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Terry interrupted before the Greek could answer her. ‘Have you seen Sean, Miranda? He should be taking care of Nicola. Why is she alone, over by the front door? Find him and tell him to stick beside his fiancée for the rest of the party, would you? We don’t want her getting upset at being neglected, do we? Her father would be furious.’
Miranda nodded. ‘Of course.’ She half-glanced at Alex Manoussi with a polite pretence of regret. ‘Would you excuse me?’
Did he guess how relieved she was to escape? There was a spark of cynicism in those eyes of his. Or was he simply noticing the way Terry coolly despatched her, like a servant, to do his bidding? Somet
imes she resented Terry’s habit of treating her that way, but since her illness she never had the energy to protest or argue.
It didn’t take her long to find Sean in the Victorian-style conservatory at the back of the house, joking and drinking with his friends.
She whispered her message and he groaned. ‘OK, OK, I’ll go and find her. Why doesn’t my father get off my case?’
She frowned disapproval at him. ‘She’s so sweet, Sean; be nice to her.’ It didn’t sound as if Sean cared much about Nicola and Miranda found that sad. The girl deserved better than a reluctant, indifferent fiancé.
‘Don’t you start! Dad’s bad enough.’ Sean glowered, his lower lip petulant. He hated being criticised.
He had his mother’s colouring – blond hair, rough and curly, bright, selfish, vain blue eyes, and a fresh complexion. If he didn’t stop drinking he would run to fat, his face would turn blotchy, those good looks of his would be destroyed and his liver would start giving him problems.
It was not her problem, though. She was paid to keep the firm in the public eye and make sure it had a good reputation. She was not paid to keep an eye on her boss’s son.
Shrugging, she rejoined the party, keeping well away from Terry and the Greek man, who were still talking on the other side of the room.
Miranda circulated, picking up discarded glasses and taking them out to the kitchen to be loaded into the dishwasher by one of the catering team in charge of the party.
The buffet was served half an hour later. She got herself a plate of food and retreated into a corner with it.
Prawns and curls of white turbot crusted with red peppercorns; strips of chicken in a creamy lemon sauce, a few spoonfuls of warm rice mixed with peas and ham and chopped tomato – and a lot of salad. A perfect summer buffet.
While she ate she watched the other guests. The Greek was talking to Sean now, standing beside Nicola who looked faintly nervous of him. Her long eyelashes flickered up and down, her mouth was a little open, as if she had trouble breathing but she kept a polite smile on her mouth, which Miranda found touching.
She really was far too young to cope with Sean, who might not be much older than her but was much tougher. He stood there, one hand in the pocket of his white jacket, while he held a glass in the other, apparently listening to the Greek but all the time looking around the room with those bold, over-bright blue eyes at any attractive woman in view. Miranda felt anxious for Nicola. Someone like her should be cherished and protected, probably had been all her life. Sean would do neither. He would hurt her and make her miserable.
What was the girl’s father doing, allowing this match? Couldn’t he see what sort of man Sean was turning into?
Come to that, why didn’t Terry see the way his son was shaping? Terry wasn’t a fool, surely he must realise the danger of allowing Sean to run wild this way?
But it wasn’t her business, she just worked for the company. Miranda decided to leave. She had run out of things to say to people she barely knew and she wanted to get home.
She saw Sean walk away, towards the hall, and went out to tell him she must be on her way but just before she reached him she heard the shrill peep-peep of a mobile in his pocket. He got it out, flipped it open.
‘Hi. Of course it’s me.’ He frowned. ‘I can’t. No, I can’t.’
Miranda waited, unsure what to do. Sean saw her hovering and gave her a nod.
‘Hang on,’ he said into his mobile, then looked at Miranda. ‘Yeah? What now? Not another summons from my dad?’
‘No, I just wanted to say I have to be going, I have to drive back to London early. Will you give my apologies to Nicola?’
He cut her short. ‘Sure, fine. Thanks for coming. I’ll tell Nicola goodbye for you.’
She smiled politely and walked out of the house, hearing Sean talking into his mobile again.
‘Look, I told you, I can’t see you this weekend, OK? You know what’s happening – I can’t just walk out on my own party.’
He sounded even drunker now. Well, at least he did not need to drive anywhere. No doubt his father would help him up to bed before he fell over.
Miranda had been careful not to drink too much of the champagne so freely on offer and had just swallowed a mug of strong black coffee. Not that she ever did drink more than a glass or two of wine. But tonight it would have been irritating to have to get a taxi to the station and take the train back to town. It would leave her with the problem of picking up her car some other time.
Sean, however, was not in the habit of thinking about consequences. All his life his father had made his life easy. Miranda did not have parents to do that favour for her. Her father had vanished when she was ten, her mother had not been the sort of parent who believes in mollycoddling offspring. Miranda had left home at eighteen to get a job in London, and had only had herself to rely on for years. It would do Sean good to have to do his own thinking for once.
