Page 191 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
“Oh, please,” he rolls his eyes, nods at Arthur. “He’s just like me—maybe a bit more poncey, but still.”
“You’re nothing alike!” Athena argues. “Arthur doesn’t do the racketee—”
George slaps his free hand over her mouth. “Excuse us.” And then he steers her away.
I turn to Arthur and we both laugh.
He hooks his arm through mine, groans inwardly. “This is such a bore. I just wanna go home.”
“Isn’t it just?” I say through gritted teeth as I smile at anyone who looks over at us.
“What should we get Cynthia for Christmas? She’s impossible to buy for, she hates fucking everything.”
“Um,” I look at him. “A fucking face lift?”
“Phoebe!” He throws his head back, laughs loud enough for a few people to look our way.
“I’m serious, her cheeks have got some serious sagging.”
A little while later, as we slowly drag through the evening and old men who I’ve never heard of start talking about charities, I spot Ronan Stratton from across the room, sitting with the other dark haired, dark eyed, sharp jawed people who possess the striking features. They’re so impossible to miss in a room full of people. They tower over everyone, inserting their power with just one glance.
I’ve yet to catch him alone, to ask more about my sister. I don’t know how to. If I was to randomly sneak off into a Strattonbranch, it’s going to look dodgy. It’d look dodge for anyone. There’s a small part of me that hopes I won’t have to be the one to do it and that he’ll talk to me, give me something else but my hope is fickle. Hope typically is.
“Stop it!” I hiss at Connie again as he tries throwing yet another grape into my drink.
He sits back on his chair on the table next to mine, legs stretched out, feet crossed at the ankle, back slouched. “I’m bored,” he whispers.
“I don’t have any games on my phone,” I smile sarcastically, keeping my voice low.
“Fuck you then,” he whispers back, downs the rest of his gin and tonic.
Primrose isn’t here which is strange and I want to ask him why but really it’s none of my business and if he wanted us to know, I’m sure he’d say something.
As a young woman walks to the front and starts talking about babies stuck in the foster system, Connie leans over to me. “I had a wank to your sister last night.”
“Connie!”
I didn’t think the silence in the room could get any quieter but it did, when everyone stops and stares over at me. I sink into my seat, swallow, while Connie laughs silently next to me—hand over his mouth, back trembling.
“Phoebe!” Mum hisses over the table after a second, when things go back to normal.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
I tuck my chair into the table, away from Connie and pretend to be the best listener in the room. I’ll make a sizable donation, I tell myself.
I catch his eyes from across the hall. You can guess who. Who else's eyes would they be? He smiles but it’s off. His lips aredrawn into a tight line and his eyebrows frown ever so slightly. I frown back. Arthur nods his head towards the doors.
Excuse myself, go out there two minutes later.
He stands there, in his tux looking exhausted.
“What’s the matter?”
He scrubs a hand down his face. “I’ve got a banging headache, I think I’m going to head back.”
“I’ll come with.”
I’m about to walk out of the hotel but he stops me. “No, don’t be silly. Stay. I just need a lie down, Phoebs.”
