“No?” said Maeve, seemingly oblivious to the excruciating scene before them. “Right, then, introductions. John Granger, this is Annie Sharpe; she’s looking after Saltwater Nook for your aunt and doing a damned fine job of it so far too. Obviously you know Gemma already, and then there’s Sally. And together we make up the Victorian Book Club.”
“And what the hell is this to do with a Victorian book club?” asked John, pointing at the phallus table center.
“Oh, that’s just a little something for Annie,” said Maeve, without a hint of embarrassment. “Single girl and all that. Thought it might keep her out of mischief.”
Sally was managing to keep her composure—just. Gemma was snickering like a drunk schoolgirl. And Annie wanted to swallow her own head. She stood, cleared her throat, and held out her hand as though it were perfectly normal to meet one’s landlord’s nephew over a candlelit dildo.
“Hello,” she said. “I’m Annie. It’s lovely to meet you.”
John regarded her for a long moment. In this light, his eyes looked as black as the eyebrows from under which he held her with a stare that could freeze water. His long nose came to a sharp point, as did his chin. His lips were a thin disapproving line.
“I’m afraid I can’t say the same,” he replied.
“That your name is Annie?” she said, attempting to lighten the mood.
“That it’s nice to meet you,” he said without a hint of humor.
“Look, we’ve clearly got off on the wrong foot,” Annie reasoned. “I’ll admit this doesn’t give a glowing impression . . .”
“Oh, you’ve made an impression, all right,” said John.
“Why don’t you pull up a chair? We’ll pop little John back into his box, and you can join us for a glass of wine and the remainder of our book club. It’ll give you a chance to see that we’re not a bunch of drunken harlots.”
“Speak for yourself,” said Maeve.
Annie ignored her and continued. “Have you read Nicholas Nickleby?”
Gemma held her copy out for John as Sally tugged furiously at little John until he relinquished his suction on the table with a loud pop, whereupon she slipped him back into the box and pushed the box under the table.
“I want you out of this property!” said John.
“What?” Annie said. The book club blustered in indignation.
“Now wait just a moment, John,” said Maeve.
“I’m surprised at you, Maeve. I’d have expected you to show a little more respect to my aunt’s property.”
“And I’m disappointed in you!” said Maeve. “How do you think your aunt would feel if she knew you’d treated her guests with such rudeness?”
John began to splutter: “Her guests? Her guests? Her guests that have turned her home into some kind of sordid sex parlor!”
“You’re really not seeing this in context,” said Annie, trying her best at peacemaking.
“I’ve seen all I need to see,” John said coldly.
He turned to leave, wrenching the door open. The wind caught it, slamming it hard against the wall. The rain blew in in horizontal shards of water. John turned back to face Annie; the light from the room lit the rain behind him so that it looked like shooting stars.
“I want you off this property by close of business tomorrow,” he snarled. And with that passing shot, he yanked the door closed behind him, the force of it blowing out two of the candles.
Gemma opened another bottle of wine and poured a glass for Annie. Annie took a gulp and then another.
“I can’t believe it. I’ve just been evicted!”
“Nobody’s evicting anybody,” said Maeve.
“You heard what he said,” said Annie. “He wants me out by tomorrow.”
“John doesn’t own Saltwater Nook, nor did he give you the job to be guardian of the place,” said Maeve reassuringly. “The only person who can evict you is Mari.”
“Absolutely,” chimed in Gemma. “And Mari is a very reasonable woman. I’m sure she wouldn’t dream of evicting you over such a silly misunderstanding.”
Annie didn’t feel reassured.
“We weren’t doing anything wrong,” Sally soothed. “I think it’s important to keep it in perspective. A man was frightened when faced with four women in touch with their sexuality, and his discomfort manifested itself as anger.”
“I’ll talk to Mari in the morning,” said Maeve. “You’re not going anywhere.”