Talk to Me (16 page)

‘Come on, Cinders. I’ll take you back to your hotel.’ Frank ushered me into the car, shutting the door crisply, before stepping back deliberately squashing Mr Clipboard’s toes.

The journey back was quieter than the one there; the rustle of Miranda’s dress was missing, along with the electric current of palpable excitement that had run around the car. I sniffed forlornly, gazing round at the leather seats. A cloud of perfume still lingered, the heady overpowering notes of Miranda’s Samsara and underneath the gentler lemon fragrance of Daniel’s aftershave. He’d snagged a lift with us, in search of some sports bar just off Leicester Square. The car was a luxury really, as it was only a five-minute walk. Nobody had minded the squeeze, as legs and feet were tangled like computer cables on the floor. Miranda had even said, ‘Isn’t this cosy?’ as she surreptitiously rubbed her leg up and down Daniel’s.

‘Yes,’ gushed Emily, oblivious to what she was up to.

‘Would you like a bit more room?’ asked Daniel, shuffling closer to me, away from Miranda. The heat of his thigh against the thin silk of my dress made me even more conscious of him.

Nobody had noticed that we were doing our utmost not to look at each other. My bravado had done a runner after my little floor show. The timely phone call had been Emily saying that Miranda was all set to go.

Now in the empty car, the waves of giddy anticipation long gone, I felt bereft. What was I going to do now? I had a whole evening to myself. My feet tapped irritably as we trailed along, through the clogged roads. It would have been quicker on foot, and inside the car I felt as if I was trapped in slow motion.

When Frank deposited me back at the front of The Grayville, I slunk out, keeping my head down. Less than half an hour ago we’d departed in a triumphant procession of colour and verve. As I got out, Frank slipped me a bottle of Cristal – perhaps I would down the whole lot.

‘Fancy dinner? There’ll be a meal in the kitchens for the drivers. Always good grub here. You can join us.’ It was kind of him but both of us knew that I would be lousy company.

I was suffering a post-euphoric hangover. The evening’s miasma of emotion, the excitement of seeing everything come together, the pleasure of getting ready for the party, not to mention the stimulation of something else – had eddied into a black cloud of depression. Stealing through the foyer to the lifts, I prayed that no one who’d seen the three-ringed circus depart would still be around.

As I balefully eyed the key slot for the magic penthouse floor, a delightful thought came to me, as my fingers closed over the key card in my bag. I smiled wickedly to myself. The imp was back. This morning Miranda had asked for a car back to Surrey tonight. I’d been livid. I’d hired the most expensive bloody changing room in London – The Grayville was not the sort of place that let you have suites by the hour.

Who could object? The suite had been paid for and I knew just the person who would get a kick out of it.

She answered my call immediately.

‘Hi Olivia, where are you? I’ve seen Emily … and you’ll never believe this, I’ve just had the strangest conversation with someone.’

‘Long story. I’m back at the hotel—’

‘When Emily came past, this guy next to me, nudged me and said, “That’s my girlfriend.” I wouldn’t mind but he was quite good-looking, so it wasn’t as if he needed to make that sort of stuff up.’

‘Probably just some idiot thought she was a celebrity. There are all sorts of weirdos out there. Now …’ I explained the situation to her.

‘Be there in ten,’ was Kate’s delighted response.

Feeling like a naughty schoolgirl I danced down the corridor in anticipation. I was going to enjoy every square inch of that sumptuous suite. I left a note for Emily in her room telling her that I’d see her for breakfast.

Oblivious to the noise of the crowded bar, Daniel picked at the label of the beer bottle. He’d blown the perfect opportunity to speak to Olivia. In fact he had no idea what had just gone on in that hotel room. He’d blown more than speaking to her.

Punching the hard wooden surface in front of him felt like a strong option. What an idiot. It was as if he’d had an out of body experience. He’d vowed to stay out of her way since the night at the hospital and now all he could think about was her smooth skin and the slender body in the flimsiest of silk and satin. The curve of hip bone. The delicate indentation of belly button. Long lean legs. Her slim boyish shape was the antithesis of Emily’s voluptuous curves, but all of sudden ten times sexier.

What the hell had just happened back there? He’d missed playful Olivia, the banter that had once been the hallmark of their friendship. How long had it been since he’d seen that wicked, shy smile? It had all come back with one socking great blow bringing pure lust, which had wiped his mind of his plans to talk to her.

He’d been inches from jumping her bones. Forgetting why he was there. He frowned at the damage he’d done to the beer label. This was crazy. Why was sitting down to talk to her proving so damn impossible? That had been the sole reason he’d been hanging around in the hotel room earlier … and look how well that ended.

The screen above the bar was showing the news, a clip of the premiere. Suddenly aware of the image, he sat up and watched the pictures, abandoning the final shreds of the label. There was Emily waltzing down the red carpet, he’d already seen Seb and Miranda. Where was Olivia? Scanning the picture he looked for a glimpse of her blue dress. Maybe she was out of shot.

He lifted the bottle to his mouth to take an angry swig. He couldn’t get her out of his head or the words that he should have said to her back in the hotel room. He knew exactly how he should have played it. Tell her he was worried because he knew what men were like. Given her a male perspective. Made her realise that men took the line of least resistance. Most of them were lazy bastards when it came to relationships, having their cake and eating …

It was one of those Homer Simpson, slap your own forehead ‘doh’ moments. His hand froze midway to his mouth as the realisation dawned on him.

Shit, was that really what he’d been doing with Emily? He took a long pull of the beer. This last couple of months. The mouthful of beer soured as he swallowed. It wasn’t as if he’d made any promises or talked commitment. But then they’d never really talked much at all about anything that mattered.

He swung his legs off the bar stool and stood up. They’d socialised a lot, meals out, pub visits, shared a bed … had some, he winced at his own admission, half-hearted sex … he wasn’t that consumed with lust to make a deal of it. It had been too bloody easy – Emily had been easily pleased. Demanding in that she wanted money spent on her, meals, days out … so easy to do but without much substance behind it.

He finished his warm beer in one last swallow and gave the TV another glance. There was Miranda in the famous dress – he vividly recalled the throwaway words Olivia had made in the car that day when she’d suggested the whole idea to Emily. His brother and Miranda made a handsome couple, chatting and laughing up at each other as if they’d known each other for longer than half an hour.

It looked real. Instant attraction, the right chemistry or a well-honed performance by two professionals?

He had to admit the whole thing had been pulled off brilliantly. Em had bitched like crazy for the last few days about what a slave driver Olivia was, but it had paid off. For all her faults, Olivia was good at what she did.

His phone beeped with a text message. Sebastian. A wry smile crossed his face as he read the text. Stirring it up again. So, there’d been a cock up and Olivia was on her way back to the hotel. Interesting.

Throwing a tenner down, he left the bar. Outside he considered taking a cab and then decided it was excessive. If she’d gone back to the hotel, she’d still be there and besides he wanted to think about what he was going to say to her. With Olivia it was probably best just to get straight to the point.

But what was his point?

‘I’m jealous as hell.’ His stomach pitched.

Is that what he should say to Olivia? He suddenly realised even if it was the truth, he couldn’t say it to her. But it was the truth. He was jealous of this unknown man. Because he and Olivia were friends?

And where did that leave Emily? How could he be jealous of one of her friends, if he was going out with her friend? And that led to the inevitable question, what was he going to do about Emily? She was innocent in all this. Olivia was taking her unhappiness out on her, which wasn’t fair or deserved. Poor kid couldn’t do a thing right at the moment. He felt a twinge of guilt.

Someone had to tell Olivia she was making a fool of herself. Someone who knew her. Someone who had her best interests at heart.

Entering the suite this time, I closed the door with a firm click, leaning giddily against it. I was queen of the castle. Could one room possibly be worth this amount of money for one night?

It even smelt different up here. Miranda’s Samsara was the most recent in a palimpsest of subtle smells, new carpets and leather furniture mixed with Windolene and furniture polish overlaid with liquorice and cigars.

Nikki’s boxes had gone. All that was left was the discarded packaging from the stockings and a Hansel and Gretel trail of polystyrene beads. A used glass with ‘Minx Red’ lipstick smears around the rim was the only other evidence of occupation.

The full-length windows, unfettered by blinds or voile, looked out over the rooftops of London. Nearby I could see the globe atop the London Coliseum and just beyond it the top of Nelson’s hat in Trafalgar Square.

I drooled in earnest the minute I pushed open the bathroom door. The rest of the suite was palatial and luxurious in a magazine double-page-spread sort of way. The pillows were plumper than plump, the décor was straight from
Homes & Interiors
, the bed was emperor-sized rather than king and the carpet virtually velvet – it was all stylishly gorgeous. But the bathroom was instant orgasm, the culmination of every one of my Cleopatra fantasies. I clapped my hands to my face in sheer delight, my smile leaking out from beneath my fingers, unable to suppress the squeaks of joy. This was bathroom heaven and you’re talking to an aficionado; subdued lighting, black slate, a double-ended bath, a Philippe Starck sink and full-sized expensive toiletries, none of this miniature rubbish. I wouldn’t have been surprised if asses’ milk poured from the high-spouted tap.

Fresh orchid petals were strewn around the edge of the bath, vivid fuchsia against stark white and black. Bouncy, fluffy towels were piled inches thick on a long wide shelf, from which hung a monogrammed cotton waffle bathrobe. Completing the utter decadence was a flip down plasma TV screen.

I’d definitely be using that bathroom but first I needed an ice bucket and two champagne flutes. Kate and I were going to enjoy this bottle of Cristal.

‘I could get used to this,’ said Kate, lying full-length on one of the chocolate-brown leather sofas, her head propped up with one arm, clutching a full glass.

‘It is rather lovely.’ I gazed around looking appreciatively at the gorgeous glass coffee table between us, just one of the many artefacts decorating the room. It was a squat hippo, his small ears, eyes and broad snout rising above a sheet of glass as if it was surfacing in water. Like everything else in the room, it was beautiful.

‘I never thought I’d be grateful to Miranda for anything. Here, drink up. I’m a glass ahead.’

To my surprise Kate’s glass was still virtually full and then she put it down on the polished table.

‘No more, thanks.’

I stared at her flat stomach, her hand hovering protectively above it. Suddenly everything clicked into place. Mood swings. Tiredness. Tummy trouble and Boots. I knew immediately.

‘Yes,’ she said bitterly. ‘I’m pregnant.’

‘Really?’ My eyes widened. Kate never made mistakes. The first time she applied liquid eyeliner she ended up with perfect Cleopatra doe eyes, unlike me. I looked like a tart who’d been crying for a week. Still gaping at her, I asked what I thought was the obvious question. ‘Have you told Greg?’

It was her turn to look startled.

‘You know, the father?’ My sarcasm was wasted.

Kate’s lips twisted. ‘He’s not the father.’

There was a gaping silence. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. I was astounded. How could she know with such certainty?

‘How do you know?’ I asked puzzled.

She looked pityingly at me. I was obviously missing something.

‘Because,’ she paused. ‘There is no Greg.’

‘What? No Greg. I don’t understand.’

‘There never was.’

I still looked blank.

‘I made him up,’ she snapped.

Why? Kate! Of all people. She was the last person who needed to invent boyfriends. Since the age of fifteen she’d been bringing the opposite sex to their knees.

‘So,’ I asked casually, as casually as I could when I was practically bouncing with agog-ness. ‘Who is the father?’

There was a long silence. Kate looked away and picked at a speck of fluff on her trousers. She swallowed a few times but she still didn’t say anything. I waited. Now she turned her attention to the button on the cuff of her jacket.

Then in a very small voice she said, ‘Bill,’ before bursting into tears.

What! No way. I shook my head, I must have misheard her. Unable to think of a single thing to say, I stared for a moment. How? More to the point, when? And what was she going to do about it? There were so many questions I wanted to ask, I didn’t know where to start. Instead, I put my glass down, moved over to sit next to her and held her tight as she rocked back and forth sobbing silently.

‘Why didn’t you say anything before?’ I said, when her sobs finally slowed, smoothing her hair back from her face.

Wiping the tears with the back of her hand, she pulled a face and put her head on my shoulder. ‘I thought if I didn’t say anything to anyone it would make it less real. Stupid, huh?’

I stared at her waiting for her to go on but not wanting to rush her.

‘I suppose you want to know what happened?’ Her ribcage lifted and fell with the heavy sigh.