Christmas at Tiffany's (21 page)

‘You’re both,’ said Luke, leaning forward and kissing her softly on the mouth. ‘I can’t survive you being one without the other. I can’t get enough of you.’

Cassie bit his lower lip gently. ‘Well, you’re going to have to,’ she smiled, moving as though to get out of bed. ‘I’m meeting Bas for brunch.’

‘What? But I thought we had the day together. I’ve only just got back. I haven’t seen you for four days,’ he protested, grabbing her by the wrists.

‘And whose fault is that?’

‘Bonnie’s,’ he grumbled.

‘Yours, actually. You shouldn’t be so good.’

He stared at her for a moment, watching the way her pupils dilated as he kept her pinned to the bed. ‘Actually, I’m very, very bad,’ he said, before diving under the duvet and proving his point.

An hour later, her hair was still unbrushed and her cheeks still flushed, albeit not from sleep any more.

‘You’re late,’ Bas moaned as she skipped towards the wooden bench he was sitting on outside the café. ‘And even across the street I could see
why
.’ He stood up. ‘Look at you. You may as well have a sign on your head saying “Just got laid”.’

‘You make me sound like a free-range egg,’ Cassie said, squeezing his arm and planting a smacker on his cheek. ‘Besides, you can’t possibly tell that just by looking at me.’

‘You’ve got bed hair and stubble rash all over you.’ They opened the door and nabbed their usual favourite table – ‘and I think I’m probably on the money when I say
all
over you – am I not?’

Cassie grinned back. She blushed less these days. Being with Luke the past few weeks had helped her shed many inhibitions, along with them her customary flushes.

‘I couldn’t possibly comment,’ she said, pretending to read the menu, even though they both knew she was holding it upside down – and knew it off by heart. ‘I ought to have the egg-white omelette,’ she mused.

‘Yes, you ought. I’ll play Mother in Miss Kelly’s absence.’

‘Mmmm. But you see, what I
really
fancy is a bacon sandwich,’ she said, peering over the top of the menu. ‘Will you rat on me?’

Bas held her gaze for a moment before sighing dramatically and looking away. ‘I can get an alibi for where I am this morning.’

Cassie chuckled and they placed their orders with the waitress.

She looked around as she shrugged off her puffa – Kelly had long since stolen back the leather jacket and was safeguarding it by keeping it on at all times. This little café, Tea and Sympathy, had become ‘their place’ when they met up, just she and Bas. It had been set up by an Englishwoman who’d despaired of ever being able to get a ‘proper’ cup of tea in a city powered on coffee. Cassie loved it because it meant she got to indulge her PG Tips habit, and satisfy (on the sly) her cravings for Heinz baked beans, proper Cumberland bangers smothered in HP sauce and her beloved crispy bacon. She didn’t come here with anyone else – certainly not Kelly, not Luke – and Bas, after much suspicion and interrogation about the exact provenance of what he was eating, had slowly acquired a taste for black pudding, for which she loved him.

‘So you’re still happy, huh?’ Bas asked.

‘Still happy.’

‘Huh.’ He nodded. ‘It’s sickening.’ Poor Bas was in deep pining for a foreign Ph.D. chemistry student called Stefano who was engaged to a timid brunette – and Tom Ford, of course.

Cassie covered his hand affectionately with hers. ‘I was thinking.’

‘Easy . . .’

‘We should throw a dinner party.’

‘Say what?’

‘We should,’ she laughed. ‘You and me.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it would be a lovely and loving thing to do. It shows our friends how much we care. And I do have to keep doing things that reassure Kelly I’m actually her friend and not her nemesis.’

‘Things still not great?’

She shrugged. ‘Limping along. Luke’s doing what he can to turn the tide, but it’s going to take time.’ She looked up and paused as the waitress set down a giant china teapot. ‘Anyway, isn’t Thanksgiving coming up? Isn’t that quite a big deal over here?’

‘Quite a big . . .’ Bas looked around the café. ‘Honey, you are lucky this place is filled with limeys. You’d be lynched for saying that anywhere else. It’s like burning the Stars and Stripes.’

Cassie rolled her eyes at his dramatics. ‘So what do you think?’

‘I think it’s a dreadful idea. Why do you think we always eat out or order in? No New Yorker can cook.’

‘But I’m an excellent cook. It’s my favourite thing. I did it all the time back in Scotland.’

‘Well, you cook, then. What shall I do? Style their hair on the way in?’

Cassie laughed. ‘You can choose the wines. That always used to be Gil’s job. He used to disappear down to the cellars and come back with some dusty bottle and cobwebs in his hair. I don’t have a clue.’

Bas speared some black pudding on to his fork. No matter how much he ate, he always remained spike-thin. ‘And who’s on your guest list?’

‘Well, we’ll keep it small: you, me, Kelly, Brett – and Luke if he wants to come. He might be away.’

‘Ooh, look at you playing it so cool.’

‘Not playing it any way, Bas.’ She slurped her tea. ‘It’s just the way it is.’

‘Okay, lady,’ he said, sighing heavily. ‘You get your way. You can hold it at my place.’

There was a tiny pause. ‘Actually,’ Cassie said, biting her lip, ‘we kind of have to hold it at Kelly’s.’

‘Kelly’s? What are you – insane? You know she keeps her knickers in the kitchen, right?’

‘It’s an order.’

‘An order?’

‘Well, maybe not an
order
. But it’s on the list. It has to be at Kelly’s.’

Bas peered at her, instantly alert. ‘List? What list? I’ve not heard of any list.’

‘The one Henry wrote up for me.’

‘Henry?’ Bas asked, palms outstretched. ‘And who – pray tell – is he? And why am I only hearing about him now?’ He gasped suddenly and leant forward. ‘Is he the reason you’re playing it so cool with Coody?’

‘Don’t call him that!’ Cassie said, annoyed. She poured more tea.

‘Sorry,’ he soothed. ‘But who’s
Henry
?’

‘Henry’s no one, an old family friend. He’s just Suzy’s little brother. He’s an explorer, you know.’

Bas shook his head. ‘No. I didn’t know. I didn’t know there was any such thing these days.’

‘Me neither. But there you go.’ She blew gentle ripples on the surface of her tea. ‘Anyway, he always draws up a list of things to do every time he goes somewhere new, to try to get the essence of the place, you know?’

Bas nodded, taking in her earnest expression.

‘So he did one for me, and it says I’ve got to throw a dinner party – from Kelly’s kitchen.’

‘Tch. He’s obviously never stood in it.’ Bas shook his head. ‘What else did this list say?’

‘Ummm, go to the public library . . . run round Central Park . . .’ She and Bas pulled faces at each other. ‘I know. Visit Ground Zero – which I’ve done. That’s where it all kicked off for me and Luke,’ she said, a dreamy smile coming over her face as she remembered the way he’d chased after her that morning, clicking away as she’d run nude across the apartment to the bathroom.

‘That’s it?’

‘Pretty much,’ Cassie shrugged. ‘The last one just said I had to get to Paris no matter what.’

Bas threw his hands up in the air in disgust. ‘Hate him! I totally hate him!’

‘You’d love him. If you ever met him, you’d
love
him,’ Cassie insisted from behind her tea cup. ‘He looks phenomenal in his boxers!’

Bas’s jaw dropped. ‘And how do
you
know that?’

‘It’s not like that, Bas. I just told you – he’s Suzy’s little brother. He’s practically
my
little brother. No!’

Bas looked at her from beneath raised eyebrows. ‘You’re the one that brought up the sight of him in his boxers.’

‘Tch.’

‘There’s no use in getting all huffy on me.’ He drank his own tea. ‘Anyway, you do realize Thanksgiving is all about the turkey? I hope you’re good with turkey?’

‘Actually, I was thinking of going one better than that,’ Cassie said, arching one eyebrow. ‘I figure if I’m going to actually do this, then I may as well go the whole banana. I’m going to do Thanksgiving
my
way.’

‘Tell me you’re kidding,’ Bas gasped, looking pale for once as he scanned the deflated birds laid out in descending order on the tiny, metre-long worktop. The turkey’s left leg and wing were dangling precariously over the side.

Cassie shook her head, hands on hips.

‘And where are we supposed to work, given that the birds are completely filling up the kitchen?’

‘Well, we’ll have a whole lot more room in a minute,’ Cassie said, opening the small fridge she’d bought and which was sitting out in the hall area. ‘And look, I’ve already made the stuffing. Smell that.’ She held a bowl up to Bas’s face, but he recoiled as if he was expecting her to hit him with it.

‘Isn’t it gorgeous? Minced pork, goose fat, herbs, mace, chopped apple and cranberry. Mmmmm.’

Bas looked sceptical. He couldn’t stop looking at the birds. ‘And you’re seriously telling me you’re going to be able to get all those birds into each other, like babushka dolls?’

‘Mm-hmm.’ Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, her hair pinned up in rollers. It was three in the afternoon and Kelly, Brett and Lou had been told Bill wouldn’t be granting them entry before eight o’clock. ‘I’ve already deboned them, look.’ She stepped on the pedal bin and Bas looked down, bracing himself.

‘Ewww!’ he said, jumping back. ‘It’s like archaeological dig meets slasher movie.’

‘You can’t be feeble about it,’ Cassie said, walking over to the smallest bird and beginning to fill it with the stuffing so that it regained its shape again. ‘This is where I need your help.’

‘I thought you said I was just doing the wine.’

‘Yes, I might have lied about that,’ Cassie said, reaching for the pheasant. ‘Now, come and hold this in position for me whilst I stitch.’

Bas moved towards her slowly. ‘You have checked no one’s vegetarian, right?’

Cassie gave him a sidelong grin as the doorbell rang.

‘Who’s that?’ Bas asked. ‘Not loverboy, I hope. You said there would be no conjugal visits today.’

‘It’s Cupid.’ She looked up, mischief all over her face. ‘You’d better get that, Bas. Things have stepped up somewhat since we spoke last.’

‘What does that mean?’ he asked warily.

‘Answer the door and I’ll tell you.’

Luke arrived bang on the hour, a half case of Château Margaux in his arms that was even more expensive than the camera swinging from his shoulder. He was wearing a black sports jacket and grey cable-knit rollneck that Cassie vowed to pinch next time she stayed over.

‘I’ve missed you,’ he murmured in her ear, his hands shimmying up her body as Bas deplored the coloured tumblers – which looked like they’d been pinched from a kindergarten – that he was going to have to decant the Margaux into.

Bas had done a fine job of decorating the rest of the apartment as Cassie got on with preparing the vegetables and pudding. An absolutely enormous display of pink roses, vanilla chrysanthemums and night-scented stocks was positioned on the coffee table, and he had lit tiny Moorish tealights along the shelves so that the room flickered with milky light. Nat King Cole crooned softly from the iPod docking station, Cassie’s baby lawn had been moved to centre stage away from the cold windows (her nod to the dinner’s countryside theme), and he’d even polished the silver frames that housed Kelly’s favourite photographs – Kelly on Southampton beach aged eighteen months, with her father planting a bucket on her head; her parents on their wedding day in Nantucket; her little twin sisters blowing out the candles on their sixth birthday cake; Suzy and Archie running out of church together in tails and taffeta, hands held, confetti flying; and, of course, the picture they all had a copy of – Kelly, Cassie, Suzy and Anouk lying on a bed together in striped pyjamas with braced teeth and plump cheeks, crying with laughter at the camera – their first night at boarding school together. It had been one of the few things Cassie had had the presence of mind to pack as she left Gil.

Kelly and Brett rocked up just as they were moving on to the second bottle, Kelly looking a vision in a black silk blouse and heavily embroidered matador trousers. Cassie was wearing boots and a plum-coloured dress with polo-neck, long sleeves and a cutaway back which Luke just couldn’t keep his hand from, tracing secret messages like ‘let’s go to bed’ with his fingers.

‘I can’t believe you’re actually cooking in my kitchen,’ Kelly said, coming to join her after a while. ‘It’s like I’ve entered a parallel universe.’ She peered inside the oven, somewhat amused to find the light on inside and the Thanksgiving feast just about ready. ‘Where did you put my jumpers?’

‘In your room.’

‘It’ll be a while before I can put them back in here, I guess. How long do turkey smells linger for, do you think?’