One by One - Ruth Ware Page 0,18
Rik stands up. I open my eyes. He is picking his way through the cushions and glasses to put himself physically between them.
“I think Eva was just trying—”
“I know exactly what Eva was trying to do,” Topher shouts. I fight the urge to put my hands over my ears. “She’s trying to get her shot in first. Well, fuck that.”
“Topher.” Eva sounds close to tears, though I am not sure if she is. It’s very difficult to know whether her upset is real or a strategic distraction. If she is acting, it is very convincing. “Toph, please. This was supposed to be a celebration—”
“It was supposed to be a fucking ambush—” Topher says.
“No, absolutely not, never.” Her words carry conviction. But she has overreached herself with that statement. Everyone in the room knows that she is lying, and there is a rustle as people shift uncomfortably, refusing to meet one another’s eyes.
“Guys!” Rik says desperately. “Guys, please, this isn’t how we should be starting this week. We need to come out of this with a result everyone’s happy with.”
“Happy?” Topher rounds on him. “Happy? At this rate we’ll be lucky to come out of it with everyone alive.”
And with that he slams down his empty glass onto the coffee table and storms out of the room.
ERIN
Snoop ID: LITTLEMY
Listening to: Loyle Carner / Damselfly
Snoopers: 2
Snoopscribers: 3
I have my headphones in when Topher comes barreling out of the den and snatches a bottle of whiskey from the honesty bar in the lobby. I’m caught unawares, laying the table, tapping my feet to the beat. I wasn’t expecting them to break for another ten minutes, and as I pull the earbuds hastily out, I catch the tail end of his remark.
“—can add this to the bill of that Dutch bitch.”
Holy shit. What has gone down inside the den? For a minute I stand there, looking after Topher’s retreating back, and then the rest of the group comes filing out, their expressions subdued, and I have to start showing them to their places at the table.
The big glass door in the lobby is still swinging to and fro from where Topher stormed out into the snow. Where on earth is he going? He was wearing jeans and a shirt, and it’s minus eleven outside right now. There are no restaurants or bars in our little hamlet. St. Antoine 2000 is not much more than a handful of chalets. People who want to eat out in the evening have to go down to St. Antoine le Lac, which has all the shops and restaurants and cafés you could wish for. It’s an easy ski down—a long blue run right into the center of the village. But the only way back up at this time is the funicular, and that closes at 11:00 p.m.
Someone puts music on the big main speakers in the dining room, The 1975, jangly and bright, perhaps in an attempt to raise the mood. But as I begin to serve up Danny’s amuse-bouches—miniature wild mushroom gratins in little china spoons—Topher’s absence is like a twinging nerve. The gratins go down well—as Danny’s food always does—but I’m clearly not the only person stressing over Topher, and the atmosphere is strained. There is an empty space at the foot of the table where Topher should be, flanked by Inigo and Miranda, who exchange worried glances every time another course comes and goes without him reappearing.
Elliot, his back to the wall, eats with his head down, talking to no one, and spooning food into his mouth like it’s a race. “Spooning” is literal. The starter is the truffled parsnip soup, so the spoon makes sense, but when I try to clear the cutlery away for the main course, Elliot snatches the spoon back and glares at me, like he caught me trying to steal his watch. When the venison arrives he attacks it with the soup spoon, ignoring the fork and steak knife to either side of his plate. In between courses he sits with his head bowed, staring at the knots and whorls of the wooden table, blanking Tiger to his left, who chatters away to Miranda as if this is perfectly normal, and Carl to his right, who ignores him back, pointedly angling his body away from Elliot towards Ani and Eva.
Eva, at the head of the table, picks at her food, looking at her watch and out the window at the falling snow, her face showing all the anxiety I am trying