilary gave an irritable tut, hauling herself out of the chair. ‘Who’s that now, I wonder? Someone selling something or other!’ she grumbled. ‘Excuse me until I put the skids under them.’ She slipped her feet into her espadrilles that she had kicked off under the table and frowned as the doorbell shrilled again.

  ‘Impatient, aren’t they?’ Jonathan remarked.

  ‘Not as impatient as I’ll be when I get to them,’ Hilary retorted, hurrying into the house. The girls had told their friends they were having a sleepover, so it was hardly any of them, she thought, passing through the kitchen to the hall. She could see the outline of a woman dressed in pink through the stained-glass panel.

  She composed her face to hide her irascibility and opened the door.

  ‘Surprise! Surprise!’

  ‘Colette! What are you doing here?’ She stepped back, astonished. Colette waved at someone in the back of a glossy black car. ‘Just let me wave Des off. He’s on his way to a business dinner in Guilbaud’s. I couldn’t face it, so here I am! He said to say hello.’ Colette flung her arms around her and Hilary hugged her back, her heart sinking. Trust Colette to arrive when the house was close to being a tip and she was half-tiddly.

  ‘Where’s everyone? The house is very quiet!’ Colette glanced around.

  ‘No one’s here except me and a friend,’ Hilary said, pointing out to the patio.

  ‘Anyone I know?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Get rid of them, and let’s have a good old natter,’ Colette ordered, handing her a bottle of Veuve Clicquot, and a gift bag with a bottle of Chanel No 5. ‘I’ve loads to tell you, and I don’t want to be making polite conversation with a stranger. And I’m starving! I could murder a kebab! I keep thinking about the ones we used to get in Ishmael’s. I haven’t had one for years.’ She swanned ahead of Hilary into the kitchen and Hilary gazed at her friend’s retreating back, thinking crossly: And how high exactly do you want me to jump, Colette? Well, I’m not dumping Jonathan just because you’ve arrived on my doorstep without a by your leave!

  CHAPTER SIX

  Colette strolled out to the patio, having glanced around the messy countertops in the kitchen with a slightly raised eyebrow, much to Hilary’s chagrin. How typical of Colette to arrive unannounced and find the house in a mess. She hastily shoved the Chinese cartons into the bin and gave the countertop a quick wipe. She put the champagne in the fridge and couldn’t help but spray some of the timeless perfume on her wrist and sniff it. Colette always bought her expensive gifts when she flew home for a visit, even though Hilary told her not to.

  ‘You know me, I love spending, so why not spend on someone I care for?’ she’d said once, having presented Hilary with a beautiful silk Dior scarf. And yet her friend would expect Hilary to do the hot potato act and get rid of Jonathan, so that she could be the centre of Hilary’s attention for the evening.

  ‘Hello there, I’m Hilary’s oldest friend,’ she heard the other woman say to Jonathan, holding out a languid hand. ‘Colette O’Mahony. We haven’t met before I don’t think,’ she said, not waiting for Hilary to perform the introductions.

  Jonathan stood up courteously. He could sense the blonde, petite, designer-dress
ed and immaculately made-up woman was merely being polite and was not best pleased to see him.

  ‘Jonathan Harpur,’ he reciprocated, returning the handshake with a firm grip. He hated limp handshakes.

  ‘I don’t remember Hilary ever mentioning you,’ Colette remarked, glancing around at the detritus of their meal.

  ‘That’s because, until today, I had never met Jonathan,’ Hilary said cheerfully, emerging onto the patio and handing Colette a glass of wine.

  ‘Oh! Really? I suppose that explains it.’ Colette sounded bored. She took a sip of her wine. If Jonathan hadn’t been there she would have slugged it, but impressions had to be made, no matter how fleeting.

  ‘I should be making a move.’ He didn’t resume his seat. ‘I guess you ladies have some catching up to do.’ He smiled at Hilary. ‘I had a lovely day!’

  ‘Yes, indeed we do! I haven’t seen Hilary in yonks. Lovely to meet you,’ Colette said sweetly.

  ‘Don’t go yet, Jonathan,’ Hilary protested.

  Jonathan saw Colette flash an exasperated glance at her friend but because Hilary was looking at him she didn’t see it. ‘Colette’s brought a chilled bottle of champers, let’s pop the cork and toast our new venture,’ Hilary grinned at him, quite oblivious to the fact that Colette had a face on her that would stop a clock. His diva instincts kicked in. He didn’t like this snooty friend of Hilary’s who wouldn’t even try and let on that she wasn’t anxious to get rid of him. Why should he go? She was the one who had gatecrashed their party.

  ‘Get you! You’ve just said the magic words “champagne” and “new venture”.’ He turned to Colette, casually dropping an arm around Hilary’s shoulder. ‘You’re looking at . . . wait for it . . . ringing bells and whistles . . . drum roll . . . Hammond and Harpur Interior and Lighting Design Specialists—’

  ‘And don’t forget Zen garden design,’ Hilary giggled.

  ‘How could I, Mzzz Hammond?’ Jonathan ramped up his gay persona, throwing his eyes up to heaven theatrically and running his fingers through his hair.

  Colette looked at them, gobsmacked. ‘That will be the day. Hilary, what do you know about interior design?’ she derided. ‘You two are obviously pissed,’ she said crossly. ‘I should leave you to it.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, kick your shoes off and sit down and get pissed with us. Will I order something from the Chinese? We’ve just finished ours.’ Hilary saw the disgruntled expression on Colette’s face and felt her deliciously tipsy feeling begin to fade a little.

  ‘I don’t fancy Chinese!’ her friend said petulantly.

  ‘Indian?’ Hilary persisted.

  ‘Too fattening, all that cream.’ Colette dismissed that proposal.

  ‘I have some steak in the fridge, a fillet. You could have it with salad and some ciabatta.’

  ‘Fine,’ Colette agreed, slipping out of her pink Chanel jacket and handing it to Hilary. ‘I just need to freshen up, Heathrow makes you feel so—’

  ‘Manky,’ Jonathan chipped in.

  ‘Well . . . er . . . yes, I was going to say hot and sticky.’ Colette stared at the upstart coolly. He really didn’t know his place.

  She marched into the house, her high heels clicking a tattoo on the wooden floor, and Hilary looked at Jonathan and gave a sigh. ‘Sorry about this, Jonathan. She’s my oldest friend, she lives in a posh gaff in London and she has a housekeeper, and how typical that she arrives when the house is a tip,’ she fussed. ‘And now I’ve to go and cook, just when we were having a delightful evening.’

  ‘The house isn’t a tip. It’s a home! You sit there and I’ll slap the steak on the pan, that’s if you don’t mind me rooting in your fridge and presses,’ he added hastily.

  ‘No, you sit and relax!’ she protested.

  ‘I wouldn’t know what to say to her. She’s très formidable.’ He made a face. ‘I’ll cook and you get her tiddly and take the edges off her.’

  ‘OK, there might be some cheese in the fridge that’s gone a bit mouldy, it might be smelly,’ she warned him.

  ‘You should see mine,’ he comforted. ‘I’ve a carrot that’s shrivelled up – at least I think it’s a carrot – and a cucumber that’s going to have to be poured out! Here she comes, get that wine down her. Are you sure you want me to stay? I feel I’m intruding.’

  ‘Oh please do stay, Jonathan. You’re not intruding at all. I was enjoying our evening so much. I’m not in the mood for “my wonderful life in London” tonight,’ Hilary sighed, feeling a tad disloyal but irritated nevertheless.

  ‘I’m doing chef,’ Jonathan announced gaily when Colette joined them. ‘Steak . . . medium, well done or rare?’ He gave her a saccharine smile.

  ‘Oh!’ Colette was thrown. ‘Um . . . medium to rare, please.’

  ‘No bother, sit and relax, ladies. Your champers will be out forthwith. Where are the glasses, Hil?’

  ‘The press on the left-hand side at right angles to the sink,’ Hilary instructed, sitting down at the table.

  ‘Righto.’ Jonathan cleared the dishes on the table and sashayed into the kitchen. Hilary hid a smile at his antics. He was really camping it up for Colette’s benefit.

  ‘How did you meet him? He’s certainly making himself at home.’ Colette frowned. ‘I can’t believe you only met him today and he’s rooting around your presses already.’

  ‘We met at a lighting design course. He’s an interior designer and a potential new customer, and, I have to say, I haven’t had as much fun in ages. I feel as if I’ve known him forever.’

  ‘He’s a typical queeny gay, isn’t he? And—’

  ‘Oh for God’s sake, Colette!’ Hilary interjected crossly. ‘What’s that got to do with anything! Say I’d met someone else, who was straight, you wouldn’t be sitting there saying he’s a typical hetero, would you?’

  ‘You’re very ratty, Hilary. I was merely going to say he’s gay and pushy. Lots of them are.’ Colette scowled, taken aback by her friend’s rebuke.

  ‘They’re not another species, Colette.’

  ‘I know that! I’m not homophobic, Hilary. There are lots of gay people in our circle. It’s just you don’t know him more than a day and he’s making himself completely at home and I was surprised, that’s all,’ Colette said sulkily. ‘I was hoping to have you to myself. I’ve loads to tell you.’

  ‘What are you doing home anyway? I presume Jasmine’s not with you?’ Hilary changed the subject.

  ‘No, it’s too short a visit. Des had to come over on business so I said I’d come and see the parents and you, but you don’t seem too happy to see me!’

  ‘I am, I’m delighted. I wasn’t expecting you, that’s all, and I’m a bit the worse for wear; we’ve been drinking since we got home,’ Hilary said in a more conciliatory tone.

  ‘I wish I was plastered,’ Colette said glumly.

  ‘Why, what’s wrong?’ Hilary gave an inward sigh and prepared herself for a litany of gripes. She knew her friend of old. When Colette was worried about something, it was inevitable that she would dump on Hilary.

  ‘Des seems to think he’s in with a good chance for a big promotion, which means we’ll be relocating to New York!’ Colette made a face.

  ‘Fantastic! But what’s wrong with that? You adore New York!’ Hilary exclaimed.

  ‘Yes, for shopping and holiday breaks. Going to live there is a different kettle of fish. It’s like starting out all over again to get anywhere on the social scene. And they’re very cliquish on the East Coast. And then there’s Jazzy. She’ll have to get used to a new house, new school and a new nanny.’

  ‘Oh yeah! That’s true.’ Hilary could identify with that. Jasmine was a precocious five-year-old who reminded her of the younger Colette. Always looking for the attention that her parents didn’t have time to give her. Privileged, pampered, with everything she could want, her childhood was almost a replica of Colette’s own, and Hilary was surprised that her friend had behaved just as her own parents had. Surely she would have been determined
to raise her own daughter differently from the way she had been raised herself, reared by nannies or palmed off to be minded by Sally and others. Motherhood had not diminished the me, me, me trait Colette had always exhibited. Nannies had played a major role in Jasmine’s life from her birth. ‘It’s not the worst age to make a big change. Jazzy’s young and adaptable.’ Hilary sipped her wine.

  ‘She’s very demanding sometimes though.’ Colette shook her head.

  Only because you don’t spend enough time with her. Hilary bit back the criticism, having seen Jasmine throw some magnificent tantrums in the past. ‘When will you know if Des has got the job?’

  ‘Sooner rather than later. Des seems to think he’s got it, but I’m not going to say anything to Mum and Dad or anyone else until it’s in the bag,’ she added hastily. ‘So say nothing, not even to Niall.’

  ‘Mum’s the word!’ Hilary assured her as Jonathan stepped out through the patio doors with two sparkling glasses of chilled golden champagne.

  ‘Ladies! Enjoy your champers.’ He placed the two glasses in front of them with a flourish. ‘Your steak is in the pan, and the salad is in preparation.’ He bowed towards Colette.

  ‘You’ve very accomplished, aren’t you?’ she drawled.

  ‘Very!’ he smirked and winked at Hilary before going back inside.

  Colette’s eyes narrowed but she said nothing. She had taken an instant dislike to Jonathan and he was doing nothing to reverse that. His faux chumminess merely served to increase her antipathy.

  ‘How’s Niall, where is he?’ she asked casually. She was disappointed he wasn’t here. She would have enjoyed boasting to him about Des’s last bonus.

  ‘He’s in Moscow.’

  ‘Why didn’t you go?’ Colette looked at her, astonished.

  ‘Because I’ve two children in school and a business to run,’ Hilary said drily.

  ‘What a pain having to stay behind. I love going abroad with Des. He gets to do all the hard work and I get to swan around shopping and enjoying myself!’ Colette said smugly.

  ‘You have a housekeeper and a nanny and you don’t work full days outside the home,’ Hilary pointed out. You don’t work in the home either, she thought nastily and then felt like a heel. She was being mean to her friend for no reason at all.