“I know,” Vic agreed. “Who’d have thought His Holiness would be hanging out in Beverly Hills?”
“Pasadena actually,” I corrected. “It was at the hotel while we—”
“—were in the hot tub and Gretchen made a toast to surrealism,” finished Vic before I could say anything. “You said. So backtrack a bit. What do you mean, Tom said about getting married? That’s huge! What did you say?”
“Nothing really. It’s not huge at all, I promise. It felt like it was at first, but it’s not. He didn’t ask me to marry him, he hinted he intended to ask me—there’s a big difference. You know what he’s like, Vic, he was just getting his knickers in a bit of a financial knot. All he actually said was we ought to think about getting a place together because it would be a good time for us to try and buy, and that I shouldn’t worry about anything going wrong, because it wasn’t going to.” I yawned. “I think the jet lag is starting to catch up with me.”
“Still, he said the actual M word?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “But in a forecasting sort of way.”
“Oh. Well I won’t buy my hat just yet then. Dear old Tom—always doing things by the book. So. What have you got coming up in the next few days? Any other interesting jobs?”
“Not really.” I considered. “Gretchen’s got a brother who is a travel writer and, apparently, might know some people who could put some stuff my way. She said she’d call me. She probably won’t though—I think it was one of those things you say on a trip like that and don’t actually mean.”
There was a silence.
“Hello?” I said. “Vic? You still there?”
“Yup,” she said eventually.
“There’s a hell of a time delay on this line,” I said. “Do you think I should call her? Or would that look like I was hustling?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’d really like her you know, Vic—she’s very funny.”
“She sounds a hoot.”
Right on cue my mobile, which was lying on the sofa next to me, began to ring.
“Oh my God!” I said in surprise, catching sight of the name on the phone. “You’re not going to believe this, but that’s actually her calling me now! I’d better take it. Can I call you back?”
I quickly hung up and grabbed my mobile.
“Alice?” said a bright voice. “It’s Gretchen Bartholomew.”
“Hello!” I exclaimed happily. “How was your flight back?”
“Oh great, thanks,” she said. “Couple of movies, nice glass of champagne and the most fantastic foot massage I think I’ve ever had. I’d marry Richard Branson if he weren’t already taken …and didn’t have hair like Aslan. Not that it was actually him who did the foot massage, of course.”
“I kind of got that.” I smiled.
“So how was your journey? It’s such a shame we were on different flights.”
I thought of the stinky bloke who’d sat next to me, exuding such potent curry fumes from every pore on his body, I’d subtly asked to move, and then had to suffer the embarrassment of the hostess coming back and saying, “There are no free seats, I’m afraid. I can get you a blanket to wrap around your head though, if the smell”—she nodded at the man—“gets much worse?”
Horrified, I’d looked at the man, who had stared, deeply insulted, back at me. It had been an uncomfortably long eleven hours in every sense.
“It was OK,” I said to Gretchen.
“Good! Now, I spoke to my brother and he told me about some luxury travel magazine launch party he’s been invited to. He’s away though, so he can’t go, but I thought it might be right up your alley … I’ve got my agent to wangle us two invites. It’s next Friday night at the Dorchester. You free?”
It turned out I was. Very. I called Vic back excitedly to tell her, but she didn’t pick up—probably Doctor Luc had just got home from work. A luxury travel magazine! Tom had been right: good things were waiting just around the corner!
“Well, I’m just so sorry,” Gretchen said in the back of the taxi, smoothing out her skirt as she crossed her legs and flicked an invisible spot from her very high heels. “What a bunch of leathery, mahogany, Hooray Henrys. It was like Eton does
Saga
magazine. Who the bloody hell goes on cruises these days anyway?”
I laughed. “Please don’t feel bad. It was very kind of you to fix it up for me in the first place.”
“Well, I tried,” she shrugged. “Still, we had a laugh anyway, didn’t we? And unlike the readership of that magazine, the night is still young. I need to make this up to you. Let’s go and grab a proper drink. I’m a member of a club not far from here.”
I hesitated. I’d never actually been to a private members’ club and, much as I didn’t want to be, was quite curious to see inside one. Then equally, our new Spanish flatmate was moving in later. But Tom was also a bit on edge, marching around talking firmly about getting off on the right foot, not giving an inch or sliding down a slippery slope, which all sounded exhausting. It would probably be better if I just stayed out of the way and let him deal with it. Anyway, a drink would be fun. Gretchen was certainly dressed for it, in an artfully cut midnight blue dress that I’d admired on sight. She was the perfect person to have a glamorous Friday-night drink with. It was nice to see her again.
“That,” I smiled, “sounds very good to me indeed.”
A
t the club, Gretchen found us a table with two deep armchairs and ordered us a couple of cocktails. I looked around discreetly. It didn’t really look that much different from a nice bar, except there were more people staring furiously at laptop screens and some very good-looking and attentive bar staff. There was also a quiet air of excited expectation, but that might just have been me.
“So,” said Gretchen. “Tell me what’s new with you. What interesting jobs have you got coming up? My agent loved the LA shots you did, by the way. She said you did some work for some of the gossip mags—inside Surrey footballers’ houses, that kind of thing. That must have been … an experience.” She kicked her shoes off easily, curled her legs under her, took a sip of her drink and waited eagerly.
“That’s one way of putting it,” I said, remembering the monogrammed carpet and outdoor infinity pool the couple were determined to pose in, although they almost went blue it was so cold. “That was just a one-off really, as a favor to a friend. I do quite a lot of studio stuff too.”
“Do you do any of the fashion mags?” She sipped her drink.
“I’ve done some of them, yeah. Not so much since I’ve gone out on my own, but one or two. They’re all completely mad.” I shook my head and sat back in my seat comfortably.
“I’ll bet.” She laughed. “Quite cliquey too, I’d imagine.”
“I can see how they’d appear that way,” I said, thinking about it, “but it’s mostly because they’re—”
Before we could continue, a couple of men wandered over to us, completely ignored me and said excitedly, “Hiiiiii, Gretch! You coming to the party in a bit?”
“Oh, who’s having one?” she said interestedly, sitting up like a meerkat and peering over my shoulder.
“Not entirely sure”—the man wrinkled his nose—“but Daniel Craig is supposed to be coming, so who gives a fuck? Want me to stick you on the list?”
Feeling a bit like Cinderella, I reached for my drink, annoyed with myself for minding that I wasn’t invited to a party that, until three seconds ago, I hadn’t even known existed.
“Yeah, why not. Could be good for a giggle,” said Gretchen. “Alice’s surname is Johnston.” She nodded at me pointedly, forcing them to acknowledge me too.
“Cool.” The blokes smiled at me vaguely before drifting off.
“It’ll probably be crap,” Gretchen said conspiratorially, “these things usually are, aren’t they? But we could have a couple more here and then go over and see if we can damage Daniel.” She reminded me a bit of Vic when she said that. Was it the glint of mischief in her eye? Or maybe it was because sitting around plotting together was the kind of thing Vic and I usually did. Not in a members’ club, obviously.
“I think he’s got a girlfriend,” I said, although I was with her on that one; he was pretty beautiful.
Gretchen smiled naughtily. “I’m sure she could lend him out for the night. Tell you what, let’s get a bottle.” She looked up for a waiter and then, as he began to approach, said, “We don’t want to be the first ones there. Now, dish the dirt about the fashion mags. You must have had some funny things happen?”
An hour and a half later we were still talking. Eased along by the booze, we had started to open up to each other a bit and were beginning to trade stories about ourselves. I had just burst out laughing so loudly at something she’d said, several people had turned around and looked at us.
“I’m being serious!” She grinned delightedly at my reaction and swatted my arm.
“Of course you were.” I chuckled and placed a hand on my stomach. “Sorry. Carry on with what you were saying.” I wiped an eye and steadied myself.
“My point was, you did just know you wanted to be a photographer,” Gretchen said. “See?”
“But who just falls in to hosting a TV show? I don’t get it.”
“I swear to God it’s the truth,” Gretchen said. “I honestly never really wanted to do all this in the first place. If Mum hadn’t shoved me into it, I probably would have just quite happily pratted around in a band at a university or something and that would have been as far as it went. That was the bit I really liked, you see. Singing.”
Just as she finished her sentence, my mobile lit up on the table. I saw “Dad” flash up on the screen.
“Sorry, Gretchen, would you mind if I just take this very quickly? It’s my father—he practically never uses his mobile, so it must be an emergency.”
“Not at all. Go for it.” She sat up straighter in her chair, interested.
“Everything OK, Dad?” I said, picking up.
“No, it’s bloody well not. Have you borrowed the car?”
What? “Your car?” I asked, completely baffled. “Why on earth would I have your car? I’m in London! You do know I haven’t lived at home for about eight years or so, don’t you?”
Gretchen looked amused, which absurdly, for a second, made me feel pleased. Then I remembered, at twenty-eight I was a little old to be showing off in front of new friends. Dad didn’t laugh either. “Hmph,” he said. “Well, I didn’t really think it would be you, you’re the only bloody sensible one, but I’ve just got back from a walk with the dog and it’s gone.”
“The car or the dog?” I said, trying to focus.
“The car!” he said impatiently. “I’m actually standing in the space where it should be. Your mother took her car to go shopping, and Frances doesn’t even drive, which means either it’s been stolen or that little no-good brother of yours has come home and swiped it. Have you spoken to him today?”
“No,” I replied, “Mum did say he might be coming back to you from uni this weekend, though. Dad, can I call you back? It’s just I’m—”
“I knew it!” he cut across me. “Bloody boy!”
Then he hung up.
I shook my head in disbelief and slid the phone on to the table. “Sorry about that. My dad’s having a trying day.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Gretchen said airily. “My mum’s been having a trying day for the last fifteen-odd years. Parents, eh? Who’d have ‘em?” She grinned and took a large slug of her drink.
“So,” I picked up the threads of conversation again, “where were we? How’s your campaign to conquer the States going, by the way?”
“Oh, I doubt anything will come of that.” She waved a hand dismissively. “It was my agent’s idea—create a bit of false buzz, make it look like everyone wants me … people only chase things they think someone else wants, it’s human nature. I don’t really want to move to the other side of the planet much anyway. It’d be nice to get some distance from my parents …”
“Indeed.” I grinned and nodded at my phone.
“Exactly,” she agreed, “you know what I mean. But I’d miss my brother loads.”
“One of my friends just moved to Paris,” I said. “With her boyfriend.”
“Yeah you see, I wouldn’t even have a bloke to take with me. I was dating this chopper from a boy band—complete twat—it was like going out with a cocktail sausage that thought it could sing.”
“I think I remember reading you were seeing him,” I said carefully, not wanting to feign ignorance, but equally not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable.
“I’m sure.” Gretchen was unfazed. “But what it wouldn’t have said was he was so obsessed with keeping his six-pack he used to do four hours of exercise a day. I once found him in the loo jogging on the spot because he hadn’t been able to get to the gym to do his last hour. Between that and him only wanting to talk about his music—even though he couldn’t strum more than “Smoke on the Water”—and him having to wear outfits approved by his management, he wasn’t exactly ever going to be husband material. Also he hated that I could sing better than him.” She grinned.
“So if you like singing so much, why don’t you pursue your own music career?” I could see she’d make the perfect pop princess.
She shook her head. “I’d get slated. ‘Kids’ TV host turns singer.’ I’d only get offered novelty records, then before you can say ‘pantomime,’ your career is in the toilet. It’s a shame though. When I sing, I feel like I’m on top of a wave … just totally free. At times like that, you can almost capture the essence of what you are and everything that you can be. It’s like a high. Sometimes you are a bit high, obviously, but everything is still amplified and brighter somehow. I love that feeling. When everything seems to make sense. You get total clarity about what you can do, what you can achieve. You know?”
She wasn’t really asking me though, she was staring into space as she contemplated the compelling state she’d just described. I looked at her curiously; she had suddenly become a quieter and more reflective version of herself.
“Well, it’s never too late,” I said after a pause. “I never thought I’d start out on my own, but I did and I don’t regret it for one second.”
“Oh, I don’t regret it,” she said quickly. “I don’t do regrets—waste of time and energy. It’s really great that you were so brave though, you should be proud of yourself.” She drained her drink, suddenly cheerful again, like she’d been plugged back in. “Thanks for letting me bang on about that. Right, we need to go and have some fun. All this bonding is lovely, but Bond himself might actually be in that room over there. Whoever sees him first gets first go, OK?”