Page 11 of From Notting Hill with Love…Actually (Actually #1)

As I set out that night for Oscar’s dinner party, it was on my third attempt to leave the house that I was finally able to step outside into the cold night air.

I’d had a few “minor” altercations with the house’s alarm system before we’d reached a compromise: the alarm would behave, accept the code I was pushing into it, and obediently set itself, ready to bravely protect the contents of Belinda and Harry’s home from intruders.

And in exchange, I wouldn’t rip it down from the wall and stomp on it until all its insides would be good for were the inner workings of a toaster.

Eventually, happy that we were each sticking to our side of the agreement, I pulled the door firmly shut behind me and set off down the steps to the pavement below. As I did so, I heard the front door next to me open and close.

Oh no , I thought, trying not to look up. This was all I needed.

“Evening,” he called.

“Hello again,” I called back, forced to turn around. “I’m just off out.”

“I can see that,” he said, nonchalantly descending his own steps.

Clever sod .

“Which way are you headed?” he asked as he reached my side.

Please don’t let it be your way . “Er, this way,” I said, pointing in the direction of Oscar’s house.

“Me too—should we walk together?”

Do we have to? “Sure,” I said, forcing a smile to appear on my face.

As we set off side by side along Lansdowne Road, I was glad Oscar’s house was just around the corner; at least I knew I wouldn’t have to be in this idiot’s company for too long.

I felt quite self-conscious walking alongside him.

While he was still dressed in his casual attire from earlier of a light jacket and T-shirt, I was wrapped up against the cold February evening like something from an upmarket ski-wear catalogue, in my warm winter coat, hat, and scarf.

“I guess if we’re going to be neighbors, we should introduce ourselves properly,” he said after a few paces. “I’m Sean.” He held out his hand.

“Scarlett,” I said, briefly shaking it with my gloved hand as we walked.

“That’s an unusual name.”

“Yes,” I said through gritted teeth. Wait for it, here comes the next question …The next question usually depended on the person’s age. Looking at Sean I guessed he’d go for the obvious—and he did.

“Is it from Gone with the Wind ?”

Bingo! If only I had a pound for every time someone had asked me that.

“Yes, it was my mother’s favorite film.” At least I was able to answer that truthfully now.

If Sean had been a few years younger or trying to chat me up he’d have probably gone for “Oh, like Scarlett Johansson—the actress?”

Sean smiled knowingly.

“What?” I asked.

“Ah, nothing. It’s a cool name, that’s all.”

“Thanks.”

We walked along together a bit further. “I have to turn here,” I said, stopping to cross the road.

“That’s fine,” Sean said, standing on the edge of the pavement next to me, “so do I.”

We stood silently like two schoolchildren carefully crossing the street together. Look left, look right, and look left again. Then we looked at each other for mutual agreement, before stepping out into the road.

“So where are you off to this evening?” Sean asked. “Anywhere exciting?”

“A dinner party, actually.”

“Really? How odd. Me too.”

No, it couldn’t be, could it? I thought as we reached Oscar’s house.

“It wouldn’t be here by any chance?” I asked, positive I already knew the answer to my own question.

“Well, actually…”

“Scarlett, you made it!” Oscar called, holding Delilah in his arms as he flung open the front door. “And I see you’ve already met Sean.”

I looked across at my fellow dinner guest.

He grinned. “Looks like I could be learning just a little bit more about you tonight than only your name, Scarlett. ”

We both made a move to go up the narrow path at the same time. Sean stood back to let me pass. “Ladies first.”

“Thank you.”

I walked toward Oscar, who was looking quite resplendent in a deep-purple shirt and matching shade of tartan trousers.

But I was still having problems with who he reminded me of.

Most people I could usually match up with a movie actor or character, or at the worst a mix of two.

Currently I was getting vibes of both John Hannah in Four Weddings and Tom, one of Bridget Jones’s gang of oddball friends, for Oscar.

“I brought you this,” I said, holding up a bottle of wine. “ And ”—emphasizing my gesture to Sean, as I held up a shopping bag in my other hand—“I’m returning your T-shirt you lent me earlier today.”

“Darling, you shouldn’t have—really, there was no need for either. But do come in, won’t you, I can’t wait for you to meet everybody. Do come along, Sean,” Oscar called down the path. “The gang’s all here!”

Once inside, Oscar took our jackets and we followed him through to the lounge. There were five people already sitting on two settees and a chaise longue, drinking wine and chatting.

“Now then, everyone, I’d like to introduce Scarlett,” Oscar announced, clapping his hands to gain their attention. “Oh, you all know Sean, of course,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

“Wish we didn’t sometimes.” A woman with extremely short black hair, and an alarming amount of colored beads strung around her neck, spoke. I was relieved to see she was only joking when everyone laughed .

“We’ll start with you then, Vanessa. Scarlett, this is Vanessa, she owns the shop next door to mine.”

“Hi,” I said. “What does your shop sell—clothes, like Oscar’s?”

“Erotic lesbian fiction mostly,” she replied, looking me up and down. “You should come in and take a look some time.”

I cleared my throat and smiled politely. “Maybe I’ll do that one day.”

“Vanessa, do stop teasing,” Oscar insisted. “Now then, next to Vanessa we have Lucian and Patrick; they own one of the antique shops just off the market.”

“Hi,” they said in unison. Then they giggled at each other like little children.

“Over on the chaise longue we have Brooke. Brooke’s a model.”

Brooke looked like she was a model for appetite suppressants. If she eats anything tonight it will only be the garnish, I thought sourly.

Brooke waved casually.

“And finally next to her we have Ursula—my best and dearest friend.”

Ursula smiled warmly at Oscar, then equally warmly at me.

She had sandy-colored shoulder-length hair, pale blue eyes that were just as warm as her smile, and she was wearing a dress covered in daisies that looked like it was from the 1950s.

But what really made me take an instant shine to her was the fact that Ursula looked like a delightful combination of a young Emma Thompson and, my all-time favorite, Kate Winslet.

“Hi, how are you?” she asked. “I’m also an interior designer—since everyone else got their full title. Not just a professional friend to Oscar.”

There were a few chuckles around the room, so gratefully I returned her smile while trying not to stare at her too much.

“Well, that’s everyone,” Oscar sang.

“Ahem.” Sean cleared his throat behind us.

“Scarlett’s met you already, hasn’t she? Oh, very well,” Oscar sighed, when Sean silently raised his eyebrows at him. “Scarlett, this is Sean. Sean is only here because he’s Ursula’s brother, and I needed someone at short notice to make up the numbers.”

Sean grinned. “Thank you for that kind introduction, Oscar; the feeling is mutual, as you know.”

Oscar tossed his head and made a “hmph” sort of noise.

I found myself smiling at Sean.

He grinned back as Oscar flounced off into the kitchen calling something about more wine being needed.

***

I had wondered, after I’d been introduced to everyone at the start of the evening, just what I’d let myself in for, having dinner with this eclectic bunch of people.

But I needn’t have worried because the evening turned out to be full of thought-provoking conversation, lots of laughter, and extremely good food.

(Which Oscar later admitted he’d had catered in, because of the short notice.)

The chocolate brownies were particularly mouth-watering.

“Oh no!” Oscar cried when he noticed they’d all been eaten. “There’s none left; we can’t do it now! ”

“Do what, Oscar?” Brooke asked. I’d been quite wrong about Brooke—she ate just like everyone else did, even tucking into the brownies with lashings of vanilla ice cream on top.

Oscar looked at me. “Can I tell them, Scarlett?”

“About the brownies?” I asked, bemused.

“No, about why you’re really here?”

I looked at the others listening expectantly around the table. All except Sean, who lolled back in his chair drinking red wine.

“I don’t see why not.”

My plan to let people think I was house-sitting for a month just didn’t seem to be working out. But after meeting Oscar, and hearing everybody else’s life stories tonight, my little “obsession,” as everyone at home seemed to think it was, seemed quite normal.

“Oh, are you some sort of secret agent?” Ursula asked excitedly.

I laughed. “No.”

“Ooh, ooh, I like guessing games,” Brooke said. “An undercover police officer?”

“No.” I shook my head.

“On the run from gangsters then?” Patrick called from across the table.

“They’re not drugs barons, are they?” Lucian added eagerly.

“Er no, look, I really don’t think you—”

“You’re a Martian from outer space?” Vanessa mocked.

“Look, it’s really not that exciting,” I said, feeling a little embarrassed now.

“Oh it is—it is!” Oscar enthused. “Well, I think it is anyway. It’s a shame more people don’t stand up for what they believe in. Do let me tell, Scarlett? ”

“Sure, go ahead,” I said, more out of relief than anything else now Oscar had made me sound like some sort of saint.

“Well,” Oscar began, his eyes glinting in the candlelight. “Scarlett is really here under false pretenses…”