Page 22 of From Notting Hill with Love…Actually
“Ah, nothing. It’s a cool name, that’s all.”
“Thanks.”
We walked along together a bit further. “I have to turn here,” I said, stopping to cross the road.
“That’s fine,” Sean said, standing on the edge of the pavement next to me, “so do I.”
We stood silently like two schoolchildren carefully crossing the street together. Look left, look right, and look left again. Then we looked at each other for mutual agreement, before stepping out into the road.
“So where are you off to this evening?” Sean asked. “Anywhere exciting?”
“A dinner party, actually.”
“Really? How odd. Me too.”
No, it couldn’t be, could it?I thought as we reached Oscar’s house.
“It wouldn’t be here by any chance?” I asked, positive I already knew the answer to my own question.
“Well, actually…”
“Scarlett, you made it!” Oscar called, holding Delilah in his arms as he flung open the front door. “And I see you’ve already met Sean.”
I looked across at my fellow dinner guest.
He grinned. “Looks like I could be learning just a little bit more about you tonight than only your name, Scarlett.”
We both made a move to go up the narrow path at the same time. Sean stood back to let me pass. “Ladies first.”
“Thank you.”
I walked toward Oscar, who was looking quite resplendent in a deep-purple shirt and matching shade of tartan trousers. But I was still having problems with who he reminded me of. Most people I could usually match up with a movie actor or character, or at the worst a mix of two. Currently I was getting vibes of both John Hannah inFourWeddingsand Tom, one of Bridget Jones’s gang of oddball friends, for Oscar.
“I brought you this,” I said, holding up a bottle of wine. “And”—emphasizing my gesture to Sean, as I held up a shopping bag in my other hand—“I’m returningyourT-shirt youlentme earlier today.”
“Darling, you shouldn’t have—really, there was no need for either. But do come in, won’t you, I can’t wait for you to meet everybody. Do come along, Sean,” Oscar called down the path. “The gang’s all here!”
Once inside, Oscar took our jackets and we followed him through to the lounge. There were five people already sitting on two settees and a chaise longue, drinking wine and chatting.
“Now then, everyone, I’d like to introduce Scarlett,” Oscar announced, clapping his hands to gain their attention. “Oh, you all know Sean, of course,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
“Wish we didn’t sometimes.” A woman with extremely short black hair, and an alarming amount of colored beads strung around her neck, spoke. I was relieved to see she was only joking when everyone laughed.
“We’ll start with you then, Vanessa. Scarlett, this is Vanessa, she owns the shop next door to mine.”
“Hi,” I said. “What does your shop sell—clothes, like Oscar’s?”
“Erotic lesbian fiction mostly,” she replied, looking me up and down. “You should come in and take a look some time.”
I cleared my throat and smiled politely. “Maybe I’ll do that one day.”
“Vanessa, do stop teasing,” Oscar insisted. “Now then, next to Vanessa we have Lucian and Patrick; they own one of the antique shops just off the market.”
“Hi,” they said in unison. Then they giggled at each other like little children.
“Over on the chaise longue we have Brooke. Brooke’s a model.”
Brooke looked like she was a model for appetite suppressants. If she eats anything tonight it will only be the garnish, I thought sourly.
