Recipe for Disaster (15 page)

'My new friend.'

'Hmm. At a guess – male, bit keen on cooking?'

'Yes, and, sadly, also the boyfriend of the shopaholic
bimbo. Why do clever men end up with stupid women?'

'Because even if they are clever, they are still simple.
They are completely incapable of thinking round corners.'

'Lydia, I'm not going to be able to prise brain-dead
Barbie away from this place for hours. I may go mad with
boredom and stab her with a coat hanger.'

'OK, I can hear the desperation in your voice. Your
mission – and you've bloody got to accept it, so stop bleating
– your mission is to learn and use the following codes. This
season's colour – blue; this season's length – so short we are
practically talking porn; this season's style – straight. So last
season – frills, purple, swish. Anything that swishes is so out,
you'd need a telescope to find it. Key words – angular,
mannish – think Marlene Dietrich – think Marlene Dietrich
strangling Doris Day with a black silk tie, but it must be
black. Not blue.'

'What a load of –'

'Hush your mouth! How dare you think of uttering
profanities near the holy temple of the great religion that is
fashion retail?'

'OK. I'll give it a go, I suppose.'

'Well, for goodness' sake! It cannot be any worse than
pretending to be a waitress!'

'Actually, I am rather enjoying it. Jake says –'

'Funny how he keeps cropping up in your conversation.
Listen, missy, no passing the time with fantasies about you
and your new best friend cavorting in the kitchen
department!'

'Now, why would I do that?'

'That is up to you to figure out. Gotta go, sweetie – bye!'
Because she was currently getting two wages, one from
the paper and one from Jake, Kate could indulge in some
retail therapy of her own. If she could only get the hang of
it. How on earth could anyone get so excited about the
choice of a skirt with embroidery on the pocket or
embroidery on the hem?

'Get a grip, woman – embroidery is so last year,' she
muttered, and went to find Georgia. If anyone could give a
master class in shopping, it would be her.

It was amazing how, for such a very thin woman, Georgia
could take up so much space. She had already commandeered
two of the changing rooms and three of the assistants.

Thank God for their sakes that they had recognised her,
thought Kate.

'Even darling David knows that my aura is allergic to
green and he's absolutely promised he won't ever make me
wear it,' she was saying to one of them, who nodded, rapt.
They were all drinking in every word while the goddess was
with them.

'Purple, no – blue is so now, isn't it?' offered Kate, hoping
she had got it right. They all stopped what they were doing
to stare at her, so she stroked her jeans, rather self-consciously.

'Baggy,' said one of them in awe, and Kate was about to
protest when she realised that this was a compliment. They
were actually Jonathan's jeans, comfortable, but yes, so
baggy she had only put them on because she thought she
was on kitchen cleaning duty that day.

'They are going to be so big next season,' said one of the
girls.

'Yeah, I can already fit both hands down them – oh, I see
what you mean.'

'Of course that look is great for women who can't really
do the skinny fit,' sniffed Georgia, who so could.

She carried on trying on clothes with the ease of someone
who was used to walking around naked in front of other
people. In a detached way, putting aside her dislike of
Georgia, Kate could admire the way her angular, bony
body made the dresses hang so beautifully, because the
material wasn't impeded by any bumps at all. I could use
this opportunity to pump her for information about what it
is like to be an icon for thousands of anorexic teenagers, she
thought.

But really, the woman was so bloody annoying! After two
hours of Georgia dressing up, Kate's vision had become
blurred. There was so much stuff about, it looked a bit like
when Angel had gone mad with the poster paints.

'Please, I am starving. Can't we have a coffee break?

'Honestly,' Kate said, dragging an unwilling Georgia up
to the restaurant, 'you must have tried on dozens of dresses.
When are you going to buy any?'

'Never. Well, not today, here. I get loads of stuff free
from the designers. I just like trying things on. I don't know
why you've brought me here,' she grumbled, looking
round. 'I never eat during the day.'

Kate ordered a large latte and a scone with jam and
cream, and watched in horrified fascination as Georgia,
after an agony of indecision, ordered tea. Carefully, almost
to the drop, she measured out half a teaspoon of skimmed
milk and added it reverently.

'How can you stand to live your life like that?' Kate burst
out.

'Like what?'

'Tinkering around with food in that obsessive way.'

'Huh! Well, Jake is just as bad!'

'Yes, but . . . that's because he wants to make it taste
perfect.'

'Well, I have to keep my body looking perfect.'

'Oh, fair enough, I suppose.'

'You have no idea,' continued Georgia, sipping tea
delicately. 'I am under almost unbearable pressure to look
good all the time. Obviously I wish I was ordinary, like the
rest of you, but I'm not. I never know when someone will
try to take a photo of me, so I always have to be prepared.
People even hang around airports at five in the morning,
hoping to catch you out looking scruffy.'

Oh dear. As a trainee Kate had been sent off to Heathrow
with a photographer to do just that. She remembered it
now as endless hours hanging around in ugly departure
lounges drinking vile coffee, being told off by the staff for
smoking, followed by mad sprints down corridors when a
plane landed. If it was someone really famous, then there
was a mad scrum of hacks all behaving badly, kicking each
other in the shins and poking their mikes up your nose just
when you were about to ask a question.

It was very off-putting to eat in front of someone who so
obviously didn't and she was glad when they split up for a
while so she could browse round a bookshop. She bought
two books of journalists' memoirs, which she made the
assistant double wrap, as if they were bottles of meths, so
paranoid was she about being outed as a reporter, and
spent the journey home nodding absently every so often at
Georgia, while looking forward to starting one of the books
with a bubble bath and a bottle of wine.

Jake eyed Georgia's modest collection of bags with some
relief when they got back. 'You've been very abstemious,' he
teased. He had had a very pleasant afternoon and was
trying not to dwell on the fact that this was because he
hadn't spent it with Georgia.

'What does that mean? Is it a real word or is it one of
those foreign ones you are always using? This is all we could
get in the car. The rest is being delivered. I found this
fabulous furniture shop. It's time the flat was smartened
up.'

Jake went paler than the rarest truffle. 'How much did
you spend, exactly?'

'Not a lot, considering I got a new settee, a coffee table
and a darling hand-woven rug from India – or was it
China? Anyway, you should be pleased. Your flat is a tip
and I am sure that sofa has got fleas. Look, I bought you two
lovely silk ties.'

He couldn't remember the last time he'd worn a tie. At
school probably. He couldn't think when he would ever
need to wear one, let alone two. For the love of God, why
had she bought a new sofa? He never had time to sit on one
anyway.

He was tired and he could feel his temper rising, but he
tried to hold on to it. 'I simply haven't got spare cash for
things like that,' he began, but she interrupted.

'But you said you were doing really well!'

He took a deep breath. How could Georgia, who once
got paid £20,000 for an afternoon's work, understand that
in his world, doing well meant being able simply to pay the
bills?

'You think that because a couple of punters pay a
hundred quid for a meal, it all goes into my pocket, don't
you? No – don't interrupt – I'll tell you where it goes.

'Firstly I have to pay the mortgage. And the rates. And
gas and electricity, because we can't cook by candlelight. I
can't run a restaurant without staff and they all need to be
paid. If I want to cook food and serve wine, I have to buy it
first. This isn't a charity shop, you know – it doesn't get
donated.'

'I know that. I'm not stupid!'

'Do you know something, Georgy, if I'm really really
lucky, that hundred pounds, and all the others I sweat
blood to earn, might just cover all those bills, and if that
means I have to sit on a lumpy sofa for ten minutes a week
– if means I don't have a fucking sofa to sit on at all – I don't
care!

'Maybe I could use these ties to truss the chicken
tomorrow night! Or maybe I could give them to my bank
manager instead of repaying the loan. Do you think he'll be
happy with that?' He was furious now and he couldn't stop.
He had only just been keeping a lid on his fear of not being
able to pay the bills, before Georgia had sucked more
money from their now threadbare joint account.

'I know you can pay for your half of all this stuff, but I've
only got enough spare cash for one of the sofa cushions. It
isn't going to work, is it?'

Her eyes filled with tears. 'Stop being horrible. I hate it
when you get all cold and sarcastic! You know, since you
moved up here you've become really nasty and boring.'

'I'm trying to run a business. It's actually rather tiring!'

'Oh, yes, and you'd much rather do that than spend
some time with me.'

He was silent. She was right. Georgia wasn't too good
with long words but, like any woman, she could read a
silence. She gave a loud sob and ran out of the room.

'Where are you going?' he asked in exasperation.

'Anywhere! Away from you! You know I'm not supposed
to have anyone shout at me – it's so bad for my nerves!'

This wasn't the first argument that had ended in her
running out before they'd really got going, but suddenly he
decided it was the last one when he would go after her. It
was about time he stopped trying to help her see that
people sometimes had differences of opinion and survived
it.

Outside, Georgia was finding that it wasn't very easy to run
in high heels and, anyway, no one was watching her, so she
might as well walk and be comfortable. How dare Jake not
follow her? How did he know she wasn't about to stumble
into the path of an oncoming car? Her bosom heaved with
the injustice of it all, though she had to admit she would
certainly make an exceptionally good-looking corpse – lying
down would really accentuate her long legs. She pictured
herself, totally still, ghostly pale and Jake kneeling beside
her, prone, a quivering heap of remorse and guilt.

She walked on, enjoying the thought of him suffering.
He definitely would have to pay for making her feel so bad.
Their relationship needed to get back on track – with him
adoring and her in control. She walked on, hoping his
anger had already dissolved into anxiety. That was good,
but frantic anxiety would be better. But how could she
make that happen? She stopped, because there was
nowhere else to go but into the lake, and looked round.

There was nothing but trees, water and, a little further
away, what looked like another restaurant, covered in fairy
lights. The lights were tiny and white and very pretty but
they only made her mood worse. She had wanted Jake to
buy them for his restaurant, but he'd laughed and said he
couldn't afford to switch them on, let alone pay for them.
They were terribly expensive but very eye-catching. A taxi
had pulled up outside to pick up some people who were
spilling out onto the pavement. There was lots of laughter
and air-kissing going on. Georgia sighed; it all looked like
the most tremendous fun. Who was that man? Surely she
had seen him before? She leaned forward, but remembered
in time not to screw up her eyes in case of wrinkles. He had
spotted her too and was turning round boldly to get a better
look. There was something about the confident way he
moved – of course! The man at the station – the one Jake
didn't like! Huh! Well, that meant precisely nothing. Jake
had already proved himself to be a man of very poor
judgement.

Harry approached, a wide smile spread across his face.
There was no way she could be rude to someone who was
so well turned out and so gratifyingly pleased to see her.

'The beautiful stranger at the station! Let me say what an
absolute pleasure it is simply to look at you, especially at the
end of what has been rather a trying day.'

Now why couldn't Jake say things like that?

'I thought I would be doomed to only ever seeing you
again on the cover of a magazine.'

Now this was rubbish because Harry only read the trade
papers, and magazines with dead pheasants or deer on
them, but she wouldn't know that. It always really annoyed
him that Jake had ended up with someone so gorgeous. It
was like seeing a scruffy tom cat with half an ear pairing up
with a sleek pedigree Persian.

'Hello again. I've just been for a walk,' said Georgia, lamely.

If Harry thought it odd that someone was pounding the
pavements of a little country town in four-inch heel Manolo
Blahniks with little diamanté flowers round the toes, he
didn't say so. But he instantly clocked the signs of a woman
who had just had a row.

'I'd simply love to offer you a drink, but you know that
Jake and I don't exactly get on. I'd hate to get you into
trouble.'

'I'm in trouble already,' said Georgia gloomily.

'Well, you know what they say about champagne, don't
you?'

'That it's expensive?'

'Well, yes, but what I meant was, it's good for you
whatever mood you are in – happy or sad. I like to think of
it as a delicious sort of medicine and I am prescribing some
for you straight away.' Without looking to see if she was
following, he turned and walked off.