Fast Friends (38 page)

‘
Ifs probably because
you’re a housewife,’ Jack had in
formed her without intentional cruelty
when he had discovered
her sobbing in the
bathroom at home after one particularly
terrifying dinner party. ‘You can’t expect the managing
director of Calcom to be interested in your latest
recipe,
sweetie, now can you?’

Camilla had stared at him, wondering
if he truly thought of
her as some
kind of mental defective, whose thoughts were so
limited that they didn’t even bear listening to. And the circle
had
been an increasingly vicious one; the more she dreaded the
necessary dinner parties, the more paralysed with
shyness she
had become. Jack was right, she came to realize. She was
utterly
incapable of attracting or holding
the interest of anyone for
longer than it took to say her name.
Sometimes even that was pushing it.

But the charity gala here at the Glenroy Hotel was a
lifetime
away. No longer a pale shadow,
Camilla was entranced to realize
that now she was meeting people and
talking to them quite effortlessly. They approached Matt and herself,
introduced
themselves and
stayed.
Many
asked about Marty whom every
one had
seen that afternoon, either uttering his immortal line
on TV or out on the golf course. Others admired
Camilla’s
dress, were charmed by her
unpretentious air and her shy,
dazzling smile, and bombarded her with
questions about the modelling agency. She, in turn, quite forgot to be
overwhelmed by the people she was introduced to, many of whom were either
sporting celebrities or TV personalities, and enjoyed herself
thoroughly throughout the exquisite six-course
meal, which to
her shame she barely even tasted.

She was engrossed in conversation with
the wife of an
Australian golfer when
Matt tapped her bare shoulder.

‘Sorry to break up the chat, Louise,’ he said, winking at
the
dark-haired girl, ‘but I paid a lot of
dollars to hire out this
woman for the day and I’m beginning to feel
neglected. If she doesn’t dance with me within the next thirty seconds I’m
asking for a refund.’

Louise burst out laughing. Camilla
shrugged. ‘He isn’t
joking. I do have to
dance with him.’

‘He’s really paying you?’ exclaimed the girl, her
Australian accent becoming more pronounced as her eyebrows rose in
astonishment. ‘Hey, Camilla, does that mean you’re
some kind
of hooker?’

Camilla grinned at her bluntness.
Rising to her feet, she
winked and
replied, ‘Don’t worry, he doesn’t pay me
that
much.’
And taking Matt’s hand in her own, she said with
mock
resignation, ‘Come on then, Mr Lewis. Let’s dance.’

* * *

‘
Are you OK?’ said Nico, his green eyes mirroring his
concern.
Caroline squeezed his arm and
nodded, her own, slightly swollen
eyes
the only tell-tale sign of her recent tears. No-one else
would guess that she had been crying; he just hoped
she
wouldn’t do it again, at such a
conspicuous event. Tomorrow
she had
an interview lined up with a weekly magazine, ironically
entitled
"The time of my life’.

As they made their way across the
hotel car-park, he said
again, ‘Sure you don’t want to change your mind?’ Earlier, she
had told him, amidst the tears, that
she didn’t want to come
tonight. He
would have liked to have opted out himself, but the
gala, following on from the golf tournament during the day,
was in aid of the charity he publicly supported and
he had
promised the organizers that
he would attend. However, Caroline
had decided that she would go with
him after all, and now they were here. Two hours late – her face had needed
time to settle –
and they had undoubtedly
missed the dinner, but at least he
hadn’t let them down.

‘
I’m all right,’ she
assured him, her voice low but controlled
as she attempted a smile, and Nico felt a spasm of guilt. He
wasn’t
used to making people unhappy, but despite all his efforts
to the contrary he was making a superb job of it
with his own
wife.

‘It’ll be fun,’ he said, forcing a note of cheerfulness
into his voice. ‘We’ll have a great time, you’ll see.’

There must have been 600 people in the ballroom, some
still sitting and savouring their liqueurs, some madly table-hopping
and others dancing. It never failed to amaze Nico
that such
splendid, such very
expensive
events always managed to make
so much money for charity. Then he
recalled the last one to
which he had been
invited, and the fact that he had found
himself, after many
extraordinarily potent Brandy Alexanders, bidding £3,000 at the auction for a
small Rupert Bear sketch
executed by Paul
McCartney. It had remained unframed and
pinned to one of the oak
cabinets in the kitchen for six weeks
before
disappearing. When Nico had mentioned it to the
efficient Hazel Hampton
and learnt that she had thrown it away, he diplomatically forbore to explain to
her who Paul McCartney was and put the loss down to experience and his own
laziness.
Next time he spent £3,000 on-a
sketch, he would take the
trouble to have it properly framed.

And it had
been for charity, after all.

Nico Coletto hadn’t survived almost ten years in the music
business without learning to cope with the unexpected. Whether dodging the
sudden onslaught of fans, reacting smoothly to the
unpredictable caprices of manic record producers, or side
stepping
the most provocative journalists’ questions without
skipping so much as a quarter-beat, he had a quicksilver mind
and
unbeatable reaction times. Outwardly, nothing appeared to
faze him; he could cope with any situation without
turning a
hair.

Which was how, when he spotted Camilla on the dance floor,
he managed not to turn pale, exclaim aloud,
or falter in the
slightest as he and
Caroline made their way towards the top
table where the charity
organizers were waiting to greet him.

Inwardly, he felt as though he had
been hit in the chest with
an iron fist. No longer was it easy to breathe. His heartbeat
appeared to have slowed to a heavy, funereal pace. The
vague aura of unhappiness which had clung to him for months, surreal, grey and
unformed, abruptly solidified in his gut. Camilla was here, and her presence
was so unexpected that he couldn’t even
begin
to evaluate his shocked emotions. But it wasn’t going to
be easy, and it
had to have happened tonight of all nights .. .

The next hour passed with interminable slowness as, switch
ing on to automatic pilot, he was introduced to
the event
organizers, to other
celebrities, and to the hotel management
team who were there in force.
Apologizing for his lateness and promising to do his best to help make the gala
a success, Nico charmed everyone he met and was distantly aware that Caroline,
too, was doing her utmost to appear normal.

But while he shook hands, kissed cheeks, posed for
photographs and agreed to draw the tickets for the raffle, his mind
worked ceaselessly in other directions. In Camilla’s
direction.
He had taken care not to
glance across at the dance floor, nor
even
towards any of the tables where she might be sitting, but
had she seen him, or heard that he was there, or
known in
advance that he
would
be
there tonight? If she didn’t know
already, then she would find out
shortly. He was a so-called
celebrated guest
and they simply weren’t allowed to hide in
quiet corners.

And what, he wondered, would Camilla
do? Maintain a
discreet distance
throughout the evening? Simply say hello? Or would she come up and speak to him
as if nothing had ever happened between the two of them?

But then, Nico realized as a slow
blade turned in his
stomach,
nothing particularly earth-shattering
had
happened
as far as she was concerned. She had
simply slept with her
employer, found the experience disappointing to say the least,
and – to save any further
embarrassment – quietly and
discreetly removed herself from his life. Seeing Camilla again for the
first time since that night might be earth-shattering for
him, but for her it would probably do no more than stir a
faint,maybe slightly embarrassing memory. And he had had enough
one-night stands in the past himself to know how
totally
unimportant they could be.

Caroline tugged his sleeve. ‘Shall we
dance, darling?’ Her
eyes
conveyed the signal that they had spent enough time talking to their hosts.

Nico smiled and shrugged. ‘My wife’s
trying to make me
young again. Would you
excuse us?’

’Rubber-necking, Mrs Stewart?’ Matt admonished her as
Camilla
glanced over her shoulder in mid-waltz and her step
faltered. ‘I thought I was the brash American sightseer around
here.
You’re the ice-cool Englishwoman, remember.’

‘
Sorry,’ said Camilla, her apology automatic, her mind
suddenly reeling with memories. She wasn’t sure, she wasn’t at
all sure .
. . but she thought she might just have spotted Nico.

’Could we
sit down?’ said Caroline, a faint note of complaint in her voice. Nico glanced
at her, puzzled.

‘I thought
you said you wanted to dance.’

‘
That was forty minutes ago. I didn’t mean all night, non
-stop for
heaven’s sake. My feet are aching and I need a drink.’

‘Sorry.’ With reluctance he led her off the dance floor,
where
he had felt – for want of a better word
– safe. As Caroline
tugged at his sleeve once more he realized that it
was a habit of hers which could easily become irritating.

‘
I don’t want to sit at
the top table again. Those bloody
people
bore me to tears. Why don’t you go and get us another
bottle of
champagne and I’ll find a seat at this end?’

Nico nodded, anxious to keep the peace and appalled at the
relief he felt when Caroline released her hold on his sleeve. ‘I’ll be back in
two minutes,’ he said guiltily. And in his mind added: make that ten.

Caroline felt better on her own. She
functioned
better as a
solo act, as on the
day when she had met Nico in Las Vegas. For
some
reason, becoming his wife had made her feel useless,
nothing more than a
not particularly important appendage.
Everywhere
they went people were more interested in Nico
than they were in her. Oh,
she had a certain amount of curiosity value, but that was all. He was the
important one, the half of the
partnership
who
mattered,
and she was the pale shadow at his
side.

And the fact that she herself was intimidated by Nico
hardly
helped, she knew that. She was
intimidated by his lack of love
for
her, had failed him by being incapable of forcing that
emotion out of him. It just made the situation more
rickety,
more sorry and uneven than ever.

Which was why she was only ever able to function normally,
as her old self had done, when she was alone.

Cheering up considerably at the sight of Matt Lewis,
sitting with his attractive girlfriend at a nearby table, Caroline headed
towards them. They were the only two seated at a table for ten,
which gave her the perfect excuse to join them.
Matt Lewis,
this would be something to tell Donna next time she wrote.

‘
Phew! Hi, is it OK if
I sit here?’ she announced, collapsing
on to a chair and pretending
exhaustion. The golfer picked up a bottle of white wine, filled a glass and
solemnly held it towards her.

‘
You look as if you need it.’