NINE
Aubrey stopped her before they walked into the dining room, using their joined hands to drag her to an empty side room, out of sight, where he swiftly let go.
“Whatever game you’re playing, stop it.”
“Game?” she queried, knowing it would provoke him, but unable to help herself. Just as she hadn’t been able to stop herself leaning in and whispering in his ear, not with Liv staring at her like she was a potato she was about to cut into chips.
“The Paraguay thing! The hand-holding!”
“I thought we’d decided to go along with this ruse, for both our sakes?”
“If you’re going to pretend to be my girlfriend, then at least act like someone I might actually date, not a whispering, clingy schoolgirl.”
“Right,” Evie said, heat flushing her face. “How do they normally act, then? Aloof and distant, stroking their Dalmatian-fur coats? Or perhaps I should leave you for a billionaire. Go drape myself over Domnall. That seems to be your type.”
Aubrey let out a sharp breath. “That’s a low blow, Evie. Fucking hell. Have some decency.”
“You called me a schoolgirl!”
“And the fact you think that’s equivalent exactly proves my point!”
She struggled for a moment to remember what her own point had been, ashamed but too angry to admit it. Their eyes stayed locked, both of them breathing hard. His were bright with fury; she hoped that’s how hers looked rather than the betraying sheen of tears. Schoolgirl. Fuck.
“I’m twenty-four,” she said stiffly.
“Then try acting like it.”
You try acting like it, was the only ridiculous reply that came into her clattering mind. She turned away, taking a breath, trying to claw her way back to the moral high ground. Aubrey got there first.
“Look,” he said more calmly. “Let’s just get through this meal. You can leave in the morning and we’ll both be free of this ridiculous charade. OK?”
She nodded, lying, desperately wishing she wasn’t. But without knowing Aubrey’s password, to get access to his laptop she’d need to get to it while he was working on it and it was already unlocked. And that meant being in his room when he popped out or was called away by whatever distraction she could arrange. It was unlikely to happen tonight. It was unlikely to happen at all if they weren’t on much friendlier terms.
“Yes,” she said, forcing a smile. “You’re right. Let’s go before they send out a search party.”
Evie sat fiddling with her bread roll, breaking it into crumbs on her plate.
“Not hungry?” asked Aubrey in a low voice from where he sat on her right, noting the tortured roll, the untouched soup.
She dropped the roll with a guilty start. Playing with one’s food was probably something his real girlfriends would never do.
“Ham and meat stock in the soup,” she explained. “And the bun is brioche. Butter. Milk. Eggs. Not vegan.”
Aubrey looked down the table. “Is all the bread…?”
“Yes.”
“But your father…”
His voice was so low it was almost a whisper—whispering! hypocrite!—but Evie kept a wary eye on her dad, reluctant to draw any more of his wrath when she was still so far from accomplishing her goal. It wouldn’t do any good if he got adamant about her leaving tomorrow morning.
“Yes,” she said quietly, leaning closer to Aubrey so he could hear. “He knows I’m vegan. But he refuses on principle to serve anything that is. You’ll see.” She nodded to Howell and the other serving staff who had just arrived with their food.
They set out the dishes, uncovering several large silver trays of vegetables in front of them. Carrots, peas, broccoli, parsnips.
“Isn’t that…?” began Aubrey.
“It’s all covered in butter. Probably goose fat on the parsnips. Definitely on the potatoes. Honestly, it’s a strict rule in the kitchen. I haven’t eaten a mouthful at this table in a decade.”
Aubrey, to his credit, looked genuinely appalled. “But what do you eat?”
“I’ll make something myself in the kitchen later.”
“But why would he…?”
“To starve the nonsense out of me, of course. He’s positively Victorian, haven’t you noticed?”
Aubrey put down his fork, drank some wine. They both watched everyone else pile their plates high.
“I suppose you can’t even have this can you?” Aubrey asked with a slight lift of his wine glass.
“Nope.” She lifted her own glass of water. “But this is far healthier, you know.”
She smiled darkly, letting him know that she was joking, but also that she was not. Impossible to pretend the inherent unfairness of the situation wasn’t obvious. Wasn’t humiliating. But she wasn’t about to protect her father by lying, pretending she had a stomach bug, or a migraine, or any of the other dozen excuses she had made over the years until she decided enough was enough. If her father wanted to act like this, then let others judge him for it.
A depressingly large number sided with him.
“Eat,” she encouraged Aubrey. “Don’t starve on my account.”
Frowning, he did so, adding food to his plate and eating slowly, silently, until the conversation across the table from them came to a lull.
Liv looked over. “Not hungry, my dear?” she asked Evie, nodding to the empty plate.
“The food isn’t vegan,” Evie replied lightly, resigned to the next five minutes of uncomfortable cross-examination, her father looking on, ready with the guilty verdict, the noose.
“Oh, you’re one of those!” said Domnall delightedly, as though she’d just announced she could perform circus tricks.
“Is it for health reasons?” asked Liv. “Because I’m sure you don’t need to lose any more weight.”
Evie smiled thinly. “Not for health reasons, no.”
“Not healthy anyway,” pronounced Domnall. “Not what we’re designed to eat.”
Her father was looking on, amused at her discomfort.
“You are very pale,” Liv said, her solicitous smile masking barbed wire.
Domnall nodded. “Could be anaemic. Bit of red meat would do you wonders.”
Should she talk about the iron content of leafy greens? Go through all the data and statistics on the environmental harm of meat consumption? She knew it all. Her teenage decision might have been based on nothing but pity for the animals used, but it was hardly an irrational choice, and, thankfully, not even that unusual anymore. Perhaps she should try to educate them, but they did not want to be educated. And she was trying desperately to remain polite, very aware of her father’s eyes on her. If she opened her mouth to speak, she wasn’t sure what might come out. All the old hurts and embarrassments were boiling below her skin, the injustice of it all, of constantly being made a target, laughed at, mocked, just for trying to do the right thing. It was exhausting, and lonely, and right then, with everyone’s eyes on her and Aubrey silent at her side, memories of falling ketchup and thwarted plans and dark, disdainful eyes stripping her right to her ridiculous childish soul… She didn’t trust herself to speak.
Then Aubrey, in his deep, certain voice said, “As a grown adult, I think we can trust Evie to look after her own health.”
She glanced at him. Grown adult? Was that an apology for the schoolgirl thing?
But he was eating his dinner, unperturbed, no expression that she could decipher on his face. He glanced up at the others, at her father, who was momentarily distracted by receiving a message from Howell. Maybe he seized that opportunity, maybe he was prompted by whatever devil clearly lived in his head, because he smiled slightly and added, “She seems perfectly healthy to me, at any rate. A very healthy appetite. Extremely energetic.” He speared a large parsnip with his fork. “Full of spunk.”
Domnall suppressed a guffaw, Liv’s expression dark, Aubrey’s innuendo delivered so calmly that no one could be sure he’d meant it. And no one knew how to respond. It could have all been for Liv’s benefit, his own version of the false whisper, making it clear they were banging like rabbits. But as Evie glanced at him, hardly knowing whether to laugh or get indignant, he nudged her knee with his under the table, a secret smile in the corner of his mouth.
It worked anyway, whatever and whyever his tactic. By the time Howell left and her father’s attention returned to the table, Domnall’s mind was far from veganism and Liv was acting as though Evie didn’t exist.
Late that night, Evie lay in bed, tired but very far from sleep. They’d all gone to the drawing room after dinner, the other four clearly intending to begin talking business. Evie hadn’t seen how her presence there would help her current cause—she couldn’t join in, and would only have to sit throttling her rage as they all lounged around working out how to keep more of Domnall’s excessive wealth in his pockets, Aubrey a key part of it, the one who came up with the methods to deprive schools and hospitals… She turned over irritably in bed, pillow annoying her, unable to get comfortable. No doubt Liv would play an active role, too. As a tax lawyer, she probably knew even more about it than Aubrey did. They could put their heads together. Sit there together all evening working out how to stop money going where it was needed.
Evie had walked over to Redbridge instead. Spent an hour or two with Amy and Hugo, feeling like a third wheel. Not that they did anything to make her feel that way. They were warm and welcoming. It was coming from inside her, this awkward, outsider feeling. It was just hard, it would always be hard, to see such complete happiness when you were not a part of it. Couldn’t even imagine it.
She had walked back to Conyers, the sky deep black, an owl calling. Had a long shower and a short cry, and got into bed, knowing sleep wasn’t coming anytime soon. Aubrey’s laptop—think about that. Think about the plan, not anything else.
There was a knock at her door. The light rap of knuckles.
She sat up, heart skipping in surprise. Housekeeping? Howell? But when she opened the door, it was Aubrey who stood there.
He looked at her for a long moment as though it was her presence that was expected.
“I know it’s late,” he said at last. “And I know we…”
Hate each other?
He read the thought in her eyes. Agreed with it.
“But,” he continued, “may I come in?”