“He can’t be as bad as Wee Willy, though,” Sarah said firmly, and Lainie almost snorted tea through her nose.
“Have I mentioned lately that I love you and Niall?” she asked, as she lunged for an old dusting rag to mop up the mess.
“Yeah, we’re quite fond of you too. And don’t avoid the question.”
“I wasn’t aware you’d asked one.”
“It was implied in the statement. I refuse to believe that Troy can be as big a waste of testosterone as your genitally challenged ex. Bad temper aside—and having seen a bit of what you put up with in the media, I’m not sure I entirely blame him—”
“Blame him. There are people who deal with a lot more hassle from the media than Richard, and he perpetuates most of his bad press himself. If he kept his head down, he wouldn’t be half as interesting. And it isn’t only dodgy photographers who come under his fire. He’s rude to almost everyone. Ask his dresser. Ask my dresser. Ask the girl who delivers the morning papers.”
“Oh, I know the type, and I grant you they’re hard to tolerate. There are at least two of them in my class every year, and it’s depressing to know they might not grow out of it.” Sarah was clicking her mouse again, and Lainie wondered what fresh delights she’d found in the news feed. “But he seems to at least trump Will in the romantic sense.”
“Allow me to fall about laughing at the idea of Richard Troy being romantic.”
“Well, I can’t find any love rat rumours. He’s never been involved in any sort of cheating scandal, has he?”
Lainie tried to remember what she knew about Richard’s love life. As little as she’d been able to manage. He’d been linked with a few businesswomen and a high-powered barrister at one point. Never with an actress. Their fake relationship was probably a hard pill for him to swallow in a multitude of ways.
“No, his relationships never seem to last that long, but they at least take place one at a time. As far as I know. And he doesn’t seem to hop from one bed to the next.”
“Surprising, when you think about it.”
“Not really.” Lainie was dismissive. “You would have to have a skin like a rhino to put up with him. Or just no self-esteem at all and a faint aura of desperation.”
“Ouch,” Sarah said, sounding as if she was grinning. “I’m beginning to feel sorry for the man.”
“Said no person who’d actually met him, ever.”
“I wonder what he’s like in bed,” Sarah mused, and Lainie choked on her tea for the second time.
“Sarah! Married woman.”
“I vowed to be faithful, not dead from the waist down. And whatever his faults, you can’t deny your Richard is a bit of a dish.”
“Please never refer to him as ‘my’ Richard again.”
“Well, I admit the chemistry between you isn’t exactly sparking off the screen,” Sarah said—and click, click, click again. “Yeah. No. I’m not getting a ‘let’s split this joint and get naked’ vibe. More of an ‘I vaguely fear contamination’ vibe.”
“Funny you should say that.” Lainie sighed. “Can we change the subject while I’m still able to sleep tonight?”
“Stirring lust?” Sarah asked with interest.
“Creeping horrors. How’s my second-favourite niece doing?”
“Who’s taken top billing this week?”
“Charlotte. She Photoshopped a collage for me involving Will and the T. rex from Jurassic Park. I’ve hung it on my fridge.”
“Obviously Emily needs to up her game. She’s fine. She’s just being a bit...”
“A bit what?”
“A bit thirteen.”
“Enough said.”
“She’s excited about the fête on Saturday, though.”
“Is she? I wouldn’t have thought cake stalls and sack races would be her thing.”
“No, but Johnny Blake is very much her thing. She’s highly impressed that you’ve managed to get somebody semi-cool to open a fête in Little Bottomsworth.”
“Upper Bidford,” Lainie corrected, and tried not to smile. “And Johnny Blake is a sweet kid, as far as these teenage YouTubers go. His mother is a leukemia survivor, so he wanted to support the cause.”
“You know I’m all for the cause. I’m just not sure why we’re fund-raising for the foundation in the remote Cotswolds.”
“There are plenty of events planned in London over the next few months as well, but the villagers in Bidford wanted to help. They lost a seventeen-year-old to non-Hodgkin lymphoma this year.”
“Oh.” Sarah was quiet for a moment. “Dreadful.”
“Yes.”
“Well, we’ll be there, and we’re bringing cakes. I can’t promise they’ll meet the Women’s Institute standards, but...”
“I really appreciate it, Sarah. Thanks.”
“The whole family appreciates what you’re doing with Shining Lights.”