A Walk in the Park (20 page)

As they headed over to the Ellison on Saturday evening, Lara said, “Look, I can't help it, I know I keep going on about this, but you know how sometimes you have a dream and it just makes so much sense? Seriously, it's like this one was an actual
sign
.”

“You do keep going on about it. Mum, give it a rest,” Gigi scolded. “Poor Evie, she won't be able to look at him.”

“OK. Sorry.” Lara mimed zipping her mouth shut. It had been amazing, though; last night she'd dreamed that Harry and Evie were married! To each other! And they'd been completely perfect together, despite having to live in a stripy circus tent and do their washing-up in a paddling pool. But none of that had mattered; Harry had been relaxed and laughing, they'd held hands and barely been able to leave each other alone, and as she'd knelt on the grass outside their tent, washing the dishes in the blue plastic paddling pool, Evie had merrily announced, “Thank goodness I didn't marry Joel.” Prompting Harry to add with genuine relief, “Thank goodness I divorced Lara!”

Oh, and there'd been a baby dolphin leaping around in the washing-up water too. Read into
that
what you will.

The party was being held in the ballroom. Both Maz and AJ were filming as hotel guests, staff on their evening off, and other invitees from heaven knows where milled about. Music was playing, but not the bleeding-ears kind that had caused all the complaints in the first place. Tonight it was Frank Sinatra all the way. Enjay, having scrubbed up like nobody's business, was wearing an immaculate made to order gray three-piece suit, dazzlingly white high-collared shirt, and brogues you could see your reflection in. He was also sporting diamond cuff links and an eye-boggling diamond-encrusted fob watch on a chain. As you do. He was currently wielding a microphone and singing “New York” to a terrified-looking woman in her seventies clutching a champagne flute of orange juice.

“Poor thing,” Gigi murmured.

Lara said, “He'll probably try to kiss her in a minute.”

“Here's Harry.” Evie gave her a nudge. “Don't mention your dream.”

OK, she wouldn't. But it was intensely frustrating when you suddenly realized something brilliant and weren't allowed to make it happen. Couldn't Evie see she was right?

“Hello. Having fun?” Unlike dressed-to-the-nines Enjay, Harry was wearing a pair of chinos and a beige Flying Ducks shirt.

“Not yet. I want to know what really expensive champagne tastes like.” Lara waylaid a passing waitress and helped herself to a glass from the tray. “Hmm.” She took a glug and concentrated hard. “Tastes like cava.”

Harry said, “That's because it is. The cheap stuff's in the glasses on the trays that are being taken around. The real deal's still in the bottles, being poured out for the important guests so they can see the labels and be suitably impressed. Put that down,” he instructed Lara, “and we'll get you some of the fancy stuff.”

“Here, you can have this one.” Lara handed the glass to Gigi. “Your taste buds won't know the difference.”

“Don't do that,” Harry warned as Enjay launched into the next song and Gigi waved to him across the room. “If you're not careful he'll come and serenade you. Everyone's scared it's going to be them next.”

“If he sings to me,” said Lara, “I'll join in. That'll make him stop.”

***

Despite the decided weirdness of the occasion, over the course of the next hour the various guests began to relax. Alcohol loosened their inhibitions, some people began to dance, and a hatchet-faced old man who looked like a tax inspector took everyone by surprise when he joined Enjay onstage and sang like Dean Martin.

Once the Rat Pack medley was over, Evie watched as Enjay resumed chatting to the guests, working the room. It was an exercise in PR and the power of charisma. The scantily dressed girls in their twenties were doing their best to attract his attention, but Enjay was concentrating his efforts on the difficult guests. And winning. Give it a bit longer and he'd have them up dancing to a bit of hip hop.

“Everything OK?” Harry came over to join her. Thank goodness he didn't know about their adventures last night inside Lara's head. Lara might have decided they'd make a great couple and Harry was lovely—in lots of ways he was exactly the kind of man she should go for—but at the moment all she could think about was Ethan.

Ethan who hadn't contacted her since their kind-of date a whole week and a half ago. Having expected to feel nothing, the connection they'd made had been startling. She'd really thought it was mutual too. Why hadn't he been in touch?

Anyway, never mind that now. Evie said, “I'm fine. And it looks like everyone's enjoying themselves. How about you?”

“Well, I'm not going to be singing, that's for sure. But I may venture onto the dance floor at some stage.” Harry paused. “In a sedate fashion, of course. Nothing too wild.”

Evie smiled; his brand of understated charm really was captivating. “You wouldn't want to be wild.”

“I know, I'd only end up doing my back in.” Harry glanced at her. “Although Lara did say I should ask you to dance. How does that sound? Not right now, of course. But maybe later?”

He was only asking her because Lara hadn't been able to resist sticking her oar in. Evie pulled a face. “It's OK, you don't have to be polite.”

“I'm not just being polite.”

Which was, self-evidently, the only possible response a genuinely polite person could make. Evie said, “Fine then, maybe later when you're feeling brave enough. We'll try really hard not to step on each other's feet.”

***

The ballroom was situated in the west wing, bright, gilded, and high-ceilinged, and with full-length French windows opening out onto the sweeping terrace. The other end of the hotel was altogether darker and more enclosed, with narrow wood-paneled corridors and smaller rooms.

Evie emerged from the ladies' cloakroom and, rather than head straight back to the party, decided to do a bit of casual exploring first. There had been no sign of Ethan this evening, but he could still be here. She hadn't asked a member of staff; the last thing he'd want to hear was he was being pursued by that desperate female he wasn't remotely interested in. There again, she was an invited guest at a party being held in the hotel, which meant she had a valid reason for being on the premises. Which meant if she happened to bump into the owner of the hotel while exploring the facilities, it didn't make her a stalker.

And if she
did
encounter him, she would be casual and polite. She definitely wouldn't clutch at his shirt front and wail, “I really liked you and I thought you liked me, so WHY HAVEN'T YOU CALLED ME, YOU UTTER BASTARD?”

Anyway. There was a sweeping staircase leading up to the first floor, with a minstrel's gallery at the top and a discreet sign indicating the way to the library. Evie climbed the stairs and followed the sign along the corridor. The library, when she reached it, contained shelves of books, a couple of computers for the guests' use, a slew of glossy magazines on the low marble-topped coffee table, and a box of board games beneath the window. There was also an unknown couple in their twenties, wrapped around each other and kissing enthusiastically on one of the velvet-upholstered banquettes.

A floorboard creaked beneath her foot and the couple broke apart, turning to stare at her.

“Sorry!” Evie backed away and left them to it, heading back along the corridor to the staircase.

She'd reached the minstrel's gallery when she saw Ethan making his way across the hallway downstairs. Evie's heart did a rabbity skip at the sight of him, the intensity of the jolt taking her by surprise. Clearly he was never going to be the type to wear a suit; in his untucked check shirt and corduroys he still looked like a gardener, but there was more to the laws of attraction than the clothes people wore. He paused at the reception desk as his phone began to ring.

“No, no, I'll be ten minutes. There's something I need to do first. I'll take care of it when I get there, don't worry.” Ending the call and attracting the attention of the girl behind the desk, he added, “Can you get hold of Tina, send her through?”

Would he look up and see her watching him? Leaning forward, resting her elbows on the polished wooden rail, Evie willed it to happen. But she was out of his field of vision; Ethan headed off along the corridor to the right of the reception area and disappeared through the third door along on the left.

Evie hesitated, considering her options. The next moment a dark-haired girl in a chambermaid's outfit came hurrying across the hall and down the same corridor. Reaching Ethan's door, she knocked and waited before entering.

OK, what now? From what he'd said on the phone he wouldn't be in there for long. And further down the corridor was the ladies' cloakroom she'd visited earlier. In order to casually bump into Ethan, the simplest plan of action would be to make sure she happened to be passing when he emerged from the room. But since the receptionist couldn't see her from that angle, it wouldn't matter if she loitered for a few minutes in the corridor.

Evie descended the stairs and the receptionist smiled at her for the second time in ten minutes. She was either going to think she had raging cystitis or that she'd been knocking back far too many pints.

Right, best not to stand directly outside the room itself. Halfway between it and the cloakroom would be preferable. And she could pretend to be looking for something in her handbag, or appear engrossed in her phone, as if reading a particularly riveting text…

“…I don't care how ill they are, I don't want to hear about your bloody kids!”

What?
Evie jumped. That was Ethan's voice, raised in anger.

“Oh, but p-please, I need to b-be wiz zem.” The girl was upset, clearly begging for time off.

“Not my problem.”

“But zey are too szmall… Anya eez only four… I do
anyzing
…”

“Listen to me, we've already been there.” Ethan sounded bored. “The only thing I want from you is a proper day's work. If you can't manage that, I'll find someone else who can.”

Evie felt sick, actually physically sick. Ethan was an employer and it stood to reason he'd have problems with staff, but the way he was speaking to the eastern European chambermaid was just downright unpleasant. It was like eavesdropping on Father Christmas and discovering he was a wife beater. Yet again, she'd managed to get someone completely and utterly wrong; Ethan wasn't the—

“Hi there, everything OK?” The receptionist had come out from behind her desk and, en route to the office, spotted her lurking in the narrow corridor.

“Um, yes… yes thanks. Just trying to get a signal.” Evie held up her phone as proof.

“Ah, it can be tricky in here. You'd probably have more luck outside.” The girl beckoned to Evie to join her, then indicated the main doors across the hall. “Over by the fountain's best.”

Outside, Evie fiddled with her phone and pretended to make a call… Heading back in again, she saw the receptionist busy photo-copying documents in the back office. With the coast clear, she headed back up the staircase and watched from the gallery, no longer able to hear what was going on between Ethan and the chambermaid but needing to witness the conclusion.

Maybe if she'd been a different type of person she might have burst into the room where Ethan was berating his employee and demanded he stop it. But she wasn't; confrontation wasn't her style—wedding days notwithstanding—and apart from being incredibly rude and abrupt, Ethan wasn't actually doing anything wrong.

He'd inadvertently revealed his true colors, that was all. While she'd succeeded in proving once more what a shockingly poor judge of character she was when it came to members of the opposite sex.

Evie experienced a pang; Joel had had his faults but he would never be as mean as that to an employee. Let's face it, he was more likely to go too far in the opposite direction and end up sleeping with them.

And maybe, just maybe, that made him a nicer person than Ethan. Joel was a flirtatious charmer; what you saw was what you got. But he was never deliberately cruel.

The next moment the door opened and the young chambermaid emerged. Shrinking back into the shadows, Evie watched as the girl paused outside the room, wiped her eyes, and gathered herself, then smoothed her hair, tightened her dark ponytail, and headed back to work. Resigned to the fact that her young children would have to be ill without her there to comfort and care for them.

A minute later, Ethan reappeared too. Once again he didn't glance up. Tempting though it was to call down and let him know what she thought of him, Evie stayed silent and watched him go. She would only make herself look foolish, come across as a spurned, jealous, and possibly unbalanced harpy.

To be honest, she'd already had quite enough experience of that.

***

Flynn watched Lara from the other side of the room. Life would undoubtedly be easier if he didn't feel this way about her, but there wasn't a lot he could do about that. She was looking amazing tonight, in a high-necked silver and white sleeveless shift dress that offset her tanned arms and legs.

But it wasn't just the way she looked; there was so much more to Lara than that. She was helping to keep the party going by persuading man-mountain Maz onto the dance floor. Playfully, she took the camcorder off him and handed it, still running, to one of the older guests. Then as Enjay and his band launched into “Do You Want To Know A Secret?” she seized Maz's hands and started dancing, teasing him until he gave up and good-naturedly joined in.

Together they twirled around the dance floor, performing an impromptu comedy waltz in order to entertain the guests. Lara was laughing and chatting away to Maz, who must weigh close to three hundred pounds but was surprisingly light on his feet. And, when she threw back her head and laughed, Flynn smiled to himself and had to hide it by taking a drink. Lara might drive him to distraction but she brightened his world. Funny, bright, and generous to those she loved, she was a true life-enhancer.

Dammit, she was still his swan.

***

The party had livened up to the next level during Evie's absence. Back in the ballroom, she discovered that Frank Sinatra had given way to the Beatles and a crowd had now gathered on the stage, crowding around a microphone and bellowing out “With A Little Help From My Friends” while Enjay performed an accompanying impromptu rap.

Unexpectedly, Flynn had also turned up and was surveying the proceedings with an air of detachment. Making her way over to him, Evie said, “Didn't expect to see you here tonight.”

“Me neither, but Enjay invited me. God knows why.” Flynn's tone was dry. “But it means I can keep an eye on Gigi.” He looked down at her. “Are you OK?”

He was perceptive, she'd give him that. “I'm fine. Just getting used to being single again. I'd forgotten what it was like.” Evie tucked her hair behind her ear. “Men seem nice, then they stop being on their best behavior and you realize they're not so great after all.” Ruefully she added, “And sometimes you discover they're complete bastards.”

“Not all of them.” Flynn half smiled. “But you're right, it's a learning curve. I'm only just seeing it from your perspective for the first time. Like now.” He indicated his daughter with a nod; at the far side of the room, slinky and beautiful in a short red dress and strappy sandals, Gigi was dancing with a tall, long-haired lad sporting bad-boy black jeans, a ripped Sex Pistols T-shirt, and more tattoos than Ozzy Osbourne. “See? That's a potential nightmare right there. It's terrifying. I've never had to be like this before.”

It was entertaining seeing Flynn's paternal side. Evie said, “It's nice that she's making so many new friends. Anyway, they're only having a dance. That's harmless enough.”

He shook his head, not remotely reassured. “It's what comes next that's the problem.”

She laughed at his expression. “Gigi's eighteen. She's a popular girl. You can't lock her in the cellar.”

“I could.” Flynn knocked back the rest of his wine. “If I had a cellar.”

“Anyway, he might be a lovely boy.”

“Don't try and make me feel better. Look at him. Hardly ideal boyfriend material.”

“You can't judge by appearances,” said Evie.

His tone was rueful. “I've discovered I can.”

“You used to wear stuff like that when you were that age. You had long hair.”

“Exactly,” said Flynn. “And I know what I was like.”

Evie conceded the point. What was interesting, though, was that when he wasn't keeping an eagle eye on Gigi his gaze was sliding over to the other side of the room to check out what Lara was up to. Beneath the dazzling light from the chandeliers she was currently deep in conversation with a man in his forties, presumably one of the hotel guests, portly in build and wearing a slightly too small tweed jacket and mustard-yellow trousers. Evidently deciding that the man wasn't a threat, Flynn's shoulders relaxed and he turned his attention back to Gigi.

Evie waited a couple of seconds then blurted out, “Oh my God, look at the fat guy kissing Lara!”

“
What?
” Flynn's head snapped round to see Lara now being introduced to the portly man's wife.

“Sorry,” said Evie. “Couldn't resist.”

“And to think I've been so nice to you.”

“Life's never simple, is it?” She leaned against the wall. “How much do you like her?”

“I think you already know the answer to that question.” Flynn reached for another glass from a passing waitress. “It's just a shame Lara doesn't.”

“Oh, she knows. She just doesn't trust you.”

“Like you and Joel. I saw him a couple of nights ago. He's desperate to win you back. But you don't trust him.”

Evie raised an eyebrow. “I wonder why that could be.”

“Lara's driving me insane,” said Flynn. “I'm not Joel, I haven't slept with loads of other women behind her back. She just flatly refuses to even give me a chance.”

“And you're not used to that.” She gave him a teasing look, because Flynn might not be a serial love rat like Joel, but there had been plenty of girlfriends over the years. He'd spent his time riding high on an awful lot of females' wish lists.

“I'm not used to it.” He shook his head in agreement. “And I don't know what the answer is. Have you talked to her about it?”

“Of course I have, but you can't force someone else to change their mind. They have to want to do it for themselves,” Evie said helpfully. “Like alcoholics going into rehab.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Oh, you know what I mean. Sshh, here she comes.” Having escaped mustard-trousers and his wife, Lara was now on her way over with Harry. Up on the stage, Enjay had finished rapping his version of “Yellow Submarine” and was now launching into a sexy, soulful version of “Yesterday.” Relieved to hear something normal, people piled onto the dance floor.

“There you go,” said Lara. “Isn't it amazing, he's a really good singer when he stops doing all that gangsta stuff. Oh God, listen to me, I sound like somebody's granny. Right”—she whisked Evie's glass from her hand—“you said you'd dance with Harry.”

“You sound like somebody's
bossy
granny.” Digging her heels in would be pointless, Evie knew; they may as well get it over with. It helped that Harry was looking as faintly appalled by the prospect as she was, but good manners compelled him to summon a brave smile and hold out his hand.

“Come on, we'll show them how it's done, shall we?”

Harry was a good man, a nice man, and that wasn't just her own incompetent opinion; Lara had known him for almost twenty years. Maybe they would dance together and magic would happen. Evie stepped forward and said gamely, “Let's do it.” She eyed Lara and Flynn. “And you two have to dance together as well.”

Lara nodded. “Absolutely.”

***

“Well?” said Flynn.

“Well what?” Lara was busy watching Harry and Evie on the dance floor.

“Are we getting out there?”

“No.” She couldn't, she just couldn't.

“Why not?”

“I just said it to make Evie go.”

“So you lied.”

“I don't want to dance.” Her mouth was drying up; just standing here next to Flynn was hard enough. His head was bent close to hers, his voice was low, and she could feel the vibration from his chest as he spoke. She was also hyper aware of her own skin tingling in response to his proximity. No way,
no
way
could she dance with him right now.

“You don't want to, or you're not going to?”

He was aware of the connection between them; he felt it too. The thing was, he knew there was attraction on her side but he genuinely couldn't begin to imagine the extent of it, or how hard she was having to work to keep herself under control.

“Look at the difference between them.” Changing the subject, Lara pointed to Enjay and a slinky, skimpily dressed blonde now entwined together up on the stage, their lithe bodies moving like oiled silk as they danced to the music.

Then she indicated Harry and Evie, manfully attempting to get through the next few minutes. They were smiling and doing their best to look as if they were happy to be there, but the awkwardness radiated from them like phosphorescence. Evie's feet had lost their rhythm and Harry, never the best dancer, appeared to have had all his joints soldered.

“Evie isn't usually like that,” said Flynn.

“I know, poor thing. But if they could just relax, wouldn't they make a perfect couple?”

“So you do like seeing other people matched up?” He gave her a pointed look.

“Of course I do. And Harry and Evie would be brilliant together. I'm right,” said Lara. “I'm always right.”

“OK, two things. One, you're not always right. Two, Evie looks as if she's trying to dance with a stepladder. And three…”

He stopped and waited.

The pause was unnerving. “You said two things.”

“I changed my mind. It's allowed.” Flynn's voice was as steady as his gaze, causing far too many hormones to swoosh through her veins. “And three, don't think for one minute I'm going to give up on you. Because I'm not.”