The Party Crasher(52)

  For the longest time, neither of us speaks. I’m staring into Joe’s dark eyes, like I used to endlessly in bed. Trying to fathom their depths. Willing them to relinquish whatever it is he’s protecting. Is he going to let me into his innermost self? Finally?

      “It was…” Joe begins hesitantly, his voice low. “There’s a lot you don’t know.”

  My heart starts to thump. My mind is already frantically scurrying around. What don’t I know? What secret did he keep from me? Another woman? Another…man?

  “So, tell me,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me, Joe.”

  “Hi, you two!” Bean’s cheery greeting makes me jump so violently, I spill some of my champagne. I look up, dazed, to see her coming down the steps to the cellar.

  Instantly, Joe’s face closes up and he shifts slightly away from me. “Bean,” he says. “Hi. We were just…”

  “Yes,” I say inanely. I feel barely able to speak, as though wrenched from a dream.

  “How are the desserts?” Bean continues, oblivious of the tension. “Wasn’t that dinner the worst? Effie, you nearly made me die. Oh, don’t leave, Joe,” she adds, as Joe gets to his feet.

  “I’d better leave you to it,” he says, sounding strained. “Effie, we’ll…catch up. Will you be around tomorrow?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Right. Well.” Joe rubs the back of his neck. “I’ll be here for the brunch.”

  “Great.” My voice is barely working. “Well. Maybe see you.”

      “Good night, Joe,” says Bean cheerfully. “Thanks for coming along. We all really appreciate it.”

  As I watch him walking up the steps, I feel unreal. What was he going to say? What? Halfway up he pauses and turns back to look straight at me.

  “Good luck with your mission, Effie. It was nice to…”

  He hesitates, and phrases sweep silently through my mind. It was nice to not-dance. It was nice to feel your presence burning through my skin. It was nice to want you so badly it made me breathless yet at the same time hate myself. It was nice to feel I was maybe—just maybe—on the brink of understanding you.

  “It was nice to remember,” Joe concludes at last.

  “Yes.” I try to sound natural. “It was.”

  He lifts his hand in salute and disappears through the door, and I collapse inwardly. I can’t cope with this. I need a new boyfriend. I need a new brain.

  “I won’t be able to stay long,” says Bean, shoving some cheesecake into her mouth. “I said I needed some water, but I’ll have to go back or it’ll look suspicious— Are you OK?” She peers at me. “You look really pale.”

  “Fine.” I come to and swig my champagne. “Fine.”

  “So why on earth are you still here? I thought you’d have left ages ago! I told you I’d look for your Russian dolls. I think they must be in the window seat.”

  “I know.” I give her a feeble smile and take a bite of cheesecake to fortify myself. “I guess I just couldn’t stay away, after all.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re here. Although not the most comfortable place to spend dinner.” She gives a sudden snort of mirth.

      “No. And not very comfortable hearing the whole table talking about me.” I grimace at the memory. “Thanks for sticking up for me back there.”

  “Oh, Effie.” Bean winces. “I wish you hadn’t heard that conversation. Nobody meant anything by it.”

  “They did,” I say wryly. “But it’s fine, I probably needed to hear it. Bean, thanks for all this.” I nod at the desserts, feeling a rush of remorse. “You do too much for me. Far too much.”

  “Don’t be silly!” says Bean, sounding surprised. “Anyway, this was Joe’s idea.” She sweeps her hand round the plates. “He’s so thoughtful. And he said he’ll try to find a specialist for my neighbor’s knee. Remember I told you about George and his knee?”

  “Er…yes,” I say, although I don’t.

  “Well, Joe said, ‘Leave it with me,’ and took my number. He didn’t have to do that. You wouldn’t think he was a massive celebrity now, would you? He’s really down-to-earth. I mean, he didn’t have to come to this party at all, let alone make such an effort. And he talks about you a lot,” she adds, raising her eyebrows.

  “What do you mean?” I say, stiffening.

  “Just what I said. He thinks about you. He cares about you.”

  “He’s just being polite.”

  “Hmm,” says Bean sardonically. “Well, you know my opinion—”

  “Bean, I saw you crying,” I cut her off, desperate to change the subject. “From the window, during the drinks party. You were hiding from everyone. And crying. What’s wrong?”

      A tremor of shock goes through Bean’s face, and her eyes slide away and I feel a clutch of fear. I’ve hit a nerve. What is it? But then, a moment later, her gaze is back on mine, frank and open.