‘I brought you this – I know I said I wouldn’t but I couldn’t resist …’
Gilly looked at the bottle and laughed. ‘It was on offer at Waitrose! I got a bottle too. Now that’s a good omen.’
‘Why would we need a good omen?’ he asked.
‘Oh, you know! It’s just something you say.’ Gilly took the bottle. ‘Come and sit by the fire. It’s a chilly evening. You know what they say: “As the days get longer the days get colder,” or some such. What would you like to drink?’
‘A glass of that sherry I brought you would be nice.’ He paused. ‘Have one too. It will help you relax. You seem a bit on edge this evening.’
‘Do I? Just worrying about the meal, I suppose. I’ll go and get the sherry.’
Gilly wasn’t remotely worried about the meal – she knew it was going to be perfect – but she was agitated. In spite of telling Helena she didn’t care about anything she’d told her – except perhaps the part about Leo being the man in the car on the wrong side of the road – it wasn’t true. And she’d thought about little else.
Sherry consumed, some fairly normal conversation enjoyed, Gilly went to get the starter. She released the little ramekins on to warm plates and was pleased to see the batter was perfectly set. She’d eaten the dish in France once and had been pleased to find a recipe.
Leo had filled both their glasses with wine and for once ignored the jug of water that was also on the table. How was he getting home? Gilly wondered. She had no guests in that night and had deliberately kept this evening free, so she could easily put Leo up if he wanted to stay. But would he want his own bedroom or would he want to share hers? In spite of him being so ardent in many ways, he hadn’t actually kissed her properly yet. She didn’t know if he was biding his time (she really hoped that was it) or didn’t fancy her. She herself had decided their trip to Vienna was the time to pursue their relationship further.
‘This is very delicious,’ said Leo after a couple of mouthfuls.
‘I’m so glad you like it. We’re having belly of pork next so I wanted to do something light.’
‘My favourite!’ He paused. ‘Not the sort of thing your daughter-in-law Cressida would ever cook.’
A slight concern that she kept forgetting about came into Gilly’s head. ‘I’m sure you’ve told me …’ She wasn’t sure but she said it anyway. ‘Did you meet Cressida and Martin at mine that time we all had Sunday lunch? Or did you know them before?’
He hesitated just a fraction too long for her peace of mind. ‘I met them here, of course.’
It didn’t ring true but Gilly was determined not to spoil her evening.
‘So what news of Vienna?’ she said later, when they were halfway through their pork and the best way to achieve the perfect crackling (which this definitely was) had been discussed at length.
‘Oh! All booked!’ said Leo. ‘I’ll give you the details after supper. I can guarantee you’re going to absolutely love what I’ve planned. More wine?’
He topped up her glass and then his own.
For whatever reason, Gilly was not enjoying Leo’s company as much as usual. Previously she had revelled in the sound of his voice – it was beautifully modulated – and he was extremely well read and full of information about (it seemed) everything from gardening to ancient Greek literature and everything else in between. She knew she didn’t always listen to what he was saying and just let his voice wash over her. But now she was paying attention, waiting for a suitable gap for her to say something.
‘Would you like some more?’ she asked eventually, after a brief lecture on the life and works of Gustav Klimt which they would see when they went to Vienna.
He patted his stomach, currently covered in very fine wool tailoring. He cared a lot about his clothes and while Gilly liked clothes too, she did wonder at his choice of tie sometimes. Now was one of those times; the pattern was a bit too busy for her. ‘Just a soupçon more would be lovely. I should probably decline as I’m sure you’ve got a wonderfully rich chocolate pudding for afterwards but my greed has got the better of me.’
While Gilly was in the kitchen refilling his plate she wondered if it was greed that had got him into trouble before. She also worried that he’d be disappointed by the pudding even though she’d taken such care to remove the pith from the oranges and had been liberal with the Grand Marnier. The caramel was perfect too. So often people didn’t cook the sugar for long enough, in Gilly’s opinion, so you didn’t get the proper caramel taste. Aware she was spending longer in the kitchen than was strictly necessary, she took Leo’s plate back through to the sitting room, the heated-up jus in a separate jug.
‘You are the most amazing cook,’ said Leo, gazing fondly at her. ‘And yet somehow you’ve managed to maintain your good figure. You’re not super-slim, of course, but still perfectly presentable. Figure-wise,’ he added quickly, possibly feeling Gilly stiffen at this faint praise.
‘Thank you,’ she said, not sure if she was thanking him for his praise for her cooking or her ‘perfectly presentable’ figure.
She watched him eat, wondering if his rather flamboyant eating style would begin to grate on her eventually. She’d once known a woman who’d ended a relationship because she couldn’t bear the way her beloved ate boiled eggs. And as her mind strayed into irrelevant thoughts and memories she wondered if they were all because Helena had put doubt in her mind.
‘So, dear Gilly …’ He put a well-manicured hand on hers. ‘What cocoa- and cholesterol-filled delight have you in store for us?’
‘Actually, pudding is very simple and not really very fattening. Maybe I had our figures in mind when I planned it.’ She didn’t see why the prosperous curve of his stomach should be overlooked while her own curves could be commented on.
‘Oh! Well! Very sensible, I’m sure.’
‘Not sensible,’ Gilly said firmly, ‘delicious! I’ll go and get it.’
As she had taken the trouble to dig out her very pretty green glass dishes with stems to serve the oranges in, she wasn’t going to have dessert disparaged.
‘Well,’ said Leo, when she’d put the oranges with caramel in front of him. ‘Not quite what I had in mind but, actually, it will go nicely after the pork.’
‘Thank you,’ said Gilly, irritated. ‘That’s what I thought.’
‘I don’t suppose you have a pudding wine, do you? I’m partial to a nice muscat at a time like this.’
Gilly got up and went to the fridge. She knew about his predilection for pudding wines; he’d mentioned it before.
She had poured them both a glass in her favourite vintage sherry glasses. She had stopped worrying about whether or not he was over the limit – she had empty bedrooms she could put him in. She didn’t offer coffee. She was tired.
‘This is what we’re doing,’ he said, having produced a file from his briefcase. ‘First, a cab to the airport – saves all that airport parking annoyance, although I did consider valet parking. We have a civilised flight time. I’ve booked business class – a bit extravagant but you’re worth it! And then, a really nice hotel. Here it is.’ He produced his laptop and found the site.