In Bed With Lord Byron

Didn’t she know how jealous Anthony could be, that she was needling
his most sensitive spot?
    Thankfully, we were saved from awkward chit-chat by the arrival of everyone else, who surged in all together.
    They were led by Kerry’s parents, Mr and Mrs Prendeghast. Mr Prendeghast was tall and very handsome, in an elegant, silvery sort of way; Mrs Prendeghast had very coiffeured bronze hair and
looked as though her handbag alone cost a million pounds, not to mention her nose.
    ‘You must be Lucy!’ she cried, looking me up and down. Despite the smile on her face, she somehow made me feel as though I wasn’t quite up to scratch. ‘Oh, heavenly to
meet you.’
    ‘Hi,’ I said, shaking her hand, her rings cool and hard against my palm.
    Then I saw him.
    He and Kerry were holding hands, winding through the tables. He looked so handsome, so very, very handsome. Better than Byron and Leonardo and Capone all rolled into one.
    I noticed Kerry looking my dress up and down with a disappointed frown, but I couldn’t be bothered to play along with her game. All my attention was spotlighted on Anthony. I waited for
him to come up and throw his arms around me in his usual way.
    Instead, he gave me a faintly cool smile and a nod.
    ‘Hi, Lucy, good to see you,’ he said.
    We all sat down to eat.
    I stared at the menu, my face burning.
Hi, Lucy, good to see you.
As though I was his fucking accountant or something. I glanced up and saw that Anthony and Mr Prendeghast were exchanging
jolly pleasantries, discussing a game of golf they’d played a week ago. So. Anthony was well in with the family, then. I couldn’t help noticing that his accent had reverted to a
distinctly American tinge; all English traces were fading fast.
    ‘Can you read this menu, my dear? I’m afraid my eyes are not what they used to be.’
    I jumped, suddenly realising there was an old lady sitting next to me. Then I dimly remembered that she had been introduced as Grandma Rose; in my excitement over Anthony, I had barely taken her
in.
    ‘I’d be happy to help,’ I said.
    As I read through the specials, she looked at me with such a shrewd, hostile gaze, I felt as though I was taking an exam.
    A waiter came and took our orders, and then poured some wine, and still Anthony barely seemed to notice me. I took a big fat miserable sip of wine, trying to reassure myself. Maybe he was just
trying to placate Kerry. Maybe he would warm up as the meal went on.
    ‘I’d love to know,’ said Grandma Rose, interrupting the flow of chit-chat, ‘just how Anthony proposed to my granddaughter.’
    ‘Hey, that’d be a great tale,’ Morrison agreed, winking at Kerry.
    ‘I’d love to hear too,’ I chimed in, with burning curiosity.
    The table fell silent; all eyes were on Anthony. He blushed, fingering his collar.
    ‘Well . . .’ He smiled across at Kerry lovingly. ‘We’d, ah, gone away for the weekend. To Paris. We were in a chocolate shop and I just felt I had to propose. And . .
.’ His eyes travelled around the table, flickering over me and then sliding away, fixing on a large Italian pepper pot in the centre of the table. ‘She said yes.’ He shrugged
bashfully and took a sip of wine.
    ‘Oh, now, hang on a minute!’ Mrs Prendeghast cried. ‘Hang on one minute! Kerry told me all about this and it is
so
much more romantic than Anthony is letting on. He
didn’t take her to just
any
chocolate shop!’ She spread out her hands, bracelets tinkling against each other. ‘He took her to Patisserie Marie, the finest chocolate shop in
the world! And there he spent
hundreds
on her, buying her the best chocolate ever made. And
then
he proposed! And no wonder she said yes!’
    ‘No wonder,’ Mr Prendeghast echoed. ‘Chocolate is clearly the answer to all the world’s problems. No doubt a little more chocolate passed around the UN would have averted
the war in Iraq.’
    ‘That is such a sweet story,’ said Grandma Rose, cocking her head to one side and nearly trailing her pink hair in her gravy.
    I didn’t think it was a sweet story. My hand was stiff around my fork; the piece of spinach in my mouth seemed to grow thick and swell and double in size. I closed my eyes for a moment. I
recalled the day Anthony had taken
me
to Paris. The sweet scents of the chocolate shop, our nerves, our laughter, the anxious look on his face as he passed a truffle over for me to taste.
I’d always treasured that memory in my heart like a flower, and from