Page 17 of Strap In
Cora’s right on both counts about the blouse. Right about the shower. Right about everything except the sex of her mystery lover. Even with all her swagger, her curious scent, the ease with which she tops Jean, nobody could ever mistake Ava for a man.
Imogen eyes Jean, thoughtful. ‘She’s moving like a cat that’s slept in a patch of sunlight. It had to be good.’
‘It really was.’ Jean licks the salt and lime from her lips, exquisitely tart.
Cora and Naomi share a glance.
‘Did you…’ Imogen leans in close, enveloping Jean in a floral cloud of Oscar de la Renta. And though her signature scent is more sophisticated now than it was at Cambridge, Ginny still has the same gentle tact that first drew Jean to her. ‘Did you get there last night? All the way?’
‘Of course,’ Jean says, not meeting Imogen’s eyes. She’s the only one who knows there’s noof courseabout it.
Naomi leans forward, setting the teardrop pearls at her ears swinging. ‘How many times? Twice?’
The margarita stops halfway to Imogen’s mouth. ‘Three times?’
Jean can’t help herself; she laughs. ‘You’ll never guess. It’s almost too good to be true.’
Cora’s dark eyebrows draw together, giving her a hawkish look. ‘More times than I could count on one hand?’
Imogen gasps, and Naomi appears gratifyingly scandalised.
Not once, since the early days of her marriage to Henry, has any aspect of Jean’s personal life been the subject of envy. And so she enjoys being able to say: ‘Nine times in a single night. And again this morning.’
‘Holy shit!’
If Jean keeps going at this rate, even for a few months, she’ll more than make up for the dry years; all those times she’d faked orgasm just to bring about a natural conclusion.
‘Well, I’m delighted for you,’ Cora says. ‘Henry’s a darling, but let’s face it: he wasn’t exactly ringing your bells. And it’s about time someone did.’
Naomi frowns, stunned. ‘But so many times… Is that scientifically possible?’
‘I can assure you,’ Jean says, ‘it is. With the right person.’
‘And you still came to brunch?’ Imogen shakes her head. ‘We’d have understood you giving this month a miss.’
‘Oh, no. This is a strictly… practical arrangement.’ Even when she’s absent, Jean pictures Ava scoffing at the word. ‘I don’t want to send mixed signals.’
‘Are you insane? This man is a keeper.’ Naomi speaks so earnestly she doesn’t notice the flicker of discomfort that passes over Jean’s face. ‘I’d be ironing shirts and serving roast dinner on Sundays.’
‘No, no.’ Cora shakes her head. ‘Any sudden move towards domestic life gives them the fear. Samuel only proposed because he thought it was his idea.’
‘Oh, please.’ Imogen rolls her eyes. ‘He’s head over heels in love with you.’
‘Both things can be true at once,’ Cora says.
‘Never mind romance, ladies. If it’s casual, is he open to other… arrangements?’ Naomi raises her eyebrow. ‘This semester’s barely begun, and splitting my time between here and New York is already punishing. I could use a little stress relief.’
‘No!’ Jean colours at their knowing expressions, forces herself to speak calmly. ‘No. We’re both too busy to have anyone else.’
‘That doesn’t sound entirely practical to me,’ Cora says.
It’s a relief when the waiter interrupts, asking if they’re ready to order. Jean scans the menu, selecting avocado on toast with smoked salmon. But even after the waiter leaves to action their requests, the others remain undistracted.
‘So, do we know who he is?’ Naomi eyes her with open curiosity. ‘This mystery man?’
A ripple of discomfort warps the surface of Jean’s satisfied calm. But then she never said that Ava was male; simply let them fill in the blanks and assume.
Cora frowns, considering. ‘Is it Ciarán Donnelly from Bedford Row? I thought there was something between you at that mixer.’
