Love Your Life(29)

“It was wonderful to meet you,” says Eithne, hugging each of us tightly before leaving.

Anna doesn’t hug us but says, “Good luck,” with one of those snarky smiles of hers, and I force myself to beam back pleasantly and say, “You too!”

Then finally our cases appear and we’re wheeling them toward the exit.

    “Where shall we go?” I ask as we pass through the arrivals gate into the melee of drivers holding up signs. “One of the airport hotels, maybe? Sit at the bar? Order some wine?”

“Good idea.” He nods.

“So, did you make any guesses about me on the plane?” I can’t resist asking, and Dutch laughs.

“Actually, I did guess a few things. I mean, I’m sure I’m wrong,” he instantly backtracks. “It’s just speculation.”

“I like speculation,” I say. “Tell me.”

“OK.” Dutch pauses for a moment, grinning and shaking his head, as though embarrassed by his own thoughts, then blurts out, “I think you might be a perfumer.”

Wow. A perfumer! That’s actually pretty close to aromatherapist! Which I will be once I’ve done the course.

“Did I get that right?” he adds.

“That would be telling.” I smile at him. “All in good time. Why a perfumer?”

“I suppose when I think of you, it’s sitting with flowers all around you,” he says after a moment’s thought. “Wafting their scent round you. You’re so tranquil and serene. So…I don’t know. Unruffled.”

I gaze at him, enchanted. Unruffled! Serene! No one’s ever called me serene before.

“And you know what they say about dogs,” continues Dutch, warming to his theme. “They always suit their owners. So I’m thinking you have a whippet. Or maybe an Afghan hound. A beautiful, elegant dog with beautiful, elegant manners. Am I right?”

“Er…” I root in my bag for a lip balm, slightly dodging the question. I mean, Harold’s beautiful for a beagle. And his manners are beautiful, too, in their own way, only you have to get to know him. Which I’m sure Dutch will.

    “How about me?” says Dutch, as we step outside into the English air, which feels chilly after Italy. “Have you worked me out yet?”

“Oh, I think I’ve gleaned quite a lot, here and there,” I say teasingly, and he shoots me a rueful smile.

“I guess I’m an open book, right?”

“I’m pretty certain I know what you do for a living”—I nod—“and I have an idea about your name…” I break off as I hear my own name being called from a distance.

“Ava! Ava! Over here!”

Huh? What—

Oh my God! No way!

My heart lifts in disbelieving joy as I take in the familiar faces of Nell, Sarika, Maud, and the children. It’s the squad! And Harold! They came to meet me! We had a brief WhatsApp chat this morning—but they never told me they were planning this!

The only thing is, they seem to be involved in some sort of scuffle. Harold is snarling at a uniformed chauffeur and biting at his legs, while Bertie tries to haul him off. Oh God. Harold hates uniforms, and this one is particularly ridiculous. Who needs all that braid?

“Get that dog off me!” the chauffeur is exclaiming furiously.

“Take off your hat, then,” Bertie retorts insolently. “Harold doesn’t like your hat. It’s not his fault.”

    “Children should be seen and not heard,” snaps the chauffeur, in livid tones. “Will you stop that dog?”

“Seen and not heard?” Nell instantly squares up to him. “You want to silence children? Maybe you want to silence women too. What’s your fucking problem? Ava! Is that your carpenter?” she adds more cheerily. “Bring him over!”

“Jean-Luc!” exclaims Maud, clapping her hands together in excitement. “He’s dreamy! Is he really called Jean-Luc?”

I glance at Dutch to see if he responds to the name Jean-Luc, but he’s gazing at the scene with a weird expression.

“Are they…with you?” he says disbelievingly.

“Yes,” I say joyfully. “They’re my friends. Come and meet them.”

As I utter the words, Harold starts to run round and round the chauffeur’s legs, binding them with his lead, barking uproariously. Bertie’s given him too much slack, I realize. But, then, he’s only a child.

“I’m calling the police,” yells the chauffeur. “You’re a disgrace!”

“Is that…your dog?” says Dutch, sounding a bit shell-shocked.

OK. So this isn’t the most ideal way for Harold to introduce himself. But Dutch is a dog person. He’ll understand.

“He hates uniforms,” I explain. “Harold!” I call out. “Darling! I’m back!”

At the sound of my voice, Harold turns, and an expression of utter joy comes over his face. He tries to gallop toward me, nearly pulling over the chauffeur before Nell grabs the lead.

    “Mr. Warwick!” The chauffeur gazes desperately in Dutch’s direction, and I feel an almighty jolt of shock.

“Wait. Is he…with you?”

“That’s Geoff,” says Dutch shortly. “And yes.”