Chapter 32

I arrive at Charles's house at exactly 6.30, a floral arrangement in my arms. It only occurred to me as the cab crossed the river that I hadn't brought anything for his mum, so when we drove past a large Spar shop in Milltown, I asked the driver to stop. I'd been thinking of chocolates, but the floral arrangements at the doorway were pretty and so I bought one of those instead. Unfortunately, some pollen from the tiger lilies has come off on my pink cardigan, and as I wait for Charles to answer the door, I make matters worse by rubbing it.

‘You're here!' He beams at me. ‘And precisely on time.'

It's as well we stopped for flowers. Otherwise I would've been early.

‘Am I first?' I ask.

He shakes his head. ‘Mum and Ellis are here already. We're having cocktails in the living room. Are those for me?'

‘Your mum.' I show him the pollen mark on my cardi, but he shrugs and says it doesn't matter.

‘I'll warn her in advance, though,' I say. ‘I wouldn't like my gift to destroy her clothes.'

‘Don't sweat it,' he tells me. ‘It's fine.'

He pushes open the door to the living room and I step inside. The two women turn to look at me.

Seeing his mother, it's very clear where Charles gets his looks from. She's an angular woman, very thin, though that's probably because of her age, but with the same arctic-blue eyes and the same chiselled features. Her iron-grey hair, flecked with silver, is scooped back into a chignon that's finished off by a black velvet bow. She's wearing a houndstooth-check skirt and jacket, and a cream blouse. Her nails are varnished in ruby red.

Slight though she may be, she's dominating the room.

Beside her, Ellis, who I recognise from Charles's Christmas photos, is dressed more casually in an emerald-green silk shirt over skinny jeans and a lot of funky jewellery. Her mother has a lot of jewellery too, but it's recognisably expensive – probably, I think, from Warren's.

‘So you're the new fiancée,' says Mrs Boyd-Miller. ‘I'm glad we finally get to meet.'

‘Me too.' I thrust the floral arrangement at her. ‘Be careful of the tiger lilies.'

‘Thank you.' She takes it from me and immediately puts it on the sideboard.

‘I'm Ellis,' says his sister. ‘Good to meet you.'

‘And you.'

‘What would you like to drink?' asks Charles. ‘Actually, scrub that. We have champagne. I should've served it first.'

‘There's really no need—' begins his mother, but Charles has already left the room, leaving the three of us standing looking at each other.

It's Ellis who tries to get the conversation going by asking if I've come directly from work. I'm taken aback by the question, given that I'm wearing my prettiest clothes rather than my hi-vis jacket, even if there is pollen on my cardigan.

‘I wish I could dress like this for work,' I say. ‘But I'm not sure how effective I'd be.'

‘Of course, you're at the front line of securing our borders.' Her eyes twinkle. ‘Border Patrol is one of my favourite TV programmes.'

‘It's not quite as exciting as it appears there,' I say.

‘Aw, don't say that and shatter my illusions.' She smiles at me.

‘Do you read at all?' demands Mrs Boyd-Miller.

I tell them about my love of crime.

‘I heard you were responsible for Charlie's shift in genre,' says Ellis. ‘What an influence you've had on him!'

Her words are kind, but Mrs Boyd-Miller purses her lips and says she hopes I haven't caused him to ruin his career. ‘All that effort establishing himself as a proper, serious author, and for what?' she adds. ‘To be laughed at.'

‘He won't be laughed at,' I say.

‘Who won't be laughed at?' Charles returns with the bottle of champagne. Nobody tells him we were talking about him, and he doesn't pursue the question. Instead he fills four glasses and hands them around. ‘To Iseult,' he says, raising his. ‘The love of my life and my wife-to-be.'

‘You have to get rid of the old one first,' says Mrs Boyd-Miller. ‘Though that's not a hardship.'

‘It's all in hand.' Charles sounds irritated, but I like that his mother isn't an Ariel fan. Though given what she said about me potentially ruining Charles's career, I'm not sure she's a fan of me either.

‘Anyway,' he continues, ‘tonight is about moving forward and letting you get to know my darling Iseult.'

‘Tell us about yourself.' Mrs Boyd-Miller looks at me. ‘How did you move from being with the revenue inspectors to helping Charles with his book.'

‘I work in Customs, not Revenue,' I tell her. ‘And I didn't help Charles with his book.'

‘Oh, but to listen to him, you practically wrote it for him!' cries his mother. ‘He credits you with everything. Which is great if it goes well, not so good if it's a terrible flop.'

‘It won't be a flop,' I say.

‘I love your confidence in it.' Ellis raises her glass.

‘The success or failure of my book has nothing to do with Iseult,' says Charles. ‘It's all down to me. I'm the author, after all. Do you want to see the proposed cover?'

There's a chorus of yeses, and he takes out his phone to show us a Caribbean location with a corpse on the beach. It's bang on trend for cosy crime, though Pamela thinks it could be more noir.

‘Xerxes are doing a good job,' concedes Charles. ‘Now come on, everyone. Time to eat.'

We walk across the hall to the dining room, which overlooks the garden. Charles has turned on the outside lights and they illuminate the bare branches of the trees. I can't quite believe that very soon this will be my house and my garden. As I take my seat at the polished mahogany table, I feel my phone buzz in my bag. I check the messages and see Steve's name.

This movie is crap

I don't reply.