“Yes. I remember.” Lainie remembered reading more than one glowing review with astonishment, wondering if they had been at the same play.
“But it was a definite low point on his résumé. Thankfully, it was only a three-night run.” Lynette shot her a considering glance. “And how are things going with you two? I expected to be called to a late-night homicide scene by now.”
Lainie smiled faintly. “And which of us would be sprawled inside the chalk outline?”
“Debatable. Richard has the worse temper, but he’s also the more irritating.”
“He would disagree.” Her smile widened. “Possibly on both counts.”
“No doubt.” Lynette studied her. “Do you know, I think you’re fond of him.”
Lainie looked down at the tabletop. She traced a line through the ring left by her glass. “You’re not, I take it.”
“Frankly, I find him a walking, breathing migraine. One makes allowances, of course, for his upbringing,” Lynette said, but she spoke without enthusiasm.
“His upbringing?” Lainie repeated, confused. “I gathered that privileged was putting it mildly.”
“Oh, he’s always been wealthy. Poor little rich boy to the core, and materially spoilt rotten. But it’s the usual story: only child, parents absent for one reason or another, boarding school while still in nappies, succession of indifferent nannies in the holidays. His behaviour just screams it, really. Never been hugged in his life.”
Lainie turned that over in her mind, weighing it against her own middle-class childhood with wonderful parents and more siblings than she knew what to do with. “I think there’s a limit to which a person can excuse bad behaviour with a difficult-childhood card,” she said at last.
“Oh, I expect most of his personality defects are his own,” Lynette agreed, draining the rest of the champagne. “And he got shafted on the genetic front. Looks aside, obviously. His mother was an immoral bitch who’d go to bed with anything that bought her diamonds. And his father was a stiff-necked old sod. Sir Franklin Troy, you know, the MP. He died of a heart attack when Richard was at Eton.”
Lainie actually remembered when Franklin Troy had died. She had been at primary school, and her usually mild-mannered father had gone off on a diatribe against the man. “Not wanting to speak ill of the dead, but...” Troy Senior had been rabidly right-wing and, in her dad’s opinion, a bit unstable.
It was probably a good thing that she and Richard wouldn’t need to have a fake family dinner with their parents to cement their fake relationship. She couldn’t imagine it would have been cordial.
Lynette set down the empty flute and got to her feet. She was still rock-steady on her high heels despite the half quart of liquor she’d poured down her throat. “Well, must mingle, I suppose.” She tapped Lainie on the back of her hand. “Pat and Bob will be pleased to hear that the little side performance is going well. Richard’s reputation seems to be minutely improved. The redeeming influence of a good woman. It’s a bit offensive, really. A month ago, the Operatic Guild would have been content to keep him at a safe distance, whispering behind their lorgnettes.” Her lips lifted at the corner. “You maintain it is still an act, do you?”
“What do you think?” Lainie asked shortly.
Lynette looked thoughtful. “I think,” she said before she disappeared into the crowd, “that I hope for Richard’s sake you can’t act as well as all that.”
*
Lainie sat meditatively in Richard’s car, watching the lights of London out the side window. Traffic was still heavy around Earls Court; it had taken them twelve minutes so far to advance two blocks. The Ferrari came to a halt once again behind a hooting, hollering car full of teenagers. Tucking her wrap more tightly around her shoulders, she fingered the sequins sewn on the hem and turned her head to look at Richard. He, too, was quiet. He looked tired, his head tilted back and his eyes momentarily closed. His fingers drummed a lazy tune on the steering wheel.
“Long night,” she said, for lack of anything else to say.
His eyes cracked open. They were glinting sleepily in the reflected lights from the street. “I’ve had more pleasurable evenings,” he drawled. There was a pause. “Although the company could have been worse.”
“I do believe that was a compliment.” Lainie tucked a hand between her cheek and the headrest. “Feel free to elaborate. Don’t spare my blushes.”
“‘The lady doth speak,’” Richard murmured, quoting one of Will’s lines from the play. The rest was pure ad lib: “A little too much, methinks.”
Lainie retaliated by borrowing words from Chloe’s mouth: “‘Thy pretty tongue, Bandero, leaves wounds.’”
“Well, that’s an inapt choice if I’ve ever heard one,” Richard remarked in his usual tones. He sat up straighter as the cars in front began to move. “I don’t think I’ve ever personally been accused of speaking prettily before.”