a partner in a business. I have responsibilities.’
‘Doesn’t that make you more flexible?’ asks the man who never sees obstacles.
‘Not really.’
‘The villa’s set up with everything – Internet, Wi-Fi . . . An d w e could buy anything else you need. Think of the work environment: sun, sea, sand . . . and showers.’ He raises his eyebrows suggestively.
‘My clients, Greg. They need to see me.’
‘You could pop back for meetings. I’m sure Fint would be open.’
‘I don’t know. It’d be asking a lot. Maybe I could take a three-week holiday and after that pop over for weekends.’ The idea of a holiday at all is a novelty.
‘Why not run the idea by him, at least?’
‘Greg, even if he was happy with me working from there and my clients were OK with it, and everything was fine on the work front, what about the children?’
‘What about them?’
‘Would they really want me there?’
‘Lucy, this would give you a chance to spend more time with them, for you all to get to know each other better.’
I see the merit in that. As it is, every time we meet it’s around some specific activity, which makes everything seem formal and stilted. Maybe if we were all on holiday . . .
Then again, ‘Where would I stay? I couldn’t stay with you; imagine how they’d feel. Me suddenly moving in.’
He reflects – for a split second. ‘You could stay nearby; it wouldn’t be a problem. I could look into it . . .’
I run it by Fint, still not convinced it’s what I want. When I see his face, I realise that this is the first time that his joint roles as Cupid and business partner have come into conflict. He tries to hide his surprise, then asks a series of logistical questions, the replies to which inform him that the villa is fully equipped, that I can be on a plane and home in two hours for brainstorms, meetings et cetera, and that Greg will cover the cost of flights.
‘It’d just be for the summer, right?’ he confirms.
‘I won’t stay that long.’
He sucks a thumbnail. ‘It is our quietest time.’ He mulls it over. Then his face brightens. ‘You know, it’s not a bad idea for one of us to cover base while the other takes a decent break. Maybe next year I could finally organise that trip to South Africa I’ve always dreamed about. Stay a decent amount of time . . .’
‘Of course. But, Fint, I’m not sure I want to spend the whole summer there. I was thinking of just playing it by ear for two or three weeks – you know, work while I’m there, see how it goes. If it’s not working out, I’ll just come home,’ I say to myself as much as to him. ‘And I’ll be over and back all the time.’
‘Let’s try it, then. See how it goes.’
Before heading to France, we organise a night out so that Greg can meet Grace and Kevin. We keep it simple, opting for a popular Italian restaurant in town.
‘So, who inspires you?’ Kevin asks Greg. It’s the fifth in a series of literary questions. ‘Who’s your muse ?’
Greg looks across at me as if to say, ‘Help!’
‘Lucy! Of course!’ Kevin misinterprets.
‘I hope I don’t inspire scenes of murder and destruction,’ I say.
‘You know you do.’ Greg smiles.
Kevin’s sudden bark of laughter sounds false.
Leaving the restaurant, Greg turns to us. ‘Let’s check out that casino in Merrion Square.’
Grace’s face lights up.
But Kevin grimaces. ‘I think we should call it a night, hon.’ He looks at Greg apologetically. ‘I’m the medical director of a pharmaceutical start-up. Crazy busy, as you can imagine. Shouldn’t even be out tonight.’ He turns to his wife. ‘Grace?’
‘Yeah. I’m going to the casino.’
Go, Grace.
‘But Jason wakes at six.’
‘Have I ever not woken up to feed our children?’ Grace snaps. ‘I’ll see you back at the house, Kevin.’
From outside, the casino looks like any other three-storey, Georgian redbrick on the square. Inside, it’s like a gentlemen’s
‘Doesn’t that make you more flexible?’ asks the man who never sees obstacles.
‘Not really.’
‘The villa’s set up with everything – Internet, Wi-Fi . . . An d w e could buy anything else you need. Think of the work environment: sun, sea, sand . . . and showers.’ He raises his eyebrows suggestively.
‘My clients, Greg. They need to see me.’
‘You could pop back for meetings. I’m sure Fint would be open.’
‘I don’t know. It’d be asking a lot. Maybe I could take a three-week holiday and after that pop over for weekends.’ The idea of a holiday at all is a novelty.
‘Why not run the idea by him, at least?’
‘Greg, even if he was happy with me working from there and my clients were OK with it, and everything was fine on the work front, what about the children?’
‘What about them?’
‘Would they really want me there?’
‘Lucy, this would give you a chance to spend more time with them, for you all to get to know each other better.’
I see the merit in that. As it is, every time we meet it’s around some specific activity, which makes everything seem formal and stilted. Maybe if we were all on holiday . . .
Then again, ‘Where would I stay? I couldn’t stay with you; imagine how they’d feel. Me suddenly moving in.’
He reflects – for a split second. ‘You could stay nearby; it wouldn’t be a problem. I could look into it . . .’
I run it by Fint, still not convinced it’s what I want. When I see his face, I realise that this is the first time that his joint roles as Cupid and business partner have come into conflict. He tries to hide his surprise, then asks a series of logistical questions, the replies to which inform him that the villa is fully equipped, that I can be on a plane and home in two hours for brainstorms, meetings et cetera, and that Greg will cover the cost of flights.
‘It’d just be for the summer, right?’ he confirms.
‘I won’t stay that long.’
He sucks a thumbnail. ‘It is our quietest time.’ He mulls it over. Then his face brightens. ‘You know, it’s not a bad idea for one of us to cover base while the other takes a decent break. Maybe next year I could finally organise that trip to South Africa I’ve always dreamed about. Stay a decent amount of time . . .’
‘Of course. But, Fint, I’m not sure I want to spend the whole summer there. I was thinking of just playing it by ear for two or three weeks – you know, work while I’m there, see how it goes. If it’s not working out, I’ll just come home,’ I say to myself as much as to him. ‘And I’ll be over and back all the time.’
‘Let’s try it, then. See how it goes.’
Before heading to France, we organise a night out so that Greg can meet Grace and Kevin. We keep it simple, opting for a popular Italian restaurant in town.
‘So, who inspires you?’ Kevin asks Greg. It’s the fifth in a series of literary questions. ‘Who’s your muse ?’
Greg looks across at me as if to say, ‘Help!’
‘Lucy! Of course!’ Kevin misinterprets.
‘I hope I don’t inspire scenes of murder and destruction,’ I say.
‘You know you do.’ Greg smiles.
Kevin’s sudden bark of laughter sounds false.
Leaving the restaurant, Greg turns to us. ‘Let’s check out that casino in Merrion Square.’
Grace’s face lights up.
But Kevin grimaces. ‘I think we should call it a night, hon.’ He looks at Greg apologetically. ‘I’m the medical director of a pharmaceutical start-up. Crazy busy, as you can imagine. Shouldn’t even be out tonight.’ He turns to his wife. ‘Grace?’
‘Yeah. I’m going to the casino.’
Go, Grace.
‘But Jason wakes at six.’
‘Have I ever not woken up to feed our children?’ Grace snaps. ‘I’ll see you back at the house, Kevin.’
From outside, the casino looks like any other three-storey, Georgian redbrick on the square. Inside, it’s like a gentlemen’s
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