Make Yourself at Home by Ciara Geraghty

Author:Ciara Geraghty [Geraghty, Ciara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2020-12-03T17:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

‘You’re looking very pleased with yourself,’ said Aunt Pearl when Marianne arrived in the kitchen.

‘I got a good night’s sleep,’ said Marianne, buttering a slice of toast.

‘Don’t your troubles seem halved?’ said Rita, setting a plate of warm scones on the table.

‘No,’ said Marianne.

‘Quartered, though?’

‘It’s her hair,’ said Aunt Pearl, leaning towards Marianne and examining her. ‘Did you brush it?’

‘Hugh cut it,’ Marianne admitted when it became clear that Aunt Pearl was not going to let up without some sort of plausible explanation.

‘Ah, Hugh,’ said Aunt Pearl, and Marianne waited for the rest of the sentence, which, no doubt, would drip with vitriol and disapproval. But Pearl said nothing further. There was even a trace of a smile across her face.

Bartholomew’s interview was at eleven o’clock in the morning so, after Marianne had picked up the Get-Well-Sooners and dropped them at Ancaire, she drove Bartholomew to the theatre in Rush where the interview would take place. She parked outside the door.

‘Oh dear, Marianne,’ said Bartholomew, immaculate in a navy herringbone suit with a triangle of handkerchief peeping out of the breast pocket, in the exact same shade as his tie. ‘I don’t think I can do this.’

‘You can,’ said Marianne in the voice she used to employ when her clients got jumpy around tax return season.

It seemed to work because Bartholomew looked at her with his damp, pale blue eyes and said, ‘Do you really think so?’ His tone was plaintive but there was a sliver of hope in there somewhere.

Marianne nodded briskly.

‘Perhaps we should do the breathing exercise Rita swears by,’ suggested Bartholomew after a while.

‘We?’ said Marianne.

‘It’s good to have a bit of company,’ said Bartholomew.

They sat in the car and breathed in for five, held it for five, breathed out. Bartholomew insisted on doing it ten times. When Marianne opened her eyes – she hadn’t realised she had closed them in the first place – Bartholomew was looking at her and smiling.

‘What?’ she said, straightening. ‘Do I have food on my face?’

‘I was just thinking how fabulous your hair is,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Hugh’s got a great pair of hands,’ he added, wistfully.

‘You should go,’ said Marianne, looking at her watch. ‘I suppose you want me to wait for you?’

Bartholomew shook his head. ‘I’d prefer if you didn’t,’ he said. ‘Just in case it goes balls up.’

‘It won’t go balls up,’ said Marianne.

‘You said balls,’ said Bartholomew, grinning.

‘Go on,’ said Marianne. ‘You don’t want to be late.’

‘But if I’m too early, I’ll look desperate,’ said Bartholomew, widening his eyes so that he did look a bit desperate.

‘You’ll look enthusiastic,’ said Marianne.

Bartholomew, who had been sitting on his hands, plucked one from beneath him and placed it on Marianne’s, gripping the wheel. ‘You know,’ he said. ‘I don’t think I’d have come if it weren’t for you.’

His hand was warm from the recent weight of his backside on it. Marianne surprised herself by not pulling her hand away. In fact, she turned it so she was now holding

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