“I won’t be able to stay long,” says Bean, shoving some cheesecake into her mouth. “I said I needed some water, but I’ll have to go back or it’ll look suspicious— Are you OK?” She peers at me. “You look really pale.”
“Fine.” I come to and swig my champagne. “Fine.”
“So why on earth are you still here? I thought you’d have left ages ago! I told you I’d look for your Russian dolls. I think they must be in the window seat.”
“I know.” I give her a feeble smile and take a bite of cheesecake to fortify myself. “I guess I just couldn’t stay away, after all.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here. Although not the most comfortable place to spend dinner.” She gives a sudden snort of mirth.
“No. And not very comfortable hearing the whole table talking about me.” I grimace at the memory. “Thanks for sticking up for me back there.”
“Oh, Effie.” Bean winces. “I wish you hadn’t heard that conversation. Nobody meant anything by it.”
“They did,” I say wryly. “But it’s fine, I probably needed to hear it. Bean, thanks for all this.” I nod at the desserts, feeling a rush of remorse. “You do too much for me. Far too much.”
“Don’t be silly!” says Bean, sounding surprised. “Anyway, this was Joe’s idea.” She sweeps her hand round the plates. “He’s so thoughtful. And he said he’ll try to find a specialist for my neighbor’s knee. Remember I told you about George and his knee?”
“Er…yes,” I say, although I don’t.
“Well, Joe said, ‘Leave it with me,’ and took my number. He didn’t have to do that. You wouldn’t think he was a massive celebrity now, would you? He’s really down-to-earth. I mean, he didn’t have to come to this party at all, let alone make such an effort. And he talks about you a lot,” she adds, raising her eyebrows.
“What do you mean?” I say, stiffening.
“Just what I said. He thinks about you. He cares about you.”
“He’s just being polite.”
“Hmm,” says Bean sardonically. “Well, you know my opinion—”
“Bean, I saw you crying,” I cut her off, desperate to change the subject. “From the window, during the drinks party. You were hiding from everyone. And crying. What’s wrong?”
A tremor of shock goes through Bean’s face, and her eyes slide away and I feel a clutch of fear. I’ve hit a nerve. What is it? But then, a moment later, her gaze is back on mine, frank and open.
“Oh, that,” she says, obviously doing her best to sound relaxed. “That was just…a thing at work. Minor problem. It suddenly got me down. No big deal.”
“A ‘thing at work’？” I echo dubiously. “What thing?”
“Nothing.” She brushes it off. “I’ll tell you another time. It’s boring.”
She’s almost convincing—but I’m suspicious. Bean never has “things at work.” Unlike me, she’s not a total drama queen and never seems to fall out with anyone, nor complain, nor get fired for crying into the soup.
But she’s clearly not going to tell me what it really is. I’ll have to bide my time.
“OK, well, there’s something else,” I say, changing tack. “Have you spoken to Gus much today?”
“Gus? Yes, a fair amount. We were together earlier.”
“Did he mention any trouble he’s in?”
“Trouble?” Bean stares at me. “What do you mean, trouble?”
Automatically I glance up at the steps, although I’m fairly sure there’s no chance of Gus putting in an appearance here.
“When I was hiding in the hall,” I say quietly, “I heard him on the phone, talking to someone called Josh. Do you know who that is?”
“Never heard of him.”
“Well, Gus sounded super-stressed, and he was talking about facing”—I lower my voice to a hiss—“charges.”
“Charges?” Bean echoes, shocked. “What kind of charges? Like, criminal charges?”
“I guess.” I shrug helplessly. “What other kind of charges are there?”
“Charges?” Bean says again, in disbelieving tones.
“That’s what he said. He talked about the ‘worst-case scenario.’ And he was speaking in a really low voice, as though he didn’t want anyone to hear.”