Chapter Ten
Ant
Fuck a duck. The house. Lili’s parents. I feel like I’m in a Noel Coward play. Without the humour.
This place takes restrained opulence to a new level.
Like Lilavati’s place, there’s no sign of it being lived in.
But unlike Lili’s, there are ornaments and artwork, rugs and lamps, coffee table books and throw pillows.
All carefully chosen to create an atmosphere.
Or maybe the word is ambiance. If you told me I was in Buckingham Palace, I wouldn’t argue with you.
All that’s missing are the corgis, and I can’t imagine anything that might smell or shed hair being allowed in this space.
After a brief and excruciatingly polite grilling over scotch—which I hate—Marion leaps into action and serves us a three-course dinner.
It’s delicious, and unsurprisingly, plated with the precision you might expect on MasterChef.
Wines are paired with each course, although there’s never enough in your glass to get you drunk.
The table is set so precisely that I wouldn’t be surprised if Marion had used a ruler to lay out the cutlery and plates.
I can’t imagine Warren deigning to help by setting the table, although he does lift an eyebrow at her when he notices a petal has fallen off one of the clearly homegrown roses in the centre of the table.
Marion snatches it up and whisks it off to the kitchen before a word is even spoken, while Warren settles in the carver chair at the head of the table.
Over entrees, talk turns from me—thank Christ—to the wedding of Lilavati’s cousin.
“It will be such a wonderful event,” Marion gushes, straightening her plate with a nervous twitch.
“We’re all staying at a beautiful resort on Maui, that’s one of the more exclusive islands in Hawaii,” she adds, clearly for my benefit, as though perhaps I have no idea about the Hawaiian islands, or the world at large, probably.
“Emily has organised events for everyone for the whole week.”
“Have you ever played golf?” Warren asks.
It’s clear these guys think I grew up in a cave, but at least they’re being polite, if we ignore the deliberate attempt to humiliate me with the question about university.
I don’t tell them Long Reef Golf Course is a three-minute walk from my house.
Or that I’ve been a member since I was sixteen.
“Once or twice,” I say, successfully suppressing a smile. I’m not game to look at Lili. I can feel her tension radiating across the mirror-like surface of the antique table.
“There’s a big golf day for the men while the ladies spend a day shopping.
” Marion looks delighted at the prospect.
Judging from her expression, I suspect Lilavati would rather be having a wisdom tooth pulled.
Without anaesthetic. “Then there’s visits to a pineapple farm, games of tennis.
And a day we girls get pampered at the resort spa.
Emily has booked out the whole place for the entire day. ”
“Emily’s father, Ross, has spared no expense,” Warren interrupts, making it clear what he considers important.
Marion subsides in her chair until it’s clear he has nothing more to say.
“She’s such a thoughtful girl,” she says in her slightly breathy voice, before rattling on for several minutes about Emily’s exceptional style and taste and the expected beauty of the dress and flowers and the five bridesmaids.
I’m about to interrupt when she finally runs out of puff. “And she’s so pretty. Isn’t she, Lili?”
Lili looks like she’s been smacked in the back of the head with a nine iron.
There’s a dynamic here I wasn’t expecting. The feisty, snarky, spiky woman I met in the car park, the coffeeshop and the cafeteria is missing. She’s been replaced by a hologram of herself. Insubstantial. Almost transparent. My hackles rise.
“I’m sure she’s lovely, but I can’t imagine anyone prettier or smarter than Lilavati.
” I stretch my hand across the table and just manage to grip her fingers, which are cold and stiff.
The gaze she’d kept firmly fixed on her plate during the gushing about Emily rises to meet mine, and I see her spine stiffen.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Warren giving Marion a look equivalent to an eye roll.
“Tell your parents about that surgery you did the other day, Kitten. You know, when they interrupted our lunch date?”
Lili scowls at the nickname and opens her mouth to speak, but Warren jumps in.
“I’m sure it was all very dramatic, but I don’t think medical procedures are appropriate dinner conversation.”
To my surprise, Lili subsides. This is not a side of her I’ve seen.
The Lilavati I know gives as good as she gets.
But maybe the dynamic in this house explains why Lili is so prickly.
She’s had to grow a very thick skin and to make herself smaller than she is, to avoid being a target. In her family home.
I squeeze her fingers. “Well, I find what Lilavati does fascinating.”
“Lili,” Warren emphasises their preferred shortened version of her name, “knows her mother finds those kinds of things distasteful.”
I glance at Marion, and I’m almost sure she’s going to contradict him, but she once again sinks back into her chair with a vague smile.
Jesus. This is brutal. And the way Warren emphasises Lili?
Somehow, he managed to make it sound like an insult.
I silently promise myself never to call her that again.
“We should get together before we leave for Hawaii, Lili, to make sure your wardrobe matches the themes for the trip.” Marion’s voice is full of false cheer. She turns to me. “Every event has a theme. Flowers, colours. I can’t remember what else, but such fun.”
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. There are themes? No wonder Lil needed a fake date. I wonder if one of the themes is Kevlar because I feel like it’s not just me who’ll need it.
“I’ve got it covered, Mum,” Lil says with a quick glance at her stepfather.
This conversational train needs to jump the tracks, so I offer myself as tribute.
“I don’t know if Lilavati told you, but my sister and her husband live in Singapore.
Have you ever been?” As a conversational gambit, it’s lame.
There’s no chance this couple hasn’t visited Singapore.
But it works. Marion digs in with all the questions you’d expect, allowing Lil to deflate and catch her breath, while I try to subtly deflect the more intrusive questions.
It occurs to me that Warren could easily Google me and, with very little digging, find out the information I’ve chosen to leave out of my explanations. I need to think about when and how to come clean to Lil. I’d hate her to hear it from someone other than me.
By the time we get to dessert, I’ve managed to steer the conversation to the normally off-limits subject of politics. But if it’s a choice between making Lilavati feel small and arguing over foreign policy, I’ll take foreign policy for three, thanks, Todd.
While Marion is preparing the coffee, and apparently a cheese board, and Warren is choosing the port, Lil points me to the powder room. I must be stealthier than I ever imagined because as I step into the hall, I hear them talking in the kitchen.
“Marion, we discussed this. She has clearly taken up with this ridiculous boy to aggravate us. He didn’t even go to university, for crying out loud.
But you know what she’s like. If you object, she’ll just dig her heels in.
Let her think you approve, and she’ll soon lose interest.” Warren’s tone is more suited to addressing a misbehaving toddler than an adult.
And boy? I’m thirty-fucking-two years old.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been called a boy.
“But what if she doesn’t? Did you see the way she looked at him?” Marion’s tone is so fretful, I can imagine her wringing her hands. This woman clearly lives on her nerves, as my grandmother would have said. And no wonder, living with Warren Gordon. One evening has been enough for me.
“Of course I did. But that’s just hormones. She’s stubborn, but she’s not stupid. She’ll work out soon enough that he’s not an appropriate addition to this family.”
Wow. It’s not even about what Lil wants. It’s all about the image.
“And what if she doesn’t?”
“Money talks, Marion. And I’m sure someone making coffee and surfboards for a living would appreciate a little something extra in the bank. In the meantime, just stick to the plan. Make her think you’re delighted with her choice. Mark my words, it will come to nothing, one way or the other.”
I’m torn between being amused and offended.
I may not be worth the kind of money the Gordons obviously are, but neither am I living pay cheque to pay cheque.
Both my businesses are doing better than I could have hoped.
And once I’ve secured funding, which I’m close to doing, they’ll move to the next level.
Mostly, I’m sad—and angry—for Lilavati. Sad that her parents are so concerned with money and appearances that they’d be prepared to bribe a partner they think is unsuitable to break up with her.
Potentially break her heart. Just so they can ensure she doesn’t end up with the ‘wrong’ kind of man.
Sad for the way they can’t see her for the incredible person she is.
Sad that she feels she has to dim her light to be acceptable to them.
And angry that not once have either of her parents asked Lilavati anything about her career or her life, no matter how hard I tried to bring the conversation around.
Two things seem clear: Lil is far more complex than I imagined, and the Gordons have taken me at face value. Which was a mistake. Because this might have started out as a bit of a lark, but by the time I walk away from this fake dating thing, I intend to have shown Lilavati what she’s worth.