‘Three guesses where Nicholas is and the first two don’t count,’ she sing-songs.
From what I overheard, he blames her for the mix-up. Totally out of order, if that’s the case – I’d never blame Pippa for True North’s fuck-up. Other Nicholas isdefinitelyan arsehole – or at least, way more of an arsehole than me.
‘I heard. Well, some of it.’
‘Is that right?’ she asks, challenging me with raised brows.
‘Not eavesdropping,’ I say, lifting my hands in surrender. ‘Just… the wind must have been blowing in this direction. Your voice carried.’
‘Ah.’ It’s obvious she doesn’t believe me – but also that she doesn’t mind.
I get up from the sofa. ‘I was going to head to reception – see how they’re getting on with finding me a place to stay.’
‘Sure – but I asked Vittorio to call when he had something. So, you can either hang out downstairs or stay here where we’ve got a fully stocked bar.’
I look to where she’s pointing, noticing the bar cart for the first time. ‘That’s… impressive.’
‘And there’s this,’ she says, crossing to an old-fashioned turntable. I forgot that Etta James was playing when I walked in on her in the bath. In a film, it would have been the perfect choice for diegetic music.
Delaney swaps out the Etta James album for Ella Fitzgerald and ‘Summertime’ fills the room. She adjusts the volume, turning it into background music.
‘What’ll it be?’ she asks, standing at the bar cart.
I’m torn.
If this were Pippa and she and (other) Nicholas were waiting for a solution to their double-booked room, would I be comfortable with her settling in for the duration, drinking cocktails while Ella Fitzgerald crooned her distinctive, evocative songs?
‘Er, I really should sort my accommodation for tonight,’ I say, heading for the door and picking up my duffel.
‘Okay.’
There’s something in her voice that makes me stop in my tracks and I turn towards her. She’s looking at the bar cart intently, her lower lip quivering.
Ah, fuck.
I know that look. I’ve seen it on Pippa a hundred times. It’s the I’m-putting-on-a-brave-face-but-everything’s-gone-to-shit-and-I-need-a-hug face.
‘You all right?’ I ask, even though the answer is clearlyno.
She nods. But I can tell she’s pretending.
I drop the duffel – third time today I’ve dropped it in this exact place – then put on a bright smile.
‘Hey…’
She looks over.
‘You know how to make a Negroni?’
She smiles through a sheen of tears and nods.
I point to the ice bucket. ‘Then hand me that and I’ll go hunt down some ice.’
‘Cool,’ she says, her smile widening. She hands me the ice bucket and I’m nearly at the door when she calls my name.
I stop. ‘Yes?’
‘You get what this means, don’t you? This mix-up.’