Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The Shaws’ house is one of those big old manor places with a grand front door, more windows than I can count, and a large chimney balancing on the apex of the tiled roof.
Out the front there’s a recently painted gate, a large gravel drive (neatly raked), and a well-kept garden with lush green grass.
I can feel the tension building in Horatio’s body as the gate swings back; we pull up into the drive and he parks up.
It makes me nervous to see him so nervous.
But I’m determined to be the perfect fake girlfriend for him.
Smiley, bubbly, a walking beacon of light, distracting everyone and ensuring his stepfather leaves him alone.
We’re greeted on the doorstep by Horatio’s mum.
I can see it’s her almost immediately. They look so alike.
She’s tall and willowy with a perfect set of gleaming white teeth, high cheekbones, and those same blue eyes, her ash-blonde hair styled elegantly around her tanned face.
A set of pearls sit in the lobes of her ears and another set loop around her neck.
Damien’s advice to invest in a twin set is actually looking pretty sage.
“Ready?” I ask Horatio, as I see him take a deep inhale. He squeezes my hand, nods, and we both climb out of the car. I wait for him to join me on my side before we walk up to the doorstep towards his mum.
If I thought Horatio’s mum might be a little grumpy like her son, a little standoffish and introverted, I’m completely wrong, and I remember she is American, after all.
A smile beams across her cheeks and she flings her arms out wide, beckoning her son forward and wrapping him in a tight embrace.
“Happy birthday,” she says. “Thirty-three. Jeez. I can’t believe it. It only seems like yesterday you were running around in just a T-shirt, peeing in the bushes.”
I can’t help giggling at that image and Horatio’s mum turns her head and smiles at me.
“He hated wearing clothes,” she explains. “It was a battle every morning just to get him to put anything on.” She holds out her hand to me. “I’m Asha.”
“Molly,” I tell her. “Molly Eccleston. It’s really nice to meet you and thank you so much for having me this evening.”
“You’re very welcome. It’s always lovely to have Horatio home, and even more lovely when he brings company.”
She hooks one arm through Horatio’s and one through mine and pulls us inside, strolling with us down the wide hallway and towards a large kitchen that spills out into an enormous back garden.
“It’s such a lovely evening,” she explains. “I thought we’d eat outside.”
A wide patio perches beneath an elegant wooden pergola, a mixture of roses, jasmine, and grape vines climbing up the struts and creating a floral canopy. The table is already laid out neatly, and there’s a bottle of wine chilling in a bucket in the centre.
“You must be famished,” she says, beckoning us to sit down, “and dying for a drink.”
She hooks the bottle of wine out of the ice bucket and, struggling a little, pulls out the cork, beginning to fill the waiting wine glasses.
“I’m not drinking, Mom,” Horatio says, covering the wine glass in front of him as he lowers himself onto the cushioned seat. “I’m driving, remember?”
“Driving?” She looks clearly crestfallen. “Are you not staying over?”
“Can’t, I’m afraid. Got plans tomorrow morning.”
She collects herself, reforming the smile on her face, although it’s not quite as genuine anymore.
“Of course. Busy boy,” she says to me.
“Yeah,” I say. “Very busy.”
“I hope he’s making enough time for you, though.”
“Plenty of time,” I say, smiling at her.
“Good. Now, make yourselves comfortable.” She pats Horatio’s shoulder. “I’m going to go and see how that dinner’s getting on. I’ve left Alan in charge.” She rolls her eyes and walks away. I notice a slight limp.
I’m guessing Horatio sees me spot it.
“Osteoarthritis,” he says. “She’s on treatment, but it’s getting worse. You saw how she struggled to pull that cork from the bottle.” He shakes his head.
“She seems really nice,” I tell him.
“She is. She’s lovely, until you get her in a courtroom, and then she’s formidable.”
“I think I’d like to see that.” I take a sip of my wine and gaze out across the large garden, admiring all the blossoming bushes and the flower beds crowded with blooms. The sweet perfume hanging in the air is almost dizzying, and in the late evening sun you can hear the buzz of insects as they hurry from one plant to the next before night arrives. “It’s beautiful.”
“She’s always been an avid gardener,” Horatio explains. “It’s her passion.”
“Do you have a passion, Mr Shaw – apart from the trains?”
“I …” he begins, staring right at me. For a moment he seems to struggle to find his words, which is so unlike the man who usually has a smart retort to everything. “I don’t think I’ve found my passion yet.”
I frown, wondering what on earth he had meant to say before he hesitated and seemed to change his mind. I consider probing him, but my thoughts are interrupted by the return of his mum.
“Alan has it all under control. I thought you might like some nibbles in the meantime.”
She places a bowl of olives and a plate of fancy-looking breadsticks on the table in front of us, then takes a seat opposite, reaching for her wine.
I notice her fingers are bent from arthritis, and she struggles to grip the stem of her wine glass.
“So,” she says, beaming at us both, “tell me everything.”
“Everything?” Horatio asks. “What do you mean, Mom?”
“About the two of you.” She waves her hand in our direction. “You make such a beautiful couple.”
I look at Horatio, who’s turned his head to look at me. Then I turn back to his mum.
“You think so?” I say.
“Most definitely.”
“We’re a bit of an odd-looking couple, though, don’t you think?”
“Complementary,” she corrects.
“A case of opposites attract, I guess,” I say, glancing her son’s way.
“Exactly,” she says, taking a big gulp of wine.
“In my experience, that’s how the most successful relationships work – and trust me, I’ve seen a lot of unsuccessful ones in my line of work.
” She sets her glass down on the table. “So, you’re the opposite of Horatio, are you, Molly? What does that mean exactly?”
I laugh. “Well, I’m not as organised as he is. I don’t have my life as sorted as he does. I’m a little bit chaotic. Very messy. And I tend to fall from one disaster to the next.”
“That’s not true,” Horatio pipes up. “Molly runs a very successful cupcake business. It’s doing really well.”
“Good for you,” Asha says, raising her glass in my direction.
“And she also dabbles in homeopathy,” he adds. “She makes her own potions.”
My eyes must go wide. Has he lost his mind? I kick him hard under the table.
“And lotions,” he adds quickly.
“Really?” Asha says. “How interesting.”
“I actually have something that might work for your hands,” I say. “Sorry if that’s rude, I just noticed, and my grandma suffers from it, and the pills they gave her never really worked. She got fed up with all the painkillers. But I found something that really helped.”
“Well,” Asha says, “I have to admit I’m not usually convinced by alternative medicine and all that hocus-pocus.”
Beside me, Horatio stifles a snigger.
“But at this stage I’m willing to give anything a chance.”
“I’ll send you some. And if it works, I’ll send you some more.”
“It’ll work,” Horatio tells his mum. “She’s very talented at this stuff.”
I shake my head and stare at his mother. “That’s a massive exaggeration.”
“I doubt it. My son’s not prone to exaggeration, Molly. He usually says it how he sees it.” Something passes across her eyes and I can imagine the arguments in this household. Too many stubborn people for one home. “So,” she says, “how did you two meet?”
“We’re neighbours,” I explain. “He lives across the hall from me.”
“Aha! You’re the elusive girl from across the hall, are you?” She leans forward on her seat.
“Oh gosh, has he been complaining about me to you?”
“No, not at all. But you have been mentioned several times in conversation, so I had an inkling that maybe he liked you.”
Horatio snaps a breadstick in half. “She thinks I’m in love with every woman I happen to mention.”
“Quite the opposite. I don’t think you fall in love very often or very easily, Horatio.”
“We’ve only just started dating,” I point out. I don’t want Horatio’s mum to get too excited about our relationship – this fake dating and the bewitching will all be over very shortly.
“Yes, of course,” she says, picking up her glass and taking a sip, though I swear she’s trying not to smile.
“You have a beautiful garden,” I say, attempting to change the subject.
“Thank you. It’s my favourite thing to do.”
“I particularly like that section over there.” I point to the far corner.
“The wildflowers?” she says, turning in her seat to peer in the direction I’m pointing, her face lighting up.
“Me too. I’d have the whole garden that way if Alan would let me, but he prefers something a little bit more neat and orderly.
” Horatio snorts. “It was actually Horatio that planted those out there for me. It’s becoming harder to do all the digging. He often comes out to help me.”
“Do you?” I say.
“Yes,” he says. “When I can get away from the city.”
“He’s a country boy at heart. I’m not really sure how he ended up in the city.”
“Because that’s where all the jobs are,” he tells her, “and I like it.”
“Do you, though?” she says.
“I love a garden,” I say wistfully. “I’d love to grow all my own herbs. I grew up in the countryside, in a little cottage in the woods. I love the city and I love Hampstead, but sometimes I really miss the countryside.”
“That’s why I have both,” Asha says. “A flat in Mayfair and a house in the countryside. The best of both worlds.”
“That does sound dreamy.”
“We’re very fortunate,” Asha says. Then her eyes focus on something over our heads. “Ah! Here comes Alan.”
“Hello everyone,” he says curtly, stopping beside the table and standing straight-backed like a soldier on inspection. “I’m Alan.”