EIGHT
Aubrey dressed slowly, buttoning subtle cufflinks onto his pale blue shirt, shrugging into his dark navy jacket, but forgoing a tie. Roscoe had briefed him on the usual dress codes in operation at Conyers. Tonight counted as a casual dinner.
He looked out of the window as he tugged his suit sleeves straight. The sky was a dusky, pinkening gold, the grounds washed with long, mellow shadows. His room was three floors up. The jump would definitely kill him, but he imagined himself down there, blood polluting the spotless gravel, and Evie’s face flashed into mind. He’d be embarrassed if she saw him dead. She’d be surprised he’d turned out to be so weak.
He turned from the window. He didn’t mean it anyway, didn’t remotely want to die. But his sense of humour reflected his mood, and his mood was dark.
Dinner with Liv. Watching her across the table, her every move so familiar he would feel he was going mad. He had known her for sixteen years. Loved her helplessly for all of them.
Somehow, despite dawdling, he reached the library first. He stood staring at the empty fireplace, debating whether it would be rude to help himself to the decanted spirits nearby. Then Liv walked into the room.
“Perfect.” She smiled. “I was hoping to catch you alone.”
He watched her walk towards him.
“It’s been an age, hasn’t it?” she asked.
“Two years.”
“Twenty months,” she countered. “Haven’t you been keeping track?”
When he didn’t dignify that with a response, she just smiled again and glided over to the drinks cabinet. She was wearing a deep green hourglass dress that showed off her every curve. He’d always told her he liked her in green.
“Still the bourbon for you?” she asked.
“Yes,” he answered reluctantly, feeling stupidly betrayed by his own predictability. He ought to have changed. Chosen some new favourite drink. But Liv had always been able to read him like a book.
She handed him a glass. Held out her own. “Cheers.”
He drank.
“To old times, hm?” she said, forcing the toast on him, and smiling at the irritation in his eyes.
“Old times? Really? Are you sure that’s what you want to dwell on now? Let’s regale Domnall, shall we? Give him all our history. First kiss. First time. The time you agreed to marry me. Or perhaps the time you dumped me from a very great height when you got a job offer abroad. And I had to let you go, because it would have been selfish of me to hold you back from such a brilliant opportunity, only to learn six months later that you were shagging one of the partners all along—”
“Gosh. We really do hold a grudge, don’t we?”
Aubrey breathed a laugh. “The problem with you, Liv, is that I didn’t hold a grudge anywhere near long enough. I was stupid enough to take you back.”
She only smiled, a little sadly. Then, with a different sort of smile, put her hand on his chest and slid it up to his neck, his jaw. The touch was jolting, unexpected. And surprisingly unpleasant.
“It was worth it, though, wasn’t it? We had something special.” She stroked a finger along the edge of his jaw, her skin rasping slightly on his faint stubble. A shiver went down his spine. Or maybe it was a shudder.
“You’re looking good, Aubrey,” she said. “But you always do.”
He pushed her hand away. “Yes, Liv. You like everything about me except the fact I can’t advance your career. I know.”
She laughed. “Other than that, you’re perfect.”
He hid his expression with a sip of drink, hoping to hell she didn’t spot his hand trembling. Just then, Domnall and George walked into the room. He’d never been more glad to see them. He looked in vain for Evie behind them. Liv noticed him looking, gave a tiny smirk.
How Liv would love it if Evie stood him up, embarrassed him. He knew exactly what game she was playing by the way she went now to Domnall, wrapped her arm around his waist, stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “We could really make her jealous…” Evie’s voice whispered in his mind. But God damn it, he wasn’t that petty. He refused to stoop to childish tricks. Long experience had taught him that the only way through something was simply to get through it. Opt not to care, not to look, and keep walking. The bits of his heart that Liv had left behind might still belong to her—like all the possessions she’d abandoned without a second glance when she left him, as she always did, walking out of the life they’d built and letting him clean up the mess, fill the black bin bags, sell the furniture, sell the flat… He cleaned it all away eventually. Maybe this weekend would let him pack away the rest of his heart, the ragged, remaining shards. Tape them up in a box. Toss it on the kerb, unwanted.
“Sit, sit,” George was saying, unctuous, affable, fixing everyone with drinks. Aubrey found himself on a small Chesterfield sofa, Domnall and Liv opposite, George to his left in a wingback chair. He was describing dinner, venison and crushed potatoes and fucking hell, Aubrey couldn’t care less, it would all taste like ashes. Then the drone of George’s voice broke off and Aubrey looked up and watched Evie cross the room. She was dressed in silky, tasselled black, exactly like that nineteen-twenties flapper, all bare legs and long, elegant lines.
“Don’t stop for me,” she said gaily, coming over to where Aubrey sat and sitting down snug beside him, giving a little wriggle until they were hip to hip, her shoulder against his, seeming perfectly casual and natural, as though they sat like this every night.
George, perhaps realising he was the one drawing attention to her by his irritated silence, cut short his glare and resumed his host’s litany. Heedless of talking over him, Evie said to Liv, who was staring at her, “That’s a lovely dress! The colour complements your hair so well.”
Being forced into choosing between the rudeness of not replying or the rudeness of talking over George, Liv looked momentarily put out. “Thank you,” she murmured, opting for a weak middle-ground. Aubrey smiled into his bourbon, wondering if Liv had finally met her match. Then immediately doubting it, because as much as Evie appalled him, he suspected all her faults came from having an excess of heart. Whereas Liv had none.
Evie shifted beside him, her warm little shoulder digging into his, the faint press of a small breast as she leant right in and whispered in his ear, “The capital of Paraguay is Asunción.”
“What?” asked Aubrey, voice low to match her whisper, half-laughing in surprise.
Her face was very close, clear mischief in the blue eyes. “Exactly,” she murmured, and the lips, glossy tonight, curved in a slow smile.
This was the bar thing again, wasn’t it? The ‘imagine bending me…’ trick she’d played at the awards to snag his attention, bring his full focus to her. And yes, he was sure Liv was watching, could feel the press of her attention on him, so aware of her from the corner of his eye. But he didn’t want to play this game.
He held Evie’s eye, trying to convey that without letting any trace of a frown cross his face. No, Evie… He said it with his eyes on hers, cursing the laughing look there, the amusement curling the corners of that sweet, sulky mouth, the pointed little chin, the fine-boned cheeks, black hair brushing a slender, pale throat…
“Aubrey. Evie.”
“How cruel to interrupt them, George,” said Domnall.
He looked up. The others were all standing, waiting, Domnall grinning, George impatient, Liv scowling.
God damn it.
He got hastily to his feet, Evie’s hand finding its way into his.
“If you’re quite ready,” said George, “dinner is served.”