Got You Back (23 page)

‘Actually, Simone, I've decided to do the right thing for once. I'll apply for the permission and if I don't get it, well, then, it serves me right. But thank you for your offer. I really appreciate it. You're a good friend.’ He stood up as if to say that it was time for her to go, but Simone didn't move.

‘Could I have another glass of wine?’ she asked, in what she clearly thought was a come-on voice.

James looked at his watch. ‘To be honest, I was hoping for an early night,’ he said, but before he had finished getting the words out, Simone had stood too and was making a grab for him. He pulled his head back, avoiding her kiss. ‘Come on, Simone,’ he tried to laugh it off, ‘we can't be doing this. Katie will be back any minute, and what about Richard?’

‘Richard can fuck off,’ Simone said viciously.

‘Ah,’ James said. ‘You've had a row with Richard.’ That would explain it. She was looking for a way to get back at Richard and she clearly thought that James would never turn down the offer of a quickie.

‘So what if I have?’

James took the glass out of her hand and set it on the table. ‘Simone, I think you should go home. You can sort things out with Richard in the morning. What do you say?’

Simone was starting to look angry. ‘You've been flirting away with me for months and now you're going to humiliate me by saying no? What, do you think I'm the sort of woman who goes round flinging herself at any old man? No,’ she said, answering her own question. ‘I came to you because you have always made it very clear that you fancied me.’

She was shouting, and James couldn't help worrying what the neighbours might think. ‘I'm sorry if I gave you that impression,’ he said. There was no doubt in his mind that if this had happened a couple of weeks ago he would have been tempted to go for it and sod the consequences. He had never been one to turn down an invitation for sex, however complicated. Now he just wanted her out of his house. He was in enough trouble already. ‘I did flirt with you, it's true, but I never meant anything by it. I'd never have acted on it. I thought you felt the same, that we were just having a laugh.’

He realized immediately that this had been the wrong thing to say. Simone's face contorted into an angry sneer. ‘Having a laugh? Do you think I'd be here cheating on my husband if I thought we were just having a laugh?’

God, he wished she'd stop shouting. She really was very drunk. ‘Let's get this straight,’ James said, his tone more serious now. ‘You are not here cheating on your husband. You and Richard had a fight and you came over
here wanting to get back at him but that's not going to happen, OK? Now, why don't you just go home and sort things out with him?’

‘What's wrong with me? Don't you like me?’ Suddenly big wet tears were running down her face.

Oh, great, James thought, now what do I do? Next thing she'd be passing out on the sofa and then he'd never get rid of her. The truth was, he had let her think he liked her. He'd amused himself by flirting and enjoying the feeling that he was getting one over on Richard. He was that pathetic, he thought now, that he had needed to think his friends’ wives fancied him, that they would all jump into bed with him if he said the word.

There was only one thing for it. He had to get Simone to go home, whatever it took. He put his arms round her. ‘Of course I do,’ he said. ‘You know I do. It's just that we can't do anything about it because of Richard and Katie. I want to, I really do,’ he added, looking down at her tear-stained face. He didn't fancy her in the least, he saw now. It had all been a big game. ‘But we can't. We've both got too much to lose.’

Simone was looking up at him calmly, blinking through her tears, her pride intact. They were the same, he thought. They just wanted to be the one everyone desired.

‘Now, you should go home before we do something we'll regret.’

She leaned up to kiss him again and he pushed her away gently. ‘No, if we start we'll never be able to stop.’ He couldn't believe he was able to trot out these clichés so easily, or that she was lapping them up.

‘OK,’ she said. ‘You're right.’

James untangled himself as quickly as he could, without appearing rude, then steered her towards the front door. He wondered if he should walk with her, she had had way too much to drink, but decided that that would be asking for trouble. ‘Goodnight, then,’ he called, as she tottered off into the night. He wanted the neighbours to know she was leaving, that way, there would be no nasty rumours.

Half an hour later when Katie got home he told her the whole story. He was through with keeping secrets. Well, almost.

32

The newspapers on Monday morning were full of pictures from the BAFTAs, the winners, the losers, the people who had got drunk at the party and fallen over in the street outside. Stephanie had bought them all on the way into work and was now leafing through them as she drank a giant latte.

Natasha wasn't in yet, having arranged to pick up Meredith and Mandee's accessories on the way in — somewhere around midday to allow them to sleep off their hangovers — and sort them out ready to return to the stores who had lent them, more as a favour to Stephanie than because they wanted Mandee or Meredith to be seen in them. Neither Mandee nor Meredith had been loaned a dress because neither was considered someone the clothing designers wanted to be associated with. Santana's dress, although it could be returned unworn, would be cleaned and pressed first.

Stephanie was dreading seeing Natasha, knowing she would want to know all the gory details and probably spend the day teasing her about being caught out having sex on the sofa like a teenager. Worse, she would think that the only reason Stephanie had hired Michael was so that she could jump him. Which was true, of course, but she had been trying to convince herself it wasn't.

She forced herself to scour the broadsheets first, knowing it was unlikely that any of her three clients would feature there. She had watched the awards on TV last night, after James had left. Santana had been there, in the end, to present her award but looked like she had just turned up in whatever she had been wearing the night before, having partied all day and all night. In fact, that was probably exactly what she had done. She had slurred incoherently through the presentation, occasionally running a hand through her matted hair A couple of the papers carried pictures of her, with comments saying she looked like she was in the middle of a massive bender and, in fact, one had printed pictures of her out the night before in the same outfit and Stephanie's initial fears that she would feature in one of the weekly magazines under the heading ‘Sack the Stylist!’ immediately dissipated. Hopefully, some smart journalist would string together a few pictures to make the point that Santana was clueless when left to her own devices.

Meredith's soap had won the ‘Best Continuing Series’ category and Stephanie had seen Meredith up there in the throng of cast members who went on stage to collect the trophy and, indeed, there she was on page five of the
Sun
with a caption that said how well she had scrubbed up. ‘Is it my imagination or is Meredith Barnard actually
sexy
?’ the male reporter had written. Stephanie allowed herself a little smile. One up to her.

In the
Mirror
there was a picture of a popular young TV heart-throb leaving the party with Mandee in tow. They had got into the same taxi, the report said, and didn't Mandee look lovely with her clothes on for once?
There didn't seem to be any shots of Mandy-with-a-
y
anywhere.

Stephanie clipped the two cuttings out, it was a much better result than she had been hoping for and, really, it was all down to Michael. She wondered about phoning him to say thank you, but she felt like if he wanted to talk to her then he would make the call. It had all ended so awkwardly and she knew he was mortified that Natasha had walked in. As was she, of course, but Natasha was her friend. Michael had only met her once. He was probably worried that she would think he was a wife-stealer or a sleaze. He couldn't know, of course, that Natasha had been encouraging her to go out and find another man for weeks now.

She decided to call Meredith and Mandee with the good news, to take her mind off things. Meredith, who had already been out and bought the papers, couldn't have been nicer.

‘I was so wrong about the dress and you were so right,’ she said graciously, sounding as though she really meant it. She had already had two phone calls from magazines this morning, asking who had dressed her, and she had happily said to them that Stephanie Mortimer was a wonderful and talented stylist and that she would be recommending her to all her colleagues. This, Stephanie thought, as she put the phone down after promising to dress Meredith for the annual cast and crew party, is why I do what I do. She just wished she could feel more excited about it.

Mandee's phone went straight to voicemail. No doubt she was still holed up somewhere with Mr TV
Heart-throb. Stephanie left a message telling her to buy the
Mirror
and hung up.

She looked at her watch. She had a consultation with a potential new client at their home in Holland Park at twelve. It was only ten thirty but she wanted to get out of the office before Natasha showed up so she decided to leave early. She could browse a few shops on the way, get some ideas. She left the clippings on Natasha's desk, where she would see them, and went out.

‘I just feel it's about time, that's all,’ Simon was saying.

James was trying to take it in. Simon, who had worked with him since he first set the practice up more than eight years ago, was leaving to set up on his own. Not just that, but he was staying in the village, opening a practice just along the road. And Malcolm was going with him.

‘But…’ James heard himself stutter ‘… but there's no way two vet practices can survive in a village this small. I mean, where's all the work going to come from?’ This was a disaster. Simon and Malcolm were popular locally, plus they worked here full-time. Who was going to stay loyal to him when they knew that if their pet fell sick on a Wednesday afternoon, a Thursday, a Friday or even over the weekend, there would be no one to see to them? His mind was whirring; he was going to have to take someone else on, maybe just for the days when he wasn't there.

‘I'm sure there'll be enough work to go round,’ Simon said, with a sickening smile, and James knew he was finished. They were going to be in direct competition and he was going to lose.

When Simon had gone he sat behind his big oak desk
and put his head in his hands. He had fucked up his life well and truly. Katie would have said it was Fate, but he didn't believe in all that bollocks. There was only one person he felt like talking to about it, he realized, and that was Stephanie. Stephanie wouldn't keep trying to tell him that everything happened for a reason. Stephanie would allow him to wallow in his misery for a while, then help him laugh his way out of it. He picked up the phone.

Stephanie sounded sympathetic but distracted, telling him that she was out in the street, that her reception wasn't great. He found himself offloading about Simon and the problems he was having with the council and the planning department, not to mention some of the locals, and she listened patiently, not really saying much. When he had finished she told him she was sure it would all sort itself out in time but that she had to go because she had an appointment. After she had rung off he realized that there had only been one thing he had really been hoping she would say. He realized that he had wanted her to tell him that maybe this was a great opportunity to close down the Lincolnshire practice. That maybe now the time was right for him to move to London full-time. But she hadn't. Why hadn't she? Shit, James thought. He had always taken it for granted that Stephanie was just waiting for him to give up the country practice and move home. Maybe not.

‘That's bad karma,’ Katie said, as he had known she would, when he told her what Simon and Malcolm were doing. ‘If you behave badly you always get your comeuppance,’ she added, looking him straight in the eye in a
way which made him uncomfortable. They were having a rare evening in together, sitting opposite each other at the table eating chicken and purple broccoli.

‘I think we should cancel the party,’ James said. He had been thinking about this for the last couple of days. What was the point of having a birthday celebration when half the people they'd invited were no longer speaking to him or, at least, that was what it felt like.

‘Don't be silly,’ Katie said. ‘We can't cancel now, it's on Sunday, everything's ordered. Besides, there are loads of people coming.’

‘Not Simon, not Sally or her family, not Malcolm.’

‘OK,’ Katie said, ‘not Sally and her family, I'll give you that. But you wouldn't want them there, would you? Simon and Malcolm are still coming. So, you might not like what they're doing but it's only business. It's not personal.’

‘Isn't it?’ James said glumly.

‘Of course not. Plus there's Sam and Geoff, Hugh and Alison, Richard and Simone —’

James groaned.

Katie carried on regardless, ‘— and all your clients.’

‘The ones who aren't related to Sally or who aren't feeling guilty because they're going to go with Simon or Malcolm and not me.’

‘James, stop being so negative,’ Katie said. ‘You're exaggerating the whole thing. It's going to be wonderful.’

Katie was worried that things had maybe gone a bit far. Not because she felt sorry for James — she could barely look at him, and when she did she had to stop herself
from screaming out accusations. No, her worry was that if he was dreading the party, as he now was saying he was, then the public humiliation they were planning might not have the impact they were hoping for. Kicking a man when he was down didn't seem like half as much fun as toppling a man when he was up and then kicking him. She hadn't been able to help herself, though. All the little digs, the tiny arrows she had shot at him, had made her feel so much better. It wasn't her fault if the damage had gained its own momentum. She couldn't have known that he would sack Sally or that Simon and Malcolm would decide they'd had enough and leave. Those things were James's own fault.