Love Your Life(65)

Whereupon John shook out his napkin and said, “No business talk at lunch!” with an awkward laugh.

Then Matt began to his father, “You know, Dad, those U.S. figures can’t be right….” whereupon Elsa glared at him and gave him a ferocious tight-lipped head shake.

Fine. Don’t talk business in front of me. I get that. Although what does she think? That I’ll be emailing everything I hear straight to the dollhouses editor at the FT?

The food’s good, at least. Which is to say, the vegetables are. Everyone else is eating chicken, but Elsa forgot I was vegetarian, so I’m just munching my way through a mound of carrots and peas.

“Delicious!” I say for the ninety-fifth time, and Elsa gives me a frosty smile.

“Are you going to the meeting?” I say politely to Ronald, who has just turned away from talking to John about the governor of the Bank of England. Ronald shakes his head.

“I’m retired, my dear,” he says.

“Oh, right,” I say, racking my brains for something to say about retirement. “That must be…fun?”

“Not so much fun,” he says. “Not so much recently.”

He sounds so downcast, my heart twangs. He’s the first member of Matt’s family who’s shown a human side.

    “Why not?” I ask gently. “Don’t you have any nice hobbies? Golf?”

“Oh…” He exhales a long, gusty breath, sounding like a deflating balloon. “Yes, golf…” His blue eyes go distant, as though golf is irrelevant to his life. “The truth is, my dear, I ran into some trouble recently.”

“Trouble?” I stare at him.

“Very bad. Very embarrassing…To think that a man of my education…a former finance director…” He trails away, his eyes misty. “It’s the feeling stupid, you see. The feeling like an old fool. A stupid old fool.”

“I’m sure you’re not an old fool!” I say in dismay. “What was the—” I break off awkwardly, because I don’t want to pry. “Is the trouble over?”

“Yes, but it stays with me, you see?” he says, his voice shaking. “It stays with me. I wake up in the morning and I think, ‘Ronald, you old fool.’?” As he meets my gaze, his eyes are brimming over. I’ve never seen such a sad face. I can’t bear it.

“I don’t know what happened,” I say, my own eyes hot with empathy. “But I can tell, you’re not a fool.”

“I’ll tell you what happened,” says Ronald. “I’ll tell you.” To my horror, a tear falls down from his eye onto the tablecloth. “It was a scam, you see—”

“Really, Ronald!” Elsa’s voice interrupts, bright and brittle, making us both start. “I hardly think…”

“Oh.” Ronald shoots her a guilty look. “I was just telling…Emma here…about…”

“I hardly think,” repeats Elsa with an air of finality, “that Ava is interested. Ava,” she repeats distinctly.

    “Ava.” Ronald looks stricken. “Ava, not Emma. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry!” I say. “And I am interested. I don’t know what happened, but…”

“It was an unfortunate incident.” Elsa’s mouth tightens even further, as though she’s zipping it up.

“Dad, it happened, it’s over, you need to move on,” says John, sounding slightly robotic, as though he’s said these words before, many times.

“But it shouldn’t be allowed,” says Ronald in distress. “They shouldn’t be able to do it!”

Elsa exchanges looks with John.

“Now, Ronald,” she says. “It doesn’t do to dwell. As John says, it’s best forgotten.” She gets to her feet to clear the plates and I quickly rise to join her. As I carry a pair of vegetable dishes into the kitchen, I spy the patisserie box, still on the counter, and say helpfully, “Shall I unwrap that?”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” says Elsa, looking at the cake blankly. “Now, I’ll make some coffee. Are you a sportswoman, Ava?” she adds as she fills the kettle, and I cough, playing for time. I am so not a sportswoman. But this place is sports central.

“I like yoga,” I offer at last. “And I’ve started tai chi with Matt.”

“I know little about yoga,” says Elsa thoughtfully. “But I believe it’s a challenging sport.”

“Yes,” I say uncertainly. “Although I wouldn’t really say it’s a sport so much as a—”

“Do you compete?” she cuts me off, and I gaze at her, perplexed. Compete at yoga?

    “Yoga isn’t really…” I begin. “Does that even exist?”

“Here we are.” Elsa looks up from where she’s been tapping busily at her phone. “There are yoga championships being held in London. You should train and compete. I’ll send the link to Matthias.” She eyes me with a steely gaze. “I’m sure you want to practice at the highest possible level.”

“Um…” I swallow. “That’s not really why I do yoga, but…maybe!” I add, as I see her frown. “Yes! Good idea!”