Chapter 16
‘This is going to be the dinner from hell,’ I mutter sulkily to Matteo as we walk down to the dining room.
We’ve barely had two minutes together and the atmosphere is frosty between us.
I’m trying to understand that he’s under pressure but so am I.
‘How are we supposed to hide all the stuff we’re doing that’s against the rules? ’
‘We’re not. She knows.’
‘How does she know? Did you tell her?’
‘No, of course not.’ He stops to frown at me. ‘The staff told her.’
‘Oh.’
‘She has no idea about the puppy, but I guess it’s only a matter of time.’
Of course.
‘Connie. Is something wrong? Apart from Birdie showing up, I mean.’
About bloody time. He should have intuited my mood ages ago.
I’ve been as snippy as I could manage. This is the perfect moment to confess that I know everything about his angry mother, the second-slash-third ‘wedding’ that I’m essentially being hijacked into and that Nacho is understandably very upset about it all and, crucially, that I am having doubts about upending my entire life to move to the City of Angels where I know absolutely no one, with my workaholic new husband who seems happy to drop me like a dead weight the moment Birdie snaps her fingers and that’s why I’ve not mentioned it to my father.
Or my closest friends. And don’t get me started on the abandoned honeymoon.
I pause. ‘Actually, yes there is. We need to talk.’
He nods. ‘Forget dinner. Let’s go back to the room. Let the others get on with it. This is too important. I can see that something is upsetting you.’
His considerate tone and reasonable request immediately comfort me.
‘No. It’s okay. It can wait. Everyone will be waiting for us.
’ I think I have a real problem with putting myself first. Especially if it means letting people down.
Luckily, his concerned expression makes me trust that we’ll be able to sort this all out later on.
‘You sure? I’d much rather we—’
I squeeze his hand. ‘It’s fine.’ I slap a fake smile on as we round the corner to see everyone has assembled around the table. The staff have brought in an additional chair and set an extra place at the head of the table. Once Matteo and I sit down, we all regard the empty chair ominously.
‘Jesus wept. It’s like an episode of The Traitors, this.’ Tash pokes her sparkly talons in the direction of the chair. ‘You could cut the atmosphere with a knife.’
‘Anyone else notice the temperature has gone down a few degrees?’ Liberty mutters under her breath, shivering.
‘Stick together, ladies,’ says Big Sue firmly. ‘Don’t break ranks. Have each other’s backs at all times and we should come out of this alive.’
‘And don’t… whatever you do, don’t mention…’ Ged is halfway through saying his bit when a noise, sounding like the creepy clanging of metal on the tiled floor, disturbs him.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
Christ. It’s like a scene from a horror movie as the sound gets louder and louder.
‘Don’t mention what?’ Birdie says, coming into view, walking stick in hand. She ‘hobbles’ to the empty chair and sits down. Her blood-red lips curve upwards into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. ‘Don’t mention what?’
You can hear a pin drop.
Matteo clears his throat. ‘Don’t mention that… that we are delighted to see you.’
Oh dear. Very poor. Fortunately for him he has married a wife that is something of a world-class expert in low-level panic lying.
‘He means we have a surprise for you.’
Birdie’s eyebrows quirk with interest.
‘It’s a…’ I rack my brain. A dog chew. A bib with Louis’s name embroidered on it. Worming tablets. ‘Well, it’s a surprise, obviously, and we’ll give you it after dinner.’
‘Of course you will.’ Clearly unconvinced and with laser focus, she eyeballs both girls sitting obediently (for once) in their high chairs. ‘Whose are these?’
Silence.
She sweeps her gaze around the table. ‘They must belong to someone.’
Cherry mumbles, ‘Erm, they’re mine.’ She points to Dom. ‘And his.’ Dom, nodding frantically like some village idiot from the Middle Ages, stares wide-eyed at Birdie.
‘I suppose they’ll have to stay now that they’re here.’ She tuts dramatically. ‘You do know that children aren’t allowed, don’t you? You can read, can’t you? It says very clearly on the website.’
‘Birdie. Stop that. We know we’re in the wrong.’
‘Then can someone explain to me why one of my family heirlooms is missing?’
OH. MY. GOD.
We are all going to jail.
The silence is deafening. Half the people round the table looked confused. The other half guilty as hell.
‘Well?’
‘Family heirloom?’ I croak.
Birdie screws her eyes. ‘Yes. A rather valuable one. The housekeeper reported it missing. Know anything about it?’
I shake my head, not daring to look at Matteo. ‘What does it look like? We’ll keep an eye out for it.’
‘It’s my grandmother’s favourite vase.’
I swallow a huge lump in my throat.
Matteo continues the rest of the conversation in French. We see a range of expressions career across her face before they glare at one another. All of a sudden, Birdie bursts into laughter rather like a patient on a psychiatric ward in a scary thriller.
‘I’m joking,’ she drawls. ‘You all know I’m joking, right?’
Because the French are world renowned for their sense of humour.
A trickle of nervous laughter erupts around the table just as the butler appears, followed by the two waiters.
Child-sized plates with the same trio of starters that the adults are having are gently placed in front of the mute children.
The food looks delicious but I’m not sure how child-friendly it will be.
But Cherry won’t be whipping out the Greggs just yet, that’s for sure.
Once everyone is served and too on edge to make a sound, the butler makes an announcement.
‘Steak tartare prepared the usual way with a lime and mango twist. Chicken liver paté, luxuriously creamy in texture, served with delicate French toasts, diced cornichons and pickled red onion. Finally, our classic melted Camembert with rosemary and olive oil toasted crumble and cranberry jus. We will serve the Bordeaux-oaked Chardonnay. Enjoy.’
Nobody moves a muscle while the waiters pour our drinks.
Birdie flaps out her napkin and surveys the food on her plate before taking up a fork. She pushes it around, stops and raises her eyebrows at us. ‘Bon appetit.’
We all copy her, apprehension in the air as we regard one another silently.
Peaches and Clementine have not said a word but clearly have picked up on the atmosphere.
There’s been no ‘Pink Pony Club’ renditions or Peaches barking like a dog.
Cherry is glaring at them, her eyes flicking to their plates.
I sense that she is willing them not to kick up any sort of fuss or Christmas will 100 per cent be cancelled.
Clementine, tears pooling in her eyes, dutifully takes a nibble of the toast.
The gentle clinking of cutlery interspersed with Peaches sucking loudly on her dummy, clearly hungry, is the only noise being made. I sweep my gaze around at my friends. They all look deeply uncomfortable, and it is this ridiculous woman’s fault.
‘Birdie. How did you sprain your ankle?’ I ask.
Birdie looks up from poking her cheese. ‘Cliff diving.’
I screw my eyes. I know a lie when I hear one. ‘Cliff diving? How? I thought you were with your family, on a yacht off the Amalfi coast for the whole of Christmas?’
She huffs out a laugh as though it’s a ridiculous question. ‘The usual way, I suppose.’
Touché.
‘I meant that was quick. Surely you barely had time to board the yacht. You only left a couple of days ago.’
‘Private jet?’ she says in such a condescending tone it makes me bristle.
I keep my smile firmly in place. ‘Ooh, how fabulous for you. So, were you hiking up the cliffs or did you hit something in the water? Which cliffs?’
Our conversation is attracting interest. Birdie’s cheeks redden as she exhales loudly. ‘Okay. Fine. Not cliff diving. I tripped over my suitcase at Napoli airport. Happy now?’
No, because you’re lying about that too. I doubt she even ever made it that far in case Matteo dared pay any attention to his wife instead of her.
‘How long do you think you’ll be staying for?’ asks Ged, his voice squeaking slightly. He’ll be worried sick she’ll ruin the wedding, kick the puppy to death and have everyone deported back to Australia before they’ve even set foot on the tarmac.
‘How long do you think I’ll be staying in my own home for? What’s it got to do with you?’
Ged hesitates, a terrified look in his eye as he fake-smiles at her. ‘Nothing. I just meant that if you’re… if you’re here for any length of… that is, what I mean is… are you here for…?’
‘The wedding?’ she interrupts. ‘Oh. Is that the surprise you had for me? An invitation to your wedding?’
Fuck me.
Poor Ged.
‘Birdie, I’m not sure that’s what he—’
Birdie cuts Matteo off. So rude. ‘Yes, I’d love to come.
Thank you. That’s so kind of you. I knew I liked you two lovebirds.
Tell me.’ Birdie leans towards Ged and Liam.
‘Who do you want to send you a congrats video note for your socials? I have all the big stars. I even have the Bridgerton boys on speed dial. Look…’ She flicks through her phone.
That’s all it takes. Suddenly the conversation starts flowing about wedding outfits, Bridgerton costumes, wigs and dance routines.
‘I hear Eddie is coming over,’ Birdie says suddenly to Liberty. Her eyes are crinkled as though forensically gauging her reaction.
Liberty calmly puts down her fork. ‘Yes. Yes, he is. He’s looking forward to the wedding party. We’ve missed each other.’
‘Are you sure about that?’ Birdie deliberately raises her eyebrows at Nacho, almost causing him to choke on a crouton.
‘Leave him out of it,’ Liberty says, dabbing her lips with her napkin and placing it carefully on the table. She picks up her wine, not taking her eyes from Birdie’s for a second. ‘We’ve done nothing wrong.’