Free The Beach Hut Next Door by Veronica Henry Page A

Jolyon shrugged. ‘I’ve stopped listening.’
    He looked weary.
    ‘I think the idea is we join forces,’ said Elodie. ‘I think my father’s going to invest. Or something. But I probably shouldn’t say too much.’
    ‘Well, there’s clearly more money in jam than shops.’ Jolyon looked impressed as several platters of oysters resting on ice were set on the table.
    ‘Who cares about money?’ asked Elodie. ‘No, please, you help yourself first. I’m not an oyster person.’
    ‘It’s easy to say who cares about money when you’ve got it,’ Jolyon told her. ‘We nearly couldn’t afford the petrol to get down here.’
    Elodie looked at him. ‘Well, you should all have come in one car then,’ she said. ‘And a more sensible one at that.’
    Jolyon was speechless for a moment, then laughed. ‘You speak your mind, don’t you?’
    ‘Whose mind am I supposed to speak?’ Elodie retorted, but she was laughing too.
    At the other end of the table she could see Lillie effervescing, as only Lillie could when she had someone who interested her in her sights. Jolyon’s father was leaning back in his chair, bemused, his eyes glittering, a glass of wine in his hand. It was clear Lillie was nothing he couldn’t handle. He was the kind of man who attracted female attention and thrived on it. It was all in an evening’s work to him.
    At the other end of the table, Jeanie was composed, as cool as the ice the oysters were resting on, as charming to the man to the right as to the left of her. It was still early on in the evening. The chatter was animated but controlled; the champagne had relaxed everyone but it was not yet time for fierce debate or ribaldry. There were several courses to get through yet.
    At the head of the table sat Desmond. There was something kingly in his presence tonight, thought Elodie. She felt he was surveying his courtiers, as if each one had a role. What was hers, she wondered? She put down her glass. She’d had more to drink than usual. Reality was slipping away from her. For a moment, she felt unsettled. For the first time, she felt like a grown-up at her parents’ table, rather than a child.
    ‘Are you all right?’
    She turned to find Jolyon staring at her, concerned.
    ‘Fine. Sorry. It’s just a bit hot in here, that’s all.’
    Elodie picked up her water glass and drank.

    When dinner ended, everyone left the table together. Lillie had never subscribed to the tradition of the ladies withdrawing next door while the men were left to smoke cigars and drink port. She was nothing without the company of men, and she presumed all women were the same, so she served coffee and digestifs for everyone in the drawing room. Lit by lamps, with the doors open out onto the sea, the atmosphere was languid and relaxed. Everyone, it seemed, was comfortable in each other’s company. Any fears of a pecking order, the tyranny that rules so many dinner parties, had been rubbed out by the excellent food and wine, and they all slumped into the comfort of the sofas and armchairs while Oscar Petersen played in the background. The stresses of the working week receded into the background, and the pleasures of the weekend ahead stretched out in front of them.
    Only Elodie felt restless, but she hadn’t drunk as much as the rest. She had spent the whole of dinner enraptured by Jolyon, although she had remembered not to forget her good manners, and had spoken to everyone else at the table. Now she couldn’t remember a word anyone else had said, only what he had. She prowled the room, turning over the record when it came to an end, refilling the silver cigarette box, not sure where to put herself.
    Where she wanted to put herself was next to Jolyon, but he was engrossed in conversation with her father. Every now and then he would look over at her, and twice he held her gaze and smiled. She had no way of telling if he felt the same way she did. Had he just been polite throughout dinner? He too had perfect manners,