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“The police officer is here,” Tristan murmured, his voice dark and hoarse.
“How do you know he’s here?”
He turned and said, “She’s a woman. I can sense her. That’s how I know when the son of a bitch is going to interrupt us. I sense him. Right now, he’s going to answer the door. Lulu is in the kitchen. I just know. Look, Emily, I have to go. I’ll be back later, though.”
“Do you have to go?”
“Yes, I’m weary. It’s been a busy day.”
“Oh.”
He stepped in front of me again, and my mobile rang.
“What the hell is that noise?” he asked, perplexed.
“It’s my phone.”
“Aren’t you going to answer it?”
“It’s probably a wrong number.”
Tristan frowned. “Fucking hell, Beauchamp. Answer it,” he ordered.
I scowled at him and picked it up from my dressing table.
“Oh, it’s Jack, one of the boys I met on holiday.” What a surprise.
I answered the phone. “Hi, Jack.”
“Emily, how are you doin’?”
“Good, thanks.”
Tristan’s face fell, and his expression became cool and impassive. I stared at him as I spoke with Jack. It was distracting. Tristan’s expression grew darker and darker, his beautiful face colder and more remote as I talked.
“Listen, there’s a party this evening in Chiswick. It’s a shout-out for the last of the summer holidays. It’s at a friend’s house. Do you want to come? You can meet up with your new schoolmates.”
A party? “Oh, I’ll need to check with Dylan. Where is it?”
“Two roads from you. I’ll pick you up, if you like. Seven thirty?”
“Um… can I call you back? I’ll see what Dylan says.”
“Ah, cool, no worries. Laters.”
“Bye.”
Jack hung up.
Tristan stared at me, his expression unreadable. “A party, eh?”
“Yes,” I replied, nervous for his reaction.
“You should go,” he said quietly.
“Should I?”
He nodded. “It would be good for you to spend some time among the living.”
