‘I looked up and she was gone, like a bullet,’ said Peter. ‘Didn’t catch her for about three miles.’
Juliet smiled softly and touched his hand. ‘But you did.’
‘And then you lived happily ever after,’ cooed Pandora.
‘My wife likes romantic movies,’ smiled Charles. ‘And you two, Amy? Did you have a similarly dramatic beginning?’
Amy shook her head. ‘We first met in the pub. I worked behind the bar. David liked his beer. He didn’t even ask me out once.’
‘But my friend Pog asked you to move in.’
‘So you dated his friend first?’ said Pandora eagerly.
Amy laughed. ‘No, it was a house share.’
‘I was thrilled,’ said Juliet. ‘Finally, someone else in the house who understood the concept of deodorant.’
‘So did love blossom over the kitchen table?’
‘Actually, David was dating someone else . . .’ said Amy.
‘Pippa!’ said Max, banging the table. ‘She was fit! And rich!’
Amy turned to Pandora, who looked utterly confused now. ‘Her name was actually Annabel,’ she said. ‘And she was pretty, although a bit of a cow.’
‘I don’t think you’re allowed to say that about partners’ exes even if it’s completely true,’ smiled Juliet.
‘So, nothing happened,’ continued Amy. ‘Jules and I moved to London together and Max and David shacked up in Chelsea doing whatever they were doing.’
‘Shagging!’ shouted Max, drawing disapproving glares from half the square.
‘Anyway, we lost touch,’ said Amy, raising her eyebrows at David.
‘I was working every hour in the City,’ he said.
‘And I was off my nut in Ibiza most of the time,’ said Max, keen to remain the centre of attention.
‘Then I met him again in the street. It was London Fashion Week and the houses always try to outdo each other with imaginative venues for their catwalk shows. That year Simone did their show in an old bank off Threadneedle Street – it’s a hotel now, I think – and I had just left.’
David leaned in to continue the story. ‘I was walking up Fenchurch Street, on my way to a meeting, and boom! I saw this beautiful girl on the other side of the road. Wearing, I should add, a ridiculous red dress.’
‘It was McQueen,’ corrected Amy. ‘Very chic, very directional.’
‘Caught the eye, I’ll give you that,’ smiled David. ‘Anyway, I ran across and we stood on the corner chatting. In the rain. For an hour.’
Amy didn’t say so, but it was one of her favourite moments. David had looked handsome and accomplished in his dark chalk-stripe suit; he’d been funny and complimentary and he’d insisted on holding his umbrella over her until the shoulders of his suit were sodden. The truth was, neither of them had wanted to leave, fearing that the other would disappear like a dream.
‘So romantic,’ said Claire dreamily.
‘You’d think, wouldn’t you? But then she ignored me for about a fortnight,’ said David with a hurt expression.
‘A girl has to play hard to get,’ smirked Amy. ‘You have to let the man know who’s boss.’
‘Like there’s ever been any doubt about that,’ smiled David, touching her hand.
Amy didn’t add that she had finally called David and taken him to an event in Soho, some art gallery she had thought would impress him, but they’d both been bored within ten minutes and bunked off giggling to a crappy basement salsa bar, where they’d done tequila shots, danced close and stumbled back up the stairs, snogging all the way to David’s place. She’d spent the entire weekend wrapped in his sheets – and in him – and she had never really left.
‘A whirlwind romance,’ said Juliet. ‘You were married about six months later, weren’t you?’
‘Nine,’ said Amy. ‘Didn’t seem much point in waiting. Especially since we’d wasted so much time.’
‘That’s just like me and Max,’ said Claire. ‘We were less than a year.’
Max nodded, shrugged. ‘That’s because I was on the shelf, though, and starting to go bald. I didn’t think I’d get anyone else to put up with me. Thought I’d better snap her up.’
‘You old romantic,’ said David, punching him on the arm.
‘Ow!’ he said, rubbing the spot. ‘That hurt!’
‘It was meant to.’
Conversation turned to children and schools and celebrity gossip among the women, and business among the men. Max revealed that his firm were toying with the idea of expanding into America, reasoning that ‘The Yanks can’t get enough of anything British.’
Charles took a more sober view. ‘I can get some of our analysts to look at the market out there for you if you’d like.’
Max snorted. ‘With respect, Charles, I’m not wasting any money on management consultancy bollocks – I’d much rather spend it on boots on the ground, get a top-notch team in the States. Just need to find someone I can trust.’
‘Why don’t you do it yourself?’ said Peter.
‘I would, but Claire’s having none of it, are you, darling?’
She shrugged. ‘The twins are happy at school.’
‘Well, what about you, David?’ said Peter. ‘You’re always saying you need a change. The finance side would be a cakewalk for you, and you know Max’s business inside out, don’t you?’
‘I ought to, he’s been bothering me with every last bloody detail for the past twenty years,’ said David ruefully.
‘I think it’s a brilliant idea!’ said Claire, flapping her hands with excitement. ‘Amy, you could get a snazzy New York editorship and we could all spend our summers in the Hamptons.’
‘Amy doesn’t need a job in New York. She’s going to be the next editor of Mode,’ said Juliet, her words slurring slightly.
‘Has the job come up?’ said Claire in surprise.
‘Ros Kimber announced she was leaving last week,’ said Juliet.
‘Really? How did I miss that?’ she asked. Claire’s background was in the fashion industry and even though she only did the odd bit of consultancy work these days, she always enjoyed being up to date with the gossip.
‘You’ve been in Provence with patchy Wi-Fi,’ said Max.
Amy shot Juliet a look and avoided David’s gaze. ‘I’m not sure I’m even going to apply,’ she said, playing with her napkin.
‘Not sure?’ laughed Max. ‘Sweetheart, cocks are being blown for that job as we speak.’
Charles and Pandora coloured in the evening heat and Amy glared at Juliet, who just shrugged and reached for the wine. She never had been able to hold her drink.
‘Shall we have another bottle?’ she said.
‘Not for me,’ said Amy, putting her hand over her glass. ‘I think I’m getting a headache.’
The taxi could only fit five.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll walk,’ said David, taking Amy’s arm as the others climbed into the car.
‘Are you sure?’ asked Claire. ‘It’s pretty dark on those lanes.’
‘It’s a beautiful night and the stars are out,’ he said, and Amy felt her heart sink. She knew David had an ulterior motive, but he didn’t say anything as the taxi pulled away and they strolled arm-in-arm back between the honey-coloured houses and out into the country lanes with their low hedges, crickets chirping around them. Finally Amy could stand the silent treatment no longer.
‘I suppose you want to know why I didn’t tell you about the Mode job,’ she said, glancing towards David. He shrugged non-committally, but she knew him well enough. ‘I didn’t say anything because it’s only just been announced.’
‘Juliet said it was last week.’
‘We’ve been so busy in the run-up to the holidays, and with Josie around, there’s not been much opportunity to talk.’
David nodded, but he
didn’t look convinced. ‘And?’
‘And what?’
‘And are you going to go for it?’
She took a deep breath. He wasn’t going to like it. ‘I think I have to, really,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to show ambition or give up. I’ll need to submit a presentation before the end of the month.’
‘This month?’
She nodded. ‘I’ll have to write it while we’re away.’
‘Can’t it wait?’
‘No, it can’t.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I can’t choose the timetable, David. If Ros bloody Kimber decides to jump ship, I can’t exactly ask her to wait six months while I have a holiday.’
He was quiet for a moment, and Amy knew he was trying to control his temper.
‘Listen, I understand that jobs like this only rarely come up, but this is the first day of a break that’s supposed to be total relaxation.’
‘I know, David, but—’
‘Aren’t you sick of it?’ he said, turning to face her. ‘Don’t you look around at all this . . .’ he gestured towards the dark countryside, so still and quiet around them, ‘and want more of it? Juliet’s an editor, Peter’s in the City; I don’t notice them working as hard as we do. They’re always at their cottage in the country or in Paris or Rome – and not on business.’
‘Juliet’s editor of Living Style,’ said Amy defensively. ‘It’s a small job. I’ve never worked out what Peter does, but from what I can gather, it’s a lot of long lunches in Coq d’Argent.’
‘So what? Don’t you think we have enough? Enough money, enough work to do, enough everything? Where does it stop? When do we stop and draw a line and say we’re content?’
Amy’s instinct was to push back, tell him how important it was to her, ask him to support her just one last time, but she knew what this was about. George Moore, one of David’s best friends, had died of a heart attack six months earlier. He had started at the bank in the same band of bright-eyed, bushy-tailed graduate recruits as David, and they’d risen through the ranks together, hopping between the big financial giants, earning money, fat bonuses and industry praise. They’d played squash once a week, and gone on a boys’ shooting trip to Scotland every autumn, until George dropped dead during a triathlon, leaving three kids under ten and a grieving wife.
‘I know you want to slow down,’ said Amy. ‘But what about seizing the day? What about taking an opportunity when it presents itself? David, this chance won’t come again.’
‘And is that so terrible?’
‘So now you’re saying I should give up my career?’ said Amy, annoyed that he seemed to be pouring cold water on her ambitions.
‘No, I’m saying you don’t have to go for this particular job.’
‘And then what? Verve isn’t going to last for ever, you know, and I don’t want to end up as an ex-editor, freelancing for day rates that haven’t gone up in fifteen years. And yes, I know you make a great living. But I need something for me. I couldn’t sit at home like Claire ironing socks.’
To her surprise, David laughed. He stopped and turned, looking into her eyes.
‘Okay, okay, I hear you,’ he said. ‘But just get the application done as quickly as you can. The pact remains. A couple of days on this, then relax: is that a deal?’
‘It’s a deal,’ she smiled, leaning in to kiss him. But behind his back, out in the dark, Amy was crossing her fingers.
Chapter 11
‘Couldn’t she have worn a smaller bikini?’ said Juliet, peering over the top of her sunglasses.
Amy looked up from her sunlounger. She had spent the morning working on her application and she was practically buried under a pile of magazines; luckily Claire had every issue of Mode from the last year. It had been a quiet morning: Amy, Juliet and Claire sitting on the terrace reading, while Josie played with the children in the pool. Amy had been vaguely aware of splashing and laughter, but hadn’t paid much attention. Now she followed Juliet’s gaze down to where Josie was just leaping into the water, to the squealing delight of the girls.
‘Ah, it is pretty dinky, isn’t it?’ she said. She couldn’t help but admire how good Josie looked in the tiny bikini. Her figure was long and lean, her stomach flat and toned, and after just a few days in Provence her skin was soft and golden, making her cat-like blue eyes even more striking than usual. Amy wondered if she knew how attractive she was, or whether she took her perfect youthful figure for granted. ‘We didn’t have much choice, unfortunately,’ she said. ‘Josie had packed for a week in an office in London, so we had to do a smash-and-grab at Monsoon at the airport.’
Claire put a tray of cocktails on the table between the sunloungers.
‘Iced tea on the right. Boozy version on the left.’
Amy went to the left, taking a glass that smelled of rum and left a pleasant burning sensation on her lips. She was on holiday, after all.
‘So are you staying all summer?’ she asked, settling back in her lounger.
‘I might as well.’ Claire shrugged, slipping off her kaftan. ‘Although I have been asked to do some consultancy work for Hunter wellies in the last week of August.’
Amy nodded encouragingly. Claire had been a successful fashion stylist before she met Max, appropriately enough on a shoot for her future husband’s fledgling fashion brand. She had stopped work as soon as they had married, devoting all her energy to renovating their houses and bringing up the twins. But Alex and Hettie were now seven, at school for a big chunk of the day, and Claire had confided to Amy that she wanted to get back into the workplace, beyond the odd days’ freelancing.
‘Stop myself from getting boring,’ she’d quipped. ‘Don’t want Max running off with someone with something more to say than a run-down of school-gate gossip.’
‘It’s good that people haven’t quite forgotten about me yet,’ she said now. ‘But still, it’s hard to tear myself away from this place.’ She tilted her head towards Amy. ‘Listen, I feel a bit cheeky asking, but if we don’t come back to London at the same time as you, I wondered if maybe Josie could stay another week here and help out with the kids.’
‘Why cheeky?’
‘Well, if Claudia’s still off her feet, won’t you want Josie stepping in back in London?’
Amy had to admit that she hadn’t given much thought to childcare beyond their three weeks in Provence, but Claire’s question had concentrated her mind. If Claudia was unable to come back to work at the end of August, perhaps she’d have to ask Josie to help out.
Juliet dipped her sunglasses again. ‘Aren’t you worried about having such a pretty young thing around the house with Max in residence?’
Claire smiled ruefully and shook her head. ‘I was actually thinking of that as a positive. Max has been talking about getting back to the office, but if Josie hangs around, so might he.’
‘Now why would he look at anyone but you?’ said Juliet admonishingly.
Amy shook her head. ‘Max is too busy looking at his own reflection to pay any serious attention to attractive young women, however tiny their bikinis.’
Claire looked as if she was about to respond when Amy was distracted by Tilly running over, showering water everywhere.
‘Mummy, Mummy!’ she cried, beaming with excitement. ‘Watch me! Josie is going to teach us how to cannonball into the pool.’ Off she dashed, leaving little wet footprints in her wake.
‘Not sure you’d get that with a Norland nanny,’ said Juliet archly, turning back to her book.
Amy smiled, which turned into a soft laugh. Here she was working herself into a frenzy about the Mode application when the sun was out and her daughter was getting the purest pleasure from simply jumping into the pool. Besides, she thought, looking down at the magazines spread out in front of her, she knew this stuff inside out. She didn’t need to study for this particular test because s
he’d been cramming for it for ten years. Every time the latest issue landed on her desk, she’d think about the tweaks and changes she’d make: who she would have used for the cover, how the features could have been improved, which fashion and beauty photographers were bold and innovative. The perfect issue of Mode had been in her head for the last decade.
‘Darling, is that your phone that keeps buzzing?’ said Juliet, sipping her iced tea. ‘If you don’t bloody turn it off, I’m going to have to throw it in the pool.’
‘Sorry,’ winced Amy, reaching for her handbag. She had put it on silent, but the vibrate mode was rattling the glass table. Strictly speaking, the terms of the pact with David said that they had to turn their phones off completely, but you never knew when someone might need to get in touch with you.
Call me, said the message on her screen. Pretty urgent. It was from Tracey Jones, her deputy.
Amy got off her lounger and walked to a quiet spot under a cypress tree, a bad feeling in her stomach. Tracey was usually very capable, but this was exactly why Amy couldn’t relax when she was out of the office.
She tapped in the number and Tracey picked up on the first ring.
‘Hi, boss,’ she said. ‘Hate to disturb you on holiday, but I thought you should know right away. We have a major date clash with the Fashion 500 gala.’
‘Another event?’
‘Exactly. We’ve just got wind that E-Squared are throwing a dinner on the same night.’
‘The tech people?’ Amy covered her mouth. It couldn’t have been much worse. E-Squared were major players in the digital world and in recent months had been moving into media and fashion. They had money and they were hot; a deadly combination. ‘We always knew that there was going to be some overlap,’ she said hopefully. ‘It’s Fashion Week after all.’
‘Yeah, but it sounds like they’re throwing the kitchen sink at it. They’ve invited half our guest list already. They haven’t announced a venue yet – apparently it’s a pop-up – but it’s going to be big and it’s going to be in London.’
‘Oh shit,’ whispered Amy. It wouldn’t matter if Verve was the hottest magazine on the planet; if it was a choice between Soho and a two-hour drive into the country, celebrities were going to choose close to home every time. She rang off and went back to her sunlounger.
Friend of the Family Page 12
