The Party Crasher(35)

  “I know,” I say, after a slight pause. “Sorry. But I thought you’d tell me I should go to the party.”

  “You should go to the party,” returns Bean at once, and I heave an exasperated sigh.

  “You see? And by the way, you’re not exactly hurrying to get there, are you?”

  “I’m on my way,” says Bean, guiltily glancing at her watch. “Look, Effie, it’s not that bad. Why don’t you change your mind?” She adopts a cajoling tone. “There are heaps of nice people downstairs. You can borrow a dress of mine….”

  She goes over to her wardrobe and swings the door open. Immediately I clock a familiar printed fabric and draw in breath.

  “Is that my Rixo dress?” I demand, pointing at it accusingly.

  “Oh!” Bean jumps. “Er…is it?” she muses in suspiciously vague tones. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

      “I knew you had it! I’ve been asking you about that dress for ages, and you said you couldn’t find it!”

  “Right,” says Bean evasively. “Well, I did find it. There it is.”

  I narrow my eyes at her, and she looks away shiftily.

  “Were you going to wear it tonight?” I ask, in the tones of a Stasi inquisitor.

  “No,” says Bean after a pause.

  “Yes you were.”

  “Well, maybe.”

  “But it’s mine!”

  “Well, you left it here,” says Bean, as though that proves anything.

  “By mistake!” I yell, then suddenly realize I’m about to give myself away to the whole party. “By mistake,” I repeat more quietly. “You said you’d find it for me, but you never did, and now I know why.” I fold my arms as though to indicate the gravity of this situation. “I know exactly why. I can see your whole plan.”

  “I was only thinking of wearing it,” says Bean, rolling her eyes. “But if you’re going to be so possessive…”

  “Yes,” I say. “I am possessive. Wear something else.”

  “Fine.” Bean rattles her hangers along noisily. “Whatever. I mean, honestly. It’s only a dress.”

  I treat that remark with the disdain it deserves. There’s no such thing as “only” a dress. I watch as Bean gets out her black sleeveless dress (nice, but inferior), steps into it, and starts applying speedy makeup, peering into her dressing-table mirror without bothering to sit down.

  “Shall I tong your hair?” I offer, out of habit.

      “No thanks. Can’t be bothered. I’ll put it up in a clip.” She looks at herself and grimaces as her phone bleeps with a new WhatsApp. She reads it and rolls her eyes. “Krista, asking where I am. Just coming!” she says, typing the message, then puts her phone in her evening bag. “Humph is here, by the way. I ran into him in the garden.”

  “Humph?” I gape at her.

  “I know.” Bean starts to giggle. “Krista’s beside herself with glee. She keeps introducing him as ‘the Honorable Humph.’?”

  “Oh my God.” I clap a hand over my face. “Is he wearing his tweed cap? Has he brought six Labradors with him?”

  “No, no!” Bean wheels round, her face alight with laughter. “Haven’t you seen Humph recently? He’s totally changed. He’s wearing a black shirt under his dinner jacket. No tie. And he’s got a beard. And he does Transcendental Meditation.”

  “Transcendental Meditation?” I blink at her. Someone less likely to do Transcendental Meditation than Humph I can’t imagine. Unless it was Transcendental Meditation on a horse, while drinking sloe gin.

  “And he’s telling everyone he’s a feminist.”

  “What?”

  “I know. He said it without even blinking. Apparently he dated some nutritionist in London who changed his life.”

  “Is she here?” I ask, agog.

  “No, they split up, but he still does the meditation. He’s coming to the family dinner too.”

  “Humph is?” I exclaim in outrage. “He’s not family!”

  “Oh, I know, but Krista got her mitts into him a couple of months ago. She’s such a social climber. You should have heard her. ‘Have you met the Honorable Humph, Bean? Isn’t he a charmer?’ I was like, ‘Krista, we all know Humph, and he’s a prat.’?”

      “But how on earth can she justify inviting him to a family dinner?” I stare at Bean.

  “She’s calling him a ‘close friend.’?” Bean rolls her eyes. “You can’t believe how brazen she is. Humph has started some woo-woo health clinic, and of course Krista goes to it, so now they’re besties.”

  “Urgh.” I make a face, then suddenly remember the conversation I overheard downstairs. “Bean, listen. Krista’s announcing something at dinner that’s going to cause feathers to fly, apparently. Don’t know what. I overheard her telling someone called Lace.”