Love to Hate You (26 page)

The bastard laughs. I'm happy that at least one of us has cause for such hilarity.

“Do you need a moment—?” he asks, sweetly.

“No,” I say drily, but then make the mistake of looking into those blue eyes. “Don't do what you're going to do—” I warn him.

He pretends to be innocent. “What am I doing?”

“You know as well as I do! Let go of me, damn it!” His grip is damn strong.

“Ok, if you give me a kiss I will—” he says.

I can't believe it. “Who exactly are you? Because you're definitely not the Ian I know.”

“The good twin? The one who suffers from a chronic lack of affection,” he laughs.

“You really want a kiss? And then you'll leave me alone?” I ask in exasperation.

“If it's a good one, I promise I'll let you go,” he says solemnly. With difficulty I lift my face toward his.

He closes his eyes, pulls me towards him and kisses me. You can't say that he wastes any time.

And neither does my sister, who bursts onto the scene a few minutes later and stares at us in shock until we pull apart.

“Oh my God,” she says, emphatically, looking at me like I was a Martian.

I'm about to say something, but this is definitely none of her business!

“Were you looking for us?” I ask her, pretending to be perfectly at ease, though the look on my face is probably less than convincing.

“Yes, lunch is ready,” she informs us, still staring. Has she never seen two people kissing before?

“Thank you. Ian, shall we go in?” I ask, as though nothing had happened.

And we walk past my sister, still frozen to the spot.

I do hope she snaps out of it before lunch.

Thanks to the horrible food and the not exactly relaxing company, this is, without a doubt, the worst lunch of my life. Not exactly relaxing?! Who am I kidding, these are about the least relaxed people on the
planet
!

My sister does nothing but throw me dirty looks and my mother refuses to look at me at all. I suspect that she is trying with all her might not to make nasty comments, because having to serve a member of the nobility is something that will certainly be driving her crazy. I really appreciate the effort.

“So, Ian,” my sister begins, “what do you do?”

The question might sound innocent, but since we've have already witnessed one fairly embarrassing scene, I have no doubt that another is now on the way.

“I'm the division's financial expert,” he says patiently, well aware that the outcome of the meal might hang in the balance.

“And you like your job?” asks Stacey.

“Yes, very much,” says Ian. Stacey doesn't seem too happy to hear
that
.

“So you deal with completely different things to my sister, then—”

“Yes, she's a lawyer. We complement each other,” says Ian. Perhaps he'd have been wiser to leave out that particular comment.

Stacey gives him a look. “Apart from the fact that you work for the same bank, I'd say that you and my sister have very little in common.
Nothing
in common,” she says.

And the award for delicacy goes to… Stacey Percy!

I decide to intrude. “Ian's a colleague, okay?” I snap.

She lets out a chuckle of derision, which doesn't go unnoticed by my mother. Great, just what she wanted.

“Did you enjoy the soup?” my mother asks Ian, who is trying hard to swallow yet another spoonful. I'm grateful to him for the effort he's making.

“Yummy,” he confirms with a smile so bright that for a moment even my mother seems to give in to his charms.

“And aren't you interested in taking care of the family business?” asks Tom. Couldn't he have just carried on dozing?

“Not at the moment, no. My father and grandfather are more than capable.”

“And so you toil for a living—” adds Tom sarcastically.

“Just like everyone else,” answers Ian serenely.

“Well, not
quite
like everyone else,” says my sister, “None of us here earn anything like you.”

Ian looks at her seriously. “What about your sister?”

“Ian, my family try to ignore that fact,” I explain, trying to amuse him. But he doesn't give up.

“Why? You're very good at your job, I'm sure your family knows and appreciates that.”

“Jenny is good at helping rich people get even richer. Where's the contribution to society?” intrudes my mother, sounding very serious.

“What do you mean, that a job only has any value if it involves helping the poor?” asks Ian.

This could be the start of the clash of the titans.

“It certainly has
more
value,” proclaims my mother, who is not ashamed of her ideas.

Ian looks doubtful. “Well, to be honest I think that's a bit of a discriminatory view of things,” he says, as though nothing has happened.

Oops. No one contradicts my mother. Never. My father and all the rest of us there look at each other.

The whole thing is so unexpected that for a moment my mother looks almost shocked, but it doesn't take her long to recover. “I don't expect you to understand the problems facing the poorer classes. I mean, you are the grandson of the Duke of Revington.” She says it as though it were a mortal sin.

Ian isn't on my list of favourite people, but I feel compelled to intervene.

“Mum, please remember that Ian's a guest and that it was you who invited him. The least we can offer him is a relaxing lunch, perhaps with some interesting conversation about something a bit more light hearted, what do you say?” I ask, attempting to calm the waters. Especially since the food and the company are so awful, I'd like to add, but wisely refraining from doing so.

“We never talk about light hearted things,” my dad replies with a puzzled look.

I smile as innocently as possible. “Maybe we should.”

“There's absolutely no need,” says Ian, “I'm perfectly capable of defending myself and I love a good debate. I was brought up the same way,” he says reassuringly.

“I
know
that you know how to defend yourself but I'd like to remind everyone that this is a Sunday lunch and it should be relaxing. I don't know about you, but I'm not at all relaxed right now.”

My mother seems finally to get the message. “What about something simple?” she exclaims, proudly. “What do you think of these education cuts? It's absurd—”

Exactly what I
didn't
have in mind, I think miserably.

*

About two hours later, lunch is over and my head is about to burst. I think I'll skip the next one. You don't want to start taking these wonderful experiences for granted.

“Well, you certainly know how to put your ideas across,” my father says, while Ian gets up with me from the table. Now all we need is for them to like him, and they could all join forces against me.

“Thank you Mr Percy. You know your facts too,” Ian replies.

“Years of political involvement,” my mother interrupts proudly.

“I can tell, Mrs Percy,” says Ian, smiling at her almost sincerely.

Only my sister Stacey remains indifferent to his charm and continues to eye him suspiciously. And since I'm certain that I won't be able to get away from being questioned by her, I decide to disappear along with Ian and save myself.

“Come again, whenever you want,” my father says to Ian.

Yeah, right, and why don't you shoot a couple of pheasants in his honour while you're at it, I think.

“Thank you very much for the invitation.”

I try to cut short this absurd conversation. “Dad, stop making Ian uncomfortable. He is a very busy man. Charity events, rounds of golf, models to see. He has his hands full.”

My tone is so caustic that everyone turns and looks at me. Ok, I could probably have left off the last bit: it smacked of jealousy, and I'm absolutely not jealous. I don't give a damn where he goes nor who he goes with. Well, at least I
hope
I don't.

“Well, if you're ever in these parts, please drop by,” says my father.

“With pleasure, thank you.” Ian shakes his hand and says goodbye to the others.

“I'm off too.” I add, worried that he might escape before giving me the opportunity to do the same.

“Must you go?” asks Stacey gloomily.

“Absolutely. The girls are waiting for me, we're going to a museum.”

My sister looks at me knowing full well that it's a ridiculous lie, but she doesn't have the nerve to call me out on it.

“Bye, everyone!” I say, grabbing my coat and following Ian.

“Running away?” shoots Ian ironically, as soon as I close the front door behind me.

“You could say that,” I confirm. I have nothing to hide now that he's met my family. Surely he must understand why I want to run away.

“Have a good trip back,” I tell him, heading towards my car with a nod.

“Can we talk when we get back to London?” he asks.

“Why?” I ask worriedly. Haven't we said enough already?

“I'd like to talk to you,” he says, without going into detail. I wish I could avoid it, but I made a mistake and now I have to pay the price.

“Ok, but at least let me get my breath back. Today's lunch was heavy going. I need some time to digest it, and I'm not talking about the food.”

Ian chuckles. “Interesting family. Almost as interesting as mine.”

“We should get them together,” I propose, kidding.

“That would be fun,” he admits.

“We'd probably have to make sure there were no knives on the table,” I add.

“Well, you can do a lot of damage with a fork too, you know,” he says, with a smile.

“Ok, finger food only, then. I can just see your grandfather.”

The image is so funny that Ian bursts out laughing. “Exactly what he needs.” For a few moments we stare at each other without knowing what to say.

“So I'll expect you after dinner?” I ask. “Ok,” he nods, getting into the car. All that remains is for me to do the same.

My sister gives me just enough time to get back to London before she starts bombarding me with calls. My phone has been ringing nonstop for ten minutes. Not knowing what to say, I've decided that for the moment the best idea is not to answer.

“Have you
no
compassion for the poor boy?” asks Vera, passing in front of my door and obviously thinking that it's Ian who's calling.

“Actually, the poor boy turned up at my parents' house… as you know very well since it was you who gave him the address, my dear. For the record, it isn't
him
who keeps phoning. Anyway, Ian's coming here after dinner to talk about I don't know what,” I add, trying to look unfazed by the prospect.

“Don't be like that! How was I to know that he'd turn up at your parents place—” says Vera.

“I bet you were hoping he would when you gave him the address, though—” I say bitterly.

“Maybe, but I wouldn't have bet on it,” she says. “Anyway, if it isn't Ian, who the hell is it?” she asks, bringing my attention back to the madly vibrating phone.

“My sister,” I say, sighing.

“Why? You've only just seen her.”

“And I hope I don't have to see her again for quite a while. And it's what
she
saw that's the problem—”

Vera looks at me. “What the hell did she see?”

“She saw us kissing…” I say softly, “… in my parents' garden.”

Vera opens her mouth. “Let me get this right, he drove for an hour to get to your parents' and as soon as he got there he started kissing you?”

“Not exactly, and it sounds a bit weird if you put it like that.”

“But it's true. He must have really fallen for you,” she says, walking in.

“He hasn't fallen for me.”

“Oh yes he has! Someone who acts like that is head over heels in love, my dear,” she insists.

“No, it's just the novelty: where else would he find a woman who doesn't fall swooning at his feet?”

“Apart from the swooning, which really isn't you at all, I'd like to remind you that you
have
actually fallen at his feet.”

That's one thing I don't wish to remember.

“I didn't fall,” I say, defending myself, “at worst, I tripped.”

Vera laughs. “Ah, that's a good one. Come on, you like him – what's wrong with admitting it?”

I stare at her in horror. “I don't like him at all.”

My friend looks at me as if she was dealing with a total loon. “Really? I thought maybe you did like him, just a little bit, considering you've been to bed with him.”

I'd rather not give too much weight to certain details. “I'll admit that objectively he is attractive, and that deep down – very deep down – he's an intelligent person—”

“Ah,” Vera exclaims, “you're well away now.”

I don't let her interrupt me. “… but the fact remains that he's just not my kind of man.”

“And you should be grateful! Your kind of man sucks, do you realise that?”

That was a mean thing to say, I think angrily. Vera's not pulling her punches.

“Anyway, please answer that phone or mute it: my head's about to explode.”

She's quite right, I shouldn't be annoying everyone.

I grab the phone and in a moment of courage decide to answer it. “Hello?” I say disconsolately, knowing what awaits me.

“I can't believe it!” thunders Stacey at the other end. She should patent that scary voice of hers.

“What?” I ask.

“You're going out with an aristocrat!” she says incredulously. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Not that it's any of your business, but I'm not going out with him at all.” And it's true.

“Oh pull the other one! You've dumped Charles for someone like that?” she asks, horrified.

“Charles dumped me, not the other way round. Not that I'm not grateful… However, if you don't believe me, please feel free to call him.” I'm starting to get sick of this. I'm over thirty years old and my sister shouldn't feel as though she has the right to interfere in my affairs.