The Party Crasher(46)

  “He must have made some serious money!” exclaims Humph, perking up. “You know, the Spinken technique is ideal for professional athletes. Maybe Effie could get me an introduction.”

  “If they have more than one date!” says Lacey, a bit snidely.

  “I can’t imagine he won’t fall for her,” says Joe, in the same matter-of-fact voice. “So. That’ll be up to Effie.”

  He darts the briefest of glances toward me, and I gaze back, unable to move, feeling unsettled. I know he’s just winding up Krista; I know none of this is real. But…Oh God. I can’t let him get under my skin. Not again.

  “How do you know all this?” says Krista, smiling at Joe with a rather livid smile.

  “Effie and I have been in touch recently,” says Joe nonchalantly. “Didn’t she mention it?”

      “Do you know where this guy lives?” says Humph to Bean. Clearly he’s hoping to land a big celebrity sporting client.

  “No,” says Bean. “But I do know that right this minute Effie is miles away, being wined and dined in some top luxury London restaurant. So, here’s to Effie, wherever she is!”

  She looks determinedly around the room, as though to convince everyone. Then she lifts her glass, high and confident—and as she sips, she suddenly spots me peeping out from under the console table. Her face spasms with shock and she splutters violently on her drink, sending it everywhere. Lacey gasps and shrieks, “Bean! Are you OK?”

  “What’s up?” demands Gus in alarm.

  “Nothing! I just noticed the…flowers!” says Bean, a bit wildly.

  As everyone looks in confusion at the flowers, Bean makes a desperate, incredulous face at me. I make an apologetic face back, then retreat under the tapestry.

  “Shame Effie can’t see them, isn’t it?” says Joe conversationally to Bean. “Effie loves flowers.” He nods almost imperceptibly at the console table and she stares at him, eyes widening.

  “Yes,” she manages. “Great shame.”

  “Anyway, I’m glad she’s having fun tonight,” continues Joe. “Wonder what she’s doing right now?”

  “Yes, I wonder too,” says Bean, sounding strangled. “Who knows?”

  “People-watching, I should think,” says Joe, with a straight face, and Bean gives another desperate splutter.

  “Yes, I expect so.”

      “I’m sure she’s got a good view, wherever she is,” adds Joe.

  “Yes, I’m sure she’s got an excellent view,” manages Bean, her voice choked with laughter. “Oh, dessert!” she adds in relief.

  Great. I’m totally famished and now I have to watch them all eat dessert?

  “Now, everyone,” says Krista, clapping her hands for attention, “I thought we’d have a bit of a throwback tonight…so we’ve got an old-fashioned sweet trolley!” She raises her voice. “Bring it in!”

  The next moment I hear trundling wheels, accompanied by gasps and cries of delight and even applause.

  “Now, that is fun,” says Romilly, managing, as usual, to sound totally un-fun as she says it. “That is witty. Yes. It’s fun.”

  “How do we choose?” says Bean yearningly. “I want everything! Look at the pavlova!”

  “Have everything!” says Lacey. “Ooh, chocolate mousse. I love chocolate,” she adds confidingly to Humph. “Love it. It’s just Lacey’s way.”

  “You’re a chocoholic,” says Humph, smiling, and Lacey gasps, as though she’s never heard that term before and Humph is another Oscar Wilde.

  “You got it!” She points at him triumphantly. “I’m a ‘chocoholic’!”

  “As long as you all leave some profiteroles for me,” says Dad jovially.

  The trundling wheels are coming close to me, and they suddenly halt, right in front of the tapestry. I edge my face close to the gap and see the burnished metal wheel of a trolley. I can smell pastry, chocolate, strawberries…. This is torture.

      “If I could just explain the trolley to everyone?” says a woman’s voice above my head. “Here we have a kiwi-and-pistachio pavlova…chocolate mousse…profiteroles…On this lower level, we have mini New York–style cheesecakes…pineapple carpaccio with lemongrass syrup…apricot parfait…and fresh strawberries, served with cream. Madam? Some pavlova? And some parfait with that?”

  I’m in a daze of hunger-lust, listening to all this. My stomach feels like it’s turning in on itself, it’s so empty. And the food’s right there. Right in front of me. Could I…?

  No.

  But if I was really careful?

  “And a few strawberries?” the waitress is saying. “Of course.”

  Experimentally, I creep one hand out from under the tapestry and grope blindly toward the trolley. My mouth is watering as I reach the lip of the bottom shelf and start edging toward the nearest platter….

  Noooo!