Authors: K Carr
The other guests were almost seated when Matt and I walked over to Natty. I could feel Grumps’s beady gaze on me, watching me with eyes so similar to Matt’s.
“Trouble,” Matt murmured, tweaking Natty’s nose. “Let’s change seats.”
“Matt, darling. You’re next to me.” A sultry, feminine voice called from the other side of the table. My head snapped around.
Aphrodite.
Matt was going to be seated next to Aphrodite. Her presence here had been deliberate, I decided in irritation. Matt sitting next to his hot ex was not happening.
Matt flashed her a quick smile as he replied, “Louisa, you can’t possibly want to be subjected to me boring you all through dinner.”
“You could never bore me, darling,” she shot back, with a seductive fluttering of eyelids.
Was she insane?
Did she not sense danger? Did Aphrodite not fear a duel of epic proportions where only one of us would emerge bloodied and victorious?
Wow. Jealousy was a bitch. Never had I experienced such an obliteration of logical thought. All I wanted was to sock her in the face and wipe that smirk off her mouth. This was nothing in comparison to watching Dante with his girlfriends. This was the seething green of jealousy, mingled with the vivid red of anger clouding my vision. Matt better swap seats if he knew what was good for him, and what the hell was up with her calling him ‘darling’ in her posh voice? This was not happening.
“Matthew,” Grumps barked from his end of the table. “Sit down. I’m hungry and you’re making everyone wait.”
Matt sent me a resigned look, then made his way over to the other side of the table. I silently took my seat next to Natty, in shock over Matt’s immediate compliance to his grandfather’s command. My Matt, who always did what he wanted, was sheepishly sitting down next to his ex. It reminded me of the twins’ behaviour earlier. It seemed Grumps was the big dog in the Bradley clan, and I was seated way too close for comfort to him. There was one couple on my right between Grumps and me. I was beginning to think one couple wouldn’t be enough. I looked up and down the table. Matt’s dad, William, Jr, was at the other end. His wife, Portia, sat smiling confidently next to him. Matt’s siblings were down the other end, too. I was interspersed between the guests I hadn’t yet had a formal introduction to.
“Smile,” Matt mouthed to me from across the table. At least he sat almost opposite me. I could send him secret messages with my eyes, if need be. My attention lowered to the table between us. I was raised in a household where we always tried to eat together. Aunt Cleo was an ace in the kitchen, and she liked watching us wolf down her culinary delights with gasps of ecstasy as each morsel brought us closer to the Promised Land. She implemented draconian measures when it came to table manners and the proper use of cutlery, but she had never prepared me for this much silverware. How many courses were they planning on serving? Why hadn’t I thought to look this shit up on Google the moment Matt had said we were having dinner with his family? I should’ve known better.
Staring anxiously at the silverware, I barely noticed the man hovering over my and Natty’s shoulders. When he reached down to place a gold-edged napkin on my lap, I jerked in surprise, then looked around the table. Matt’s parents were in deep conversation with the people seated close to them, and I remembered Matt’s warning about them being stand-offish. They hadn’t spoken to me since our introduction. How on earth was I supposed to wow them sitting way over here?
I noticed Natty, head bent and fingers flying over her cell, which she was hiding in her lap. The drama was still going on it seemed. I smiled politely at the woman on my right. She looked about fifty and her makeup was so well done you could barely tell she wore any. She returned my smile, then turned away before I could introduce myself. I caught Grumps’s gaze on me and suddenly found the intricate lacing of the heavy tablecloth interesting. Matt was chuckling at something Aphrodite had said. He was chuckling with his ex, and I didn’t know how to feel about it. Whatever it was I was currently feeling got pushed aside as the staff started bringing out the starters. When my plate was placed in front of me, I sent my first panicked eye message to Matt. He got it. Matt stared down at his plate, then sent me an apologetic look.
Steak tartare, garnished with—were those quail eggs expertly placed with designer flair?—and a delicate sprinkling of salad. I threw up a bit in the back of my throat. Everyone started tucking in like they weren’t shovelling raw meat in their mouths. We had come a long way since man’s first awareness of fire and what it could do. Why were there still dishes where raw meat starred as the main attraction? Another sickly, wet gag occurred in my poor throat when I spotted Natty’s knife splitting the little egg open which caused the runny yolk to slither over the meat. I loved meat, cooked meat, not meat with the remnants of a pulse.
Matt’s gaze was sympathetic as he popped a forkful in his mouth. If he thought I was going to kiss him after this, he was mad. Then, again, he mightn’t want to kiss me if he knew about the small vomit eruptions that had taken place in my oesophagus.
I sent another fervent prayer upwards, hoping God was done dealing with the more important problems and could lend a helping hand. I’d take anything; an earthquake, the return of mammoths, the Second Coming. I couldn’t stomach the thought of putting that meaty red mess in my mouth. Grumps was staring at me again. Oh crap.
I gingerly picked up a knife and fork.
Revolting
.
Stuck the cutlery into the starter.
Nauseating
.
Raised the steak tartare clinging to the fork.
Vile.
Please, God, do
something
. The fork’s journey towards my mouth had begun. There was no backing out. Matt was watching me intently as he chewed. Once, on the few occasions he cooked dinner for me, he had done steak with vegetables. The steak had been dark pink when I cut into it, the juices leaking out from the meat too red for my liking. I had gotten up from the table, grabbed a frying pan, and cremated the meat within an inch of edibility. Matt had been offended. I told him the only meat I intended to eat in such a raw state was his dick, and he stopped berating me after that comment.
But, back to the problem at hand. The raw meat on my fork.
“Ms DuMont,” Grumps said, after swallowing his mouthful. I paused, mouth clamping shut and fork being lowered quickly, as I smiled politely and waited for Matt’s grandfather to continue.
Thank you, God.
“Adam mentioned you were a dancer.”
I nodded. “A ballet dancer and, please, call me Madi.”
“That’s so cool,” Nikki piped up.
Grumps sent her a little frown and she resumed eating quietly.
“You own a dance company?” he asked. The couple next to me were looking on in interest. Matt was giving me encouraging stares as he ate. I made a mental note to remind him to brush his teeth before he snogged me later.
“Yes, I do,” I replied, while pushing the food around on my plate. “Well, seventy percent that is. The co-owner is a childhood friend of mine. We both trained at the School of American Ballet—”
“Why did you decide to move to England?” Grumps queried abruptly. He put his cutlery down and leaned back in his chair.
“It was a spur of the moment sort of thing,” I said half-jokingly, hoping he would smile at me.
Grumps arched an eyebrow. “One should never make rash decisions when it comes to business. A practical, well-thought out strategy is needed in order to succeed.”
I risked a glance at Matt, who was frowning slightly at his grandfather. Then his body stiffened. The movement was so subtle I would’ve missed it if I hadn’t been watching him. One of Matt’s hand slipped under the table, unnoticed by the others, and he scowled at Aphrodite’s side profile. Louisa was nodding her head in agreement with Grumps, and Matt’s hand returned to the table.
“A dance company is quite different from a normal business, Mr Bradley,” I explained.
Grumps let out a bark of mocking laughter. “Of course it is. Ballet companies routinely make a loss at the box office and are perpetually dependant on outside financial support of some manner. Are you aware of the Royal Ballet?”
“Yes, of course I am,” I replied, a touch sharper than I’d intended, but damn. I didn’t know if Grumps was on the attack or whether he was interested in my career. If he was only interested, why did I feel defensive?
“And the Royal Opera House?” he questioned, piercing gaze trained on my face.
I put my knife and fork down. “Yes, I am.”
“You know that both are in direct competition for annual grants by the Arts Council?”
“Because they use the same building, they not only compete for funds but also for space in the Opera House. Yes, I know this, Mr Bradley.”
“Do you know what the current funding allocation is, Ms DuMont?”
I gritted my teeth, but managed to smile at the man. “I don’t have the exact figures.” My eyes narrowed at the soft snort coming from Grumps. “But, if I were to hazard a guess, around twenty million pounds.”
The rest of the table had fallen silent and was avidly listening to our conversation. Damn it, we’d only had starters so far.
“Did you also know that, even with that shared funding, the Royal Ballet only manages to cover a mere thirty-five percent of its costs. The remainder of its income must be sourced elsewhere.”
I nodded curtly. The skin on my face felt hot. “Most, if not all, dance companies raise income by fundraising, sponsorship and ticket sales. The larger ballet companies can, of course, generate funds from sales of souvenirs and whatnot.”
Grumps was nodding slowly. I didn’t like the expression on his lined features. It reminded me of that interview Matt had on TV when he pulverized that reporter. I hoped there would be no pulverization taking place tonight.
“If the Royal Ballet, a world renowned ballet company, finds it difficult at most times to ensure sufficient funding to cover its costs,”—here he exhaled noisily—“I dread to think what your little dance company has to do to get money.”
“Grumps,” Matt said with reproach. Respectful reproach, that is. Dare I say, nervous reproach? His gaze jumped between his grandfather and me. “That’s enough now. Madi—”
“Is perfectly capable of answering for herself.” I cut Matt off, sending him a tender smile of gratitude. I turned back to Grumps. “We do what any dance company does, Mr Bradley. We apply for funding through the Arts Council and we work like hell to raise enough sponsorship to cover our running costs. I am fully aware how precarious this business is. Many smaller dance companies, much like my own, have found the struggle to survive insurmountable and, unfortunately, their doors have closed.” I glared at Grumps, in the nicest way possible. “My dance company is open, and it will remain so for as long as humanly possible. I employ gifted dancers who believe in what we do. Our productions may not be on the grand scale of the Royal Ballet, or any of the other larger and well-known ballet companies, but our work is polished, technically exquisite and downright beautiful.” The rest of the table was quiet. Hell, I might as well finish what Grumps started. “Maybe you should come see one of our shows. We’re working on our own interpretation of
Snow White
. It’s called
The Ice Queen and Princess
.”
Grumps stared at me in disbelief, mouth parting for a second, before he cleared his throat. “I rarely attend public functions anymore and, if I were to feel the urge to see ballet, I can assure you, the Royal Ballet would be my first choice.”
I shrugged and looked across the table at Matt, who was observing me with something close to astonishment on his face, before addressing Grumps’s last comment. “You don’t know what you’re missing. At your age, you should get out more. It helps keep senility at bay.”
Matt gave me wide grey eyes. Seriously, I thought they were going to pop out of their sockets.
I plastered a sweet smile on my face and blinked innocently at Grumps. So it was a little bit impolite, but the man had held my hand hostage earlier, made a cryptic comment before dismissing me, and he’d basically finished saying my dance company was shit. My family and my work: no one bad-mouthed those two things.
“Grumps,” Nikki called in the following silence. “Mum was hoping you’d come to my piano recital next week. Granddad and Nana have already agreed to come. Shall we reserve a ticket for you?”
Grumps tore his gaze away from me to peer at his great-granddaughter. “We’ll see, Nicole. You’ve been doing well with your lessons, haven’t you?”
She nodded and exchanged a look with her sister. The conversation around the table started up after that. I breathed a sigh of relief as our plates were taken away in preparation for the second course.
“Are you mental?” Natty whispered, fingers tapping furiously on her cell. “No one talks to Grumps that way.”
I shrugged, wondering what the hell was going on across the table. Matt’s hand had dived under the table at least two more times, and he kept trying to hide his scowls at Louisa as he conversed with the man on his right. I observed his ex with suspicion, already figuring out what was going on, and feeling the urge to do something violent to the beautiful woman across the table.
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