‘I – er – I . . .’ Harri stammered, frantically trying to get her bearings.
Stella threw her head back and laughed loudly. ‘You were so dreaming about Dan Beagle!’
A burning flush dashed across Harri’s cheeks. ‘No, I wasn’t.’
‘Liar. You were talking in your sleep, hon.’ She slapped the back of her hand to her forehead like Sarah Bernhardt on a lime-lit stage. ‘“Oh, Dan, Dan, kiss me, Dan!”’
Thoroughly embarrassed, Harri turned away. ‘Get lost.’
‘Aw, come on, H, it’s sweet.’
‘Stop mocking me and do something useful – put the kettle on,’ Harri retorted, battling the ample cosiness of her bed to lift her leaden frame up to a seated position.
Stella held her hands up in surrender. ‘OK, sorry. You have to admit, though, it’s a lovely thing to have a dream like that. All I dreamed about last night were fluffy towels and expensive carpets.’
As she turned her back to fiddle with the tiny travel kettle in the corner of the room, Harri had to smile. Dreaming about lavish home furnishings in celebrity houses was probably the ultimate turn-on for her friend.
Stella brought back two cups of tea and sat on Harri’s bed. ‘Didn’t mean to mock, H. I honestly thought it was sweet.’
‘It’s just a silly dream, that’s all,’ Harri replied, sipping her tea.
‘Hey, it’s cool, honestly.’ Stella reached across and squeezed Harri’s hand. ‘You’re allowed to have dreams, you know. We’re here for a fantastic weekend and nothing’s going to spoil it, OK? We are going to have the most phenomenal English breakfast, and then we are going to be pampered, buffed, massaged and polished to within an inch of our lives. And then, my nutty friend, we are going to go and lust after that hunky explorer of yours for hours tonight. And tomorrow, we shop. So drink your tea, get your little sleepy bum out of bed and let’s do this!’
When Harri was little, bathtime was her favourite time of the day. It wasn’t just the chance to play with the yellow rubber duck in the bathwater that made the experience so magical – it was the feeling of being completely safe and afterwards, sitting on Mum’s lap swathed in a huge, yellow bath towel, having her hair towelled dry.
This memory returned in comforting splendour as she lay back on a beech-wood recliner in an enormous white, fluffy towelling robe in the luxurious surroundings of La Mer. Despite her amusement at Stella’s near-obsessional fascination with the day spa, Harri had to admit that it was stunning. Every detail had been carefully considered and no expense had been spared to create a sanctuary of peace and relaxation. Subdued lighting, heated floors, sumptuous pools and soothing music added to the exclusive ambience and the treatments were more indulgent than Harri had ever experienced.
After a Sea Salt Buff, she was relaxing with a tropical fruit smoothie, enjoying the tingle of her glowing skin, waiting for Stella to return from her Hot Stone Massage, when a woman in her mid-forties padded past and paused to bestow a glowing smile.
‘Heaven, isn’t it?’ she breathed.
Harri nodded. ‘It’s really nice.’
The woman extended a freshly manicured hand. ‘I’m Sonia. This your first time?’
‘Yes. My friend brought me.’
Sonia giggled and sat down on the recliner next to Harri. ‘It’s my ninth time here. Just can’t seem to keep away. My – erm – friend brought me too, only he’s at a business meeting for most of today. Dreadful shame that he can’t be here to enjoy it, but so generous of him to let me experience it for him, don’t you think?’
Smiling politely, Harri took a long sip of smoothie to stifle her mirth. Sonia smoothed down one of the flaps of her towelling robe, looking like an overly pampered cat that had unexpectedly acquired a large amount of cream.
‘Makes all the hassle worthwhile, I suppose . . .’ The definite pause was obviously Harri’s cue to enquire further, but, in a rare moment of selfishness, Harri declined the invitation. After a couple of awkward seconds, Sonia decided to press on regardless. ‘He’s married, you see. Brings me with him on his . . . shall we call them business trips? Wife has no idea, by all accounts. She’s so bound up in being a mother to his kids that she can’t see how unfulfilled he is, poor lamb . . .’
Any remaining sliver of post-massage glow that Harri had enjoyed now disintegrated as a well of discomfort rose inside her. The absolute last thing she wanted today was to be treated to the brazen honesty of a woman she’d barely met. ‘Right, well, I—’
‘You see, the thing is,’ Sonia gushed, leaning forward so far that Harri received an unwanted glimpse of over-tanned cleavage, ‘when your drive is as strong as his, only someone without the distractions of family can match it, if you know what I mean? And I’m telling you, what they say about a woman in her forties is so true . . .’
A strange, strangled cry broke the peaceful ambience of the spa and Harri suddenly realised it was coming from her own throat. She was just about to make her excuses and beat a hasty retreat when, to her boundless relief, Stella appeared beside her.
‘I’m back and, can I just say, my therapist was a miracle-worker!’
‘Well, I should be getting along.’ Sonia rose and smiled insincerely at Stella as she passed. ‘Need to make sure every inch is fully glowing for later . . .’
Harri ignored the nausea in the pit of her stomach and smiled weakly. ‘Yes, well, um, good luck with that.’
Amused, Stella claimed the adjacent recliner. ‘Who on earth was that?’
Harri pulled a face. ‘Somebody’s mistress, apparently. Honestly, Stel, she was so brazen about it.’
‘Welcome to the world of the rich and irresponsible,’ Stella grinned. ‘My massage therapist was just telling me some of the stories she hears here. Terrible stuff!’
‘Hmm, well, I’ve heard more than enough to last me a lifetime,’ Harri shuddered.
‘Hold that thought.’ Stella’s eyes followed a tall, dark-haired man in a La Mer uniform as he passed them and disappeared into a treatment room. ‘I think he’s doing my next therapy – gorgeous! I knew I’d love this place!’
At five thirty, Harri and Stella reluctantly left La Mer and caught a taxi back to their hotel to get ready for their literary evening at Lady Margaret Hall.
Lady Margaret Hall was the grandest setting for Dan’s launch evening. The approach alone to one of Oxford’s most beautiful colleges was enough to strike awe into its visitors: perfectly manicured grounds elegantly embraced its statuesque buildings, where knowledge and learning had been revered for over a hundred and thirty years. As Harri and Stella approached the entrance, a sense of hope and possibility seemed to ooze forth from the impressive red brick and York stone building.
For some reason, Stella had decided to wear her Jimmy Choo eBay copy shoes with impossibly high heels, which were great when you just had to sit looking chic at a party, but useless if you had to walk any distance. Of course, even wobbling like a small child in Mummy’s shoes, Stella still managed to look like she’d stepped straight out of a high-fashion magazine: her blonde hair pulled back into a sleek, high ponytail, a simple black shift dress complementing her enviable figure and every detail of her appearance carefully planned to impress.
‘Would you slow down?’
Harri waited for her to catch up. ‘Whatever possessed you to wear those shoes?’
‘I wanted to make an effort for you, actually, seeing as this is supposed to be our girly weekend away. Besides, I love my Choos.’
‘Even if they’re not real?’
Stella looked offended. ‘They’re real to me. Anyway, if Julian turns out to be the keeper I think he might be, the next pair will be real.’
Harri laughed. ‘Let’s keep our fingers crossed for Julian, then.’
‘You’re only mocking because you’re jealous.’
‘I am not. Unlike you, I’m looking for reliability and long-term commitment in a relationship, not a bottomless bank account.’
‘Oooh, pardon me fo
r having such inferior hopes for my love life,’ Stella mocked. ‘Maybe I should get Julian to take me camping.’
‘Ha-ha.’ Harri decided to ask her friend the question she’d been grappling with since they left their hotel. ‘Seriously, though, do I look OK?’
‘Yeah, you look great. You always do. That’s the annoying thing: I have to plan to look this good, but you just turn up looking amazing – and you don’t even realise.’
Unbeknownst to Stella, Harri had been secretly planning her outfit for tonight for the past three weeks and yet, even as they were getting ready earlier today, she was unsure about her choice of an aubergine sleeveless dress with a cropped black shrug. ‘I’m just worried I look a bit too – you know – overdressed.’
Stella’s laugh ricocheted around the elegant buildings. ‘Only you could look stunning and worry about it.’
Harri stared down at the diamanté decoration on her black flats. ‘I just . . . it doesn’t matter.’
‘Sweets, you look gorgeous, OK? Dan will love it.’
‘I didn’t do it for Dan.’
Stella’s arm slipped round Harri’s shoulder as they headed for the lights of the Hall. ‘Yes, you did. But that’s fine. Come on, let’s get inside. I feel like I’m walking on bleeding stumps here.’
The place was already abuzz with excited conversation when Harri and Stella entered the oak-panelled room, lit by delicate glass lamps suspended in threes from the white moulded plaster ceiling. Rich tapestries and fine portraits of the college founders adorned the walls, and the polished parquet flooring caught the light. A lectern had been placed on a small platform at one end of the room and around seventy red velvet chairs were arranged facing it. Several people had already claimed the first few rows, proudly guarding their vantage points for the evening ahead.
Stella bustled her way through a seated group of fifty-somethings to claim two seats a third of the way down the room. Far more pink than anybody should rightfully blush, Harri followed her best friend, apologising profusely to the people they had barged past.
‘We could have just walked around the edge of the room to get here,’ she growled at Stella as she sat down, juggling her bag and coat.
‘No, we couldn’t. That shop window for Botox over there was eyeing up these seats,’ Stella replied, not-so-subtly indicating a heavily made-up woman with an immovable expression two rows behind them. ‘I couldn’t take the risk.’
‘Stel, you’re dreadful.’
‘No, H, I’m not. Actually, I was thinking of you.’
Harri raised an eyebrow. ‘You were?’
Opening her compact mirror and refreshing her lipgloss, Stella nodded. ‘Absolutely. Look over there.’ She tipped the end of her gloss bottle in the direction of the stage.
Harri turned to see Dan Beagle himself strolling casually through the doorway and onto the platform, laughing with the event organiser and sound technician less than twenty feet away from her.
‘Oh . . . my . . . life . . .’ she breathed, as her heart rate doubled.
‘Exactly. That’s why these seats are so good: not too far away so you can’t behold the beauty of the man, yet not too close to feel like he’s sitting on your lap. Although . . .’ she grinned, a wicked glint in her eye, ‘maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all. The man is stunning.’
‘He is.’ Harri had decided beforehand that she wasn’t going to be affected by the sight of her hero, yet now she found herself degenerating into a blushing, breathless teenager, in capable of rational thought or speech. What on earth was wrong with her? Dan Beagle was causing her entire being to tingle – something she hadn’t felt in a long time.
‘You’re going so red,’ Stella teased, her laugh echoing around the hallowed walls. ‘Ow! There’s no need to kick me!’
‘Just shush,’ Harri whispered through gritted teeth. ‘I’m well aware of the colour I’m turning, thank you very much.’
Stella folded her arms and surveyed Harri with unbridled amusement.
A tall woman with raven hair, swept up at an impossible angle, stepped in front of the stage and smiled expectantly. The audience fell silent immediately, eager for the evening to begin. Harri leaned back and took a deep breath.
‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Gabriella Rovira, Head of Events, and it is my very great pleasure to welcome you all here to the breathtaking surroundings of Lady Margaret Hall for an evening that promises to be fascinating. I know that many of you have travelled some distance to be here tonight and I would like to thank you for doing so; however, I think I can safely say that no one here has travelled
quite as far as our guest speaker.’ A ripple of polite laughter traversed the room. ‘Tonight’s speaker became an adventurer at the tender age of fifteen, accompanying his father on a trip to the rainforests of Bolivia; since then, he has made more than two hundred voyages across the world, chronicling his epic journeys through a series of award-winning books, photographic exhibitions and, of course, his television programmes. May I have your heartiest applause, please, as I invite the BAFTA award-winning, Sunday Times bestselling author, presenter, photographer and – most of all – traveller to the stage: Dan Beagle!’
‘She wants him in the worst way, doesn’t she?’ Stella giggled under her breath.
‘Sssh! There he is!’
‘Oh brother . . .’
Harri ignored Stella’s sarcasm as Dan stepped onto the stage, holding up his hands to halt the applause. ‘Thank you, Gabriella. I have to admit, halfway through that introduction I was wondering who the better qualified guy was that you had lined up to speak instead of me tonight!’
The audience laughed much louder than the joke deserved and Harri was instantly reminded of Stella in their first year of secondary school, following Jason Harding – star rugby player and the first object of her affections – around the edges of the school playing field, laughing uncomfortably loud whenever he made even the lamest of jokes. Get a grip, Harri, she chided herself. You’re not here to drool like a lovesick teenager. You’re here to be inspired . . .
As Dan spoke, images from around the world flashed up on the large screen behind him. Each one sent shivers of delight racing down Harri’s spine as her eyes drank in every detail. Sunlight streaming through dense Brazilian rainforest canopies, throwing spotlights of pure gold onto the forest floor hundreds of feet below; the broad smiles and inquisitive eyes of Patagonian village children as they stared down the camera lens; nomadic tribeswomen, swathed in thick woven blankets against the biting winds of the Mongolian plains; the barren, desolate landscape of a dried-up lake bed in the outback of Australia, its surface cracked by the scorching sun and peppered with the skeletal frames of weather-beaten trees; a bustling street market somewhere in sub-Saharan Africa, alive with movement and colour so vivid that Harri could almost hear its clamorous din ringing in her head. Hearing the words directly from the man himself brought these places to life even more than his books did. His passion, emotion and near reverence for the world he had spent so many years exploring seemed to effuse from every pore of his being, drawing the audience to the edge of their seats as he recounted tale after tale of his adventures.
For a brief moment, Harri wrenched her eyes away to check Stella’s reaction. Expecting Stella to be inspecting her nails with a bored look, Harri was amazed to see her best friend’s attention completely caught by the man on the stage. In fact, Harri couldn’t remember ever seeing her quite so enthralled.
Half an hour into Dan’s talk, a slide flashed up on the screen that sent murmurs of approval fluttering around the audience: ‘DO YOU HAVE THE GOLDEN TICKET?’
Harri felt her pulse rate increase and the audience around her leaned forward as one person.
‘Now, I realise this is slightly corny in such elegant surroundings,’ Dan smiled, ‘but I thought it would be good to have a bit of fun tonight. I’ve hidden a golden ticket in an envelope underneath one of your chairs. The person who finds it will win a
special, leather-bound signed edition of my new book,
Wilderness Roads. There are only two of these in the world and one of them is mine. So, go on then, have a look!’
The Hall was shaken by the excited commotion of seventy chairs scraping back and one hundred and forty knees hitting the polished parquet as the audience members strained to look under their chairs. Harri and Stella followed suit, squeezing down between the rows of giggling people.
‘Aw, it’s not here,’ Stella grinned, sitting back on her chair and resuming her observation of Dan.
Please let it be me, just this once, Harri pleaded silently, reaching underneath her chair. To her astonishment, her fingers closed around paper. Quickly, carefully, she pulled and it came away from the seat base in her hands.
Stella looked down at Harri and her expression instantly changed. Jumping up, she shouted, ‘Here! It’s here!’
Harri stumbled to her feet, the room around her beginning to spin, and held the envelope aloft to the disappointment of most of the audience and the kind congratulations of those nearest to her. Dan looked over and a strange expression claimed his features. Almost in slow motion, he left the stage holding the book and began to make his way down the room. Suddenly, it was as if the room, the people and the world around them melted away: it was just Dan and Harri, his eyes transfixed as he moved towards her. Just like in her dream. Harri was only aware of his eyes, green as the waters lapping the Indian Ocean beach pictured behind him, his look of pure astonishment and the insistent beat of her own heart. Finally, he arrived at her side and she held out the envelope to him as his fingers lightly brushed hers to accept it.
But something was horribly wrong. Dan’s expression was real, his touch was silken on her skin, but his eyes weren’t claiming hers. Following his gaze, Harri’s stomach jerked into a twisted knot as she saw Stella staring back at Dan, an expression identical to his on her face. For what felt like an eternity, all three remained where they stood – a cruel triangle of fascination, rapture and crushing loss. Dan handed the book to Harri without taking his eyes from Stella and murmured, ‘Come and see me afterwards and I’ll sign it for you.’
Welcome to My World Page 18
