of red cabbage somersaulting onto his pale shirt. Efficient and capable? I had never felt less.
‘Mary?’ The man took hold of my arm and steadied me. It was Owen. I hadn’t known he was coming tonight. He smiled and I relaxed. ‘What’s the matter? You look like you’ve seen the proverbial ghost.’
‘Sorry,’ I said, fighting to return to normal. ‘Look at your shirt.’ I picked off a clinging shred of cabbage. A pink stain remained. ‘I have something that will get that out, if you let me have it.’
‘Now? You’d like me to take my shirt off here?’
‘No, of course not …’ It took me a moment to realise he was joking.
‘Don’t worry. I can wash my own shirt.’
‘Can you?’ Leo had never touched a washing machine, as far as I knew.
‘Shall we start again?’ Owen let go of my arm. ‘Hello, Mary, it’s good to see you. Come and sit down and eat your hotpot.’
There was something so gloriously mundane about that sentence, that I let him steer me over to some empty chairs. He chatted about Lucilla and school, and the brilliance of the rock choir, while I picked at my food. I thought I’d lost my appetite, but Owen was such restful, easy company that my plate soon emptied. He took if off me and stood up.
‘Another wine or would you like a coffee?’
‘Wine, please.’
He threaded his way to the bar, squeezing past people with polite diffidence. There was something solidly reassuring about his broad back and sturdy waist. Light brown hair lapped over his collar; no sliver of exposed neck there to catch women unawares. Panic fluttered in my chest. It hadn’t been Ethan, surely? He was in New York. Audrey had mentioned him yesterday, doing something or other in New York. He wasn’t supposed to be in the country until July, so he couldn’t be here, right now, at Foxwood Farm, and I couldn’t be fantasising about his neck. It was impossible, and it was wrong. Unnatural. Undesirable. Undesirable desire. I was in danger of becoming hysterical.
‘This isn’t what I had in mind when I suggested we should have a drink together,’ Owen said, handing over my wine. ‘We’re under scrutiny.’
‘Are we?’ I looked around, expecting to see Daisy watching, but instead found Leo gazing our way.
‘Your ex-husband?’ Owen indicated Leo, and I nodded, unable to say the word that would acknowledge that ‘ex’. ‘You’re still on good terms?’
‘Yes. We’ll always be friends.’
‘Friends?’ I frowned, unable to read Owen’s tone, and wary of making a wrong assumption about what he was asking. This was a whole new world to me: men had only ever been men, not potential boyfriends or partners. I didn’t know the rules of this game, or understand the language in which it was played. Owen helped me out. ‘I’m a simple soul, Mary. I like you. I don’t like complications. If it may prove to be a temporary split …’
‘It won’t.’ No one could see Clark and Leo together and have any doubts about that.
‘And that other man?’
I turned to where Owen indicated, assuming he was referring to Clark. My stomach heaved, and not in reaction to the hotpot. It was Ethan. Ethan was here, tonight, in Stoneybrook, not in New York. So that reaction earlier had been to Ethan … I applied my mental blinkers, shutting out that thought.
‘Ethan. Leo’s brother.’
‘I suppose it will take time for them to accept you have separate lives now.’ Not just them. I smiled, an automatic rather than meaningful gesture, but Owen leant forward. ‘Are you still up for that drink? Perhaps without the minders?’
Even I couldn’t misunderstand that. I hesitated, feeling as if the room had fallen silent, and every pair of eyes and ears were waiting for my response – including mine. My gaze wandered over Owen’s face, past honest brown eyes, a straightforward smile, and on to a delightfully ordinary neck.
‘Yes. What about Tuesday?’
‘Are you trying to get squiffy, Mary Black? The music isn’t that bad.’
Warm breath blew against my ear, and I turned to face Ethan. He still wore the smile of the thirteen-year-old boy I had first met: confident, cheeky, effortless.
‘I love the music. The arrangements are amazing.’
A trio of young men were playing jazzed-up versions of old Lancashire songs with extraordinary energy and vigour. It was a mesmerising performance, and had drawn in most of the people who had remained outside after supper. I had been queuing at the bar when they started, and had been too entranced to move away.
‘The arrangements? Or the handsome young men in dinner jackets?’ Ethan laughed. ‘You always were much more cultural than me.’
‘Surely not even you can have lived in New York for so long without some culture rubbing off. You have Broadway, the Met, the MOMA …’
‘And the New York Yankees. Much more my thing. There’s more drama in a baseball game than in any Broadway play.’
‘Have you ever been to a Broadway play?’
‘Yes. Don’t look so surprised. I made it all the way through The Phantom of the Opera, and I’d only had two beers. I needed more than two to recover afterwards.’
He laughed, and it was impossible not to join him. This was good; this was normal. I hadn’t looked at or thought about his neck once.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Mum gave me her ticket. She thought one of the family should support Leo.’
‘Did you hear him?’
‘I arrived just in time and lurked at the side.’
‘I didn’t notice you.’
‘No. You never did notice anyone else when Leo was around.’
That was true; or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I had chosen not to look. Except once … but I mustn’t think about that.
‘I actually meant what are you doing here, in England. Audrey said you were coming over in the summer.’
‘I brought it forward. I wanted to see how she was.’
‘And how is she?’ I asked, poised to be offended if he suggested in any way that I wasn’t looking after her properly.
‘She’s great.’ He smiled, reading me far too well, even after all this time. ‘I knew you’d care for her. But you shouldn’t have to. She’s our responsibility.’
Briefly he rested his hand on my arm, softening the rejection that his words might have given.
‘I don’t give a stuff about whose responsibility it is,’ I said. ‘I do it out of love. You won’t stop me.’
‘Then we’ll do it together. I’ll be your humble servant, Mary Black.’
He clicked his heels together, and bent over in a deep bow, flicking a glance full of mischief at me as he did. Then his face and body straightened as he looked over my shoulder. ‘Hello, Leo.’
‘Ethan.’
‘Great performance earlier.’
‘Thank you.’
I swivelled from one to the other. They weren’t close – they were too different for that – but this clipped formality was new. Had something happened between them? Leo clearly wasn’t surprised to see Ethan here, although he hadn’t told me that he was coming home.
‘Mary, I’ve spoken to Clark, and we wondered about next Friday,’ Leo said.
‘Friday? Do you want to do something with the children?