Santa Baby (3 page)

‘Can I be honest?’ Jez, her hairdresser and one of her closest friends, piped up.

‘I’ve never known you not to be,’ Angel replied dryly, guessing that he would be giving the dress a big thumbs-down. She spun round and faced him. He had his sucked-on-a-lemon expression firmly in place on his perma-tanned face.

‘In a word – frightful.’ He walked over and tugged at the loose fabric at her waist. ‘It doesn’t even fit!’ he hissed. ‘God almighty, if I did your hair as badly as she dresses you, I’d be out on my ear, even though we’ve been friends for over twelve years!’

Angel groaned. She hated confrontation, but knew she had to square up to the situation. ‘I know. I’m going to have to speak to her. She doesn’t seem to have
any
idea what the show is about, even though she’s been working on it for four months.’

Angel had an hour’s slot in the ITV breakfast show, twice a week, where she gave women makeovers and acted as a sort of agony aunt. It was Gok Wan meets
Ten Years Younger
, but what saved it from being just another style show was Angel’s warm personality. She had a great gift for making the contributors feel completely relaxed with her and open up about their lives, which was quite something seeing as how Angel herself was so breathtakingly beautiful.

She had only been presenting the show since January as she sought to develop her career in new directions. She had once been Britain’s most famous and beautiful glamour model, but had stopped that a few years ago, though she still modelled every now and then, mainly to promote her perfume and clothing ranges. Topless was out of the question, though every few months she would get a cheeky request from a lads’ mag. She was also famous for being married to Cal Bailey, the stunningly handsome former Chelsea and England footballer, and together husband and wife formed one of the UK’s most well-known celebrity couples.

The door opened and Claudia sashayed in, a vision in a pale cream lace dress that was definitely not from the high street. ‘Oh, Angel, you look delish!’ she exclaimed in the cut-glass accent that always set Angel’s teeth on edge.

‘Do you really think so?’ she asked uncertainly.

‘I really, really think so!’ Claudia drawled, walking round her. ‘We likey very much.’

Sensing that Claudia was swaying Angel and that his best friend was going to end up looking atrocious on national TV and be featured in all the ‘what were you thinking’ pages in the celeb mags, Jez nudged her in
the
ribs. Subtlety was never his strong point. Angel pulled herself together.

‘Actually, Claudia, I don’t likey,’ she replied. ‘It doesn’t fit me, and the colour looks tarty. As I’ve said before, I need to wear more casual clothes. The women we’re styling have to be able to relate to me.’

Claudia shook her head. ‘There is no way I’m letting you wear one of your trackies on TV. It would be career suicide, for you and for me. Never mind the UGGs!’ She shuddered as she said the word.

Angel loved her tracksuits and UGGs. They were what she changed into the moment she came off air and she knew Claudia thought they were too chavvy for words – even her hugely expensive beige Chanel tracksuit.

‘I’m not talking about wearing tracksuits, they’re my chill-out home outfits. I’m suggesting something like red skinny jeans – coloured jeans are in, aren’t they? Some kind of tee-shirt maybe and my red suede wedges. Something that says summer and fun! Not … I’m wearing a dress that you couldn’t possibly afford.’

Claudia flared her nostrils in disdain and tossed back her honey-blonde hair. ‘If that’s what you want,’ she said tightly, ‘I’ll go and find a tee-shirt now.’ And she flounced out of the room.

‘I sometimes wonder if she’s getting back-handers from the designers whose dresses she tries to force you into,’ Jez mused. ‘I can honestly say that I have never met a stylist with such a total inability to style anyone.’

‘She always looks good though, doesn’t she?’ Angel replied, wriggling out of the hateful purple dress.

‘That’s because all her clothes are high-end designer.’ He paused. ‘She’s running out of chances. Seriously, when are you going to get rid of her? I don’t think she even likes us. I can tell that she thinks we’re dead common. A bit too doors-to-manual for her.’ He
grinned.
‘And I can understand her not liking you for that, because you are a bit common, but me?’ Jez struck a pose, one hand on his forehead, one on his hip. ‘I’m class all the way!’

‘Oh, shut up and do my hair!’ Angel ordered him jokingly. ‘And I’m going to speak to Oscar after the show and explain about our problem with Claudia.’

Oscar was the producer who had been responsible for appointing Claudia, but given that Angel was the star, she was hoping that she might be able to convince him the stylist had to go.

Two and a half hours later the show had gone out and Angel was free to leave. And much as she loved her work, she loved the feeling of a job being done and knowing that she had some free time ahead of her. She walked out of the TV studios arm in arm with Jez, and then stopped in reception when she saw a handsome dark-haired man, dressed in a leather jacket and jeans. Sometimes Angel forgot just how incredible-looking her husband Cal was. At thirty-four he was more handsome than ever, with his jet black hair turning slightly grey at the sides. He was going to be the kind of man, like gorgeous George Clooney, who just got better-looking with age.

Jez gave a wolf whistle. ‘Well, hello, someone looks hot to trot.’

Cal walked over and kissed Angel on the lips.

‘I didn’t expect to see you,’ she said.

‘I thought I’d surprise you. It feels like I haven’t seen you for ages and so your mum’s looking after Honey and we’re spending the rest of the day and night together in a hotel.’

‘How romantic!’ Jez exclaimed. ‘I’m jealous! D’you know what I’ve got to look forward to this afternoon? Back-to-back appointments doing highlights. And then
I
have to go to the flat to let someone in to check out our drains as we’ve got a noxious smell. And
then
I guess I’ll have a low-fat ready meal and watch
America’s Next Top Model
as Rufus is working late.’ Jez flung open his arms. ‘Just kill me now, I can’t take any more of this mediocrity!’

Cal smiled at him, well used to his dramatics. Reaching into his jacket pocket he pulled out an envelope and handed it to Jez. ‘Or … you and Rufus can go to the premiere of
The Fast and The Furious Six
. I have the tickets here, and Rufus is finishing work early.’

The Fast and The Furious
film series, with hunky Vin Diesel, was one of Jez’s guilty secrets, as the blockbusting macho car action movies didn’t exactly fit in with his camper than a row of pink tents, trimmed with maribou feathers, image.

Jez checked around to make sure no one had overheard. Then he reached for the envelope and slipped it into his black Mulberry messenger man bag, and planted a kiss on Cal’s cheek. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you! Right, I’m going to leave you lovers to it.’ And with that he exited the studio with an extra spring in his step.

Cal slid his arm round Angel’s shoulders. ‘Shall we go to the hotel?’

‘Right away!’ she declared, putting her arm round his waist. ‘I was feeling knackered, but now I’m up for anything.’

‘Good,’ he murmured kissing her neck. ‘That’s what I’d hoped.’

Angel sleepily surveyed the hotel room. The expensive La Perla underwear Cal had bought her was scattered across it, along with his clothes. There was an empty bottle of champagne in the ice bucket. The thick silk
curtains
were closed and the scented candles were giving off a soft glow.

As soon as they had got to the hotel – the very exclusive May Fair – she and Cal had spent the most wonderful afternoon in bed, reminding each other of all the many reasons why they were still crazily in love with each other after over ten years. She still desired him more than any other man, and knew that he desired her more than any other woman. She had revelled in that knowledge as he kissed and caressed her body, made love to her slowly at first, then fast and hard, whipping them both up into a frenzy of passion …

‘Love you,’ Cal said, turning to her. ‘You’re still the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.’ He traced a finger round her lips, then kissed her softly.

‘Love you too, more and more,’ she replied, then rested her head on his chest so that she could hear his heart beating. ‘We’re so lucky, aren’t we?’ And she meant it. The afternoon had been perfect but now she felt an edge of sadness creeping in, as she hoped, prayed, that this might be the time she got pregnant. And then she tried to block the thoughts, which always led to her feeling blue.

The couple had been trying for the last six months. Cal had wanted another baby pretty much since their daughter, Honey, had turned one. It had taken Angel more time but now she too longed to have another baby … but it just wasn’t happening. They’d both had a series of fertility tests and everything seemed to be fine. The doctor had told them to leave it another six months before they started any fertility treatment. But it had left Angel feeling anxious. What if she couldn’t have another baby?

It was as if Cal sensed her anxious thoughts as he stroked her hair and said, ‘I know what you’re
thinking,
but you have to remember what the doctor said. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t be able to have another baby.’

She raised her head and looked at Cal, who smiled as he said, ‘Maybe we need to have more afternoons like this.’

Not for the first time she wondered what she would ever do without him. Her lover, her soul mate – always her rock.

She managed to smile back and said, ‘And now I must have something to eat!’

Cal reached for the room-service menu. ‘Let me guess … fish and chips with salad, for your guilty conscience. Followed by white chocolate cheesecake.’

‘Hah! You know me so well.’

It was exactly what Angel was planning on having. She had never been one of those celebrities who starves themselves to a size zero. Lucky she didn’t really need to diet – horse riding, swimming, good genes, and a husband who cooked healthy delicious meals kept her enviably slim. ‘And I bet you’re having grilled sea bass, no chips and salad?’

‘Yep. Next you can decide what movie we watch, and then around half-nine I’ve booked us both massages. Oh, and this is for you.’

Cal reached down by the side of the bed and handed her a pink velvet jewellery box.

Could her husband be any more perfect?

Angel opened it up to discover the most adorable necklace. Two hearts linked together – one in diamonds, one in pink sapphires – and a diamond arrow through both.

‘That is gorgeous!’ Angel exclaimed, immediately putting it round her neck and holding up her hair so Cal could fasten it.

‘Glad you like it, I wanted to treat you.’

‘I feel bad I haven’t got you anything.’

‘I’m sure you can think of something,’ he teased.

‘Hmm.’ Angel began kissing Cal’s chest, and just as she was about to continue her exploration further down his body, looked up and said, ‘You can order room service, can’t you? I’m going to be a little bit busy.’

Cal lay back on the pillow and reached for the phone, a smile playing across his mouth as he somehow managed to make the call …

MAMMA MIA’S WAS
heaving. Tiffany was practically running between tables, taking orders, picking up the heavy plates of pizza from the pass, where Vincent, the bad-tempered head chef, was shouting at everyone for not being quick enough. It was the pre-theatre rush and the place was full of people wanting a meal before they trotted off to see
The Lion King
, which was on round the corner, or one of the many other West End musical extravaganzas that were a short distance away.

Tiffany was not feeling her best as she had stayed up drinking with Kara the night before. She had received yet another brush-off from a magazine, even though she had offered to work for free. Home-made cocktails had seemed like the only answer but, boy, was she paying for it today. Her head was pounding and the smell of the food was making her feel nauseous. Wearily she went over to check on table number nine.

‘We wanted a thick-crust Four Seasons,’ moaned a disgruntled middle-aged man, with an appalling combover, who was sitting with his equally disgruntled-looking wife and two children.

He jabbed at the half-eaten pizza with his fork. ‘This is thin crust.’

‘I’m so sorry, sir, you should have said and I would
have
replaced it,’ Tiffany replied, while thinking,
D’oh!
Why had he eaten it if it had been the wrong order? Customers never ceased to amaze her.

‘Well, I’m not paying for it, it’s not what I ordered.’

Rule number one:
never
get into an argument with customers. Smile sweetly and make a quick exit. Leave it for Ruthless Vera to deal with. The Polish manageress had a way with the difficult male customers, mainly down to her impressive breasts, which she was not afraid to flaunt. But today Tiffany was not in the mood for smiling sweetly. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but you
have
eaten half the pizza.’ The temptation to do a loser hand signal and tell him that his combover wasn’t fooling anyone was powerful.

‘And there was hardly any mozzarella or avocado in my tricolore salad.’ Now the wife was piping up. Again, she had scoffed half of it.

‘What do you expect? You’re in the heart of London, and you’re paying bugger all for your meal,’ Tiffany thought. Except, by the look on the woman’s face, it was clear that she had, in fact, said it out loud.

Oh, shit.

‘Can I assist you with anything?’ It was Vera. Like a shark sensing blood in the water, she had come over to see what all the fuss was about.

‘We’re not at all happy with the service we’ve had. We’ve had the wrong pizza; the salad is inadequate. And it’s just not good enough.’

‘I see, sir. Well, you have eaten the pizza, but perhaps we could bring you another salad and, say, drinks on the house.’ Vera held up a bottle of white wine, which Tiffany knew from bitter experience was so acidic it set your teeth on edge and no doubt stripped away your stomach lining. But the man and his wife clearly were not connoisseurs as they nodded enthusiastically at the prospect of the free bottle.