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‘You can’t do that,’ Catherine had protested, her eyes widening in a mixture of shock and excitement when Honor had told her what she had planned to do.
‘Watch me,’ Honor had challenged her, bravado covering her brief twinge of guilt at what she had to do.
Verity waited in the kitchen with Honor whilst Silas went into his study to ring the garage. When he came back his expression was grave.
‘The garage can’t come out until tomorrow, I’m afraid, which means that you’re going to have to spend the night here.’
Verity opened her mouth to protest and say that if he couldn’t run her home she could get a taxi, and then, for some inadmissible and dangerous reason, she found that she was closing it again.
‘Oh, good, now we can play Scrabble and you can share my bedroom,’ Honor was saying excitedly.
‘Verity can sleep in the guest bedroom,’ Silas reproved crisply, ‘and as for Scrabble—’
Verity smiled. Honor had told her earlier in the day how much she enjoyed the game.
‘I’d love to play with her,’ she interrupted Silas pacifically, adding truthfully, ‘It’s always been one of my favourite games.’
‘Yes. I… I enjoy it as well,’ Silas agreed.
Her heart hammering too fast for comfort, Verity wondered if that slight hesitation in his voice had been her imagination. Had he, as she had momentarily felt, been about to say that he remembered how much she had enjoyed Scrabble?
Ridiculous to feel such a warm, fuzzy, sentimental, inappropriate surge of happiness at the thought.
‘I still can’t understand where I managed to pick up those nails,’ Verity commented, shaking her head.
They had just cleared away after supper and Honor had gone upstairs to get the Scrabble.
‘Where they came from is immaterial now,’ Silas pointed out. ‘The damage is done…’
‘Mmm…’
‘More wine?’ Silas offered her, picking up the still half-full bottle from the kitchen table.
On the point of refusing, Verity changed her mind. What harm could it do, after all, and since she wasn’t driving…? The meal they had eaten had been a simple one of chicken and vegetables, prepared by Silas with Honor’s rather erratic assistance.
It had touched Verity, though, when Honor had insisted on dragging her out to the garden with her so that they could find some flowers to put on the table.
‘Dad, when you have the dinner party, you’ll have to use the dining room,’ she told her father whilst they were eating. ‘I’ll show you the dining room afterwards, Verity,’ she informed Verity with a woman-to-woman look. ‘You’ll need to know where everything is.’
‘Honor,’ Silas began, ‘I don’t think—’
But Honor refused to listen to him, turning instead to Verity and demanding passionately, ‘You will do it, won’t you, Verity? Please,’ before telling her father, ‘You don’t understand…I hate it at school when the others talk about the parties their mothers give. I can tell that they’re all feeling sorry for me. I know that Verity may not be able to cook, but we can have just as good a dinner party here as they have.’
After such a passionate outburst, what else could Verity do other than swallow her own feelings and give in? Silas, she suspected, must be swallowing equally hard—harder, perhaps, if the frowning look on his face was anything to go by.
‘You had no business inviting Catherine’s mother and father round, though, no matter the circumstances…’ Pausing, Silas shook his head before adding sternly, ‘No business at all. But since you have, I agree that we can hardly tell Catherine’s mother the truth. Please don’t feel that you have to get involved, though—’ he told Verity.
‘I’d be happy to help,’ Verity cut him off, looking him straight in the eye as she told him quietly, ‘I know how Honor feels, but, of course, if there’s someone else you would prefer to act as your hostess…?’
She waited. Would he tell her that, by rights, Myra ought to be the one hostessing his dinner party? And what if he did? Why should that concern her?
‘No. There’s no one,’ he denied before adding, ‘Besides, this will be Honor’s dinner party, I suspect, not mine…’
‘You can choose the wine, Dad,’ Honor informed him in a kind voice. ‘That’s the man’s job. What will we do about food?’ she asked Verity excitedly.
‘We’ll sort something out,’ Verity promised her whilst she mentally reviewed which of her favourite dishes she should serve.
In London she had had little time for giving dinner parties, but when she had they had been occasions she had thoroughly enjoyed.
