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So, Geeta didn’t remember her at the garden party. Good. Because it was another encounter Nicola remembered in excruciating detail.

“Thank you for coming though,” Geeta said.

Where was Geeta going with this?

Nicola smoothly continued to bring out onions, carrot and celery onto the kitchen surface.

“It was nice of you to invite me, given...” she waved a knife in the air.

Geeta’s eyes flicked to the implement. “That our conversations have an edge?”

“Exactly.”

Nicola smiled, pleased that Geeta said it out loud, and turned back to chopping the onion.

Funny. After all these years of tetchy comments and polite confrontation, it was rather thrilling to acknowledge it out in the open. She’d enjoyed Geeta’s eye rolls and blatant digs today, all of which Nicola deserved. And sparring made her feel alive. It’s what she loved about court and couldn’t give it up.

But she didn’t want to dwell on that garden party. And sparring with Geeta was...dangerous.

Nicola pushed the veg into the saucepan, the scrape of the knife on the chopping board loud in the loaded atmosphere, and tossed in diced chorizo with a flick.

“Excuse me a moment,” she put on the extractor fan, “while I sauté these.”

Five minutes of frying and Geeta would drift and move on. She stirred the pan while watching the other woman over her shoulder.

Geeta looked into the garden, face relaxed now, so the kindness of her natural expression shone through, as if she turned her benevolent gaze even on the rain.

Nicola caught herself smiling.

That was the trouble with Geeta nearby. She stirred too many feelings and desires in a direction uncomfortable for Nicola. It was an avenue she’d never explored, and one she didn't know if she’d master. And at a stage in her life and career where she dominated, it was both sensational and terrifying to find herself outmanoeuvred.

She poured in a jug of stock, dropped in tomato purée, put a lid on the pan and set a timer.

“Just need to simmer now.”

She sat down next to Geeta.

“Well,” Geeta started. “I invited you because I wanted to thank you.”

So, they weren’t moving on. Very well. Let’s have this conversation.

“Hmmhmm?” Nicola said nonchalantly.

“I wanted to thank you for intervening and representing Kate last year.”

“Simply another case for me.” Nicola shrugged.

“Really?”

No.

And Geeta was clever enough to know that.

But if they were going to have uncomfortable conversations, she preferred this one.

Nicola had heard about the Kate Laurence case from other lawyers. It had got messy and no-one wanted to go near it. The high-profile actor was divorcing her wife, when neither had been publicly out before, which was enough already to fuel the media. Then Kate switched lawyers mid divorce within the Bentley firm, and rumours avalanched. Kate had fallen for her original lawyer, gossip said. And that lawyer was Olivia, Geeta’s daughter, Charlotte's best friend, and a person whose happiness was tied to hers.

Geeta gazed at her, an intense complexity haunting her features. “I’m not stupid,” she said. “That must have been a risky case for you.”

Those brown eyes fixed on hers. Whether smiling or sad, not for one second did Nicola think there was stupidity behind them.

Nicola drummed her fingers on the table. “I admit I was cautious about offering to represent Kate. There were rumours of an inappropriate relationship between solicitor and client.”

Geeta twitched at the allusion to her daughter, the very ethical and professional Olivia, tripping up and falling in love with a client.

“I watched from the sidelines,” Nicola added.

“But you still helped.”

She didn’t want to take credit for it, but she also didn’t want to tell Geeta the reason for taking the case.

“It made all the difference,” Geeta said. Her face held gratitude but mixed with complications, like having to thank Nicola. “Kate said you pulled out all the stops. She has nothing but praise for you.”

“That's nice to hear.” Nicola nodded.

Geeta regarded her, intelligent brown eyes not wavering. She had presence, always. Not in the same way Nicola knew she projected herself – tall and bold. Geeta possessed a relaxed confidence that was comfortable with herself. Perhaps that’s why crying at the church and blaming herself for divorce jarred so badly. Because Geeta had steady principles and a heart big enough to adore her whole family, no matter what they put her through. Large enough even to extend an olive branch to Nicola.

“I feel awful,” Geeta started, a furrow deepening between her eyebrows. “I was distracted at the time, arguing with Sumit. I say arguing, more me complaining about being unhappy and Sumit avoiding it. But either way, I wasn’t there for Olivia when she needed me. I read about it in the papers, for goodness’ sake.” And the breath left her.

Oh. Nicola hadn’t appreciated this background.

“By the time I realised,” Geeta murmured, “you had stepped in to represent Kate, and she had hope again.”

So, Geeta felt she’d let Olivia down – waiting for her independent daughter to return and blaming herself for not being there when needed.

Well Nicola couldn’t have that. Feelings again. Always the case with Geeta.

Nicola took a deep breath. “Much as though I'm glad I helped Olivia and Kate, I took the case because Charlotte asked me to.”

They looked at each other. Did Geeta realise how vulnerable an admission this was? Nicola was the one to look away into the garden.

Yes, she’d had reservations about taking the case if Olivia had transgressed. And it was unfortunate that the opposing team hired Blake, who she was seeing at the time. She knew there would be repercussions, and there were. Another enemy made in Blake because Nicola hadn’t held back. She’d annihilated him from every single angle. Financial claims of his client obliterated. A libel case launched. The libel used as a bargaining chip to get a non-disclosure agreement signed so that Kate could live worry-free in future. She’d pulled out all the stops. Collected on every favour. Risked her reputation on it. Because her girl, her youngest daughter who’d become so distant, had come to her.

Charlotte had turned up in person at her London chambers with a quiet knock on the door and asked for Nicola’s help. Not to Daniel, the preferred and beloved parent. Charlotte had pleaded with her, saying no-one else could help, literally no-one was available or qualified like Nicola. And she felt only the tiniest justification for working hard and missing out on family life. Charlotte had babbled and pleaded and wouldn’t stop, not realising Nicola would have said yes as soon as she walked through the door.

“It was for Charlotte,” Nicola said, finally. “As you may know.” She paused, not wanting to look at Geeta. “As is blatantly obvious.” Of course it was, to everyone. “We don't have the smoothest relationship. She hasn’t asked me for anything for years.” She drummed her long fingernails on the table again. This was a genuine sore spot for her, and a vulnerability that Geeta aggravated unknowingly. “So, when she asked me, I moved heaven and earth to answer.”

She looked up to engage Geeta again. “There.”

Geeta frowned, perhaps genuinely concerned, or appreciating the weight of it for Nicola.

“I understand.” Geeta said solemnly. “But I’m still grateful. Olivia is so happy now. I’ve never seen her so deeply in love, and Kate is besotted. I owe you my daughter’s happiness.”

Does that annoy you, Nicola wanted to ask? Is it the same for you, with Olivia seeking Nicola’s counsel? Was it aggravating like when Charlotte bounded over to Geeta? Had there been jealousy on Geeta’s side too?

They were talking around it, weren’t they. And they gazed at each other, perhaps more transparent than before. About this anyway.

The timer went off.

“I need to add the last ingredients,” Nicola said.

She stood but didn’t leave.

Geeta watched her, deep-brown sympathetic eyes swimming with many feelings and thoughts. A tacit acknowledgment of the situation sank in between them.

Geeta nodded, and only then did Nicola leave for the kitchen.

She added a tin of chickpeas and fresh parsley to the pan, heated them through, while Geeta stayed at the table. She was glad to see the tension lift around the woman who gazed out at the rain. Nicola filled a couple of bowls with the soup and took them to the table with chunks of fresh bread from the shop.

There was one thing she wanted Geeta to know explicitly though.

“For the record,” she said, sitting around the corner from Geeta, “much as though we don’t always agree...”

Geeta raised her eyebrows.

“...hardly ever agree...”

Geeta laughed.

“...I never make the mistake of thinking you stupid.”

Geeta tilted her head and clever eyes scrutinised her. They were full of understanding and projected a love of people, and patience, even with Nicola. They were windows onto a very human soul, with vulnerability, and those less desirable traits, like jealousy, sometimes evident. Nicola wasn’t going to blame Geeta for that, not when she fell prey to the same about her daughter, who she adored but never quite connected with.

Geeta shook her head, as if puzzled. “Why did we always wind each other up?”

“Who knows. Maybe we're just very different people.”

Nicola knew. A large factor anyway.

“Do I wind you up particularly?” Nicola added. “You seem so understanding with everyone.”

“I try to be,” Geeta smiled sweetly, then dropped her expression. “But yes. You wind me up.”

Nicola grinned and took a sip of the soup.

“Do you really not know why?” Geeta asked.

“Should I list the reasons?” Nicola raised her eyebrows, to imply that of course it was a bad idea. “Politics for a start?”

A Greens or Labour poster appeared in Geeta’s window at election times, whereas Nicola stayed strategic in the centre of politics.

“Childhood.”

Nicola’s dominated by a scholarship to a home-counties, private school that suddenly felt starchy next to Geeta’s relaxed Midlands manner and her big, British Punjabi family.

“Approaches to children and motherhood.”

Geeta nodded.

“Different ethos, outlook, sense of humour–”

“I take your point.” Geeta smiled. “Except you’ve made me laugh today. And we’re both daughters of immigrant mothers. And I don’t agree with every policy of the parties I vote for. I reckon we might share more than we disagree.”

Nicola opened her mouth.

“But,” Geeta put up a hand to stop her objection. “Let’s not push our luck. Because I’ve been pleasantly surprised today.”

Geeta bit her lip, clearly trying not to laugh at Nicola, then took a sip of the soup.

“Mmm. Delicious.” Geeta took another hurried sip. “This is nice.” And another.

She swallowed while waving her hand around as if desperate to communicate with her mouth full. “I love the smokiness and bite of the chorizo in the rich tomato. I wasn’t expecting such a salty, rich combination. Lovely.”

Nicola carried on, sipping and gazing at Geeta.

“And this fresh sourdough cob is gorgeous too.” Geeta ripped apart the bread and dipped it in.

“I’m glad you like it,” Nicola said.

Much more than Geeta could have imagined. It wasn’t often people complimented Nicola on her cooking, or thanked her for looking after them. Or even saw that she did look after people in her own way.

Geeta smiled. “Really delicious.”

And, oh, that smile, and the glow of her cheeks.

That thudding in Nicola’s chest? Yes, there was a heart inside.

Then Geeta paused, gripped by grief again.

“Do you know.” Geeta put down her spoon and turned her whole body to Nicola. “I can't remember the last time anyone cooked a meal for me. This is nice.” She nodded, eyes widening with wonder. “And it’s you.” She gazed at Nicola, with wry humour. “Who’d have thought.”

“Indeed.” Nicola smiled back. “Who’d have thought.”

They both sipped at their soup, watching each other with amusement.

***

By the time they’d finished lunch and Nicola opened the front door, it had stopped raining and blue skies and sunshine cast over Iffley Village.

Nicola followed Geeta outside to say goodbye. Geeta spun round with her arms crossed, sighed with a smile on her face, and tilted her head. She did that a lot today, as if trying to work Nicola out and see her anew. Which was exciting, but also terrifying.

“I feel like we’ve moved on a little today,” Geeta said.

“Agreed.”

“Maybe reached some kind of,” Geeta shrugged, “truce?”

“Hmm.” Nicola gave it some thought.

Geeta laughed. “I’m not saying we have to be best friends, Nicola.”

“Definitely a step too far,” Nicola said with a smirk.

And Geeta laughed more.

“This was nice though,” Geeta added, “and it was genuinely good to talk to someone. You’ve been the least judgmental about this. And company,” Geeta said lightly. “I’m someone who needs other people, and since splitting up with Sumit because I was lonely, I’ve less contact ironically.” She pursed her lips as if saying it to herself.

“Have a good weekend, Geeta,” Nicola said. “I mean it.”

Because she understood what divorce churned up, and she hated to see Geeta cry. She didn’t want the turmoil of that again.

She leaned forward and rested a comforting hand on Geeta’s shoulder. She gave it a firm squeeze and dabbed Geeta’s cheek with a kiss, like she would with any good acquaintance. And she made sure it was exactly how she did with an acquaintance.

“I imagine,” Nicola paused for effect, “I’ll bump into you again soon.”

“I suspect that too.” Geeta chuckled.

Then she turned and waved over her shoulder, and Nicola watched her walk down the long, front garden, and the steps, to the narrow front gate.

Geeta hesitated, looking up the lane towards her bungalow, and her whole demeanour changed, as if the blue sky that remained bright above had clouded over. Her shoulders caved and became heavy again.

Dammit. It tugged on Nicola’s heart. It may as well have dragged her down the path.

“Geeta!”

For god’s sake. These bloody feelings.

“Geeta!” Nicola called out again as she strode after her. Because she couldn’t stand to see Geeta cry. And of course, if Nicola saw a problem, she had to fix it.

“Yes?” Geeta spun round.

“Monday,” Nicola said, “is May Day.”

“Erm...it is.”

“I’m popping down to the celebrations on Magdalen Bridge. Do you fancy coming?”

Geeta seemed dazed. “The ones at six in the morning?”

“Yes. I haven’t been since a student.”

“Oh,” Geeta said, confused. “You know I’ve never been. More than thirty years in Oxford and I never made it. Something always came up.”

"Well then,” Nicola smiled. “Why not kick off your new life with an event you haven't attended before.”

“OK.” A smile. A gorgeous smile. “That would be nice.”

“Good. I will pick you up.”

Geeta turned, her shoulders relaxing again and her spirit coming back in force. She took a step into the lane. “Don’t worry though,” she said, peeping over her shoulder with a grin. “This still doesn't mean we have to be besties.”

“Glad to hear it,” Nicola replied.

And before she could change her mind, she spun on her heel. There. Problem solved.

Nicola stepped inside the house, closed the door, and stood there. She breathed in, to the fullest extent, then exhaled long and noisily. She opened her mouth with a tutting sound.

“Unfortunate,” she said to herself.

Had she just created a larger issue? Because feelings and Geeta were always complex, and exactly the problem at the garden party last autumn, which Geeta didn’t even remember inviting Nicola to.

Geeta had looked particularly beautiful that day, dressed in ochres that made her skin glow in the autumn sun, her hair recently cut above the shoulder so that waves of black and smoky grey bounced in a loose curl.

Nicola had been standing by a long table in the garden, spread with generous food for guests. She wondered which delicious morsels to choose, while mulling over a case due in court the next week. Then Geeta had come alongside.

“Excuse me, Nicola,” Geeta had said.

She’d reached across the table to retrieve a plate of biscuits for the kids playing down the lawn. Then she must have lost her footing, because Geeta said ‘oops’ and lightly clasped around Nicola’s waist.

And Nicola had melted in that comfort. Oh, the absolute euphoria of Geeta wrapping her arm around her waist, her body curling around Nicola, so that for a few seconds it was like they embraced. It was delicious. Nicola had no defence against it, and neither did she want to raise one.

Nothing had existed in that moment, but the woman, soft chest pressed to her stomach, and the warmth of them together. She’d wanted it to last forever. And when Geeta moved away, Nicola remained engulfed by the sensation, with a head full of stars and hearts and rainbows, and she couldn't help follow Geeta with her eyes, as she swayed down the garden towards the river.

Pure alchemy.

That’s what Geeta did to her, time after time, and in so many ways. It transformed her into someone else, exactly how she’d always feared.