18
Roisin decided that two of the most beautiful words in the English language were ‘make ahead’. She gave real praise to God for the beauty of the safely assembled and refrigerated pudding.
The main course was a tense experience, but the tiramisu at least tasted wonderful. There was nothing like a hefty bowl of fat, cocoa and sugar for reconciling you to your current circumstances. Roisin could feel her calm and stoicism increasing as she took her first mouthfuls.
‘This is the best tiramisu I’ve ever had,’ Matt said to Gina, ‘And I’ve had tiramisu everywhere.’
‘I bet you have,’ Joe said.
‘Thank you,’ Gina said, without meeting Matt’s eye.
‘No one’s going to talk about Doshi’s boring curries after this.’ Dev raised his glass of cranberry juice. ‘Gina’s Italian banquet smashed it. To Gina. Happy belated birthday, beautiful. We love you.’
They raised their glasses and repeated ‘we love you’ as Gina cast her eyes down, Princess Diana style, and said thank you.
‘Ey up, have we got visitors?’ Joe said, turning in his seat.
In the encroaching dusk, the panorama afforded by the dining room windows meant they could see the headlights on an approaching vehicle a mile off. ‘A mile off’ was barely a figure of speech, in fact.
‘Is that car coming here?’ Anita said, bouncing up from her seat and twitching back a curtain. ‘It’s a fancy looking Range Rover thing.’
Given the only possible destination was Benbarrow Hall, they were soon crowding the window in curiosity.
‘Owner probably does spot checks to get a look at whether you’re trashing the place,’ Joe said.
‘Doubt it,’ Dev said. ‘They make a right song and dance about leaving you to do your thing in privacy and only having that man here to feed the hens. Made me wonder if they get hired for fetish parties or something.’
‘Maybe they’re lost?’ Gina said.
The Jeep pulled up on the gravel outside and sat idling for a moment, then the engine snapped off.
A man got out of the back, in dark suit, black t-shirt and poseur’s sunglasses. He walked the perimeter of the car before opening the other passenger side door. Everyone at the dining room window looked at each other.
‘Oh my God, what if they’re hit men?’ Gina said.
‘Hit men hired by who?’ Joe said. Then, under his breath, ‘Food Standards Agency.’
Roisin craned her head above the group, meerkat-esque, to give Joe a SHUT IT look. Luckily, Gina was concentrating on the unexpected guests.
‘Or we could be double booked?’ Roisin said.
‘Nah,’ Joe said. ‘They can see lights on and it’s Saturday evening. Who hires anywhere from Saturday evening? Dev, level with us. Did you get us adult entertainers?’
‘Oh my God, for my birthday! Magic Mike XXL!’ Gina screeched, clapping her hands.
An auburn-haired woman, also in sunglasses, emerged from the back seat of the car, clad in white shirt, grey skinny jeans and towering tan platform sandals. Her figure was narrow yet had feminine curves, like a stylised fashion book sketch. She bent down by the open car door and patted her knees at someone unseen, still inside the car.
‘Magic Michaela XXL,’ Joe said. ‘Things are looking up.’
‘Oh, fucking hell,’ Matt exclaimed loudly, jolting them all to attention. He tore out of the dining room, off into the cavernous hall.
They took a split second to exchange glances and race after him.
On the other side of the arched front door, they saw two men, the second dressed much like the first, standing by the vehicle.
‘Come on, Granville. Come on. That’s it! Yes!’ the red-headed woman was saying, still bending and patting her knees.
A small, low slung and chunky breed of dog disgorged himself from the car, panting hard. The woman gathered him into her arms and finally, turned to look up at them.
‘Where’s Matthew?’ she said, pushing her glasses up onto her head and surveying them. Not a very charming greeting, Roisin thought. Regal, almost. Matthew? These were Matt’s friends?
‘Ah, there you are! Surprise! Granville, wave to Matthew!’ She manipulated the dog’s paw to waggle up and down. She had a funny accent: clear as a bell, aristocratic English yet with a singy-songy, transatlantic twang.
‘What are you doing here?!’ Matt said.
Roisin looked over at him to assess his response. He was so pale white, he was tinged with a citrus yellow.
‘You know how we were saying I had no time off before Mexico?’ the woman said. ‘I had this total moment of “lightbulb” – I’ll swing by the house party. Have I surprised you?!’ She said this not apologetically, but with the delight of someone waiting to be praised.
‘Yes, just a bit. How did you even remember what the name of the house was?’
‘You looked it up on my phone when you showed me, remember! I found the page was still open. Felt like a sign.’
She rearranged the dog in her arms as if cradling a Baby Jesus. Gosh, she really was beautiful, Roisin thought. Not common-or-garden attractive; an otherworldly creature. Like Galadriel had evanesced out of The Lord of the Rings and up the M6.
‘Everyone,’ Matt said, ‘this is Ruby.’
‘This is Ruby, from Hinge?’ Meredith said, disbelievingly. It wasn’t very polite to mention the dating app, but they were knees deep in plonk and in a state of mild shock.
‘Yes,’ Matt said, in a flat voice. He didn’t seem remotely pleased by the cameo, more like he was condemned to trudge to the scaffold.
Ruby turned to the two men. ‘Bring my luggage into the hallway, Mark. Drop it anywhere, until we’ve chosen rooms.’
Luggage? Choosing rooms? Who were the entourage?
It was spectacularly evident that they did not have the full story of Ruby from Hinge, the reverse catfish.