Читать книгу Claudia Carroll 3 Book Bundle - Claudia Carroll - Страница 25

The weekend is taking place not at the usual, intimidatingly posh five-star Adare Manor, but in slightly less salubrious surroundings, in deference to the fact that we’re in economic meltdown and the Post just isn’t pulling in the numbers in the way it used to. So for this year’s annual tension-fest, we’re in Davenport Hall, a stately pile now renovated to budget-friendly three-star standards, but crucially, with a massive golf course attached, so the T. Rexes can do what they all pretty much came here to do. That is, arse around the fairways talking shop and deciding who’s next for the chop. And although the thought of two full days away from Lily is killing me, all I can think is maybe, just maybe, if the Gods smile down on me, by the time it’s all over, I might be bringing her home a dad that’s chomping at the bit to meet her. Her dream come true, in other words.

Anyway, the hotel is only about an hour’s drive from Dublin and I have to say, I’m sincerely and genuinely glad of Jake’s company on the way. Whatever tomorrow brings, I think, I’m just going to enjoy today.

Can’t describe how lovely it is to arrive here with someone. Even if they’re most emphatically not your partner, it’s still completely wonderful and a huge novelty for such a perennial loner like me. Lovely to have a guy who insists on carrying my bags, lovely not to have to trip up the huge hulking stone steps to the hotel reception all alone and loveliest of all to face into the awful melee of the Saturday afternoon ‘meet and greet’ with an actual pal beside me. And okay, so I may not have actually chosen to invite him here, but now that he is, I have to admit I’m bloody glad of it.

What can I say? After all my years of facing into crowded gatherings all alone with no one beside me, it’s beyond comforting to have a friend with me, supporting me. Someone who I’ve painstakingly prepped with all the ins and outs involved in the social and political minefield we’re about to step into and who’s somehow, miraculously, still okay with it all. Still hovering by my side, checking that I’m alright, making sure I’ve got a drink, every now and then glancing over in my direction, even when we’re separated, throwing me a surreptitious wink as much as to say, ‘you’re doing fine.’

Must be really magical to be in a proper relationship with someone genuinely caring and supportive, is all I can think.

Not that I’d know, but I mean, I’m guessing.

And I have to hand it to Jake, he’s playing a blinder. Didn’t turn a hair when we were only allocated one room between us, and when I asked for a second one, was told the hotel was totally overbooked, so it was a case of share and get on with it. Turns out it’s a double room, so after a flushed and mortified silence from me, Jake just laughed his easy, relaxed laugh and gallantly offered to sleep on the sofa.

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask what his bendy, Bikram-loving, Malboro-voiced ‘friend’ from Catalonia might have to say about this whole arrangement, but decided for once in my life to keep my trap shut. He hasn’t mentioned her once, so why would I? Even if I’ve a mental picture of bendy, supple Monique or whatever her name is, with both legs wrapped round her neck, going ‘Tell me more about zee present indicative, Jake baby.’

Have to hand it to him, he looks terrific too. Absurdly gorgeous, as just about every woman here is at pains to point out to me. At the afternoon meet and greet in the hotel’s drawing room, he’s dressed in jeans and a simple white cashmere jumper that really brings out the light suntan he’s picked up. My eye keeps subconsciously wandering over to him, only dying to ogle him, every time I think he’s not looking. He really is that good looking, tall and broad and classically handsome, casually leaning against a wall, towering over all around him. And every time I do sneak an admiring peek in his direction, he must feel my eyes on him because next thing, he’ll be looking back at me, smiling at me, winking at me, mouthing at me that everything is fine.

And for now, he’s right. For today at least, everything really is fine; for once in my life, I can physically feel it.

You should see him though, chatting away to everyone, mingling easily, shaking hands with strangers then nodding with easy recognition as they introduce themselves. Broad and imposing, by a mile the tallest guy here, with some fruity-looking, summery cocktail clamped to his hand that I know he’d rather die than drink (he reckons cocktails are only for straight women on hen nights, or else gays). Honest to God, I think proudly, the guy really looks to the manner born.

Like he’s been moving in these circles all his life.

If you didn’t know for sure, you’d swear he was a multi-millionaire businessman who’d miraculously survived the recession, or else maybe a wealthy and secure hedge fund manager here to relax and chill out for a well deserved weekend’s rest. But never would you even randomly guess this guy was barely a few months out of a high security prison and currently on parole. Not a chance.

I actually lose count of the number of people who come up to me in the crush specifically to tell me how lovely Jake is, then politely ask how long we’ve been an item. All my ‘Oh, well, we’re really just good friends,’ lines are brushed aside as the rumour mill takes over, reaching me, as it somehow always does, with the usual approximately thirty-minute time delay.

They’re such a lovely couple, and the effect he’s having on Eloise Elliot is quite extraordinary … She’s a completely different person these days. So much more relaxed and softer than Madam Tiger Blood of old. For God’s sake, just take a look at her! She’s actually wearing a pair of jeans and for once in her life isn’t trailing around in one of her terrifying black power suits! Just wish she’d met that Jake guy years ago, that’s all I can say, life might have been a helluva lot easier in work for the rest of us …

And there’s another thing too, another reason why I find myself glowing this afternoon. Now, I’m someone who has never in my whole life known popularity. My place was perennially to accept that while my younger sister was the pretty, likeable one who everyone instantly warned to, I was her scowling termagant sidekick that any sane person would rather open up one of their own veins than spend time with. In fact, for years and years, I used to consider any social event with my work colleagues a success if I managed to get home alive and still in one piece.

But not now. There’s a sea change in the air, I can practically feel it. It starts with Adele Turner, Robbie’s wife, normally so stand-offish and cool with me, who comes up and actually physically hugs me, nearly knocking the air out of my lungs, it’s that tight and heartfelt. She thanks me over and over for letting Robbie off to get to their daughter’s Confirmation, says it made the whole day for them and that she was so grateful to me. Asks if it’s true that I personally covered for Robbie that day, which I brush aside and instead deflect the chat onto how the Confirmation went instead.

Then Jenny Wilson from accounts – again, no fan of mine ever since I had to cut her back to a three-day week during the last staff culling – comes over, all full of smiles and chat. Warm and friendly as you like, she tells me that she’d heard what I’d done for poor Rachel, who also happens to be her best friend; that she’d been to visit her at home only recently, and that she’s doing a whole lot better now.

‘That was really considerate of you, Eloise,’ she tells me, her eyes shining with sincerity. ‘You didn’t have to, and not many other bosses would have been so compassionate. Rachel was very touched, I can tell you. As we all were when the news got out.’

I of course modestly brush it aside.

But deep down I am secretly chuffed beyond words.

Ordinarily at these mind-bendingly boring functions, I’m either shoehorned into a corner with one of the T. Rexes who’ll bore me to sobs about his golf handicap, or else I’m left standing all alone on the sidelines with no one to talk to, cradling a drink, watching everyone else having a good time and feeling nothing but hate-vibes pulsating towards me. Oh, and checking my iPhone every few minutes, to at least make it look like I’m not particularly bothered that no one’s bothered with me.

Not now though. Somehow, for the first time in my life, I find myself right at the very epicentre of a big group of co-workers, all chatting and yabbering away to me, including me in their in-jokes, making me feel like I really do belong. And I love it, it’s intoxicating and wonderful and to my great shame, I’d never really realised before just how great my colleagues really are. Never got to really know them, as people.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Seth Coleman’s skeletal outline, with a tall, beautiful modely one on his arm. So out-of-his league stunning in fact, Sarah from advertising whispers to me that she must be a hired high-class escort paid to be with him for the weekend. And we both giggle into our drinks, enjoying a genuine moment of girlie bonding, something completely new and utterly lovely for me.

Can’t tell you the warm, comforting feeling that genuinely belonging gives to me. I’ve missed out on so much these past few years, I think. Missed all the camaraderie, the messing, joshing each other along in the office, anything to make the long days go that bit faster. How much more pleasant would my life have been, I wonder, had I only taken the time and trouble to get to really know these people sooner?

Dave, the night editor, almost brings a tear to my eye when he muscles down into a seat beside me, and warmly says, ‘You know something? I never really knew how sound you were before. And I want to say sorry if I’ve ever misjudged you, Eloise. I used to think that everything you ever said or did was calculated to intimidate. But what can I say? I completely and totally had the wrong idea of you, couldn’t have been more wrong about you, in fact. And I’m not the only one round here either.’

I shoot him a look of deep gratitude, then as much as to say, ‘you’re one of us now’, he lightens up a bit and says, ‘right then, it’s your round Elliot, now up off your lazy arse and mine’s a gin and tonic.’

‘Sure, I was on my way to the bar anyway,’ I smile back at him, touched that he thought enough of me to give me a gentle slagging. Because no one’s ever done that at work before, ever. ‘But can I just say one thing before I go? Thing is Dave, I really think that I’m the one who should be apologising to you.’

‘How do you mean?’ he asks, looking me straight in the eye.

‘All those late nights with me nearly sweating blood down in the print room? Come on, Dave, how you managed to not shove one of my bare limbs into the presses is a shining testament to your eternal good nature.’

And he rolls his eyes jokingly and grins at me and just like that, years of tension, angst, blood, sweat and tears just melt away.

Best of all, I see Jake out of the corner of my eye, stuck in a conversation with, ahem, Lady Hume, but every now and then throwing sideways glances over at me, just checking on me. And I meet his warm, soft gaze and he gives me a wink and I think, for the moment at least, it doesn’t get any better than this.

Turns out I’m dead right. It doesn’t.

It gets worse. Far, far worse.

Initially my warm glow of newfound popularity lasts the whole way through afternoon tea and right up to when we all merrily and a bit drunkenly head up the massive stone staircase to our respective rooms, to get dressed for dinner. I’ve only had two and a bit glasses of champagne, but barely got to eat a single scrap, I was that busy chatting and laughing. The net result of which is that I’m now a bit tipsy and giddy, on a total high from how unbelievably well the whole shindig is going so far.

Ever the gentleman, Jake allocates me full bathroom rights first while I get changed and liberally apply yet more slap to my sunburnt face as we natter away through the half-open door.

‘You’re playing a complete blinder, you do know that,’ I shout out to him proudly, shoehorning myself out of my jeans and into a long, bugle-beaded, slinky, silver cocktail dress that Jake insisted on buying me the other night. I naturally baulked at this, as it was a Louise Kennedy that even on sale still cost a bleeding packet, but he insisted. Said it looked well on me and besides, it was payback for the suit I bought him, what seems like another lifetime ago now. I tentatively step into it, clinging to the towel rack with one hand for support, I’m that tipsy, then yank up the gossamer-fine straps, zip it up my back as far as I can by myself and step back to check it out in a full-length mirror conveniently placed by the bathtub.

Not half bad, I can’t help thinking, twirling this way and that, straining to get a better view. Now believe me, I’m no Cameron Diaz, but there’s just something sexy and magical about the way the dress clings and shimmers, even in awful bathroom flourescent light. If I don’t exactly look a million dollars, then for tonight at least, I certainly feel it.

The dark circles under my eyes, I notice, have slowly started to fade a bit from being out in the sun with Lily so much lately, and there’s a colour in my cheeks now that was never there before. Most likely down to the fact that Jake’s getting pretty good at ramming food down my throat, combined with the fact that I’m sleeping a lot more soundly these days. Normally I go around looking not unlike Morticia Addams I’m that white and pasty, but not now. There’s an unmistakable glow there that was absent before and there’s only one thing I can put it down to. It’s feeling like I’m not alone any more.

It’s not me contra mundum any more and it doesn’t need to be, ever again. Because I’ve got buddies now, real pals. Some of whom, to my shame, have been under my nose for the longest time, including practically everyone that I work with.

‘What about that Shania one, Lady Up-Your-Arse or whatever she calls herself though?’ Jake chats away through the bathroom door. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever come across anyone quite like her.’

‘Explain?’ I call back at him, while practically screwed up against the vanity mirror above the sink trying to lash on actual make-up. Harder than it sounds when you’re someone who rarely bothers with the stuff. No time, I always think, not to mention very little point. No sooner do I put it on than it’s sweated off me after approximately one hour of being even near the vicinity of the Post.

‘Well, it’s weird. While she’s talking away to you and seemingly interested in pursuing a half-normal conversation, the whole time she’s got her mobile out and is on Twitter. Non-stop.’

I roll my eyes to heaven.

‘Yeah, sounds right. Seen her do it a thousand times. She tweets like she’s running a director’s commentary on her own life. TMI syndrome I call it.’

‘Which is?’

‘Too Much Information. People who feel the need to tweet what they had for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Very annoying I’d imagine, if you happen to be following her.’

‘Bit of a fake, isn’t she?’

I smile to myself, while picking up wet towels and hanging them out to dry. Funny thing about Jake, he has the innate knack of being able to spot a phoney faster than Kim or Aggie can spot mildew.

‘And another thing, what’s the story with that guy Marc, your culture editor?’ Jake chats on companionably through the bathroom door. ‘Has to be gay, doesn’t he?’

‘Getting married at the end of the month,’ I shout back, lashing on more bronzing powder than you’d normally see on an X-Factor finalist, just to be on the safe side. ‘A civil partnership with a guy who works in advertising at the Post. And what’s more, not only did he tell me all about it this afternoon, but he actually invited me to the wedding too, I couldn’t believe it.’

‘Why wouldn’t he?’

‘Well, I’ve known him years and in all that time, I just automatically assumed he never really liked me. He and I do nothing only snipe at each other.’

‘Why wouldn’t he like you? Jeez, did you see yourself this afternoon? You were totally surrounded by people everywhere you went. And they didn’t seem to just be rubbernecking you or sucking up to you because you’re their boss, they genuinely seemed to be having a laugh with you.’

‘You think? Really?’

I mean, I think so too, but it’s great to be able to get a second opinion from someone who was there, observing from the sidelines.

‘Are you kidding me? You were like Miss Congeniality downstairs, they were buzzing round you like wasps round a jam jar. Everyone wanted to chat to you, myself included. Only trying to get away from your woman I was stuck with, was next to impossible. Jeez, she’s something else isn’t she? Shania – Lady Up-Your-Bum, I mean. Kinda reminded me of Cruella de Vil’s granny.’

‘Oh Jake,’ I say guiltily, ‘I’m so sorry for not rescuing you … I was just so busy chatting, I kept on trying to get to you, but then someone always seemed to waylay me.’

‘No worries at all,’ he says kindly. ‘It was great to see you having such a good time.’

‘Well, thank you. I only hope you weren’t bored stupid.’

‘Not a bit of it. Have to say though Eloise,’ he chats on easily, ‘the whole shindig was a helluva lot better than you’d let me to expect. From what you’d told me, I was dreading the whole thing, kept thinking that I’d been in correctional facilities that sounded more relaxed. But I have to say it was – well, I haven’t seen you look as alive as you did down there, not once, in all the time I’ve known you. It was great to see, it really was.’

I stop in my tracks, deeply touched at this. What a total sweetheart, I find myself thinking, pausing for a second and pulling back from the mirror, where I’d been trying to put on eyeliner straight. Not many guys who’d have the patience to put up with a work do like this. Not any, as far as I know.

A random thought; should I go ahead and tell him right now? I’m certainly drunk enough and it sort of feels like the right time … But I swat it aside. Not before the big dinner tonight. Stick with the plan, Eloise. Tomorrow. After breakfast. Outside, in the gardens, where there’s no distractions. Just be patient, wait till then. You’re about to tell him potentially life-altering news, so it’s worth picking the right moment, isn’t it? Besides, I’ve already waited this long and we’re having such a lovely time …

Then I step out of the bathroom in all my silvery finery, to an appreciative wolf-whistle from Jake, which I immediately swat away, red-faced. He’s lying up against a mound of pillows on the bed now, shoes kicked off, stretched out like a sunbather, the picture of chilled-out relaxation.

Looking decidedly sexy too, I find myself thinking, right out of left field.

Jeez, where’d that come from?

Oh who am I kidding, I’ve been thinking it all afternoon. Just like every other straight, single woman at this do.

Still though, note to self; no more booze, strictly water for me from here on in.

Must be a hell of a lot drunker than I thought.

‘You look gorgeous,’ he says softly, eyeing me up and down in a way that I haven’t been looked at in years. Decades, even.

‘Come off it,’ I giggle back at him, I’m sure blushing hotly. ‘It’s not me, it’s the dress. Besides, you’re used to seeing me going around in my black widow’s weeds.’

‘No, you look really terrific,’ he repeats slowly, stretching his arms behind his head and looking at me so admiringly that now it’s starting to disconcert me a bit. I’m not used to it. Men either see me as asexual or else just treat me exactly as they would another guy.

‘Have to hand it to you,’ Jake goes on lazily, ‘I never realised you’d such a great body going on under all those identical black power suits.’

‘Jake?!’

‘Look at yourself, would you? You’ve a fantastic figure. It’s just that no one ever tells you. I’ve always thought that you don’t get complimented enough, all you ever seem to get is bucketloads of shite thrown all over you. So take it from me, tonight you’re any man’s fantasy come true, just a pity that the only person who can’t see it is you. And to me, you’re the sexiest, loveliest, most gorgeous woman here.’

I’m flushing right to the back of my molars now and suddenly after all of our messing and chat and banter, there’s an awkward silence, where we both look at each other, sensing that our friendship is about to cross a major line here.

But onto what?

There’s a silence now, all our easy chitchat has suddenly stopped. And now it’s like even the air in the room isn’t moving.

‘Your dress is unzipped,’ he eventually murmurs, pointing to the back of it.

‘Oh rats, yeah, I couldn’t reach,’ I mumble, staring at him stupidly.

‘Come here. Allow me.’

‘Oh, emmm, thanks.’

I go over to where he’s sitting up against the pillows and sit down gingerly on the edge of the bed, with my back to him. Next thing, I feel his warm hands lightly lifting my hair off the back of my neck as he zips the dress all the way up. For just a millisecond longer than necessary, his hands linger on my bare shoulders and now there’s a tingling thrill shooting down my arms, bringing my whole body out in goose pimples.

Hadn’t counted on this … Hadn’t even considered the deep, swell that starts inside my chest then slowly starts to spread over my whole body, until my fingers tingle, and each and every one of my nerve endings feels like it’s physically starting to ache.

Christ, I think randomly, have I really been withering for the want of a human touch this badly? And for this long?

His giant hands linger on the nape of my neck, then gently start to play with a loose strand of my hair as my stomach contracts with longing … Whatever else happens, I don’t want him to stop …

Okay, I’m starting to feel dizzy now, loose and watery and find my head slowly turning round to face him as he cups my face in his huge hand, massaging it with his long, slow fingers.

‘This alright?’ he whispers so softly, I can barely hear him.

The rational part of my mind says, stop this lunacy right now, get up while I still can, say something smart and get back downstairs to the party proper. Because the thing is, I like being Jake’s friend. Surely the superior and permanent position of friends is a pretty good place to be. Isn’t it? Not to mention the bombshell I’ll be landing on him tomorrow … So why am I in danger of blowing everything right now by turning back to him, mumbling ‘Mmmmm,’ softly under my breath, wanting nothing more now than for him to hold me, to lie down beside him, to feel his lips on mine … He must be able to hear my heart hammering, I think, he must …

‘You’re amazing, you know that?’ he murmurs into my hair, and now I can feel his tongue lightly grazing off my ear. Oh God, he smells so delicious too, musky and gorgeous. And suddenly it’s like a furnace in here and even just looking at him is making me break out in a clammy sweat.

‘Most incredible person I think I’ve ever met.’

Another flush from me and now he’s smiling down at me.

‘I love watching you blush. It’s so against your nature and you’re so pretty when you do.’

I inch back a tiny bit, to look him full in the face.

‘Jake …’

‘Mmmmm …’ he says, pulling me back towards him, his grip like iron now.

‘What are we doing here? Are we both sure about this?’

‘Never been surer of anything in my life.’

‘But what about your woman? The Girl from Ipanema, sorry, I mean, what’s her name, Monique?’

‘Nothing.’ He just smiles that wry crooked smile I love and looks at me the way he always does whenever he thinks I’m acting like a complete mental case. ‘No story whatsoever. We’re friends, that’s all. Went to a movie together once and that was it. I already told you that.’

‘Yeah, but, I just wondered …’

‘Come on love,’ he smiles, lazily tracing a line of light kisses along the path of my collarbone, ‘the only reason I even mentioned her was because you seemed so edgy with me when we were out to dinner last week. I honestly thought you were about to tell me you were married or in a long-term relationship or something. So I just thought it might put your mind at rest a bit, take some pressure off you if I told you about Monique, that’s all. If you’ll remember though, I did make it clear to you we were only going out as friends …’

Now. This is it. The perfect moment.

‘Jake … there was something I wanted to tell you that night, but I never got a chance …’

‘Shhh, can’t you see I’m trying to kiss you here?’

With that, he grabs me by the waist and pulls me towards him so that now we’re face to face, inches from each other and all I can do is forget what I was about to say and look deep into his beautiful, wide blue eyes, just wishing he’d lean down and kiss me properly … And when he eventually does, it’s an endless kiss, strong and deep and so, so sexy and I can’t help myself from moaning softly as he strokes down the whole length of my body … it’s hot and getting hotter and I don’t want him to stop, don’t want this moment to be over, want nothing more then to commit this to memory, so I can relive it later …

It takes every gram of strength I have to pull away, but somehow I manage to.

‘No, please Jake, not until I’ve talked to you …’

‘What’s up love?’

Next thing, the bedroom phone rings.

And now I’m startled, almost shocked back to sobriety.

‘Let it ring and tell me what’s bothering you,’ he says thickly, arms clamped tight around me.

But I can’t, in case it’s Helen or Lily or some problem at home. I detangle myself, slide away from him towards the bedside table and pick it up.

‘Hello?’

‘Eloise, where in the name of god are you?’

Ruth O’Connell, sounding even tipsier than I feel right now.

‘Hi Ruth, you OK?’

‘Come on, the party’s started and you’re late! We’re all down here waiting for you, so hurry up! And get that gorgeous slab of a man of yours down here too! Steve from accounts is making serious moves on me again and I need to talk boys with you!’

I smile, hang up, then turn back to Jake.

‘Party’s started,’ I tell him. ‘Time for us to go.’

Can’t tell him now. But for the first time all week, I think maybe, just maybe, everything will be fine when I do.

‘Party hasn’t even begun to start,’ he grins broadly. ‘You just wait till I get you back up here later on. Now that’ll be the real party.’

Five minutes later and arm in arm together we both trip down the massive stone staircase into the large, looming and slightly terrifying library, where aperitifs are being served before dinner. Jake holds open the door for me, winks at me, then brushes his hand lightly up and down my bare back as I waft past him. And it’s thrilling and sexy all at once and as I smile coyly up at him all I can think is – later.

Just wait until later. That’s all we have to do. In a few hours, all this work malarkey will be done and dusted and then it’ll just me and him … alone. And I’ll come clean to him and with luck we’ll just pick up exactly where we left off on that gorgeous, conveniently oversized big double bed …

Jesus, I’m acting and feeling like a teenager, I think, totally assaulted by a mixture of relief and happiness as a dizziness comes over me just at the memory of him touching me. Nor does Jake show any signs of regretting what just happened either. Every chance he gets, he’s brushing up against me, slipping an arm round my shoulders, making it clear to one and all that we’re together. Which they all automatically assumed anyway, but still.

And each time he lightly grazes my bare back, it sends a thrill through me that I have neither felt nor experienced in such a mortifyingly long time – I’m guessing sometime during the Clinton administration. And it’s all just so sexy and so beyond fabulous; like that feeling you get when you hear the opening bars of Avalon, only better.

Anyway, Jake heads to the crowded bar to get us some drinks while I slip into a quiet corner to call home and say nightie-night to Lily. I mwah-mwah her over and over again while she giggles, sing her two verses of The Bing Bong Song from Peppa Pig at her insistence and faithfully promise her I’ll be home in time to make popcorn and watch a movie of her choice with her on TV, tomorrow evening. Then have to resist the urge to physically kiss the phone as she happily waddles off and Helen takes over.

‘So, can you talk?’ she asks me excitedly, dying to know all. ‘How’s it all going?’

‘So, so well,’ I hiss. ‘LOADS to tell you, but just relax. I really think that somehow it’s all going to work out, that he won’t mind a bit when I tell him. Look, I can’t talk now, but for once in my life I really, honestly feel that everything will be just fine …’

With that, I spot Jake on his way back with drinks.

‘Gotta go, talk later!’ I tell her, hanging up.

Later, later, later. And all Jake and I have to do is wait till later.

To be continued …

Anyway, the pre-dinner drinks party is packed to the gills, with everyone deep in chat and of course knocking back the freebie champagne and cocktails to beat the band. The vast majority from the Post, I can’t help noticing, all executing perfect one hundred and eighty-degree head turns, so as to check that there’s never anyone close by more important that they should be rubbernecking with instead.

But not me, not this weekend. Not on your life. Tonight to me is about having the one thing I rarely allow myself … fun. And possibly sex into the bargain, but I won’t count my chickens. Everything is going so incredibly well so far, why shouldn’t my glorious good fortune hold out? I think, more than a bit smugly, floating around with a beam on my face like someone who just won the Lotto, but doesn’t like to gloat. But even besides Jake, aside from what just happened, tonight is a well-earned celebration with people I wish I’d got to know before and who I’d really like to get to know a whole lot better.

For feck’s sake, I think, we do shop talk 24/7 in the office, can’t we all just allow ourselves one night off to let our collective hair down? Christ knows, we’ve earned it.

Next thing I feel a warm hand slip through mine as Jake leans down to whisper reassuringly in my ear.

‘Once more into the breach, dear friend.’

‘Let me guess, your O.U. English course?’

‘Henry the Fifth, the man himself.’

Photos are being taken all round us on camera phones as I beam back up at him, feeling light, lighter than air. He leans down and lightly kisses me just as our picture is taken. I feel the flash in my face, startling me, then I pull back and we both suddenly burst out laughing.

And it’s hard to believe it, but this is actually the last time that anything is ever normal between us again.

True to form, it’s Seth Coleman who gets the ball rolling. Probably the only person here who’s relatively sober, with the lardy-looking head of hair so slicked back tonight, that he bears more than a passing resemblance to Wolverine from X-Men. A galaxy-class schmoozer, the minute his gimlet eye spots us, he oils his way over to Jake then surreptitiously steers him away from me, out of earshot.

It’s beautifully done: they’re just far enough away that even while straining, I’m still only able to pick up annoying snippets of their conversation. All of which are enough to make my blood chill as a long shadow suddenly stretches itself across this near-perfect day. Because he’s grilling Jake, sounding him out, doing a real number on him, almost worthy of a five-and-dime, gumshoe private investigator, circa nineteen-forty-five, by way of Raymond Chandler.

Even worse, I’m stuck with Lady Hume, who’s already far more than three sheets to the wind. I can tell by the way she keeps pressing me to call her Shania, but then she only ever abandons the social pecking order when she’s totally pissed as a fart. For once, she’s abandoned her mobile phone and it’s hard to say which is worse; trying to sustain a half-arsed conversation with her while she’s rudely tweeting away in front of you, or else having to have a full-blown conversation with her, now that she’s phoneless and Twitterless.

She’s wearing a dress a good twenty years too young for her, exposing far more flesh than even a gap year student with a perfect body ever should, with her too-blonde hair and too-fake nails that I’m certain she must have spent an absolute packet on. But then Shania’s one of those women the Celtic Tiger years really suited, but now that we’re all broke, she just comes over as being grossly OTT and faintly embarrassing. There’s always one at these things, that one person that you just dread ending up with and sure enough, it’s my bad luck to have been collared by her.

‘No one here likes me,’ she slurs, standing way too uncomfortably close to me and breathing boozy fumes that nearly make me cough. Christ alive, has this one been on the booze for the whole afternoon?

‘Even,’ she says, starting to sway dangerously now, ‘I might say … especially him.’ She practically spits this out and when I politely follow her eye line, I realise she’s referring to none other than her husband, Sir Gavin.

‘I’m pretty certain he’s having an affair, you know. And she’s only bloody thirty. Some bitch journalist. Thinks I know nothing about it, but …’ then her voice drops down to an exaggerated stage whisper, ‘I make a point of checking his mobile phone bills every month AND his credit card statements … How about that?’

I nod as sympathetically as I can, all the while casting around for someone, anyone, to come and rescue me. But before I can even make eye contact with Jake, she nudges me sharply and sloshes a good half of the margarita she’s been milling into all over the carpet. Jesus.