The Russian Doll by Marina Palmer

Author:Marina Palmer [Palmer, Marina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton Ltd
Published: 2021-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

Ruth stayed by the wall in the lightly falling rain, staring at the door onto the terrace as it closed. Didn’t look like Peter’s dinner had gone as he’d hoped. She remembered him licking the gold off his lips at the club with his narrow tongue and wondered what he had done to be carted off in disgrace. Turned up drunk and high perhaps, fuck them if they can’t get a grip. Been crass. She could imagine him, over-confident and self-satisfied, saying something to piss Elena off, and she wouldn’t look down her nose and try and ignore it. She’d slap him and throw him out of the house. That glint in the waitress’s eye at the club. A moody boy. Time someone taught him a lesson. Ruth had been at plenty of parties where someone had needed to be wrestled out of the door. She didn’t think it was that common a happening at dinner parties in houses like this though. But what did she know? She knew enough about Peter to have marked him down as a greasy little cokehead, so why had Elena invited him in the first place? She must have got his measure years ago. Then she saw Peter’s face again. He had looked afraid. Not just angry and humiliated, but afraid.

Ruth stared at the raindrops beading the potted palms in the halos of the uplighter. Then her phone buzzed in her bag, startling her out of her funk. A text from Michael. All clear. He must have sent it from the car.

She pushed herself away from the wall and went in through the back door into the kitchen. It was immaculate, and the dishwasher sloshed quietly in the corner. The always-on LEDs sunk into the underside of the cupboards cast just enough light to allow the family to raid the fridge at night without risk of injury. They had the same ones in the staff kitchen. The weather was getting worse outside, handfuls of rain spattering against the windows. No sign of anyone else around.

She realised she was hungry. A girl can’t live on canapés and champagne alone, fun though it was to try. There would be leftovers in the staff kitchen. She walked down the corridor, took a glass, ran filtered water into it and opened the fridge. Why had they had Peter to dinner? That spidery man in the doorway must be one of those other names on the list. Which one? She didn’t know all the Sir Tobys’ faces yet.

She remembered what Milos had said. Tell Elena I need a name. The usual cheese and meats, and plates of leftovers under wax eco-friendly versions of clingfilm. Elena and her household led a life of unashamed consumption, but they had their quirks. Strict recycling, glass bottles of filtered water, minimal plastic. Ruth took out a plate and lifted the covering. Salmon en croute, thick slices of it. The bowl next to it was full of tiny boiled potatoes flecked with pepper and shiny with truffle oil.

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