A Wild Affair (9 page)

“Cocktail?” Helen asked merrily once we'd somehow muscled our way through the massive crowds to a far corner of the bar.

“Sure,” I said. “Something strong.”

“You heard the girl,” Helen said, winking at Mick who took his cue and, having checked what Ivana and Sean wanted, began his journey to the bar. Helen slipped after him, explaining that he would need someone to help carry the drinks. Ivana, meanwhile, was attempting to take off one of her three-inch heels to inspect her foot. She noticed me looking at her and shot me a defiant look.

“I hef blister,” she shouted over the music blaring out from speakers situated about a foot from her head. “I nid new shoes for work later.”

I nodded in what I hoped was a sympathetic way. But I didn't feel particularly sympathetic.
You have a blister?
I wanted to ask, incredulously.
You think that's bad? Try finding out that the man you loved, the man you were going to marry, isn't who you thought he was at all. Try seeing how much that hurts
.

Instead, I waited patiently for Mick to come back with the drinks, then downed mine at once. Helen raised an eyebrow. “Okay,” she said. “So it's going to be that sort of evening, is it?”

I regarded her blankly. “I don't know what you mean,” I said. “So who wants another drink?”

No one did; Ivana looked tempted, but her glass was still full, so after pausing briefly she shook her head.

“Just me, then,” I said, and headed for the middle of the bar. It took me about ten minutes to squirm my way through the heaving mass of people, but with a few sharp elbows and strategically placed heels, I got there in the end.

It was only when the bartender looked at me expectantly that I realized I had no idea what I'd been drinking. I knew it was a cocktail, but this was a cocktail bar so that wasn't exactly going to narrow it down much.

“She'll have a Bloody Mary,” a voice said suddenly, and I turned. “That's what you always used to drink,” a friendly face said. “So Jess, what brings you to Slamming?”

It was Hugh. Hugh Barter. I looked at him blankly. “Slamming?”

“The bar?” he said, grinning. “It's the name of the bar.”

“Oh, right. I … I didn't know. And actually, I can get my own drink, thanks,” I said, turning away.

“Too late,” Hugh said as my Bloody Mary arrived. I took it cautiously and opened my purse.

“Don't even think about it,” Hugh said, holding up his hand. “It's on me.”

“Really?” I stared at him suspiciously. “Why? What do you want?”

“Nothing!” Hugh frowned. “Have I done something to upset you?”

I took a sip.

“Not you,” I relented eventually.

“Someone else? Damn 'em, I say,” Hugh said cheerfully.

I managed a “hmmm,” then waited for him to excuse himself. He didn't.

“Since I'm
not
in trouble with you”—he smiled—“can I say that you're looking utterly gorgeous tonight? I love what you're wearing. You certainly never wore anything like that when I was at Milton Advertising.”

I looked down—I was wearing a top of Helen's that was rather more low-cut than I'd quite realized when I'd pulled it on in a mad rush. “Oh, right,” I said, blushing slightly. “Yes, well, it's not mine.”

“Should be,” Hugh said, making my blush deepen.

“So how are things?” I said quickly. “I mean, generally speaking?”

“They're fine. Generally speaking,” Hugh replied. His eyes were twinkling. He was laughing at me. I was feeling very warm. Too warm. I took another sip of my drink, and then another for good measure.

“Well, that's good,” I said brightly. “Anyway, look, thank you for the drink. Very much. But I'd better get back to my friends.”

“Of course.” Hugh smiled. “Where are they?”

I looked around. Ivana and Sean were heading to the door, Ivana doing a strange bouncy walk that I deduced meant that she had decided not to put her shoe back on over her blister. How she was going to get home like that, I had no idea.

“They're … there.” I pointed to the end of the bar where Helen and Mick were standing, talking intently to each other. As I watched, her hand moved up to his neck and she threw her head back with laughter; the next second, his arms were around her and they were kissing. The kind of kissing where coming up for air seemed unlikely.

“It looks rather as though they're preoccupied at the moment,” Hugh pointed out.

I took a big gulp of my drink. “Yes,” I agreed. “It does rather, doesn't it?”

There was silence for a few seconds. Not proper silence—the music was still throbbing and people were still shouting into other people's ears—but the kind of silence when you realize you don't have anything to say to the person you're supposed to be talking to. I felt Hugh's eyes on me and blushed slightly. I'd never been good at talking to people in bars and clubs. Or anywhere, to be honest. This had been a bad idea. I should just go home, get an early night, try and work out what the hell I was going to do the next day. I'd turned my phone to silent but I could feel it vibrating angrily in my bag. I was going to have to face Max. And to do that I was going to need all the strength I could muster.

“This being upset with people,” Hugh said eventually. “It rather suits you, you know. There's something wonderfully tragic about you this evening.”

I hadn't expected that. I looked up warily. “Tragic?” I said, rather irritably. “I'm not tragic. I'm fine. I'm great, actually.”

“Oh, I don't doubt it.” Hugh smiled. “But still, there's something about your eyes …”

I looked down. They were bloodshot, I knew they were. I took another sip of my drink, then decided one sip wasn't enough and downed the rest.

“Fine,” I said, “so I look a bit rough. I've just had a bit of a day, okay?”

Hugh's brow wrinkled. “Rough?” he said, sounding surprised. “Oh no, you don't look rough. Far from it. You look lovely. Just slightly … I don't know … sad. Like a Brontë heroine or something. Like you've been wronged but you're putting a brave face on.”

I stared at him. Was it that obvious? Did I really look like a Brontë heroine? Which one? I mean, some of them weren't exactly lookers, but I liked the sentiment. I liked that Hugh knew who the Brontës were.

“Maybe I
have
been wronged,” I found myself saying. “Is it really that obvious?”

Hugh nodded sympathetically, but there was the hint of a smile. “You do. But it suits you. I think you should adopt this look permanently.”

I looked at him uncertainly. “You mean I should be wronged on a regular basis?”

“Perhaps, if it makes you look this good.” His eyes were glinting now. “Although it depends how you're wronged, wouldn't you say? Also depends who's doing it, I should think.”

I stared at him for a moment. He was flirting. Not that I knew much about flirting, but I was pretty sure I knew it when I saw it. And I was seeing it. Directed at me. I opened my mouth to speak, but suddenly no words came out. I hadn't realized we were flirting. I was a terrible flirt. I had no idea how to do it. I didn't want to know, either.

At least I didn't think I did.

“Sorry,” he said, after the pause got slightly unbearable. “I shouldn't laugh at your pain. Are you in pain?” He looked at me carefully, like a doctor inspecting his patient.

I found myself smiling. “Are you here with anyone?” I asked, changing the subject.

“In a manner of speaking,” Hugh said, looking at me intently. “They're over there.” He waved toward the corner without taking his eyes off of me. Then he leaned in closer. “They're not very good friends, though. More acquaintances, if you know what I mean.”

I nodded knowledgeably “Oh yes,” I said. “I know all about them.”

“You do? How very interesting.”

“Not really,” I said quickly. What was he talking about? What were
we
talking about?

Hugh laughed. “You crack me up, Jess, you know that? I'm not sure I've ever met anyone like you.”

“No?” I asked weakly.

“No. So come on then, tell me what all this ‘wronged’ business is all about. Who dared to upset the future Mrs. Milton. I mean Wainwright.” He pulled a face. “Oops, that came out wrong. But you know what I mean. Mrs. Milton Advertising. Boss's wife. Woman of influence.”

He winked as he said “influence” and I found my lips pursing together tightly.

“Or not,” I said.

“Not?” Hugh frowned. “Not what?”

“Nothing.” I shook my head. I knew I shouldn't be talking to Hugh about this. I should be talking to Max. But he should have been devoted and faithful and look how that turned out.

“Actually,” I said suddenly, “I'm not sure I am marrying Max.”

“No?” Hugh's eyes widened in surprise. “Really? How very interesting. And why have you changed your mind?”

I gulped. “I just … well …”

“Yes?” For a second I felt like Jemima Puddle-Duck being seduced by her handsome stranger.

“I'd rather not say,” I said, moving back slightly.

“Fair enough. God, he must be gutted though.”

“Really?” I sounded much more surprised than I'd intended to.

“Really.” Someone pushed past us, forcing Hugh closer to me; he didn't move back when they'd gone by. “So are you telling me that you're young, free, and single now?”

I didn't know where to look. He was too close, his eyes just inches from mine, the top of his chest right there at my eye level, too intimate, too available.

“Would you like another drink?” I asked, turning to the bar quickly. “Let me get you one. What are you drinking?”

“Bloody Mary. Same as you,” he said lightly. “Here, let me.” He signaled the bartender for me and waited as I ordered. I was a bit tipsy, I realized, as I fumbled with my purse and mistook a five-pound note for a ten-pound one, resulting in a standoff between me and the bartender until I realized that I had, indeed, underpaid him, just like he'd said I had. When I turned around, Hugh had disappeared. I looked around awkwardly, and my first thought was one of relief, because I knew that somehow I couldn't trust him. But my second thought was of disappointment because I was enjoying myself, because trust had proved to be an elusive concept, because maybe what mattered in life was enjoying the here and now and not expecting anything of anybody, and if I wanted to enjoy myself, Hugh struck me as a pretty good person to do it with. And now he was gone, which meant that I would have to stand here like a lemon because I wasn't ready to go home, and Helen was still rather preoccupied with Mick.

“Jess!” I looked up with a start to see Hugh madly waving at me. And my spirits lifted because I realized he hadn't left at all. He'd found us a table.

“Nice, huh?” he said triumphantly when I reached him. “This couple was just moving and I swooped in before anyone else could.” I raised an eyebrow and he grinned. “Okay so I wrestled a few people out of the way first.”

That was the Hugh I knew. He'd wrestled promotions off a few people when he'd been at Milton Advertising, too. He'd been known as the blue-eyed boy; charming, handsome, but waiting to take your chair the moment you got off it. Your desk, too. People used to joke that he'd take your whole family if you gave him half a chance. Still, at least he was open about it. At least you knew where you stood with him.

“So were you serious?” he asked once I'd sat down, leaning closer toward me, a serious expression on his face. “About you and Max?”

I shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Wow,” he said, whistling. “Poor Max.” He caught my eye. “I mean, and you, obviously. But you'll be fine, right? I mean, you could have anyone you wanted. But Max …” He shook his head. “How's he taking it?”

I didn't meet his eyes. I just shrugged again.

“That bad,” Hugh said, nodding. Then he lifted his head. “Ah well. Water and bridges come to mind, along with all sorts of other clichés. So let's get on to the serious stuff. Tell me all the gossip from Milton. Is Gillie still in reception?”

“Still there,” I confirmed.

“Still the hub of all that goes on?”

I smiled. “Pretty much.”

“Of course she is,” Hugh said, rubbing his hands together before taking another sip of his drink. “And what about Gareth-the-creative? Is he still having hissy fits every five minutes about the difference between turquoise and blue-green?”

I laughed. “Oh God, you have no idea.” I told him about the time a few weeks ago when Gareth had stormed out of a meeting
with a client because they'd called his favorite shade of cerise “that awful pink color.” And then we dissected the rest of the creatives, bitched about Marcia for a good hour, and eventually, gossip exhausted, got back to me. Only by this time I'd had three more Bloody Marys. Frankly, I felt on top of the world.

By midnight, we were huddled together like the oldest of friends and I realized I'd totally underestimated Hugh. He was a lovely guy. A little shallow, perhaps, and nakedly ambitious, but what was wrong with that?

“So you're going to be okay? About this Max business?” he asked, wrapping his arm around me.

“Me? Fine!” I nodded, letting my head fall against his chest. I was going to be fine, too. I was strong. Right at that moment, I felt invincible.

“But you're going to carry on working there? For him?” Hugh pulled away slightly so he could look at me.

“Well no, probably not,” I said uncertainly. I hadn't really thought about that. I realized I hadn't really thought about a lot of things.

“So where are you going to work? If you're going to work at all. Didn't you come into some huge inheritance?”

“Of course I'm going to work,” I said indignantly. “I'm not going to stop working just because I've got some money. I just don't know where yet. But I'll think of something.”

“Seriously? You're not tempted to bugger off around the world or something? Buy your own helicopter? That's what I'd do.”

“You'd buy a helicopter if you inherited some money?”

“Not just
some
money. Word is you inherited millions.”

I felt myself redden. “Not many millions,” I said awkwardly. “Anyway, it's with my lawyer, most of it. I don't really know what to do with it to be honest.”

“You don't?” Hugh's eyebrows shot up. “I can help if you want.
I'm very good at spending money. We could go shopping. Have you ever been to Prada?”