"Strictly speaking, they're not our grandparents," Simon began,
"So I brought this book. It's simpler than the one you have at school, but I thought if we went through it first, then when it was all a bit clearer, we could look at your book."
"And can we have real conversation with you when we've understood it?" Maud asked.
"Certainly," Ella said, flattered.
"It's just that we were told not to be asking you questions about your sad life, but we wanted to know all the same," Simon explained.
Ella put her hand up to her face to hide the smile. Til give you blow-by-blow details if you can get your heads round these equations," she promised. "You're not going to spend the whole lunch looking at me as if I'm some kind of criminal?" Nuala said.
Deirdre shrugged. "No, because I'm sure you have some very good reason for behaving like a prize arsehole."
"Deirdre, please, there's no call for that kind of language."
"There's every call. Ella's had enough worries. She was looking forward to seeing you, and you as good as spat in her face."
"But, Dee, she knew what she was doing, going on luxury holidays all on Frank's money and his family's investments. You have no idea the mess that Don Richardson left behind him."
"She spent one long weekend with him, her half-term from school, she bought her own ticket, you fool."
"I heard ..."
"You heard what you wanted to hear, Nuala. I know what went on, including the fact that the man she met at your party lied to her, betrayed her, humiliated her, left her father without a name, house or reputation to call his own. I don't care what you know or think you know. Let's look at the facts: Ella is working sixteen hours a day to make up what the bastard took from her parents . . . and she doesn't even have the comfort of having a picnic lunch with someone she once thought was a friend."
There was a great silence.
"Why did you come then, if this is the way you feel?" Nuala said in a very small voice.
"To tell it to you straight."
"Please tell her I'm very sorry. I didn't think it through."
"No, I'll tell her nothing, you know her phone number. Tell her yourself."
Nuala began to take her phone out of her handbag.
"Not here, it's not allowed," Deirdre said.
Nuala went to the ladies" room. Brenda Brennan asked was everything all right.
"Yes, Mrs. Brennan."
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that the young lady who got proposed to here in this restaurant?"
"The very one."
"And did it all ... er ... work out ... all right and everything?" Brenda Brennan could sense the tension.
"Yes, I suppose it did, he's a greedy money-mad pig of a man, but he's reasonably faithful to her and she seems content enough. The only problem in paradise is that they were burned badly by Don Richardson, of course."
"They're not alone there."
"No, but she had the nerve to imply that Ella had gained something out of it all."
"Everyone knows that's not the way things were. I thought she and Ella were friends?"
"So did Ella," Deirdre said.
"Well, thank heavens Ella has at least one good friend in you."
"And in you, Mrs. Brennan. She's very grateful to you."
"She's working too hard, that's my only worry. She's white as a sheet. Patrick and I worry about her health, and whether she'll be able to carry on. She's taken on far too much for any one woman."
They saw Nuala coming to the table and Brenda nodded and left to talk to another customer.
"She had her mobile on answer," Nuala said.
"Yes, well, she'll be working, trying to pay back what that bastard stole from her father and his clients. Working while we have lunch here in Quentins."
"Don't make me feel worse, Deirdre. Life isn't actually a bed of roses with me either, you know."
It never is, Nuala," Deirdre sighed. "Come on, let's have the pasta starter and the seared tuna for main course, and you can tell me what Frank's been up to now."
"How on earth did you know he's been up to something?" Nuala was stricken.
"Your face, Nuala. It's written all over it. You have suspicions, isn't that it? You think he's looking at some woman over there in London in a certain way."
"Oh, Dee, you can read minds," Nuala said.
"There's probably nothing in it at all." Deirdre began giving the speech that Nuala wanted to hear. "After a few years, all couples go through this. It's only we, the old maids, who get to hear about it. They don't tell other wives."
"But it's been going on a bit." Nuala was doubtful.
"It could have been going on a bit just in your mind, you know. Frank is like his brothers, charming to everyone. It could be a matter of nothing," Deirdre said.
Nuala's eyes were shining. "That's exactly what Frank says. He says it's all in my mind."
"Well then, there you are," said Deirdre wearily. There was a very positive letter from the King Foundation. The application had been read and had been moved on to a shortlist. There were various other technical details to attend to, and criteria to meet, but in general they had met all the main requirements and they were on to the next level. The letter was signed "Derry and Kimberly King". Nicky and Sandy wished that Ella were there to share it with them, but she "was giving private tuition to these extraordinary twins. They would celebrate with her later. Meanwhile, they held hands and rejoiced at having got so far.
If we do get it made and it goes to festivals and we get known and have plenty of money, what would you do with it?" Sandy asked suddenly.
"What would we do with it, you mean?"
"No, I mean you, actually."
He looked at her, dumbfounded. "We'd get better premises, wouldn't we? New equipment. Take on someone full-time, have a honeymoon of some kind, get a really good, glossy brochure out. Isn't that what you'd do?"
"Yes," she said, her cheeks getting pinker. He had actually said honeymoon.
"You'd do all that too?" Nick teased her.
I would, yes." She didn't look at him.
"But there's one thing, Sandy. We can't have a honeymoon without getting married first."
I know," she said.
"So are you going to ask me to marry you?" he went on.
"Doesn't the man do that?" Poor Sandy was still not sure if he was teasing her or proposing.
"Not always. The better decision-maker usually does it. You"re the better decision-maker in our company."
"And should I wait until we got rich, do you think?" Her anxiety was so obvious now he couldn't bear to let it go on any longer.
"I'd love if we got married, rich or poor," he said.
"Oh, Nick." Her smile was so broad, he picked up a Polaroid camera. "I want to show this to our grandchildren some day, tell them what you looked like the day you proposed."
The phone rang just then. It was Mike Martin, a friend of Don Richardson's in the past, he had put some work their way. Nick was surprised to hear from him.
It's not a job, alas, those are thin on the ground these days with the climate we have now."
"That's for sure," Nick agreed sadly.
"It's more of a personal favour. You know Ella Brady, I believe."
"Yes." Nick was cautious.
"Well, you remember a friend of hers. Someone who no longer lives in this land - who went to Spain?"
"Do you mean Do n Richardson?" Nick asked baldly.
"Yes. Well, I was trying to be more discreet."
I have no need to be discreet. That was his name. This isn't a police state. We can say people's names, surely?"
"No, but the guns are out for him, Nick. You know that."
"The guns may well be out for him, but they are hardly tapping my phone about him." Nick felt very annoyed with this man.
"Did you lose money, Nick? I know for a fact that Don is doing his level best."