6
‘Was it really necessary to cut Matt short like that, when he was merely answering a question?’ Roisin hissed, at the precise moment she remembered to raise it.
Roisin had exited the bathroom in a towel, one smoky eye made up, kohl pencil in hand, the other eye slightly pink from the hot shower.
Joe was sitting shoeless, smart-trousered and cross-legged atop the quilt in their four poster. Their room was so royally lavish that Roisin felt awed and yet borderline sickened, like it had raised her cholesterol. Was this where the concept of something making you weak at the knees came from?
They’d opened the heavy wooden door to the sight of a giant potted fern, Art Nouveau-tiled period fireplace, and a canopied bed, the sort women died in after childbirth. Dark red walls, like a blood clot. It could’ve been gloomy but the sky-high ceiling prevented it from becoming overbearing. There was a free-standing, roll-top scarlet bath in the marble bathroom, along with a walk-in shower.
Joe, who had been frowning intently into his silver MacBook Air, now looked up with a nonplussed expression.
‘You what?’
She was sure Joe knew exactly what she was referring to. It suited him to feign confusion, to make it seem as if Roisin was forensically obsessive – slash – a massive nag.
‘When Gina asked Matt about his Lisbon girlfriend. We need a drink for that, Matt, hush now? I know we all want to protect Gina, but he’s not doing anything wrong, either.’
‘Oh – he was clearly about to do some unseemly bragging about sexual athletics that Gina didn’t need to hear.’
‘He barely began – you didn’t know what he was going to say. He’s never exactly crude or graphic, either.’
‘Ach, come on, you know Matt. Any opportunity to show off. Everything’s a horse to his Lady Godiva. And “The Reverse Catfish” sounded sufficiently ominous to me.’
‘Well, Gina asked him how it went. She may have a crush, but she’s not a child.’
‘Nor is Matt. Yet here I am, being told off for being less than mildly snippy to him.’
Joe made a palms-up whodathunk gesture and smiled, to defuse it. Roisin made a diplomatic head tilt in return. She dropped her voice even lower.
‘Look. I feel the pressure that Dev has made a huge gesture. He doesn’t want us squabbling and ruining it. This has to be a success, for his sake.’
Or at least seem like one, she thought.
‘I agree, no squabbling,’ Joe said. ‘Like … say … this.’
Roisin had been outmanoeuvred.
He moved his eyes back to his screen.
‘Just tryna concentrate on transatlantic publicity schedules here. If that’s OK, darling.’
Roisin was accustomed to this gently patronising tone when Joe reminded her he had VIP business to attend to. It had started out as ironic, and was now not particularly, if at all, ironic.