“To what?”
“To that kind of look.”
Sean frowns. “Did I look at you that way?”
No. Not you. And maybe that’s exactly why I feel uncomfortable around you.
“You’re here!” My grandmother’s voice interrupts us before we can say too much.
We turn to her as she opens her arms, waiting for us to greet her. I walk over and let her wrap her arms around me, planting a kiss onto my cheek – a real one, not like my mother’s – before letting me go.
“Sean,” she says, turning to my date.
“Mrs. Carson…”
“Oh, please…” He takes her hand and kisses it lightly. “Call me Evelyn.”
“Evelyn,” he says. “It’s lovely to see you again. Thank you for inviting us.”
“Thank you for coming. Frederick tends to reject all my invites and ignore all my calls.”
“That’s not true,” I say weakly.
“I’m glad someone has finally come along to keep him in check.”
“I assure you, Evelyn, that Eric doesn’t need anyone to tell him what to do.”
The way he says it provokes a strange irritation in the pit of my stomach.
My grandmother smiles. “I’m glad someone has finally realised. Come this way; I’ve had the small lounge prepared for tonight. I hope that’s okay.” My grandmother slips her arm through Sean’s and leads him inside. “There are only three of us, after all.”
“I’m sure whatever it is, it’ll be more than… Oh, bloody hell!” Sean exclaims as soon as we set foot into the room my grandmother has just called ‘small’. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… It just slipped out.”
My grandmother laughs before letting go of his arm and welcoming us into the room, in front of the flickering hearth. This room is ‘small’ only because the ‘large’ room is enormous. But the two are very similar in style: they’re both elegant and refined, like my grandmother herself. They might even be a little too prestigious – intimidatingly so.
“What would you like to drink? A Martini, whiskey, maybe…?”
“A glass of wine would be great, if it’s not too much trouble,” Sean says.
My grandmother nods at her butler, who’s waiting by the bar. I walk over and sit across from him, as I do every time I come home.
Larry and I know each other well. He’s been here for years – I think he’s more or less the same age as my grandmother. He should really think about retiring soon, but I think he cares too much about this place, about my family – about her, mostly. When I was younger, I remember often thinking that something might have been going on between them.
Granny has been a widow for years. I don’t think she ever wanted to get married again, or even date, after my grandfather’s death.
I don’t remember much about him. He was a quiet, solitary type. A man of few words, dedicated to his work. The total opposite of her.
“The usual, Mr. O’Shea?”
“The usual. And please drop this wholemisterbullshit.”
He laughs as he makes my drink, resting it on the bar before heading over to my grandmother and Sean in the lounge, handing them their glasses and coming back over to me.
I twist around on my stool, watching them from afar, drink in hand.
“She was happy that you were coming home.”
I take a sip of my drink, sending down a rising sense of guilt.
