‘No. I’m the only one in my family called Virgil.’ He shrugged. ‘My mother loved the classics, it’s the only explanation I have.’ His smile turned wolfish and he linked an arm through Becky’s. ‘But more importantly, does this mean you’ve been talking about me? More than once?’
She nudged him with her elbow, but didn’t shake his arm off. ‘Don’t flatter yourself.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’ He winked. ‘After all, today that rather seems to be your job.’
Chapter 24
The Saturday of Phoebe’s party, Charlie arrived at Becky’s in the middle of the afternoon to report for babysitting duty. From his stream of questions about the guest list, she guessed he felt uneasy about a group of unknown teenagers invading his home but had accepted it was better for everyone if he were out of the way.
Hoping to keep them both occupied, Becky asked Charlie to play with Dylan in his room so she would be free to dig through her wardrobe for a party outfit.
The wardrobe was one of the few items of furniture in her bedroom. Becky never found time to look in to accent wallpaper or feature walls, leaving a duvet cover strewn with small blue flowers and a pair of matching curtains straining to break up the monotony of the magnolia and white colour scheme. They were assisted by a large print of The Japanese Bridge on the wall above the bed. The blues and greens of Monet’s garden brought a much-needed splash of colour to the room where the water lilies were bright stars on a bland backdrop.
The familiar sound of falling wooden bricks followed by giggling and thunderous footfall warned Becky that Dylan had sent another tower flying and was on his way, moments before he barrelled into her legs.
Charlie followed cautiously, pausing in the doorway and knocking.
‘Come in!’ Becky turned away from the wardrobe to face Charlie and gestured to her clothes. She was wearing black, as was her custom when working an event. But, unusually, she had opted for a short dress over thick dark tights. She was also wearing knee-high black boots. ‘What do you think?’
In response to her question, Charlie blinked, then shrugged. Her heart sinking, Becky glanced at the mirror on the back of the door. Surely she didn’t look that unremarkable?
She was about to rethink her entire outfit when Charlie stepped forward, lifted his hand to her right ear and cradled the silver pendant hanging there. Becky startled, but Charlie appeared unfazed, his warm fingers steady against her neck. Not daring to move, she breathed slowly, trying to slow her hammering heart.
Apparently oblivious to the shock he’d given her, Charlie’s attention was fixed on her left ear. His gaze flicked to her face and away again. ‘You’re missing an earring,’ he muttered, his fingers lightly tracing the side of her neck and lingering next to her chin before he withdrew his hand.
Becky blinked and cleared her throat. ‘Yes, well, I’m under strict orders from your daughter to wear something “nicer than normal”. And that includes jewellery, apparently. Which is giving me a bit of a problem.’
Keeping her tone light, she turned back to her jewellery box. She used one hand to rummage through the tangled mess of studs and necklaces and the other to rub the side of her neck which had suddenly developed an acute case of prickly heat. ‘You know, one day they will discover a species of jewellery pixie. Preferred diet: one of every pair of my favourite earrings. Only known predator: the sock elf.’
She glanced down to where Charlie was crouched next to Dylan. Initially jubilant at seeing his lips turn up, disappointment followed when she noticed the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Focusing on the jewellery, Becky bit down on the urge to fish further for a compliment or a laugh. He clearly wasn’t in the mood and, as he followed Dylan out the door, she wondered if he was sulking because she too was being stingy with compliments.
The staff at the spa had done a fantastic job on Charlie, particularly whoever had been in charge of his hair. There was not a hint of grey to be seen. The close shave had taken years off him and, although there was little that could be done about the under-eye circles without surgical intervention, being able to see the rest of his face accentuated its positives.
Nevertheless, Becky was reluctant to tell Charlie how much his looks had improved. Firstly because she didn’t want to inflate his ego. Secondly because she was still annoyed about his dragging her to the Coulson on Wednesday. And finally, it would be odd for her to bring it up now. She hadn’t said anything at the gallery and, although she guessed the abundance of face stroking and head scratching while they were watching a film on Thursday evening was his way of asking for her opinion, she hadn’t mentioned it then either. He could bloody well wait. When he gave her compliments, instead of shrugging or saying she was ‘sturdy’ and ‘red’, she would return the favour.
She gave a cry of triumph as she found the missing earring. Looping it into place, she grabbed her least distressed coat and skipped downstairs where she picked up her everything-and-the-kitchen-sink events bag and began to run down her mental checklist.
Charlie and Dylan had come downstairs while the earring hunt was still in progress and were huddled on the sofa reading the book Charlie had given him for his birthday.
‘I think I’ve got everything. It’ll all be over by half eleven and I’ll try to be back by one. If you need anything, call me.’
‘Becky …’
She already had her hand on the front door handle, but turned back to indulge some more of his last-minute fretting. What was it now? Did she have the name and addresses of all the boys attending? Had she run background checks on them? If necessary, would she help him chase after them with a shotgun and shovel?
Charlie waved a hand in the direction of her knees while staring at a spot on the wall above her right shoulder. ‘You look nice,’ he said, with no discernible expression in his voice or on his face.
The fingers gripping the door handle tingled where they had turned white. ‘Nice’ was hardly dazzling praise, but it could well be the understated Charlie equivalent of ‘sublime’. She had her compliment; it would be churlish not to give in now.
Becky waved a non-numb finger vaguely in his direction and peered over the top of her glasses to look him square in the eye. ‘So do you,’ she said.
Not waiting to see his reaction, she opened the door and stepped out to the car.
Chapter 25
Ronnie arrived at the Old Station House shortly after six. Meeting her on the driveway, Becky helped carry the cake to the studio, whose large south doors had been thrown open to allow the marquee to be joined to the building.
Shaped as the number eighteen, Phoebe’s choice of cake was a classic and a homage to those her mother used to make her when she was little. The idea had been Charlie’s, who also suggested the jelly diamond and chocolate button decorations.
Ronnie had wrinkled her nose when first shown Charlie’s sketch. Apparently it was ‘simple’, which was her way of saying it was boring and small. Although she had conceded that white chocolate with raspberry was a decent enough choice.
Charlie failed to specify dimensions, so Ronnie compensated for lack of difficulty with surplus enormity and went further off brief to add some sugar paste models around the cake. They represented some of Phoebe’s interests, including a pile of books, a camera and dancing shoes.