Page 23 of Alice Carver Manifests Her Perfect Life
‘I think,’ said Aziz carefully, ‘that perhaps you don’t want my views on Britain’s landed gentry. But I do get that you miss that house. Who wouldn’t?’
The library was even more TikTok-able than I’d remembered: the fire was crackling merrily in the grate; articulate lighting highlighted beams and showcased the contents of gleaming oak bookcases; the golds and greens and reds of plumped cushions and deep sofas were a muted palate of taste and comfort amid the natural stone. It was almost like our sitting room in the old house, but even better. I sighed with pleasure. Surely anyone would aspire to receivingThe Guidein a room like this.
I’d just got myself set up in the best position and was about to take my coat off, when a really attractive woman strode into the room. Oh great. It was Rachel from the other day. The one Matthew embarrassed me in front of. I pulled my coat around me more tightly.
‘Hello,’ she said warmly, adjusting a cushion which didn’t need adjusting, and changing the whole ambience with her proprietary presence. ‘Welcome to the Lamb.’
She was wearing a polo under her blazer and I was pretty sure it was Miu Miu.
‘Would you like me to take your coat for you?’ she said, leaning towards me.
ItwasMiu Miu. Matthew must be paying her seriously well.
‘Er no, thanks,’ I said. ‘Can we just have coffees – a double espresso and a flat white?’
I saw a look of recognition cross her face and a small smile, which she quickly corrected.
‘Someone will bring them through shortly,’ she said. ‘Please make yourselves at home.’
As soon as the library door had shut behind her I turned to Aziz. ‘Do you think she’s sleeping with Matthew?’
‘What?’ said Aziz.
‘The model hotel woman with the expensive polo shirt.’
‘She’s his usual type, I suppose. But he’s her boss. So I’d guess… no. Why?’
‘I just feel she’s a bit above her station.’
‘How?’
‘All that “make yourself at home” and plumping cushions.’
‘Isn’t that hospitality?’ said Aziz, looking confused. Then he looked at me properly which is never a good sign. ‘Is there something you want to talk about, Alice?’
‘I mean yes, Aziz. There’s loads I want to talk to you about – my life has gone to shit – but Astrid said she’ll charge me.’
‘Alice,’ said Aziz gently. ‘I can’t be your therapist. Nothing to do with money and I’m sure Astrid didn’t say that—’
‘She did actually.’
‘But you can talk to me as your brother-in-law if something is bothering you.’
My eyes flicked up to the carriage clock on one of the bookshelves. Time was running out.
We got the video filmed just before a man with floppy hair arrived with coffees, and although I hadn’t managed to get my coat back on, apart from a slightly curious stare, he didn’t comment on my attire. Aziz cheered up as soon as he’d downed his double espresso, which was helpful, because by now it was nearly midday, and I was keen to get home and changed before seeing the family. And Matthew bloody Lloyd.
‘We’d better get back,’ I said. ‘Before they all do.’
‘Okay.’ Aziz reluctantly surrendered his seat on the wingback armchair. ‘Let’s go. Don’t forget you’re paying.’
We made our way out of the library and along the generous flagstoned corridor to the spacious reception with its island desk and kidney-shaped velvet sofas that I think are from Heals, and obscenely large bunches of flowers. Gosh, it was gorgeous in here. I could happily spend all day just sitting in here.
‘Can I settle our bill?’ I asked the ‘the woman behind the desk.
‘Certainly,’ she said, turning the screen to face me.
Bloody hell – £12 for two coffees? No wonder Matthew Lloyd was so rich.
