“Laura and I met at the fete yesterday,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “Glad to see you tracked your man down then.”
Keith says it like I’m some kind of sniper out to snare Jasper in my black widow’s web, and there he is, sitting between his wife and his mistress in broad daylight, giving me the judgy eyes. I don’t often take against people, but I have decided I do not like Bee Man Keith.
“Happy birthday,” I say, smiling at Maude and handing her the bunch of flowers. I’m finding it hard not to think a little badly of her too, given the fact that she’s invited the wife of the man she’s carrying on with to her birthday party. June sits silently, hardly acknowledging my presence. Poor woman, she probably knows what’s going on, but Keith’s gaslighting her into thinking Maude’s “just a friend from bee club.” Then again, maybe kissing two different men in the same day precludes me from making moral judgments here.
“Jasper’s been talking about you nonstop,” says Maude.
“He has,” confirms Jocelyne, reaching out to squeeze Jasper’s cheek. “He’s a smitten kitten.”
“Please don’t make me sound uncool.” Jasper blushes, and I feel a swell of affection for him.
“Well, thank you for letting me gate-crash your party,” I say to Maude.
“Jasper’s ‘suitcase girl’ is most welcome. Thank you for these,” Maude says, smelling the flowers I have given her.
Jasper buzzes around me, fetching me a drink, introducing me to his mother’s friends. I wonder at how welcoming everyone is. This is the second party I’ve been invited to join—I can’t even think of the last time I went to two parties in the same weekend. The guests here feel more staid than Gerry’s. The tone is more cucumber sandwiches and tea from good china than sausage baps in napkins and sangria out of plastic cups.
Jasper leads me over the croquet lawn, up to the far end of the garden to show me the beehive he commissioned Keith to make for Maude.
“There’s nothing Keith doesn’t know about bees,” he explains.
“So, Keith’s a friend of your mum’s, is he?” I ask, unable to stop myself from prying.
“Yes, they’re very close,” says Jasper as we walk back toward the group gathered around the patio table outside the house. Then I notice Keith is holding Maude’s hand, right in front of June; the man is completely shameless!
“So, what brings you to the island, Laura?” Jocelyne asks, straightening the blue velvet Alice band on her glossy mane of hair.
“Laura’s a journalist. She covers love stories, unusual ways people have met,” Jasper explains, putting a hand around my waist.
“Ah, a ‘cute meet,’ I think they call it nowadays, don’t they?” says Maude.
“Meet-cute,” I correct her with a smile. Everyone at the table then looks at me, clearly waiting for me to expand on exactly what it is I do. “I work for a lifestyle website, we cover all sorts of things, but the love stories are always the most popular. So many people meet online these days, which can feel a little unromantic. I think people still yearn to hear about those magical real-life meetings—to believe that ‘the one’ might be found in the strangest of places.”
“Like meeting through a suitcase,” says Maude, one eyebrow arched.
“I met my husband online,” says Jocelyne, icily.
“Me too,” says Juliette, twirling her string of white pearls around one finger, her top lip curled.
“Ah, well, um, not that the internet can’t be romantic too—” I trip over my words. “It’s just, er, you know, more, well, it’s less—um.” No, I can’t think of any words to dig myself out of this hole, so I just leave the sentence hanging and take a painfully large gulp of tea.
Jasper offers me a chair and then pulls up a seat beside me, before offering me another platter of cucumber sandwiches. His face is so earnest, so keen to please—a doting Labrador.
“Laura and I have the same favorite book and a shared passion for Phil Collins,” he says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. His easy physical affection makes me self-conscious, worried what all these people will think, when they know we only met yesterday. Perhaps something in my body language gives me away, because when I glance over at Maude, I’m convinced she can see right through me. I reach up to pat Jasper’s hand, which is still resting on my shoulder.
“It does feels like someone up there was sending us a sign,” I say brightly, giving everyone a beaming smile.
“On dating apps, you can add details like what books you like and your taste in music,” says Jocelyne, clearly still annoyed about my earlier comment. “You don’t have to rely on careless behavior at the airport to find that.”
“Jocey thinks romance is her husband putting the dishwasher on,” Jasper says with a smirk, before gently kicking his sister beneath the table.
“Ow! Trust me, when you have three children under six, it is,” she says, then turns to me. “Be warned, Jasper wants enough children to make his own cricket team, so you’d have your work cut out.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Jasper says, giving his sister a friendly scowl across the table, “and don’t ask Jocey about her children, or she’ll tell you each of their birth stories.”
“Well, don’t ask Jasper about kitchens, or you’ll be past childbearing age by the time he’s finished talking,” says Jocelyne, and then they stick their tongues out at each other.
Looking between Jasper and his sister, I envy this easy teasing between them. I always longed for siblings, to have someone who would always understand where you came from.
“Some love isn’t all bells and whistles and fancy stories,” says Keith, leaning over to squeeze June’s hand. I feel irritated that he is daring to weigh in on the topic of love.
“That is true, dear,” says Maude, giving him an affectionate smile.
“Laura, do you plan on writing about Jasper for your website then?” Juliette asks, cocking her head at me.
“Um, maybe. It could be a good story. We’ll have to see.” I let out a sigh that goes on too long. “June, Keith told me you met through a shared love of maps, is that right?” I ask, keen to steer the conversation away from me and to include June, who is looking left out.
“What’s that, dear?” asks June, sounding surprised that someone is talking to her. Then she laughs a little too loudly and turns to Keith, as though expecting him to answer for her.
“That’s right,” says Keith, patting June’s hand. Maude looks at me, unblinking, narrowing her eyes slightly, as though she knows that I know. She couldn’t, could she? Maybe I left fingerprints all over the coat alcove. Maybe there were traces of my perfume on her brown Barbour jacket, and she’s just this second sniffed me out. Damn it, I should never have returned to the scene of the crime. That’s probably the first rule of crime club.