‘Claridge’s, apparently.’
‘How do you feel about it?’
Amy laughed awkwardly.
‘You mean after Dan’s awful behaviour am I going to sock him one in the face with one of Claridge’s famous desserts?’
‘I mean do you want him back,’ said Georgia simply.
Amy looked at the older woman’s face, trying to work out if she disapproved of her plans. She wouldn’t blame her after what she had said in New York about Daniel and his snobby family.
‘I don’t know. My head is telling me to not even bother turning up tonight. But my heart . . . We had some pretty good times, you know.’
‘So you’re prepared to give him a second chance?’ Georgia asked sceptically.
‘Everyone deserves a second chance.’
She saw the older woman’s expression soften.
‘Come with me, Amy. I have something to show you.’
Georgia got out of the car and had a word with the driver. Amy followed her up the path with a sense of anxiety. What did she want to show her? A bill, perhaps, she thought with sudden panic. The Lady advertisement had said flight and accommodation provided, but Georgia had paid for countless extras and Amy hadn’t even thought that she might have to settle up at the end of the trip.
They walked slowly up to Georgia’s second-floor apartment.
‘Come through,’ she said, leading Amy inside. ‘I know you have your little black dress, and it will carry you through many occasions in your life, but tonight is special. And sometimes a special night demands something out of the ordinary.’
At the far end of the flat was a set of polished double doors. The old lady pulled them open and Amy gasped.
It was a huge dressing room, but no ordinary dressing room, she could see, stepping closer. There were built-in cupboards down either side, crammed with gowns and dresses of every type.
‘One thing the Season gave me was a love of beautiful dresses,’ said Georgia. ‘But I didn’t really have any myself. In my twenties I could never afford them, but then when I had some success in business, it gave me the opportunity.’ She beckoned to Amy. ‘Don’t be shy, come and see.’
The walk-in closet was brightly lit. Dresses, blouses, cashmere jumpers, all colour-coded on little wooden shelves. She had always imagined Georgia as a bookish, academic woman. Stylish, yes. But here there were flamboyant prints, lace, feathers, floor-length gowns fit for a Hollywood princess. You think you know people, thought Amy, but they still find ways to surprise you.
‘These clothes,’ she said, shaking her head in wonder as she touched the fabric, ‘they’re wonderful.’
They were, in Amy’s eyes, even more fabulous than the clothes they had seen in Ralph Lauren, because these clothes had been lived in. Every garment spoke of a lover, a chance meeting, a triumph or a loss. Every one told a story.
‘None of it is couture, I’m afraid,’ said Georgia. ‘I could never bring myself to pay those prices. Most of it is ready-to-wear from the sixties, seventies and eighties.’
Amy nodded, dumbstruck, as she pulled out various items. There were Ossie Clark evening gowns, a low-cut Halston that looked like it had been to Studio 54, an eighties Calvin Klein, a beautiful beaded Dior dress, an Yves Saint Laurent with moa feathers around the collar.
‘They’re just . . . amazing,’ she said. Georgia nodded appreciatively.
‘I always think that people who rubbish fashion, those who think it’s frivolous, have never worn a truly spectacular dress. There’s nothing like a wonderful gown to make you feel like you can conquer the world. Pick one,’ she said finally. ‘Wear it tonight.’
‘Really? You really mean it?’
‘Absolutely. They’re just going to waste sitting here.’
Amy blew out her cheeks and looked around.
‘Georgia, I am completely spoilt for choice. I genuinely don’t know where to start.’
‘Well, how about here,’ she said, unhooking a dress from the rail and pulling it out with a flourish.
‘Wow,’ said Amy. It was Grecian in style, with intricate folds of silk jersey. The colour was sumptuous – like the soft blush of a sunset.
‘A dinner was thrown for me a few years ago,’ said Georgia, holding it up against Amy. ‘I’m not really comfortable with things like that, so I wanted something that would make me feel bullet-proof. Anyway, I had a friend who worked in fashion. She found this vintage Madame Grès for me.’
‘Madame Grès?’
‘I hadn’t heard of her either,’ confided Georgia. ‘But she was considered one of the greats. You would never believe this dress was over forty years old, would you? It looks quite modern, don’t you think?’
‘It’s amazing.’
‘It was the dress I always wanted for my coming-out.’
She took it over to an Oriental concertina screen.
‘You can try it on behind here.’
The fabric slipped over Amy’s body; it felt perfect, just as Georgia had said. Sexy, powerful, but just formal enough to make her feel in control. Plus, as she admired it in the mirror, she could see that it accentuated her curves. She had no make-up on – had not even put a brush through her hair since the day before – but even so, she knew she looked a million dollars.
‘I love it.’
‘Then go and show Daniel what he’s missing.’
‘I’ll try. And I promise I’ll bring it straight back.’
‘No rush,’ said Georgia, closing the doors of the closet. ‘It’s not like I was planning on wearing it on a date myself.’
Amy looked at her.
‘Do you miss it?’
Georgia raised a brow.
‘Love? Sex?’
‘Well, it’s complicated, isn’t it,’ said Amy, blushing at the old woman’s blunt reference.
‘Love can indeed complicate everything,’ replied Georgia softly. ‘Love is a glorious emotion, but it’s the negative ones it inspires that are the problem. Envy. Insecurity. You know, someone once told me that throwing oneself into one’s career is just selfish. I believe it was self-preservation.’
‘Can I ask you something?’
‘We’ve spent Christmas together. I think that qualifies you to ask anything.’
‘What happened to the man you met in the Season? The one who encouraged you to go to university? It’s just that whenever you’ve mentioned him, you get a little smile on your face, like . . . well, like you were very much in love. And yet you split up.’
‘Oh Amy. As you say, it was complicated. But you’re right. Edward and I were very much in love. My marriage didn’t survive because of it. There was simply too much to live up to. Philip could never, ever compete.’
Her eyes clouded with tears, and Amy could tell she didn’t want to talk about it any further.
‘Go, Amy. Go home and get ready for this evening.’
‘No, I’ll stay. We can go to a café and get some tea. If you want to talk about any of this, I’m here . . .’
‘It was all a very long time ago, dear,’ she replied with a snort. ‘Now off you go. If Daniel is what your heart desires, then go and get your happy ending. Remember what I said about wine, but if Daniel should get stuck, nudge him in the direction of the rosé. There is a wonderful Chardonnay that goes perfectly with the veal.’
Amy was fairly sure she had never looked or felt as lovely as she was tonight. All the way to Claridge’s she had been catching glimpses of herself reflected in windows, car doors, even on the security cameras on the tube as she passed through Bond Street station. It was partly Georgia’s dress, of course. Its intricate folds felt different against her skin, soft and light, and yet the tailoring of the bodice made it feel as if it had been welded to her body – like a protective layer of delicate jersey. Georgia had been right, it also felt like armour, supporting her body and making her feel bulletproof. She knew that men were looking at her, and for once, she was enjoying it, soaking up their glances and smiling to herself.
> She turned off Brook Street and into the side entrance of the hotel. Ahead of her, waiting to go into the dining room, was a party of thirty-something media types. The men were in expensive-looking suits, but the women were wearing variations on classic lo-fi London chic: tailored trousers, spiked heels and chiffon blouses poking out from under trendy leather jackets.
For a moment it threw Amy. She felt overdressed and out of time, old-fashioned even in her simple dress.
‘Madam?’ She looked up to see the maître d’ staring at her. ‘May I help?’
Amy closed her eyes and took a breath. You look beautiful, she reminded herself. You look the best you’ve ever looked.
And when she opened her eyes, the anxiety was gone. That was the old Amy, she thought to herself as she gave her name to the maître d’ and stepped into the restaurant. Right now, I can do anything I want.
Daniel was already there. That was a surprise; Amy had lost count of the times she had sat alone waiting for him to arrive, sweeping in citing some huge meeting with the Americans or terrible traffic on some bridge. He stood up as she approached, and she was gratified to see his eyes widen.
‘Wow,’ he said, bending for an awkward peck on the cheek. ‘You look amazing.’
I know, thought Amy. And for once, she felt it too.
‘This was a good choice,’ she said, as the waiter pushed her chair in. ‘I really love it here. Always reminds me of an ocean liner, all the art deco glamour. Wouldn’t it have been amazing to travel that way?’
Daniel nodded.
‘Yes, I suppose you’re right, now I think about it.’
Daniel agreeing with her? That had to be another first. She wanted to giggle. Poor man really was on the back foot tonight.
‘So, did you have a good Christmas?’ he asked casually.
Perfectly nice, considering my boyfriend dumped me a week before, thought Amy, then pushed it from her head. Give him a chance, she told herself. And at the very least he was here now, trying to make amends.
‘Yes, I went to New York.’
‘So I gather. How are your parents?’
‘They’re fine, but I only saw them a couple of times. I was staying with a friend in Manhattan, actually.’
Daniel cocked his head. She could tell his interest was piqued.
‘Oh really? Whereabouts?’
‘The Plaza Athénée,’ she said as casually as she could, loving the fractional lift of his eyebrow in surprise.
‘Which friend was this? The friend with the driver?’
‘Daniel, stop. You’re beginning to sound jealous.’
‘Maybe I am,’ he said with a slight huff. ‘When my girlfriend disappears out of the city for Christmas and starts talking about rich friends with drivers, of course I’m going to get a bit jealous.’
‘I went with Georgia Hamilton.’
‘Who the hell is he?’ he spluttered back, his cheeks turning a little bit flushed.
Amy had to pinch herself under the table to stop herself from laughing. His jealousy was so obvious, for a moment she actually considered carrying on with the story of ‘George’ just to teach him a lesson. But while that would afford her satisfaction for a short while, it wasn’t really in the spirit of giving him a chance.
‘Georgia, Daniel. A woman. She is over seventy. She’s a rather celebrated publisher, if you must know.’
‘Oh.’
Now that Daniel was reassured he wasn’t in direct competition, he quickly recovered his composure. Even so, Amy could tell he couldn’t take his eyes off her, and she felt a surge of power.
‘Besides, I’m not your girlfriend any more, Daniel. I can do as I please.’
Daniel had the decency to look shamefaced.
‘About that,’ he said finally. ‘What happened the other night. It blew up out of all proportion. In fact it’s what I wanted to talk to you about tonight.’
She stopped herself from saying anything.
‘It was wrong. Letting you go like that. Letting my parents make you feel as if you weren’t wanted in my life. They were wrong. I’ve missed you like mad over Christmas, and when you rang, I just realised . . . I realised that I love you.’
It wasn’t the first time he’d said it. He’d murmured it a few times after sex, many more times in circumstances that had concluded in bed. She looked deep into his clear blue eyes, trying to work out his sincerity now.
‘You could have called me,’ she replied, gently testing him.
‘I knew how pissed off you were, and frankly, I don’t blame you. But that’s in the past. We’re here now, together, and let’s enjoy it.’
Her nerves returning, Amy picked up the menu and began to scan it.
‘Shall we start with a drink?’ she suggested, her voice still cool. ‘How about the Shiraz? This South African red,’ she said without thinking.
Daniel’s face betrayed his surprise. She had never even expressed a preference for red or white before.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Why not?’
They ordered the wine and their food and Daniel pushed his hand across the table so that their fingers touched.
‘Tell me about New York.’
And over their delicious dinner, she did. She told him all about the Holbein in the Frick, and Serendipity, and Christmas Day with her family. In return, Daniel told her about his promotion, and the holiday period in Oxfordshire, which seemed to involve Cotswolds pubs and horse racing with his father.
‘I couldn’t wait to escape,’ he confided. ‘I couldn’t wait to get back to you.’
Whether it was true or not, Amy was happy to hear him say it at least. Daniel was certainly back to his affable, charming self. The Daniel she had fallen in love with almost twelve months earlier. The Daniel she could spend hours with just walking around a park or by a river, holding hands and swapping stories. The Daniel who was attentive, exciting and clever, the Daniel who had been chosen for the fast-track diplomatic service because he could make you feel so interesting and smart just by the way he listened to you. She had always thought that he could sort out various international hostilities just by taking all parties concerned to the pub for the night – no wonder he had smoothed over their argument at the Tower by the time the starters had arrived.
‘Come on,’ he said finally as he polished off his beef Wellington. ‘I can’t be bothered with pudding – can you? Let’s just get out of here.’
And as they stood and walked out of the restaurant, suddenly the question of whether they were back together didn’t need to be answered. Amy could tell they were together again, she could feel it in his touch, the protective way he led her through the hotel, the feeling when his fingertips found hers.
‘Daniel . . .’ she said, turning. ‘I—’
‘Dan Man! Is that you?’ A booming voice interrupted what she was about to say and an overweight man lurched towards them. ‘It is you, you old bugger!’
‘Gidster, how the bloody hell are you, old man?’ replied Daniel, gripping the man’s arm like they were long-lost brothers. He broke away and turned to Amy.
‘Amy Carrell, meet Gideon Maybar. We were at school together.’
‘Hell-o, Amy,’ said Gideon lasciviously, shamelessly looking her up and down. His tongue might as well have been hanging out. ‘You’ve fallen on your feet, eh, Dan-Dan?’ he added, nudging Daniel in the ribs.
‘So what brings you here, Gid?’ asked Daniel. ‘Christmas drinks?’
‘No, nothing so fun. We’re at a wedding in the ballroom. I’ve just come for a time out, quick puff on the old Cohiba.’
‘A wedding?’ laughed Daniel. ‘Not yours, I hope?’
Gideon laughed and shook his head.
‘No, Alex Dyer – you remember, in the year above us? Hey, why don’t you come and have a drink?’
‘Do you think he’ll mind?’
‘Course not – anything to distract him from the trouble and strife, eh?’
‘Should we pop in for one?’ asked Daniel, turning to
Amy. Amy couldn’t think of anything she’d like less than walking into a room full of his drunken school friends, but she forced a smile. She could cope with this. In this dress, she could cope with anything.
‘That sounds great,’ she said, squeezing his warm hand in hers.
They followed Gideon into the ballroom, where Amy was surprised to find the dance floor full of couples dancing to a six-piece band. The whole place was done like a winter wonderland, and the bride, dressed in a long cream gown with a white fur shrug over her shoulders, looked like a Siberian queen.
‘Shall we dance?’ said Daniel.
‘You?’ laughed Amy.
‘I think I can dredge up a few moves, if you don’t mind me stepping on your toes every now and then.’
‘Then I accept, kind sir,’ said Amy, doing a mock-curtsey and grinning as he led her to the floor. He turned to face her and pulled her in close, one hand laid over hers, the other in the small of her back.
‘Not bad,’ she smiled. ‘You learnt some decent moves at that fancy school of yours.’
‘And I’ve learnt a few more tricks since I left,’ he said, pulling her tighter and beginning to guide her around the floor. He was rusty, but he had a natural kind of sway, and Amy resisted the urge to correct his mistakes – the man was supposed to lead, after all. A lady knew that, even if she was secretly calling the shots.
As the song finished, he deliberately brushed his lips against her neck. ‘You’re absolutely beautiful,’ he said softly.
‘You’re not too bad yourself,’ she replied with what she hoped was a sexy smile.
‘I don’t ever want to let you go.’
‘Then try a bit harder to keep me.’
‘I’m sorry about what happened. I was an idiot. You’re right. It’s about trying harder, and you know, Washington isn’t far. I was thinking, if we both do a transatlantic flight each month, then we can see each other every other fortnight. I know bankers who see their wives less than that.’ He gave a low, soft laugh, but she could tell he was anxious.
‘Do you mean that?’
‘Let me make it up to you. Let me start right now.’
‘Right now?’ she smiled pulling away from him.
The Proposal Page 22
