“If you’re sure you don’t mind,” said Emma.
“He doesn’t. Don’t be shy about asking for your groceries whenever. This lot can wait a few minutes for drinks,” said Dinah before peeling off to the back.
“I like her,” said Emma, taking a sip of her ale.
“I’m legally required to like her. She’s my aunt. I read some P. G. Wodehouse for my A levels. When Bertie Wooster called his aunt Agatha ‘the nephew-crusher,’ I knew exactly what he meant. Come on, let’s see if we can get through this crowd.”
Henry dropped his shoulder and pushed through as Emma did her best not to spill her drink or wing someone with her cross-body bag. When the crowd opened up, she found herself in front of Sydney, Andrew, and two others at a low table.
“Hi!” Sydney cried, jumping up and nearly knocking over her gin goblet. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I captured her just in front of the pub and dragged her in,” said Henry.
“Welcome,” said Andrew.
“Here, take a seat and I’ll introduce you around,” said Sydney, pulling her bag off an empty seat.
“Thanks,” said Emma.
“This is Jaya Singh. She’s the head of events for the Priory in Temple Kinton, just down the road,” said Sydney.
Emma shook hands with the woman who, despite her youthful appearance, had a striking head of salt-and-pepper hair.
“And this is Colby Powell. He’s a professor at the University of Warwick,” said Sydney.
“I’m what they call a pinch hitter in the States,” said Colby.
“Colby’s our resident American,” said Jaya.
“It’s lovely to meet you both,” said Emma.
“Ladies, gentlemen, and others,” a voice came over the microphone, “we’re ready to begin.” The noise in the pub fell to a dull hubbub, and a woman onstage raised her brows. “That’s much better. I’ve had the misfortune of knowing most of you my entire life, but for those I haven’t met, I’m Lucy MacFarlane, and I’ll be your quiz master.” Hoots and hollers from the crowd. “Enough of that now. You all know pub quizzes are serious business. If you’ll sharpen your pencils, our first round will be Sport.”
Andrew groaned, and Sydney pulled the paper closer to her. “Colby and I have this, unless you have a secret bank of sports knowledge you’re ready to unleash on all of us, Emma.”
“I watch a bit of football, and Dad pretends to like cricket,” she said.
“Excellent. My husband is mad about cricket, but he’s away on business,” said Jaya.
“I’ll do my best,” Emma said.
Andrew touched the rim of her glass with his. “With a team name like ‘Menace to Sobriety,’ that’s all any of us can hope for.”
* * *
Menace to Sobriety lost.
Badly.
“I can’t believe Artificial Intelligence won again,” Sydney groused as she, Emma, Andrew, and Henry walked down Church Street. Colby, who’d nursed one glass of wine, had left them at the bar to drive back to his house near the university, and Jaya had waved them goodbye from the front door of her cottage on Heather Lane. Bow Cottage was on the same side of the village as the road to Highbury House, so Emma was getting an escort home. Strangely, she found that she didn’t mind.
“You say that every time,” said Andrew, pressing a kiss to Sydney’s forehead.
“But this time we had Emma. We were supposed to win,” said Sydney, flashing the soft smile of a tipsy woman at her. “You did very well. We wouldn’t have made it through the geology round without you.”
“That is a fact,” said Henry, who had been walking quietly by her side.
“And French literature,” Andrew pointed out.
“That was a fluke of my A levels. Anyone who says they like L’Etranger is just being pretentious,” she said, her lips loosened by a third pint Andrew had insisted on buying her.
Sydney pointed to her husband. “That’s Andrew’s favorite book.”
“Not everyone,” she said quickly. “What I meant to say was people who brag about reading it in the original. Like Proust.”
“He just finished reading the final volume of Remembrance of Things Past. In French,” Sydney added.
There was a beat when Emma vowed to whichever saint protected gardeners when Sydney, Andrew, and Henry all burst out laughing.
“Oh, you should see the look on your face!” said Sydney, buckling over.