Joanne Sefton Book 2. Joanne Sefton
on an outfit, even fewer with the frankness and (she had to admit) accuracy that Eusebio generally managed.
‘You’ll have to get a move on.’ She nodded towards the linen suit that was hanging on the wardrobe door. ‘We should be leaving in half an hour.’
His shifty look told her what he was going to say before he opened his mouth.
‘I’m not so sure, cariña. I’m already late getting the proof shots back to Marco and the jet lag is really killing me at the moment.’
‘But you said you’d come. That’s part of the reason you flew back yesterday.’
He shrugged. ‘You go. There is no reason for you not to have fun with your friends because I am a miserable old grump-head. Wear the red dress. Have some fun.’
‘But they’re not my friends, that’s the point. I’m hardly going to know anyone.’ She could hear the irritation creep into her voice, and knew he must hear it too. But Eusebio was an expert at refusing to take the bait. He simply shrugged again, more cheerfully this time, and flopped down to sit on the bed.
‘Then where is the problem? If they are not your friends, don’t go see them! I’m going to email Marco and go back to bed.’ He stroked the duvet cover and put on an exaggerated smoulder. ‘Would be better with you here too.’
She shut her eyes briefly and then turned back to the mirror. He’d promised to come. There was no point in rising to it, though, she’d simply get more and more wound up whilst he could keep up his ‘what’s the problem?’ insouciance indefinitely. Sometimes it was like living with a fourteen-year-old.
Still, it wasn’t like she hadn’t dealt with all of this for years. He put up with her erratic hours, her obsessing over patients and her stress. She put up with his … well, let’s say individualism, even if it did drive her bloody mental at times. And of course, he was right about the dress. She dug out a bra that would give her enough support to allow the dress to pull off its magic and wriggled into her outfit before getting started on some make-up. Tempting though it might be to use Eusebio as an excuse to give the whole thing a miss, she’d promised Andrew she would come and she hated the thought of being flaky. She squirted some perfume then went downstairs to pull on her heels and pick up the bouquet that she’d bought that morning.
‘See you later!’
‘Have fun!’
Normal couples probably shared more affectionate goodbyes. But then normal couples would be going to the sodding party together.
*
The house was almost exactly as she’d imagined. A Victorian villa, high walls and an immaculate gravel drive giving little away to the outside world. Today, though, the large wooden gates were open and a posy of balloons above an artfully makeshift wooden arrow sign directed guests down the side of the house to the party in the back garden.
‘Sounds busy,’ observed Andrew.
Misty nodded her agreement. A hubbub of noise was already bubbling down the side passageway, and the street had been jam-packed with parked cars.
A substantial-looking marquee loomed at the far end of the garden, which presumably explained why Karen had felt able to risk organising a garden party for the first weekend of April. As it turned out, the gamble had paid off. After a week of fine weather, the garden was dry and the carefully tended beds brimming with spring bulbs. Guests milled around, visibly thrilled to be outside in the first really decent weather of the year. The sides of the marquee itself were rolled up and Misty could make out the shadowy shape of tables and what appeared to be a bar. Beyond a handful of people waiting for drinks, though, the interior was deserted.
A young girl who looked moody and overheated in black jeans and Doc Martens offered her a glass of something fizzy. Andrew had filled her in on the basic details of Karen’s children. The daughters were presumably being pressed into waitress service. He also reminded her about the death of her husband. Misty remembered being told something of it at the time, although she couldn’t say by whom. Sipping the drink, she smiled despite herself; you couldn’t get away from the fact there was something utterly glorious about a sunny spring afternoon in well-tended garden.
She moved out of the shadows of the side passage. As she walked forward, she scanned the scene for Karen, or for anyone else who might be here from college. It was a very big garden, and there must have been at least eighty people milling around – if not a hundred. She hadn’t expected anything on such a grand scale.
‘There’s Karen,’ said Andrew, pointing off to the left, and Misty was grateful to have a moment or two to take in her former friend unobserved. She looked move confident now. Misty remembered Karen hanging back on the edges of conversations; now she stood assertively, feet planted apart, her red hair mellower but still striking, swinging out over her shoulders. She was holding court amongst five or six others, entertaining them with a story by the looks of it. But then it was her birthday party, it was hardly a surprise that she should be in her element here.
Andrew began walking towards her and gave a wave. The movement must have caught Karen’s eye, because she swung round and called, ‘Andrew!’, her voice cutting through the hubbub like crystal. She’d always had that knack, and the sound of it brought back the old Karen more than anything Misty had seen so far. Immediately leaving the group she was with, Karen crossed the lawn towards them. Misty watched her look grow quizzical, and then astonished.
‘Misty Jardine?’
Misty nodded confirmation.
Karen was with them now. She grasped Misty by both forearms and kissed her cheeks.
‘My God, my God, I don’t believe it! How long has it been?’ She turned quickly to Andrew. ‘You didn’t say anything!’
He shrugged. ‘You brought me a ghost, so I thought I’d bring you one. Seriously, I hope you don’t mind. When we spoke the other week, you seemed … maybe in a difficult place. I thought perhaps it would do you good to rekindle some links with the past. If I got it wrong, blame me.’ He turned to include Misty. ‘Both of you, blame me, not each other.’
Since breaking off their initial embrace, Misty and Karen had circled each other cautiously like a pair of fighting cats.
‘Well, I can’t think of a better birthday surprise,’ said Karen, breaking the silence. ‘Come on, let me get you both some champagne, then we can have a proper catch-up.’ She kept up the chatter as they crossed the lawn. ‘I’m trying to think of the last time we saw each other. Would it have been Benjy and Kirsten’s wedding? Evie was a flower girl and I’m sure I remember seeing you.’
‘Yes, we were there. I remember Evie looking cute as a button. I suppose she’s practically an adult now?’
‘Yes, twenty – I can’t believe it. She’s here somewhere. As are Benjy and Kirsten, actually. I suppose the weddings have rather dried up since then, haven’t they? I shudder to think of the number of people I’ve not seen since Jonathan’s funeral.’
Misty murmured an apology. She would have gone to the funeral, but she and Eusebio were in Chile at the time. Karen brushed off her condolences but the word ‘funeral’ jarred Misty back to a sleety April day. A flat fenland churchyard and a gaggle of college friends in black, their heels sinking into the mud. She shivered, wondering if Karen was also thinking of the last funeral they did both attend together. Hoping to banish that from her mind, she asked tentatively how Karen had coped in the years since Jonathan’s death.
‘God, I’ve missed him every day. I mean, not like he ever did anything.’ She gave a brittle laugh. ‘He was a City dad, you know, expected a pat on the back if he was home for bath time once a week. Took them to the park at weekends and they’d come back missing a glove – or even a bike!’
Misty smiled. The set-up was familiar enough even if she’d never experienced it herself. ‘But they adored him, and he adored them. I had adult company when they went to bed and the chance to read a novel while