Page 48 of The Battle of the Bookshops
Roman had been hopeless when Jules grilled him about the dress code for that night’s supper. “I dunno, just casual,” he had replied vaguely. And: “You’ll look lovely whatever you wear.”
Why even ask?Jules thought in exasperation. Not that she exactly had an extensive wardrobe to choose from anyway. In her tiny attic bedroom in the flat, she laid out two tops that were the main contenders, either of them to be worn with the boring old jeans she was now sick of the sight of. With Aunt Flo’s new modest monthly salary paid into her account, she had treated herself to a pretty green top from the women’s clothes shop next door. It was off-the-shoulder, with gathered ruffles that made the most of her modest boobs, and green was always a good color with her red hair and green eyes. Freshly showered, she pulled on the top, jeans, and well-worn but newly washed white trainers. Peering in the dusty full-length mirror, she looked okay but not up to the sleek, glamorous standards of the other women who would be there, she was sure.
Brushing on a coat of black mascara and a slick of her favorite lipstick, Jules didn’t bother with blusher. Since they had gotten together, their frequent walks had brought out a healthy glow, along with a proliferation of the hated freckles that Roman had dubbed “utterly charming.”
Ignoring Roman’s instruction not to bring anything, Jules had slipped out to the florist and picked up a bunch of peonies with their fat buds just beginning to unfurl. It would be like bringing sand to the beach she suspected, as supper that night, she had finally learned, was at Imogen and Gabriel’s house, Storybook Cottage. The garden was supposed to be absolutely amazing—much of it immortalized in the beautifully detailed paintings Imogen created to illustrate her books.
Jules swallowed her nerves as they arrived. The house, tucked just inside the sheltering walls of the Middlemass Hall estate, was a ravishingly pretty, double-fronted Georgian house with a wide powder-blue front door under a porch smothered in roses and honeysuckle currently in full flower. The blowsy climbers twined in turn around great twisted branches of wisteria dangling its upside-down cones of now fading pale lilac flowers right across the front of the house. It was like a grand country house but on a more modest scale, borrowing more from the classical Palladian style of Middlemass Hall just up the drive than a “cottage” had any right to do.
Imogen opened the door with Ruth in her arms. The baby was wearing a pair of über-cute pink spotty pajamas. Kissing Jules and Roman warmly on the cheek and exclaiming charmingly over the flowers, Imogen led them into the vast kitchen at the back of the house. It was all flagstone floors festooned with worn Persian rugs and nonmatching chairs around a scrubbed pine table that clearly served as work surface, desk, and impromptu dining table.
“We hardly ever use the posh dining room nowadays,” Imogen admitted to Jules, at the same time gently unclenching Ruth’s fist to release a handful of Imogen’s curly auburn hair. Imogen was dressed down in well-worn jeans too, Jules was relieved to see, with a pretty, embroidered teal cardigan and bare feet with painted toes. As always, Imogen was effortlessly pretty despite a clean-scrubbed face with just a trace of lipstick.
The room was full of bustle, and Roman, for Jules’s benefit, made the introductions, pointing as he went around:
“Simon and Genny,” he said, indicating a couple standing chatting by the French doors leading to the garden. The man was an impossibly handsome blond, tall and elegant with patrician features. Jules knew from her mum that he was a GP and that Genny, his wife, was a teacher at the little village primary she had attended herself. Considering how beautiful they both were, any children were going to be stunning. They were disarmingly friendly and nice, immediately smiling and coming over to say hello.
“Portneath High!” exclaimed Genny. “I remember you, although I was in the class above, wasn’t I?”
“Great to see you again,” said Aiden, coming out of the larder with a fresh bottle of wine.
“You too,” said Jules. “Um, is Jess here tonight?” She really hoped to have Jess as an ally.
“She’s parking the car,” said Aiden, just as Jess walked in through the back door, her face lighting up when she saw Jules.
Jules muttered something idiotic at the sight of her, and her hand rose halfway to give a little wave, but Jess was having none of those half-hearted greetings and came over to give Jules a tight hug.
Within a few minutes, Jules had to admit to herself again how easy and friendly it had become with this crowd, now that she was there with Roman.
“Here,” said Jess, handing Jules a glass filled with ice, luminous red liquid, and a fat orange slice. “It’s one of Gabriel’s Negronis. Lethal, but just one will get you in the party mood.”
Jules wasn’t sure she wanted to be in the “party mood.”
Touchingly, Gabriel was clearly besotted with Imogen and the baby, dropping a kiss onto both of their heads as he passed another two Negronis to his guests.
“That’s all of us here now,” remarked Imogen, swaying from side to side to lull Ruth, who was grizzling gently. “Freya couldn’t spare the night off, and Finn’s got a bit of a cold, so he didn’t want to share his germs. To be honest, it looks like Ruth has already got it. I’m more worried about her passing bugs to you lot than the other way around.”
“Bless her,” said Jules, smiling at the little creature. She wasn’t sure if she was really into babies, not having seen many close up, but Ruth was majorly cute, with her pink cheeks and huge blue eyes, even if her tiny, snub nose was a bit crusty and pink that evening. “She’s got your eyes,” Jules remarked, to make conversation.
Imogen laughed. “Gabriel always says that.”
Jules glanced at Gabriel, searching for her next snippet of small talk. His hair was dark too, but definitely wavy, and it was a blessing the poor child didn’t inherit his glowering brow and dark eyes.
Imogen, instantly understanding, laughed again. “I know! She looks nothing like Gabe, but actually, that’s because she’s not his.”
“Oh?” said Jules. Typical foot-in-mouth comment, clearly.
“I was married before, but sadly my husband died,” explained Imogen. “Gabriel very gallantly stepped up,” she went on. “He’s a great dad.”
“Shall I take her up?” Gabriel asked Imogen, coming over to the little group and demonstrating the truth of Imogen’s last statement. Ruth’s eyelids were heavy now, her eyes already glazing with sleepiness.
“Not sure,” said Imogen anxiously. “We’ve got the intercom down here, haven’t we?”
“On the dresser,” Gabriel confirmed. “And Simon’s checked her over. He says it’s just a little bug she’s picked up at nursery. She’ll be fine.”
“We can give it a go,” said Imogen, handing Ruth over, heavy and limp, to Gabriel. “She’s been struggling to settle because she’s so snotty, poor lamb,” she explained to Jules, gratefully taking the Negroni Simon passed her with a clink of ice cubes.
“It’s lucky we were planning to eat here tonight,” said Genny. “We would never have persuaded Imo to leave Ruth with a babysitter when she’s under the weather.” She smiled understandingly at the other woman.
