The Dinner Guest by B P Walter

Author:B P Walter [Walter, B P]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780008446079
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers

Chapter Twenty-Six

Charlie

Three months to go

‘Stop looking at her,’ Matthew said as he bent over my seat, looking for a book he’d added to my carry-on bag.

‘What?’ I said in response, certain I must have misheard him.

‘You keep looking at her,’ he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. ‘Rachel,’ he mouthed.

‘I assure you I’m not,’ I hissed at him.

‘You are, with a face like thunder.’

‘Don’t you think it odd,’ I continued in a whisper, ‘how she won’t stop talking to Titus?’

Matthew looked over at them. Sure enough, they seemed to be deep in conversation. He straightened up just as one of the cabin crew squeezed round him.

‘No, I think she’s just being friendly,’ Matthew replied. ‘And Titus is being kind because she’s new to all this and, like the nice boy he is, he wants to make her feel welcome.’

I assumed an unconvinced expression and Matthew rolled his eyes and went back to his seat.

My mood didn’t improve much when we landed. As we walked out into the afternoon New York heat, I noticed Rachel slip on some stylish shades, no doubt bought by her employer, or by the sizable paycheque she was receiving for basically just organising a few hair appointments. ‘Meryl’s only seventy, only a little older than you,’ I murmured to my mother as we waited in the airport for our luggage to be brought to us. Rachel and Meryl had nipped to the bathrooms, leaving Matthew talking to my father about tailoring; Titus was on one of the chairs engrossed in a novel, and my mother was deciding which magazines to discard. ‘What has Meryl’s age got to do with anything?’ my mother asked, distracted, now reaching for her phone and turning it on.

‘Why does she need someone to help her when she’s on holiday? I mean, it’s not as if we have to do anything for ourselves; we’re taken everywhere and every bag or drink or meal is brought to us. Why does she need someone to do it for her?’

My mother frowned at me. ‘That sounds a little insensitive, Charles. People need others at different points in their lives. Hasn’t it occurred to you that Meryl might be lonely?’ When I didn’t reply she turned and looked around at the sun-drenched first-class arrival zone. ‘Shouldn’t you be Instagramming or something?’ she said, as if suspicious at how little I’d been using my phone recently.

‘I’m not in the mood,’ I said, noticing Meryl and Rachel coming out from the bathrooms and over towards us. I quickly moved over to join Matthew and my father in their less than thrilling conversation about the decline of the businesses on Jermyn Street in recent years.

We were staying in a large house in the Water Mill area of The Hamptons – a property we’d booked a couple of years running now, since it suited everyone with its proximity to nearby restaurants, beaches, and shops whilst remaining pleasantly quiet and secluded. The building formed a square around the pool, with each side of the house functioning almost as a separate villa in itself.

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