Page 58 of (Not) The One
‘Well, it is and it isn’t, but you’ll find out for yourself when you get older.’
‘Is Mummy a witch?’
Griffin pauses, appearing to consider the question before he answers.
‘She’s a different kind of witch. And one that will make Uncle Griff disappear if you tell her about any part of this conversation.’
* * *
We finish eating, and Griffin heads off to deliver his precious bundle to the nanny who has suddenly become available, presumably after a lie-in and a fry-up to recover from the aftereffects of a drunken Friday night. I do hope Miranda isn’t suffering similar ill effects, though I shouldn’t think so. The other kinds of effects she may be suffering are fine by me, so long as they reflect well on our time spent together.A little soreness. The odd bite or two.
God knows my own abs are a little tender this morning.
As I have no further plans today, I take a slow stroll back to the gallery, making the most of the sunshine. There are a few appointments in the diary, but nothing that warrants my attention. I usually only attend the bigger spenders while the gallery manager manages the smaller sales. And the people who don’t really know what they’re doing.I can’t abide ditherers.
But once in my office, I pick up the phone.
‘Harry.’ After a half dozen rings, Beckett’s answer barks down the line.
‘Have I interrupted something?’ He’s usually much smoother than this.
‘No. Nothing. What is it you want?’
‘You weren’t at brunch today.’
‘How astute of you, Harry.’
‘I have a complaint, and you will hear it because you dodged a bullet, my friend.’
‘So Griffin brought his Friday night companion along,’ he answers in a flat tone.
‘No.’ I laugh unhappily, remembering that occasion. ‘Today wasn’t as bad as all that, thankfully.’
Neither of us needed to revisit the day Griff brought his one-night stand to brunch for the reason they weren’t done, but they were hungry. The pair had eaten like they hadn’t in weeks, then left, but not before hisdatedivulged the reason, unfortunately.
I’m not missin’ out on another dickin’ and a lickin’. The boy has mad skills, man, yo!
‘Did you know Rosa married a screenwriter?’
‘When I knew him, he used to sell speed, as I recall. Something to do with being cut off from his trust fund. But now he’s a father and a happily married man,’ he adds, something acrimonious lurking in his words. He can’t be over marriage already, can he? No, of course not. I’ve never seen him as happy as he was last night. It was almost creepy how much he smiled.
‘So where were you, if you aren’t with Olivia?’
‘I’m not in London currently.’
‘A dirty weekend with the little woman?’ I taunt. Can it be considered dirty when you’re married? I hope so. ‘Anywhere nice?’
‘I’m alone. Olivia didn’t accompany me.’
‘Oh.’ Well, he’s being cagey as fuck. ‘She’s not sick of you already, is she?’
‘If she has any sense,’ he mutters darkly before the beast returns. ‘What do you want, Harry?’
‘You know, Griff would’ve staked his fortune on you never marrying.’ And me never getting involved.
‘A small bet, then.’ Beckett’s answer could be best described as snide.
‘He thinks Olivia has Stockholm syndrome or something. That you must’ve taken her out for dinner one night, then locked her in your mansion following.’
