So what, exactly, should she say now? How should she respond to this amazingly beautiful invitation? She started saying Yes, cool only that sounded a bit corny and then changed it to Yes, great, only that sounded a bit keen and changed that to Yes, think so, only that sounded a bit too unkeen and changed that to Sounds good, when? and was just going to change it again when Bertie walked in, looking nervous and said was it a good moment because she looked a bit distracted and she said, ‘No, no, Bertie, it’s fine.’ And pinged the text off.
And while Bertie was still rustling pages Jonjo’s text came back saying Cool, 6.30, Ivy Club OK? and she had to reply straight away with Fine, see you there and then devote herself to Bertie’s speech, which instead of being dreadfully dull as he had promised, was amusing and charming and warm and all about how he, too, was new to the company in a way, and certainly to the job, and enjoying it very much and he hoped everyone else was enjoying it too. And then moved on to introducing and welcoming each department and the new people therein, personally, one by one.
It was so good that Susie insisted on getting Lara in to listen to it, and when Lara had listened and admired the speech too, she said they might as well all look at the running order together with Bertie as well, if Susie didn’t mind, and Susie who wouldn’t have minded at that moment being asked to scrub out the lavatories with a toothbrush, said what a good idea, so they did that, and then Lara said crikey, which was one of her favourite words, it was five thirty already and what about a drink at the wine bar, and Susie said no, she couldn’t, she was meeting someone at the Ivy Club at six thirty and felt herself blushing, as if they could have known who that someone was, and fled to the loo to get ready, while noticing, albeit subliminally, that Lara said, ‘Just you and me then, Bertie, that OK?’ and that Bertie was smiling at her in a slightly goofy way and saying, ‘Of course.’ And noticing also that Bertie had most definitely lost a lot of weight and was wearing a very nice shirt and that Lara was smiling back at him, in a way that could only be described as enthusiastically, and that when she joined Susie in the ladies’ she started spraying herself with perfume and applying lip gloss to her already quite shiny mouth, while clearly not wishing to engage in any kind of girly chat. But it was only subliminal and Susie’s mind was far too occupied for anything to surface further.
She couldn’t see Jonjo at first, and feared a repeat of the Shoreditch House fiasco, but he suddenly appeared behind her as she stood at the desk and made her jump and said, ‘Hello . . .’ in that voice of his that sounded like well-chambré’d red wine.
‘Hi,’ she said, smiling at him, and he leaned forward and kissed her, only socially, of course . . .
‘Come on in. You look lovely. Great shoes.’
‘Thank you.’ God, she loved men who noticed shoes. It was really sexy . . .
He ushered her to a table, sat her down, asked her what she’d like to drink; she decided wine would be safer than cocktails, and he ordered a Pinot Grigio and a beer for him, and then sat smiling at her.
‘You look lovely,’ he said again.
‘Thank you,’ she said again.
‘Busy day?’
‘Oh – yes. Very. You?’
‘No, not really. The markets close down, more or less, this time of year. Lot of drinking though, so a really heavy lunch. Your life must be one long party too, I suppose.’
‘Well, I actually had lunch at my desk, today.’
‘Oh no, that’s a shame.’
‘I don’t mind. I’m not a great luncher. I’m just so pleased there’s this new thing for brunches and breakfast and things. Then you get into the office and there’s still a lot of day left.’
‘So where do you go for these power meals? I presume they are powered.’
‘Sometimes. Sometimes pretty powerless,’ said Susie, laughing. ‘Oh, the usual places like the Wolseley, Brown’s Hotel, Cecconi’s – they do a mean breakfast there. My totally favourite place at the moment is the Delaunay, have you been there?’
‘No, I haven’t. Is that a mistake?’
‘Huge. It’s gorgeous – very much the grand cafés of Middle Europe with really good eggs benedict, and even kippers.’
‘Kippers! Oh, my God, do I like kippers! How amazing. Well, I shall go there very soon in that case. Maybe even with you.’
‘That would be nice.’
There was a silence. Then ‘So – plans for Christmas?’
‘Oh, not very exciting. Home to my parents. You?’
‘Same. Well, with my mum.’ Not Guinevere then. That was – well, it was good. No, it was – great. ‘We do it every year,’ he went on, ‘and sometimes, if I’m lucky, my sister and her husband and kids join us, and they are this year. They’re divorced,’ he added, ‘my parents, I mean.’
‘And – is your mum married again?’
Was that too personal a question? She hoped not. It seemed relevant.
‘No, she never did. My dad did, unfortunately. To someone I can’t stand. But hey. That’s life. And Mum’s great.’
‘What does she do? Or doesn’t she?’
‘She’s in the home dec business.’
‘Oh cool,’ said Susie and promptly felt silly.
‘Yeah, she’s very good at it. She lives in Cheltenham, so a lot of nice houses to work on. My dad’s in the property business, that’s how they met. But it didn’t last. She’s too nice for him,’ he added with a rather surprising candour. ‘What about yours?’
‘My dad’s a solicitor Not the sort that makes buckets of money out of divorces, just a family solicitor. They live in Bath, all rather cosy.’
‘Lucky you. And your mum?’
‘She teaches geography at a girls’ school.’
‘And you have sisters and brothers?’
‘One of each. Both married, both live in London, my sister’s about to have a baby.’
‘So you’re going to be an auntie. Cool.’
‘Yes, I’m looking forward to it.’
‘Guinevere’s an auntie,’ he said. It was the first time he had acknowledged her existence this evening. Susie braced herself. ‘Complete brat,’ he added. ‘Its mother’s a fashion designer, truly terrible clothes, and its dad’s a sound engineer. It had three nannies at the last count. How’s the wine? Want another?’
‘Lovely. Yes please.’
‘I was married,’ he said suddenly.
‘Oh. Really?’ What else could you say to that? She felt nervous suddenly.
‘Yeah. Terrible mistake. On her part, anyway.’ He grinned at her, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners in their Clooney-like way. ‘Lasted about a year. No kids, thank God.’ He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘And what about you? Is there a deeply significant other, Miss Harding?’
‘That French bike company you were interested in . . .’ Patrick’s voice was at its most diffident.
Saul’s was at its most impatient. ‘What about it?’
‘I’ve been looking at it for a bit now. I think it could be dodgy. Over and over again, they’re declaring money’s in the bank, when if you really look, and it’s very well hidden, down in note ninety-two, I think it is, you can work out it’s owed to them; they haven’t got it yet. Only a few days over, but of course it adds up. Anyway, their share price is going up all the time and they look like they’re flying, and bikes are huge. But . . .’
How could this be so fascinating, Patrick wondered, this apparently dry-as-dust information? But it was. That facet alone of his new job never ceased to amaze him.
‘OK. Look, I’ve got to go. Keep it up, Patrick.’
‘I will. See you at Kempton. George VI should be really good this year.’
‘I reckon so. Sorry Bianca won’t be there.’
‘Won’t she?’
‘She said not.’
Patrick went back to his office, frowning.
Milly was finding it very difficult to feel remotely interested in Christmas. The thought of going in for the usual careful, excited shopping she did
left her feeling totally sick. She could just about manage presents for Ruby and Fergie, she decided, both of whom had tried to be kind, but her parents deserved nothing. They hadn’t recognised the depth of her misery, or the trouble she might be in – and she could be pregnant or doing drugs for all they knew; they hadn’t gone to school – however deep her misgivings, it would have shown they really seriously cared – and demanded an explanation.
The only person she wanted to give a proper present to now was Jayce who, in the two weeks since she had met her, had been her greatest comfort, her lynchpin, her confidante. And so she had bought her a beautiful friendship bracelet from Links, which Jayce would gaze at for hours every time they went shopping and say how gorgeous it was. It had cost her over a hundred pounds, more than two-thirds of the Christmas money her mother had put in her bank account, and every time she looked at it she felt, in some strange way, better.
She went to meet Jayce every day at the shopping centre and they would chat for hours, sitting in McDonald’s (Jayce’s favourite) or, if Milly could persuade her, which was difficult, for a walk outside and once, which had been very difficult indeed, but it was a lovely day, to catch the bus up to Primrose Hill and walk there.
Jayce puffed beside her as they walked to the top, then sank gratefully on to one of the benches, gazing at the view.
‘It is nice, I’ll say that,’ she said. ‘I’ve never been up here, but I can see on a nice day like this why people like it.’
‘I love it,’ said Milly. ‘Or used to. We came here for picnics when Fergie and I were little, rode our bikes round, that sort of thing.’
‘But you don’t no more?’
‘Well, no. Thing is, we’ve got the house in the country now—’ She stopped, aware she had been less than tactful; Jayce stared at her.
‘Thought you lived near here?’
‘Yes, well I do. But we’ve got this other place. Honestly, it’s really rubbish, sort of a cottage—’
‘You’ve got two houses? Your family? No one else like sharing it or anything?’
‘Well, not really. But honestly, Jayce, it’s so not grand or anything. It’s just – well, you know, for the – the—’
She stopped. Clearly to say ‘just for the weekends’ would sound worse. ‘Just some weird idea of my parents,’ she finally finished lamely. ‘It’s quite boring, after a bit. I mean, I’d never go there if I didn’t have to.’
‘I’d like to,’ said Jayce. ‘I really would. You’re lucky, Milly, I’d say.’
She smiled at Milly; and Milly thought how nice she was, so devoid of envy or resentment. Yet her home sounded like an invention for reality TV: there were five children, of whom Jayce was the middle one. ‘There’s Stash, he’s my mum’s eldest, he’s seventeen, he’s quite nice to me, and then there’s my other half-brother Zak, he’s like totally vile, and then Paris, she’s nine and Cherice is two.’
‘And they’re your real sisters?’ asked Milly carefully.
‘God no. I wish they was, but they’re my mum’s with her new boyfriend, he’s a bit of a bully. He doesn’t live with us all the time, thank God, but when he comes, we all have to watch it. Paris can deal with him, she’s his favourite, but Cherice, she really gets up his nose. Mind you, she’s properly annoying. She put Stash’s iPod down the toilet last week. He thumped her well hard, she screamed for hours, anyway, then Ryan, that’s Mum’s boyfriend, he turned up and said he’d get Stash a new one if everyone would shut up and let him have a bit of peace.’
Milly listened, fascinated. It all sounded a lot more interesting than her own family.
Jayce pulled out a couple of Hobnobs from her pocket; she kept a supply permanently about her person, in case of emergencies.
‘Want one?’
Milly shook her head.
‘So how’s it with them girls today? Had anything from them?’
‘Not much,’ said Milly.
Only a text saying Do hope you’re enjoying shopping with your lovely new friend. We all thought she looked just GREAT. Lovely skin.
And a whole lot of stuff on Facebook about what a great time they’d all had skating at Somerset House the day before and so sorry she hadn’t been there. Lots and lots of pictures of them and then one of a big group, all laughing and sticking out their tongues and then You should take your new friend skating, Mills, wouldn’t hurt her at all to fall down, lots of padding.
They’d made Milly so angry she’d nearly replied. It was all very well them being mean to her, but to pick on Jayce, with whom they had no quarrel at all, that was just so horrible. Milly looked at Jayce, at her good-natured, plump face and thought she’d really be quite pretty if she wasn’t so spotty. But they’d just come back even worse. Ignoring them was the only way.
‘Milly! Hello!’
It was Ruby, Ruby and one of her friends, both on their scooters, and the friend’s mother. Milly stared at them in horror.
‘Hello, Milly,’ said the mother, clearly wondering what on earth Milly was doing with Jayce. ‘Lovely to see you. We’re just off to see the new Shrek film. I’d ask you to join us but I expect it’d be much too babyish for you.’
‘Oh, please Milly!’ Ruby was always so proud of her big, cool sister, and her friends were so impressed. ‘Please come!’
‘No, no,’ said Milly, horribly aware that the mother was looking worriedly at Jayce, in case she had to invite her too. She knew she should have introduced Jayce to them, but she couldn’t face that. ‘No, we’re going to have lunch. Thanks though,’ she added. ‘Come on, Jayce.’
And she pulled Jayce up from the seat, and set off briskly down the hill.
‘You could at least have let me tell Saul you weren’t coming to Kempton on Boxing Day,’ said Patrick. ‘It’s rude enough without him having to hear it from you.’ He glared at Bianca over the omelette she had made for their supper, before going out to Fergie’s Christmas play.
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ said Bianca, ‘what difference does it make? He needed to know, he mentioned it, I told him.’
‘It just looks – bad. He issued the invitation to me, you hardly know him – I’d have liked to reply properly, for both of us.’
‘Patrick Bailey, you are insane,’ said Bianca, trying to turn it into a joke. ‘Like I said, you act like you’re in love with him, or something.’
‘Don’t be so absurd. When did you tell him anyway?’
‘When he rang up to thank me for having him and Dickon on Boxing Day. It was a perfectly natural opportunity to tell him. He was saying how good it would be and—’
‘And you just pour cold water on the whole idea. Without telling me you’d told him. He’s my boss, Bianca, not just any old acquaintance.’
‘I—’
There was a ring at the door and Bianca went to answer it. She was a while, talking in the hall, then came back frowning.
‘Who was that?’
‘Joanna Richards. She brought Ruby back. She – well, she just told me something. She was obviously embarrassed, but she said she felt she had to.’
‘What?’ said Patrick.
‘She said she saw Milly on Primrose Hill today, with – with a girl. Apparently this girl was very working class. Overweight, that sort of thing.’
‘Do remind me never to invite the Richards to this house again,’ said Patrick, ‘if that’s the sort of thing they feel they should tell us.’
‘Patrick, please. You know how odd Milly’s been lately. Withdrawn, miserable, never sees her old friends. I just wondered – well, it’s horribly easy at that age to get in with a bad lot. And she’s never mentioned this girl to us.’
‘And what would she say if she did? Oh, hello, Mummy and Daddy, I’ve got a new friend, she’s a bit common and quite overweight, you’d really like her. Are you mad, Bianca? Milly’s thirteen, this sort of thing is bound to happen, she’ll want to make interesting new friends, not just the old gang.’
‘She didn’t sound very interesting,’ said Bianca.
‘Oh really? And how could the delightful Mrs Richards tell that? Did she try to engage with her in conversation about the political situation? Or maybe she suggested a new diet the girl might try—’
‘Oh, just shut up,’ said Bianca wearily, ‘and don’t blame me if it turns out Milly’s getting into drugs or something.’
‘Which of course all young working-class people, especially overweight ones, are. I’m disappointed in you, Bianca, I really am.’
‘So you don’t think we should even mention this girl to Milly? Ask her who she is?’
‘You can. I’m certainly not going to. Anyway, we must go, we’ll be late for the play. Is Milly coming?’
‘She said she would, but she’s still up in her room.’
As if on cue, Milly arrived. She was dressed to go out, wearing rather more eye make up than usual.
‘Shouldn’t we go? We don’t want to be late for Fergie.’
‘Of course not. Um – had a nice day, darling?’
‘Yes, thanks.’
‘What did you do?’
‘Oh, you know. Went shopping, and stuff.’
‘On your own? With friends?’
‘Mostly on my own, not that it matters. Look, come on, you know you can never park anywhere near that place. And Fergie’ll be so upset if we’re late. Not that you’d care,’ she added under her breath.
‘Milly, what did you say?’
‘Nothing. Just come on!’
Chapter 35
So why had she said that? Why had she said that there wasn’t a significant other? Well, of course she knew why, because she didn’t want things to go in any but the best possible way. And, in a way it was true. Only of course it wasn’t. It was just that she could make it true quite easily. Well . . .
So she had said it, had said no, there wasn’t and he’d looked seriously pleased. Of course, he didn’t live with Guinevere, but there was living together and living together and of course she and Henk didn’t either, not full-time, not any more. She hadn’t allowed that, had said they’d have to see, but most nights he did still stay, and he was only dossing down on a friend’s sofa when he wasn’t at Susie’s, so it was a bit different. But what should she have said? ‘Well, not exactly. In fact, I’d thrown him out because he knocked me about but now I’ve sort of taken him back although we’re not actually living together any more, or sleeping together.’ That was the truthful answer, and she could see it would result in Jonjo leaving The Ivy pretty swiftly and never calling her again. But presumably he was sleeping with Guinevere, so . . .
A Perfect Heritage Page 38
