Love Your Life(63)

“It’s fine,” I say, shrinking back in my seat. I suddenly, ridiculously, want to run away. Nothing about this house looks friendly. But instead I jut out my jaw and say determinedly, “Amazing house!”

“Well,” says Matt, as though he’s never given the house any thought. “It has offices too,” he adds after a pause. “So.”

“Right.” I nod.

Matt parks the car tidily at the back of the house, next to a Mercedes, and we crunch over the gravel to a kitchen door. I’m half expecting some ancient retainer to appear and exclaim, “Master Matt!” But instead, Matt leads me through a vast, tidy kitchen, where I leave the cake box on a counter, and into a massive hall. It has a tiled floor and a stained-glass dome above us and is filled with shiny glass display cases.

“Wow!” I exclaim. “This looks like—” I stop, because I don’t want to sound rude.

“A museum,” Matt finishes for me. “Yup. Go ahead, have a look if you like.” He gestures at the cases.

I wander up to the biggest glass case, which holds a vintage-looking Harriet’s House and a load of Harriet doll characters and actual typed-out labels, saying things like 1970 Harriet the Air Hostess and 1971 Harriet the Gymnast.

Most of the cases contain Harriet’s House displays, but one is filled with swirly pink-and-green china. I go to look at it and Matt follows me.

    “That’s my mum’s family business,” he tells me. “She’s half Austrian.”

“Oh yes,” I say, remembering his golf-playing grandmother. “But she doesn’t have an accent.”

“No, she grew up in the UK. But we have Austrian cousins. They run the china company. Mum’s on the board,” he adds. “She used to be in charge of the UK operation.”

“I think I’ve seen that stuff.” I crinkle up my brow as I stare at the gilded patterned plates. “In Harrods or somewhere like that?”

“Yeah.” Matt shrugs. “You would have. It’s…you know. A big deal. That’s how she met my dad, at an export conference. She was selling china; he was selling dollhouses.”

“It’s…spectacular!” I say. Which is true. It’s spectacularly ornate and frilly. And it has a lot of gold twirls.

Matt doesn’t respond. He doesn’t seem wild about the china. In fact, he doesn’t seem wild about anything. Ever since we arrived, his shoulders have been slumped and his face seems frozen.

“You must be really proud!” I say, trying to enthuse him. “All these dolls…and the famous china…what a heritage! What’s this…” I peer closer to read a typed label. “?‘Salmon dish used by Princess Margaret in 1982’! Wow! That’s…”

I have no idea what to say about a salmon dish used by Princess Margaret in 1982. I didn’t even know there were such things as salmon dishes.

“Mmm,” says Matt, eyeing the china cabinet without enthusiasm.

    “And what’s this?” I say brightly, heading to the only cabinet which doesn’t seem to exude pink. “Trophies?” I peer at the shelves of silver cups and boxed medals and framed photos.

“Yeah.” Matt seems even more leaden. “Like I told you, my grandmother was Austrian ladies’ champion, back in the day. And my brother turned pro. Guess we’re a sporty lot.”

Silently, I run my eye over the photos. There are several of a lady in a 1960s hairdo, swinging a golf club. There are group shots of what seems to be a skiing team, plus a black-and-white shot of a guy in a sailing boat. Then there are some modern photos featuring a guy in his teens and twenties, either swinging a golf club or receiving a trophy. He’s good-looking and resembles Matt but is slighter in build and not as appealing. His smile is a bit too cheesy for me. He’s Matt-lite, I decide.

“Is that your brother?” I gesture at one of the pictures.

“Yeah, that’s Rob. He’s in the States now. Runs a chain of golf clubs. Robert Warwick Golf and Leisure. They’re successful,” he adds after a pause. “So.”

“Great,” I say politely. I’m searching for a picture of Matt among all the silver frames, but I can’t see one. Where’s the photo of Matt? There must be one. Where is it?

“Matthias!” A brittle voice sounds behind us, and I turn to see Elsa. She’s wearing a dress with leaves printed all over it and court shoes and frosted pink lipstick.

Her hair’s good, I think as I watch her kiss Matt. I have to give her that. It’s gorgeous. And her figure is svelte and she has a pretty face. In fact, everything about her is really lovely. Except the way she’s looking at me, with little splinters of unfriendliness.

    “Hello again, Ava,” she says in a neutral voice. “We’re so glad you could join us. No dog today?”

Her eyebrows rise sardonically, and I force myself to smile.

“No, I left him behind.”

“So our books are safe, I hope!” She gives a tinkle of laughter, and I try to join in, although my cheeks are flaming.

“I hope so. And again, I’m so sorry about the book….”

“Don’t worry.” She lifts an elegant hand. “It was only an irreplaceable first edition.”