The Dinner Guest by B Walter (best short books to read txt) 📕

one of the smaller ends on the right, and Titus on the left. The main way back to the front of the house was an archway-shaped corridor that entered and ran through the villa Matthew and I were in.

The days that followed progressed fine, and in spite of my close eye on her, I didn’t see anything particularly strange in Rachel’s behaviour. She continued to talk to Titus, but no more than the rest of us – except me. She kept her distance from me – not that I was complaining. I much preferred not having to be polite to her or pretend to be interested in her stories about her past job as a photographer or views on whatever pretentious award-winning tome had been selected for the upcoming book club – a copy of which I had guiltily forgotten to pack.

On the fifth night – halfway into our stay – we went out to dinner at the Nick & Toni’s restaurant in East Hampton. Rachel and Meryl decided to remain at home, allowing me and Matthew, Titus, and my parents time to breathe and be ourselves. Or perhaps that was just how I felt. While we were waiting for our antipasti, my mother mentioned how much she was enjoying Rachel’s presence. ‘Our world can be so insular,’ she said, taking a sip of her wine. ‘I feel we sometimes exist within an echo chamber and it’s refreshing to listen to views and experiences from someone who’s lived quite a different life.’

I saw my father’s mouth grow thin and tense, a key indicator that he didn’t agree. ‘A little too left-leaning in a naïve sort of way,’ he said.

‘I’m left-leaning,’ Matthew said, sounding mock-offended.

‘But I don’t think you’re naïve,’ my father said with a slight smile, ‘whereas she has all the fervour of the Daily Mirror but no facts to back it up.’

‘But that’s my point,’ my mother said. ‘No matter how much we like to pretend otherwise, any left-leaning principles we might harbour are based on compassion and sympathy, not experience. Rachel has experience. It’s so devastating she had to close her photography studio and gallery because the arts grants helping it were cut.’

‘Maybe people just didn’t want to see the artwork and photographs she was showcasing,’ I said.

I saw Matthew turn to look at me and frown. ‘You do realise a lot of the operas, plays, and ballets we go to see wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for arts funding?’

I shrugged. ‘I’ve never really thought about it.’

‘No,’ Matthew said, ‘that doesn’t surprise me.’

I wasn’t keen on his tone, and I should have changed the subject in order to avoid things getting awkward, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to twist the knife a little. ‘Don’t you think it’s all a bit patronising, us adopting Rachel as if she’s one of us? She’s not a puppy. And anyway, she’ll never fit in, not really. It’s not our business to try and raise her up into a world she would never be able to get into on her own merit.’

I hadn’t meant it to come out so savagely, and I saw the hurt bloom in Matthew’s face. ‘Not one of us? Can you hear yourself?’

My mother looked similarly unimpressed. ‘Charlie, I hope you’re not getting prejudiced prematurely. Your father was at least forty before he started blaming the poor for their own troubles.’

Before I could reply, Titus offered up a contribution.

‘I like her,’ he said, simply.

‘I do too,’ said Matthew. ‘And I think only a snob would take against her presence.’

‘I feel she understands me,’ Titus continued, as if Matthew hadn’t spoken.

I looked over at him. ‘What does that mean? How can she understand you? She barely knows you.’

It was Titus’s turn to shrug. ‘I don’t know. I just feel she … cares. When I’m talking to her, she really cares about my opinion on things.’

This was outrageous; the idea that Rachel could possibly care about Titus any more than we did was offensive to me. ‘I think that’s preposterous,’ I said.

Matthew held up a hand. ‘It’s not preposterous. It’s good that Titus gets on with her.’

I spluttered in exasperation. ‘Why are we all talking about her as if she’s now part of the family? She’s only here while Meryl works through some late-life charity complex. Once she’s got bored of her, Rachel will be back living amongst the hoodies in a council high-rise somewhere violent.’

Matthew put down his wine glass so hard I was impressed it didn’t shatter. ‘I think you’re wasted on advertising; perhaps you should start blogging for the alt-right.’

My father let out a low chuckle.

‘And if you think that’s true,’ my mother added, ‘then you really don’t know your godmother well at all.’

I couldn’t think of an immediate response to this. Our food arrived seconds later and it was a good few minutes before conversation started up again.

It was later that night that things became very strange. We’d stayed out late, ordering more wine, with conversation flowing onto easier topics. At one point, Matthew had to nip off to take a work call, and when I went off to find the bathroom a few minutes later, I was irritated to find him leaning up against the wall near the restrooms, typing away on his phone. He looked startled when he saw me. ‘Hi, sorry, I am coming back. I just needed to reply to a few emails.’ Part of me wanted to ask more, but instead I just let myself into the bathroom and left him to it outside. Half an hour later, back at the table, I noticed Titus looking sleepy. I suggested we head back to the house. He objected to being the one who caused an end to the night, saying he wasn’t a child anymore and we could no longer use him as an excuse for wanting to get to bed ourselves.

Once back at the house, we walked through the main entrance together then at the pool divided across