AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She finally found Mick near the entrance to the ballroom, engaged in conversation with a tall, attractive woman in her sixties. He was relaxed and smiling, which had been such a rarity in his familial environment that she blinked and hung back uncertainly. Mick caught sight of her and immediately held out a hand, his face creasing in a spontaneous grin. Her stomach did a little pleased flip. Putting her fingers in his, she allowed him to pull her into his side and wrap a friendly arm around her.
“Aunt Caroline,” he said, “this is Sophy James. Sophy, this my aunt, Caroline Hollister.”
Sophy extended her hand and was taken aback to be pulled into a hard, impulsive hug. The affectionate genes were obviously passed down the Hollister family tree in sparing but highly concentrated quantities.
“Sophy,” said Caroline warmly, clutching her upper arms to look searchingly into her face. She seemed to be satisfied with whatever she saw there, as her eyes disappeared into a web of happy creases. “Wonderful to meet you. I’ve just been hearing that you braved the lion’s den last night.”
This was so close to Sophy’s own analogy that she blushed slightly.
“Don’t let my brother put you off,” Caroline went on. “Our father was a gem of a man and despite Michael’s failings, look at the son he produced.” She smiled at Mick. “We don’t spring from entirely rotten roots.”
“Um…” There didn’t seem any politic way to express her wholehearted agreement.
Caroline merely laughed and touched them both again with a gentle hand before she excused herself to get another glass of wine. Sophy watched her elegant frame weave through the crowd. She was very lean in build, still fit and muscular in middle age, and her shoes were fabulous, last season’s Louboutins.
At least Mick had someone in his family, was all she could think.
“She seems nice,” she said, close to his ear, and he nodded, his face still softer than she had yet seen.
“She’s a lifesaver.” His arm was still warm around her waist and his breath smelled faintly and not unpleasantly of pinot noir. “Finished your book?” he asked teasingly, and she held up his phone.
“We need to talk about your tastes in literature at some point,” she said loudly, as the bass beat from the band increased in volume. “But no, I was interrupted in my perusal of the Vintners’ Yearbook by an under-secretary from the Ministry of Health. A very tipsy under-secretary. Know anything about infant welfare? Because I still don’t.”
“Do you want to go back to the table and continue the conversation over the meal?” Mick asked.
She really did not.
“Or we could walk the long way back to your hotel, via the waterfront. I may be able to run to an ice cream cone.”
“Sold.”
Sophy was half-afraid that they would be accosted by one or another of his unpleasant relatives on the way out of the building, but they managed a clear escape. Outside, they each took and released a long breath. A portion of tension visibly eased from Mick’s shoulders. His eyes met hers and she scrunched up her nose, carefully weighing her words.
“I really liked the table linens,” she said at last, hopefully. “And the cheese selection was pretty decent.”
Mick’s lips twitched.
“Hmm,” he said as they started to walk. It was still light out, the sun just starting to set and the low light casting shimmers across the harbour. “The wine wasn’t bad either.”
The spindly point of her heel wobbled down a crack in the sidewalk and he reached to tuck her arm through his without looking at her. They wandered quietly along the Viaduct, blending in with the Saturday night crowds moving between bars and restaurants. Mick stopped at the old-fashioned ice cream truck by the waterfront and bought two cups of vanilla bean. They managed to find a deserted bench on one of the piers and sat looking out at the water, thoughtfully eating their ice cream dinner. Sophy kicked off her shoes and tucked one foot beneath her, leaning her chin against the other upraised knee. It was so peaceful and beautiful and…untainted that she was almost sorry when Mick returned to the subject of his family, although it was rare enough for him to make voluntary confidences that she didn’t protest.
“I’m sorry,” he said abruptly, and she pulled her plastic spoon from her mouth, frowning at it.
“You have nothing to be sorry about,” she told the spoon. All she could give him at the moment was privacy. “It’s not your fault that your family is… Well. That they are what they are.”
She could have elaborated on exactly what they were, in short and pithy detail, but she was a firm believer that a person could take pot shots at their own flesh and blood without necessarily appreciating it when well-meaning friends took up the cudgels.
“Has it always been like that?” she asked carefully.
A blinding ray of the retiring sun struck the harbour and skipped across its surface into the horizon, fragmenting the water into shards of rippling light like a heavenly hand had skimmed a huge stone.
Mick got up to throw his empty cup in the nearby rubbish bin. He took up a position at her side, his hands deep in his pockets, one hip propped against a heavy support beam.
“You mean was there a great traumatic event that led to such discord and ostracism?” he asked ironically. “No. This weekend was a continuing blip in a long history of unpleasant dinners and open warfare.”
“I don’t understand how you can be so calm about it,” said Sophy bluntly. If she had fielded a battery of sly digs and brutal insults her entire life, particularly from those who ought to stand most staunchly at her back, she would have the vitality of a deflated balloon by now. At the very least, she would have boxes full of nasty caricatures.
Mick rubbed a hand over his mouth.
