“You’re quite the spy tonight, aren’t you?” Bean still seems a bit shell-shocked. “What else did you hear him say?”
“That was it. No, wait—he said something about it getting into the press.”
“The press?” Bean looks appalled. “What on earth’s going on?”
“I don’t know, but we need to talk to him. Urgently. Where is he now, dancing?”
“No, he and Romilly have already gone to bed. She just dragged him off. She was blathering on about needing an early start in the morning.”
“Don’t tell me.” I roll my eyes. “The famous violin teacher. I overheard her droning on about that too. She can’t talk about anything else. Apparently, if you go to this particular violin teacher, you end up at Oxford and Harvard and win a Nobel Prize. All at once.”
Bean laughs, half-wincing. “Oh God, she is awful. You know, Gus is going to leave her? We did talk about that, earlier on in the garden. We had quite a heart-to-heart. He’s had enough.”
“Finally!” I exclaim. “But why didn’t he leave her months ago? All the time he’s wasted with her! All the time we’ve spent trying to be polite to her!”
“I think he’s been worrying about hurting her,” says Bean, sighing. “But the longer they’re together, the worse it’ll be.”
“He shouldn’t worry. If Romilly loves him at all, it’s because of what he can do for her, not who he is,” I say adamantly. “She loves being able to boss him around.”
“What does he love about her, do you think?” queries Bean, and for a moment we’re both stumped.
“Her body,” I say at last. “Sorry. But it’s true. And she’s really into Pilates. She’s probably really good in bed. Good core muscles, all that.”
“If he does love her, then maybe he’s forgotten what love is supposed to be like,” says Bean, a bit sorrowfully. “I think you can do that. You put up with this awful toxic version of it, and then one day your eyes are opened and you think, Oh right! I get it! That’s what love is supposed to be.”
“On your deathbed when it’s too late,” I supply gloomily.
“No!” protests Bean, and I reach out to hug her fondly, because she is just so softhearted.
“So, what shall we do about Gus and this phone call?” I return to the issue. “We can’t just leave it.”
“I think we should tackle him,” says Bean with resolve. “I’d better show my face again at the party—then we’ll make a plan. You can sleep in my room. No one’ll know you’re there.”
“Thanks. Oh, and I do need the loo,” I add sheepishly.
“Well, don’t use my one,” says Bean at once. “It’s—”
“Broken. I know. But I wondered, if I sneak up and use the cloakroom, will you keep guard?”
“Sure. But be quick!”
As we head up the stairs and tiptoe along the back corridor, the music is thundering even more loudly than before. I hurry into the cloakroom, take the opportunity to check my reflection, and scowl morosely, because whereas everyone else is glammed up and looking their best, I am definitely not. My hair is dusty and my face is pale, with streaks of soot. I could have done with putting on some blusher, I realize, as I view my washed-out skin. And lipstick. If I’d known I was going to see Joe—
No. Stop that train of thought right there. I would not have put blusher and lipstick on for Joe. So.
I emerge cautiously from the cloakroom and find Bean diligently keeping watch. At the other end of the hall, the door to the sitting room is open, spilling out music, disco lights, and silver helium balloons—and I have a sudden craving to see the party.
“I want to have a quick look,” I mutter to Bean. “Can you stand in the doorway? If anyone tries to come out, distract them.”
Bean rolls her eyes but dutifully goes and stands in the doorway, and I creep up behind her to have a peek. Not that anyone even notices us. The only people left dancing are Krista, Lacey, and Dad—and as I watch, my jaw drops slightly. I’ve never seen them dancing before. Krista is all over Dad, her hands running over his torso. It’s embarrassing.
“She’s an octopus,” I mutter to Bean.
“She is a bit much,” Bean murmurs back resignedly.
I don’t know if it’s because of the champagne or because I’m all churned up after seeing Joe, but as I watch, my eyes start to blur. I remember Dad dancing with Mimi in this room, so many times. Not ostentatiously but affectionately, shuffling around, smiling at each other.