Dinner at Mine (14 page)

Rosie frowned. ‘I thought we were having Espresso Chocolate Cake?’

‘I was experimenting for a while,’ Charlotte said easily, ‘and decided this went better with the meal.’

‘But the menu . . .’

‘You can’t be tied down by a piece of paper, Rosie. It’s all about the taste, isn’t it?’

Rosie bent over and inspected her slice of tart carefully. ‘Did you make this yourself, Charlotte?’

‘Of course. Does everyone want a piece? There’s not even any meat in it.’ Charlotte thrust a plate towards Barbara.

‘Are you sure about that?’ Justin asked. ‘Did you make the pastry as well?’

‘Of course.’

‘And you didn’t use any animal fat in it?’

‘Er . . . no. No, I didn’t.’ Charlotte said it firmly.

‘Really?’ Rosie asked. ‘What did you use, then?’

Charlotte stared at Rosie, and blinked slowly. ‘Flour, mostly,’ she said.

‘Just flour?’ Rosie arched her eyebrows.

Charlotte shrugged. ‘You know, water and stuff as well.’

‘What about butter?’

‘That too.’

Rosie compressed her lips in the way Stephen saw her do when talking to the builders. ‘How did you make it stick?’ she asked.

Charlotte stared defiantly back. ‘You have to knead it for longer,’ she said simply.

‘That’s so much healthier, isn’t it?’ Sarah said.

‘Yes, exactly.’ Charlotte turned to Sarah with a wide grin. ‘It’s very important to be healthy.’

‘But you definitely made the pastry yourself?’ Rosie asked.

‘Of course. Really, Rosie, you’re being—’

‘What did you do with the dish?’ she asked.

‘The dish?’

‘Normally you would serve a tart like that in its baking dish,’ she said. ‘In fact, I don’t know how you’d go about getting it out.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. What’s your secret?’ Rosie settled back in her chair and interlocked her fingers.

Charlotte looked away and coughed delicately. ‘Well,’ she said, after pausing for a moment. ‘I just turned it upside down. And used a knife. That’s why the crust’s
a bit damaged, you see? Look.’ Charlotte pointed out the scratches, chips and irregular lumps that scarred the pastry case. Rosie leaned forward and inspected them.

‘OK.’ She leaned back. ‘But why did you need to take it out of the dish at all?’

‘I borrowed it,’ Charlotte said, grinning again. ‘I had to give it back.’

Rosie narrowed her eyes to squint suspiciously at Charlotte. Charlotte held her gaze. They stared at each other for some time.

‘I’ll finish serving, shall I?’ Matt reached his arm deliberately between them, breaking eye contact. Stephen caught Charlotte cracking a slight smirk as she looked away.

Stephen smothered his slice of tart in cream. He glanced sideways at Rosie as he did so, but she didn’t even notice. She was glaring at what was left of the dessert and her whole body was
rigid. Stephen could sense her frustrated determination. He found it incredibly sexy.

He loved it when she was like this: resolute, single-minded and moving with restrained power beneath her dress, like a panther tensing to pounce. It made him think of the time just before they
got married when she’d had an argument with her boss about a pay rise. She’d filled herself with righteous fury, marched into the MD’s office and walked out with double what
she’d originally asked for. Then she’d come home half ablaze with delight, half still simmering at the original injustice, and they’d had sex on the living-room floor. Thinking
about it, Stephen began to sweat slightly.

At that moment, he wasn’t really sure what she was getting angry about – did she think Charlotte was lying about the cake? – but her black and red dress pulled tight over her
breasts with every deep, irregular breath. Under the table, he reached out and stroked her thigh. She batted his hand away without looking at him.

The rejection smarted. Stephen poured himself another glass of wine and attacked the dessert. It was good – a deep, textured, chocolate goo, broken up with crunchy chunks of hazelnut. The
cream sunk through each mouthful of chocolate, giving a cool freshness to each sticky bite. But the richness was so intense that Stephen quickly hit his limit, and with every mouthful began to feel
his stomach straining against his trousers. He took a few more forkfuls, regretting now the seconds of lamb. As his breathing grew laboured, he reluctantly accepted he would have to stop. He put
down the fork and reached for his glass, taking very small sips to ease the pressure on his digestion.

‘This is very tasty, Charlotte,’ Sarah said. ‘The hazelnuts in it are great. They really break up the sweetness.’

‘Good, that’s what I hoped,’ Charlotte replied. ‘Much better than espresso, I reckoned.’ She grinned at Rosie.

‘Yes, without them the sweetness could become too overpowering, couldn’t it?’ Marcus said. He seemed to be enjoying himself, Stephen thought.

‘Tell me, Charlotte,’ Rosie asked. ‘Did you put molasses in?’

‘Nope.’

‘Because it isn’t just sugar, is it? How did you get such a rich sweetness?’

‘That would be the secret ingredient.’

‘Secret ingredient? What’s that?’

‘It’s a secret.’

‘Ha, ha. Very good. Go on, tell me.’

Charlotte caught Matt’s eye. She nodded at him.

‘I know it’s got some dulce de leche in it,’ he said.

‘Yes, that was it,’ Charlotte admitted. ‘Dulce de leche.’

‘Really?’

‘Honestly, Rosie. Anyone would think you were accusing me of not making this myself.’

‘Oh no, of course not.’ Rosie shook her head very quickly at the thought.

‘Good. Because I spent a long time baking this, you know.’ Charlotte sipped her wine.

‘Oh yes, it shows. I wouldn’t for a minute suggest you were passing off a shop-bought tart as your own. Not for a minute.’ Rosie shook her head again, slowly this time, then
stopped. ‘Only, you’re always saying you’re no good at cooking.’

‘Well, you know . . .’ Charlotte waved a hand modestly.

‘And the funny thing is, I bought a tart just like this from Tesco only the other week.’

‘Really? What a coincidence.’ Charlotte did not flinch.

‘Oh no!’ Sarah protested. ‘This is much nicer than anything from a supermarket!’

‘I’m glad you think so,’ Charlotte said.

‘Yes, with prepared food you get this horrid sort of packaged preservative taste.’ Sarah screwed up her face. ‘It’s unmistakable. That’s why I never eat them. And
of course they’re terribly bad for you.’ She tutted. ‘Honestly, Rosie, stop being so suspicious. It’s very rude.’

‘Yes, Rosie, really!’ Marcus admonished, while grinning. ‘You can tell it’s not professionally made – it’s far too lumpy and irregular for that.’

‘Yeah, cheers, Marcus,’ Charlotte said.

Rosie opened her mouth to say something, but decided against it. She stood up. ‘Excuse me for a moment.’

On her way to the toilet, she stopped by the door and peered very closely into the bin.

‘All right, Rosie?’ Charlotte asked.

‘Fine.’ Rosie straightened up quickly.

The conversation took a while to get going again after Rosie had left the kitchen. Justin still looked grumpy. Stephen thought this should be the moment when he stepped in and got properly
involved in the evening. But his window of gregariousness was closing. His full stomach had made him irritable, and then a wave of tiredness hit him, quenching the party spirit and leaving only the
fizzling nausea of an impending hangover.

Sarah finished her last bite of tart and put down her spoon with an excited clatter. ‘Ooh, I know,’ she said through a sticky mouthful of chocolate. ‘Shall we play another game
now?’

‘Fuck no,’ Charlotte replied.

Slightly stunned by Charlotte’s vehemence, Sarah fell silent until Rosie came back, when Sarah said she needed to go to the loo as well. Marcus and Stephen had to stand up while Rosie hung
back by the door. The act of dragging himself upright gave Stephen another throb of discomfort in his stomach. He accepted it was time to go home.

As Sarah squeezed past them, Marcus asked, ‘Do you entertain often in here, Matt?’

‘Not this many people.’

‘No, I’m sure it’s normally more intimate.’ Marcus looked at Charlotte as he spoke. Matt laughed politely. Charlotte wasn’t listening.

‘How long have you had this place?’ Marcus asked.

‘About three years.’

‘Tell me, do you know who designed this estate?’

‘No, it’s a sixties tower block, isn’t it?’

‘Oh no, I would say early eighties,’ Marcus said.

‘If you say so.’ Matt shrugged.

The conversation petered out after that. Neither of them seemed willing to put in the effort to keep it going.

Stephen had been here only once before and he was startled to hear Matt say he had been in the flat three years. It was a nice enough place, but Matt could clearly afford better. Stephen, who
felt a twinge of anxiety every time he thought about his mortgage, resented the thought that Matt was piling up far more cash than he knew what to do with. Even worse was the thought that he was
investing it all somewhere, and would suddenly turn out to be a multimillionaire.

Stephen was fairly sure he wasn’t jealous of Matt. Well, maybe he envied his money. Professionally, Matt probably was doing much better than Stephen, and he had the cash to go with it. But
that was just income. That wasn’t Matt. What did he have to show for it? Living alone in a sparse flat at the top of a council block.

Then there were the women. Matt always seemed to have someone new. But what was the point of going through all that effort, risking so much embarrassment, just to throw it all away and start
again every time? Even now Matt was probably trying to sleep with Charlotte. Stephen could tell from the appraising way Matt looked at her. God, it must be so tiring.

‘Does anyone want any coffee?’ Matt asked.

‘No, thanks,’ Justin said. He had clearly been waiting impatiently for this cue, because he added very quickly, ‘In fact, we’d better be going.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’

Matt didn’t push the point.

Thank God they’d gone. What a couple of clench-arsed prudes. Charlotte smiled into her glass of wine. God, that had been fun. The looks on their lemon-sucking faces! Why
didn’t people have arguments like that more often? It was so much better than chit-chat about house prices and whatever boring rubbish they had talked about at Rosie’s. And it was
exactly what they deserved too. Even the mention of the words ‘vegetarian option’ brought up Charlotte’s hackles, made her picture moralizing killjoys. And she wasn’t wrong,
was she? Worst of all, they were always so dull. To Charlotte’s mind, being a bastard was forgivable; being boring never was.

Charlotte couldn’t remember exactly what she’d said, but she knew she’d won the argument. That was why Mr and Mrs Lentil Tofu were scuttling off home to their organic veg box.
He was more of a dick, obviously, but she was fucking annoying, with her floaty, I’m-too-spiritual-for-you hippy bollocks, as if she hadn’t noticed that she’d tied her halter-neck
so tightly that it practically screamed ‘Please look at my tits!’. Fuck it. They were gone now. Maybe everyone else could start enjoying themselves as well.

‘More wine, anyone?’ she asked, louder than she expected. ‘Or is it time for some shots? Did I see a bottle of sambuca in your drinks cupboard, Matt?’

‘I hope not.’

‘Whatever it was, bring it out.’

‘Not for us, thanks,’ Rosie said, standing up. ‘We ’d better be going.’

Stephen grimaced and began struggling to his feet.

‘You sure?’ Charlotte gave her a crooked smile. ‘Maybe some tequila?’

‘No, we’ve got to get back. The babysitter, you see.’

‘Oh, right, the babysitter.’ Charlotte laughed. ‘Well, give my regards to Julian . . . No, what’s his name?’

‘Jonathan,’ Rosie said tightly.

‘Yes, Jonathan, that’s it.’

‘Thank you so much for dinner, Matt,’ Rosie said. ‘It was lovely.’

‘And me! Don’t forget my delicious tart.’

‘Yes,’ Rosie said.

Charlotte managed to wait until they were out of the front door before bursting out laughing.

Matt sat back down at the table with a bottle of clear spirit in one hand and four shot glasses in the other. He was holding them all easily in his left palm, Charlotte noticed. They were big
hands, weren’t they? Powerful arms too, she could tell, under that horrible shirt. He was a big guy.

‘Who wants some of this? God knows what it is. I bought it in South Africa.’ Matt poured out four glasses.

Marcus raised his palm. ‘I think we’re all right . . .’

‘Go on.’ Matt pushed two glasses across the table. Sarah sniffed at hers and recoiled.

‘OK?’ Matt held his shot ready. ‘One, two, three . . .’

Christ, that was revolting. What the fuck was in it? No, better not to know. Charlotte coughed, opened her screwed-up eyes and saw Matt watching her.

‘Like it?’

‘Fuck, no.’

‘What about you guys?’

Charlotte was enraged to see that Marcus and Sarah hadn’t downed their glasses. Sarah had hardly touched hers. What sort of wet-blanket fuckwits sipped random shots? Jesus.

‘A bit strong for me,’ Marcus said. ‘But you carry on.’

‘Marcus,’ Sarah whispered, ‘do you think we . . .’

‘Yes,’ Marcus responded slowly. ‘I suppose we’d better be making a move. It’s been a long day.’

Matt stood up to show them out.

“Thank you very much for the dinner. It was very tasty,’ Sarah said. ‘I’m sure you’ll score highly. The conversation was definitely, um . . .
interesting.’

‘Did you have coats?’

‘I’m not saying it wasn’t entertaining,’ Marcus added, ‘but I don’t think you can count on their vote.’

Christ. A wanker and boring, Charlotte thought. He could even be worse than the veggies.

‘Oh but the tart was delicious,’ Sarah said. ‘You’ll have to give me the recipe.’

Once they had gone, Matt came and sat down in the seat next to her, close enough for Charlotte to feel the rush of air as he let himself land heavily in the chair. He was holding a bottle of
brandy.