“I know,” he said smugly, poking one of the chips into the mashed-potato top of his pie. A belch of steam came out. “I miss giving you a hard time, Killer. Why don’t you ever come out with Lacey and me anymore?”
“Wait, so first I was partying too hard, and now I’m not partying enough?”
“A mild over-correction,” he said. “Easily repaired.”
I took an extra-large bite of fish, to our waiter’s consternation. “I don’t understand why you’re not nearly as paranoid as Nick is about the media,” I said. “We both know why he’s so sensitive, but why aren’t you?”
Freddie tapped his knife against his plate thoughtfully. “I think I was too young. Nick actually has memories of Mum.” He all but mouthed the word. “I envy him those, sometimes. But then I think maybe his normal memories, of before, make the bad ones that much worse. Maybe having nothing at all is better.” He stared into the distance. “It’s a bit like when you hear about a plane crash, and it’s awful, but it also doesn’t haunt your life. Nick was on the plane when it went down, and I just read about it in the papers. Does that make sense?”
“Perfect sense.” I let it settle for a second. “It’s hard to explain to Lacey sometimes, though. Not that I mind keeping your confidence, but I feel bad that she’ll never understand the whole story. She’s actually miffed Nick tried to call off the paparazzi. Like she’s being denied her rightful place in the papers.”
“I doubt it’s that simple,” Freddie said.
“Says the expert on my twin.”
“In some areas, I probably am,” he said, and I snorted. “Not those areas,” he chided. “I mean, yes, those too, but what I mean is, Lacey is the only other person I know who understands being the spare.” He swigged his scotch. “It is a peculiar person to be.”
It was disarmingly, alarmingly, honest, and it hit me so hard that I actually leaned back in my chair with a thump.
“Freddie,” I said. “Nobody thinks of either of you that way. ‘The heir and the spare’ is just a jokey expression.”
“Perhaps to you,” Freddie said. “Truthfully, I think Knickers would rather be that than the heir sometimes. I’m sure he thinks it looks easier, and in some ways it is, but…” He shrugged. “Everyone had expectations of Nick, or for Nick. Nobody ever had any of me. And after a while they didn’t have much interest in me, either.”
I bit my thumbnail, unsure of what to say.
“But Nick might have it worse,” he continued. “My biggest problem is feeling pointless, and his biggest problem is that he basically is the point, and that consumes his whole life. So if I can muck about with outrageous people and give Dick something else to fume about, I’ll do it.”
“Only you could get away with turning serial dating into a selfless act,” I teased. “But I hate that you feel so superfluous. Does Lacey honestly feel that way, too? Do I treat her like that?”
“No,” Freddie said firmly. “Sometimes it’s hard not to feel like the other one, that’s all. But I probably shouldn’t be speaking for her. Just give her time to find her own footing.”
“Well, since we are speaking for her,” I said, gesturing at him with my fork, “she’d kill me for saying this, but I think she feels a connection that may not be there for you, and if it’s not, I’m scared she’s going to get really hurt.”
“I know. I don’t want that,” he said sheepishly. “I’ve been selfish about it, because she’s hard to give up. She’s clever, and she’s fun. Even if her sister is a bit of an ogress.” He drummed his fingers. “Perhaps in another life, she’d be it for me, but in this one it’s not very realistic.”
“It could be,” I said. “Your roadblock is gone, remember.”
“Aha, but I think we both know that even if you’re not quite in Nick’s life, you’re never actually gone from it, either,” Freddie said.
We lapsed into our thoughts, filling the air with the clattering of our silverware. I felt guilty for talking about Lacey with him, but I couldn’t keep turning a blind eye to how much she hoped for more and how little Freddie thought he could give it.
“This lunch took a somber turn,” he said. “I thought we were going to trade juicy personal gossip.”
“That would have been a lot more interesting for you six months ago.”
“Still, let’s give it a whack,” he said. “I’ll go first. Nigel got chucked out of St. Andrews. He had cocaine in his room.”
“Damn. Awful Julian must be so proud,” I said. “My turn. Gaz and Cilla hooked up the night he punched Nick.”
“Finally!” Freddie crowed. “Nick didn’t bloody tell me, the bastard. I wonder if I won the pool. Right, let’s see. Barnes had a girlfriend for about twenty minutes and it made him into an entirely different and wonderful person.”
“I can’t imagine a pleasant Barnes,” I said.
“He sang a lot of show tunes,” Freddie said. “He’s quite a good Sally Bowles, it turns out. You’re up. With one about you this time, please.”
“Yours weren’t about you, either!”
Freddie frowned. “If I must. Persimmon slept with Tony after I wouldn’t let her plan a birthday party for me,” he said.
“My last boyfriend had a third nipple.”
“My new girlfriend’s name is Santa.”
I cackled so loudly that our ancient waiter had to sit down and collect himself at a nearby table—which already had three diners at it.
“You made that up!” I accused him.
“It’s deadly true.” He grinned smugly. “She has a large bag of toys.”
“Well, Third Nip and I broke up because he found it erotic to suck on—”
“No! My virgin ears!” Freddie laughed, grabbing them.
“—my chin,” I finished. “It’s rough out there, Freddie. This is why I’m all nights in and quiet country house parties now. It’s all I can take.”
Freddie polished off his pie. “Shows how much you know. I’ve gotten into more trouble at country house parties than anywhere else,” he said. “I take it you’re going to Cilla’s do?”
Cilla’s sister owned a home in the countryside of Berkshire, which differed from her home in the countryside of Yorkshire by about two thousand square feet and a swimming pool. Apparently she’d refused to leave the family birthplace, so her rich husband bought them a mansion they could remodel, in the hopes of making her fall in love with it and want to live there permanently. Cilla had permission to throw a weekender there before they knocked it to rubble.
“I was thinking about it,” I said. “It sounds relaxing.”
“It won’t be,” he said. “But I think you can handle it. You don’t need another calm weekend reading some big fat book.”
“How about a civilized game of croquet?”
Freddie grinned. “Not unless you think strip croquet is civilized.”
“Depends on who’s stripping.”
He tipped his scotch to me. “There’s the Bex I remember.”
Chapter Five