“How about me?” says Dutch, as we step outside into the English air, which feels chilly after Italy. “Have you worked me out yet?”
“Oh, I think I’ve gleaned quite a lot, here and there,” I say teasingly, and he shoots me a rueful smile.
“I guess I’m an open book, right?”
“I’m pretty certain I know what you do for a living”—I nod—“and I have an idea about your name…” I break off as I hear my own name being called from a distance.
“Ava! Ava! Over here!”
Huh? What—
Oh my God! No way!
My heart lifts in disbelieving joy as I take in the familiar faces of Nell, Sarika, Maud, and the children. It’s the squad! And Harold! They came to meet me! We had a brief WhatsApp chat this morning—but they never told me they were planning this!
The only thing is, they seem to be involved in some sort of scuffle. Harold is snarling at a uniformed chauffeur and biting at his legs, while Bertie tries to haul him off. Oh God. Harold hates uniforms, and this one is particularly ridiculous. Who needs all that braid?
“Get that dog off me!” the chauffeur is exclaiming furiously.
“Take off your hat, then,” Bertie retorts insolently. “Harold doesn’t like your hat. It’s not his fault.”
“Children should be seen and not heard,” snaps the chauffeur, in livid tones. “Will you stop that dog?”
“Seen and not heard?” Nell instantly squares up to him. “You want to silence children? Maybe you want to silence women too. What’s your fucking problem? Ava! Is that your carpenter?” she adds more cheerily. “Bring him over!”
“Jean-Luc!” exclaims Maud, clapping her hands together in excitement. “He’s dreamy! Is he really called Jean-Luc?”
I glance at Dutch to see if he responds to the name Jean-Luc, but he’s gazing at the scene with a weird expression.
“Are they…with you?” he says disbelievingly.
“Yes,” I say joyfully. “They’re my friends. Come and meet them.”
As I utter the words, Harold starts to run round and round the chauffeur’s legs, binding them with his lead, barking uproariously. Bertie’s given him too much slack, I realize. But, then, he’s only a child.
“I’m calling the police,” yells the chauffeur. “You’re a disgrace!”
“Is that…your dog?” says Dutch, sounding a bit shell-shocked.
OK. So this isn’t the most ideal way for Harold to introduce himself. But Dutch is a dog person. He’ll understand.
“He hates uniforms,” I explain. “Harold!” I call out. “Darling! I’m back!”
At the sound of my voice, Harold turns, and an expression of utter joy comes over his face. He tries to gallop toward me, nearly pulling over the chauffeur before Nell grabs the lead.
“Mr. Warwick!” The chauffeur gazes desperately in Dutch’s direction, and I feel an almighty jolt of shock.
“Wait. Is he…with you?”
“That’s Geoff,” says Dutch shortly. “And yes.”
Dutch has a driver?
My brain seems to be short-circuiting. This is all wrong. Carpenters don’t have drivers. What’s going on?
I hurry forward, take Harold’s lead from Nell, and extricate it from the chauffeur’s legs.
“I’m so sorry,” I say breathlessly. “Are your legs all right? My dog’s just quite highly strung. He needs soothing.”
“Soothing!” expostulates the chauffeur. “I’ll soothe him all right!”
I bend down to hug my precious Harold and whisper in his ear how I’ve missed him so much but I have a new friend for him to meet. Then I rise again, turn to Dutch, and say in tremulous tones, “So, meet Harold!”
It takes me a moment to realize that Dutch isn’t even looking at Harold. He’s addressing the chauffeur in irritable tones. I’ve never even heard him sound irritable before.
“Geoff, what are you doing here?”
“They want you at the conference,” says the chauffeur. “And the dinner. Mr. Warwick, Sr., says you know about it. He told me to come and drive you straight to Ascot.”
Dutch closes his eyes as though trying to control himself. “I said I wasn’t doing the conference. I made it quite clear.”
“That’s what he said,” replies Geoff implacably. “They’re expecting you.”
“I need to make a call,” says Dutch to me, jabbing tensely at his phone. “Sorry. This is…This really wasn’t the plan….Dad.” He strides away out of earshot, and I stare after him, nonplussed.
“I thought he was a carpenter,” says Maud, who has been watching, agog, with all the others.
“I thought he was too,” I say confusedly. “I…don’t know. I must have picked up the wrong vibes.”
“So, what does he do?” says Nell.
“What’s his name?” chimes in Sarika.
“Don’t know,” I admit.
“You still don’t know his bloody name?” Nell sounds incredulous. “Ava, what are you like?