‘S’okay.’ This time I nearly managed actual speech. Blaine was going to kill me.
‘He’s not usually so tongue-tied.’ Blaine placed a light hand on Lilith’s arm and led her to the table and away from my attempts to appear human. ‘You’ve made quite an impression on him.’
Lilith
By the time I sat down to dinner, I was so exhausted that I felt my appetite might be gone forever. Henry, used to dealing with flagging houseguests, had other ideas. He produced an exquisite meal, light enough to tempt the most fatigued palate: lobster ravioli; a summer salad grown in Albermarle Hall’s kitchen garden; tiny, bittersweet wild strawberries and thick primrose-yellow cream. Just an hour after I had thought I might fall asleep across the tablecloth, I cleared my plate and moved on to a second helping of everything. Finally, after I had eaten more in one sitting than I had managed all week, I pushed my spoon to one side. ‘That was amazing.’
Blaine smiled. ‘I feel it’s so important to make my guests feel at home as soon as possible. I trust Coyle gave you a warm welcome?’
I searched for the right words. ‘He was very… professional.’
‘He normally receives better reports than that, especially from our female guests. Was there a problem?’
‘No, no problem. It’s just – well, he knows it, doesn’t he? That whole ‘Celtic Charm’ thing’s a well-polished act, but it reminded me of one of those theme pubs on the Dublin tourist trail. Shelves full of pitchforks and wheelbarrows, and not a native in sight.’
‘Thank you for the feedback,’ Blaine said pleasantly. I noticed Finn’s eyes wander to a picture at the far end of the dining hall.
‘You’ve been to Dublin?’ he asked, just about managing to swallow a laugh.
‘About five years ago. Some cocky bastard restaurateur who’d decided his food was about to ‘capture the zeitgeist’. He blew half his budget on getting me to do a couple of pieces for the bar. You’re from there?’
‘Not quite.’ Finn took a drink before forming his reply. ‘A village about twenty miles out. Colcurren. Have you heard of it?’
‘No. No I haven’t. Must be small, huh?’
‘Tiny.’ Finn moved his gaze to the floor.
Finn
I desperately needed to change the topic, and for once Blaine obliged: at this stage I was not meant to be a subject to be dwelt upon.
‘Lilith, you look amazing tonight – no mean feat after the day you must have had. How on earth do you manage to keep that figure?’ Blaine began to turn on the charm for our latest arrival, playing her game.
‘Genetics,’ Lilith coolly replied. ‘Size six no matter what I do. That, and a run every morning. Minimum five miles.’
‘How very disciplined. So, where do you get that unusual colouring? I suppose everyone must comment on those eyes.’
‘The wolf’s eyes are my father’s, unfortunately. But the skin’s from my mother. She was a pied-noir.’
‘Oh. Like Camus.’ I had spoken before I even realised.
‘What was that, Finn?’ Blaine asked, as if distracted by an intruding child.
‘Um, Albert Camus. He was born in Algeria…’
She gave me a tight smile. ‘Well, aren’t you the clever one?’
Lilith rescued me. ‘Have you read much of his stuff?’
I nodded. ‘All of it. The Plague’s probably my favourite.’
‘La Peste. Cool. Original or translation?’
I had to look at her to check that she wasn’t taking the piss. ‘Translation only, I’m afraid. I speak English with a smattering of Gaelic. Mainly the swear words.’
Lilith rested her elbows on the table. ‘The Gilbert’s a fine translation – I find that you don’t lose anything.’
It was the longest conversation I’d had in months, and it was doomed as soon as my mouth opened.
‘So, what do you think of Lilith’s work, Finn?’ Blaine suddenly asked, knowing full bloody well what the answer would be.
‘I’m not familiar with it, I’m afraid,’ I replied, with as much dignity as I could muster.
‘You’ll have to forgive Finn,’ Blaine said. ‘He’s not a big art fan.’
Lilith smiled. ‘I’m not quite so conceited as to believe the whole world’s familiar with my catalogue. To be honest, it’s good to find someone who might be able to cast a fresh eye on it. No preconceptions.’