The Wife Before Me(23)

‘Tara told me congratulations are in order,’ he says as he wraps her in a bear hug. ‘First of the gang to break the mould.’

‘Someone had to do it.’ She laughs as she extricates herself from his arms. ‘I highly recommend it. Our daughter is adorable. This is Nicholas, Grace’s father.’

‘You’re one lucky man.’ He pumps Nicholas’s hand vigorously. ‘I used all my charms on Laney in university but to no avail.’

‘Don’t mind him, Nicholas.’ She laughs and nudges Steve with her elbow. ‘He had so many women surrounding him I wouldn’t have been able to claw my way in his direction.’

‘I wish.’ Steve gives an exaggerated sigh, then cups her face. ‘I’m sorry I was in Cambodia when Isabelle died and was unable to make it back for her funeral.’

‘I know that, Steve. I appreciated your calls.’

She blinks rapidly, overcome by a sense of loss. Those carefree years they had spent together could belong to someone else. Someone she has trouble recognising. She has broken the mould, all right, and has no idea how she will put the pieces back together. ‘Are you here on holiday or have you moved back home?’ she asks.

‘No, I’m still living in Paris. We’ve been doing a photo shoot at the Powerscourt waterfall. I’ve opened my own agency. Did Tara tell you?’

‘She said you’re trying to poach her.’

‘Some hope. She likes the bright lights of London too much.’

How quickly they had scattered when they graduated. Elena had been the first to leave, unable any longer to live in the shadow of a man she could hardly remember. Steve followed, then Tara, the three of them only reuniting for Susie and Killian’s wedding. A Druidic ceremony held beside a fairy fort, a high, green mound rising up from the land they had bought. The smallholding had lain idle for years until he and Susie gave up their jobs in advertising, turned their backs on city life and decided to become organic farmers.

‘Motherhood suits you, Laney. You look amazing.’ Steve sits down in an empty chair and holds out his hand, fingers beckoning. ‘Come on. Show her to me.’

Obligingly, she takes out her phone and shows him photographs of Grace. She is conscious of a woman at Steve’s table, who keeps glancing across at him, and an increasing pressure from Nicholas’s knee.

‘She’s inherited her mother’s beauty gene,’ Steve says. ‘Like I said, Nick, you’ve hit the jackpot.’

‘I couldn’t agree more.’ Nicholas puts his arm round her. Elena is conscious of its tautness, the stiffness of her shoulders as Steve, oblivious of any tension, talks about mutual acquaintances he meets on his travels. She is eager to know more about his agency and if there is someone special in his life but the questions will only prolong their conversation.

‘Why don’t you come to Woodbine and meet Grace before you go back,’ she says.

Nicholas knocks his knee against hers again, two hard taps that express his annoyance more effectively than words.

‘Looks like the waiter is ready to take your order.’ Nicholas stares pointedly across at Steve’s table and the woman, sitting beside his empty chair, gestures towards him.

‘Duty calls.’ He stands, his reluctance obvious. ‘I’d love to see Grace but I’m flying out early tomorrow morning. Next time – that’s a definite date.’

She should not feel a sense of relief that Steve has refused her invitation but it washes hotly over her and trickles down her spine.

‘Nick. What’s with the fucking abbreviation?’ Nicholas asks when Steve has returned to his companions.

‘That’s Steve’s way,’ she says. ‘He’s always been very informal.’

‘So I noticed, Laney?’ He leans towards her. ‘Would you like to explain that one to me?’

‘It’s what Steve always calls me.’

‘Is that why you were so tense with him?’

‘Tense?’

‘Yes, tense. How come you never told me about him?’

‘There was never anything to tell.’

‘That’s not what he said.’

‘Romance wise, we hardly lasted any time. But he was one of my best friends at university.’

How long had they lasted as an item? A few weeks, no more than that. They had decided their friendship was more important than the emotional entanglement of a break-up that – knowing how woman were attracted to Steve, and he to them – had been bound to happen.

‘Susie, Killian, Tara.’ He lists the names on his fingers. ‘It’s interesting that I’ve never heard his name until now?’

‘If you’re keeping count, then include Steve.’

‘Don’t mock my feelings for you.’

‘I’m not mocking anything. You need to loosen up, Nick.’ He dislikes having his name shortened, as she discovered when she addressed him as such in one of her earlier emails, but the after-dinner brandy and the wine she drank earlier is fuelling her annoyance.

‘Did you fuck him?’

‘That’s none of your business.’

‘So, you did?’

‘I didn’t say that. You’re my partner, not my confessor. Do I ever ask you about the intimate details of your life with Amelia?’