Ashford’s Version
“That Loxley should be locked up in a cell with padded walls, and someone should throw away the key,” Harring mumbles.
“Why do you reply every time she speaks to you? Ignore her!” I stress.
“We’re at a charity evening! I have to be kind to the less fortunate!”
“You and kindness are two parallel lines. Not destined to meet.”
“Speaking of meetings, what did Portia want the other day at the polo match?”
“To talk. Or rather, she humiliated me first, and then she talked. She pointed her finger at us wicked men who break the hearts of young innocent damsels.”
“Innocent? Her? The same person you found open legged with no underwear on your billiard table?”
“I shouldn’t have told you that story.”
“And all the others: in the Leighs’ shed, in the conservatory behind your mother’s ficus, in the trophy room at the polo club…”
“Haz, I don’t need a summary of the previous episodes!”
“I’m your memory, brother.”
“You’re a pain in my arse! However, Portia resolved that, as we’re obliged to attend the same functions, we’d better bury the hatchet and move on with our lives.”
“How strange… knowing Portia, I would have expected her to use the hatchet to chop you into pieces and toss you into the Thames on a foggy February night.”
“Being Portia, she probably considered that option first,” I comment absent mindedly while looking around. “I can’t see Jemma. She was with Loxley.”
“I have no idea,” he says. Then, his mobile phone rings, he reads a text and gives me a hasty pat on the shoulder. “I’m busy now. Enjoy the evening, Parker. See you later. Maybe.”
I leave Haz to his adventures and decide to look for Jemma. I walk through the ballroom but I can’t find her, then I get into the maze of Greer Hall’s corridors.
These parties are wicked: when you’re looking for someone, you meet everyone except who you want.
In fact, I was blocked by Murray, Sir Robert, Lord Neville, Lady Venetia and Lady Augusta.
As I descend the staircase to return to the ballroom, I see someone sitting on the bottom step, leaning against the marble parapet and sinking in a cloud of tulle. By the time I realise who it is, it’s too late to turn round and leave. She’s already looking in my direction.
“Ashford!” Her tone is somewhat friendly.
“Portia.”
“Are you fleeing from the crazy crowd?”
“You’re not enjoying the party yourself,” I remark.
She lifts the hem of her skirt showing her bare foot. “I stumbled and sprained my ankle. I’m waiting for the cold marble to relieve the pain. Unfortunately, my partner for the evening is not much of a gentleman, and I think he disappeared in the brandy room.”
“Do you want me to call him?”
“If I have to be honest, no, thanks. Better alone than in bad company, and Lewis confirms the proverb.”
“Does he still suffer from hair loss?”
“Only in the season changes,” she says. “It’s one of the features which make him charming.”
The usual awkward silence falls between us. I know I should probably say something, but, at the same time, I would like to find a nice way to tell her that now, sprained ankle or not, I have to go.
She looks at me with a pacifying smile. “Would you mind escorting your old friend Portia to the terrace? If nothing else, I can sit comfortably and enjoy the illuminated garden.”
I hesitate. “I—”
“Come on, I’m not asking for the moon, after all.”
Before she starts making me feel guilty, I offer her my arm to help her stand. God, why did you give me this cross to bear?
“Don’t you find it strange that these parties are so crowded with people who crave an invitation, and then most of them look for an excuse to disappear and have a moment of peace?” She observes. “Lewis, you, me—”
“Actually, I was looking for my wife.”
“Did you lose your beloved bride?”
“She was in the ballroom with Loxley. I went to get a drink and when I got back, both of them had disappeared.”
“Loxley is a terrible person. Everyone I know barely tolerates her.”
“She’s odd, but Jemma gets on very well with her.” Although Cécile is not in my top ten favourite people, I don’t want to talk badly of her with Portia.
“You and Harring are great friends too, although you’re not much alike.”
“We complete each other. We’ve been friends for twenty-five years now.”
“And how long have we known each other?” She asks.
I sit her down one of the stone benches of the large balcony surrounded by ivy.
“I don’t know.”
“I met you at my brother’s first match at the polo junior championship, fifteen years ago.”
“Wow, double digits!” Should I care?
“You already stood out, back then. It has always been a natural gift of yours.”
I don’t reply to Portia’s compliment, with which she’s trying to flatter me, so she shrugs and changes the subject.
“You men are so lucky! You’re always well covered in your suits and dinner jackets, whereas we women spend our time freezing, wrapped in our silk and taffeta!” She says, rubbing her arms with the palms of her hands. “I would ask for your jacket, but then you’d be cold.”
With a light snort of annoyance, I take off my jacket and hand it to her. Why does every word she says sound manipulating, as if I owed her something for ditching her? If I didn’t feel obliged to be polite to her, at least in public, I would have left her on the staircase.
“Come on, sit down, there’s no point in standing there! Sooner or later Harring, Loxley or your wife will pass by. You’re more likely to find them if you wait here, rather than search throughout Greer Manor.”
I sit down just to please her, but I decide to be very clear with her. “I hope that no one starts making things up or puts strange ideas in Jemma’s head after seeing us here.”
“Does she know about us? Did you tell Jemma?”
“Yes, I did. As you can imagine, she wasn’t happy at the idea, and I can’t blame her.”
“If she really loves you, she must believe what you say, not the gossip she hears here and there.”
“You know this is a difficult environment to live in.”
“Oh, look! An eyelash!” She says, touching my cheekbone with a finger. “Blow and make a wish.”
Before I can push her hand away from my face, I hear people muttering in the party hall, and I see that the guests have gathered in front of one of the glass doors of the balcony.