He squeezed her hand, then started the car. ‘Well, whoever I’m doing it for, let’s hope it’s not a huge fucking mistake.’
3
Larry Chase’s home was not in Bournemouth, but further east along the coast, about nine miles from the busy port of Southampton. ‘Wow,’ said Nina as the Mondeo pulled up. ‘Your dad’s place is huge.’ It was an old red-brick farmhouse, but one that had been extensively renovated, surrounded by a couple of acres of lush grounds. A brand new silver Jaguar XKR sports coupé was parked outside, an open double garage revealing a black Range Rover and a lipstickred Mazda MX-5 roadster within. ‘He must be doing well for himself.’
‘Making a few quid was never one of his problems,’ Eddie said. ‘How he makes it . . . that’s another story.’ He got out of the car before she could ask him to elaborate.
Nina had made an effort to dress up, wearing a skirt and a pair of high heels. Eddie, however, was in his usual jeans, T-shirt and black leather jacket, not even having bothered to shave. He trudged to the front door and rang the bell as Nina joined him.
Larry opened the door. ‘Hello, welcome!’ he proclaimed. ‘Come inside. Here, let me.’ He took Nina’s jacket as she entered and hung it in a small cloakroom before turning to his son, but Eddie had already removed his own jacket and pointedly placed it on top of Nina’s. ‘I’m glad you’re both here. Elizabeth’s been on at me for ages to get in touch with you.’ He became more sombre. ‘I just wish it hadn’t taken your grandmother giving us all such a scare for it to happen.’
‘Yeah, me too,’ Eddie said flatly.
‘But,’ Larry went on, brightening again, ‘it’s still an opportunity for us to bury the hatchet, I hope. Twenty-two years – it’s a long time. Too long, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Yes, I would,’ said Nina, when Eddie showed no sign of answering.
‘So would I. Anyway, come and meet my wife. Julie! Company’s here!’
A pretty blonde woman entered the hall, the heels of her black leather boots clacking on the polished tiles. ‘Hi, how are you?’ she said enthusiastically, kissing Nina on the cheek before doing the same to Eddie, to his discomfiture.
‘This is my wife, Julie,’ said Larry, putting an arm round her shoulder. ‘Julie, I’d like you to meet my son Eddie, and his wife, Nina.’
‘So, when did you get remarried?’ Eddie asked, tone more accusing than interested.
‘Two years ago,’ Julie told him.
‘Surprised Elizabeth didn’t tell you,’ Larry added.
Eddie smiled, with no warmth. ‘I didn’t ask her.’ He regarded the blonde, who was wearing a tight, low-cut satin dress in a vivid electric blue, as well as a plenitude of gold jewellery. ‘So, Julie. How old are you?’
‘Ah, come on, Eddie,’ said Nina, trying to keep things light. ‘You know you shouldn’t ask a lady her age.’ Admittedly, she was curious herself. Julie was considerably younger than her husband.
Julie flapped a hand, bracelets tinkling. ‘Oh, I don’t mind. I’m thirty-six.’
‘Thirty-six?’ Eddie exclaimed.
‘I know, it’s a bit of an age gap. But that doesn’t matter when you love each other, does it?’ She rested her head on Larry’s shoulder.
Eddie was still dismayed. ‘You’re younger than me!’
‘Yes, I know – when Larry told me about you I thought it might be a bit weird, me being your stepmother. But if you want you can think of me as more like a stepsister!’
Eddie’s silence and fixed expression told her exactly how well her joke had been received. ‘So,’ said Larry after a moment, ‘Julie, why don’t you sort us out some drinks? I’ll show Nina and Eddie round the house.’ Julie gave her guests a hesitant smile, then clicked back down the hall.
Larry went to a flight of stairs. ‘Come on, we’ll do upstairs first.’ He started up them.
‘Half his age plus seven years,’ Eddie muttered to Nina as they followed.
‘What?’
‘That’s the rule, remember? For how old a woman has to be to stop the bloke from being a creepy old pervert.’
‘So?’
‘He’s sixty. You’re the mental arithmetic genius, work it out.’
Nina sighed. It was already obvious that the evening was not going to be a roaring success; the best result would simply be getting through it without a fistfight.
The house’s interior was impressive, expensive . . . and decidedly masculine. If there were any rooms where Julie had been given free rein to apply a feminine touch, Larry opted not to include