just for show, dear. He could still be sad, you know.’
‘What’s he got to be sad about? He’s rich and good-looking and he knows what he’s going to do with his life.’ None of which applied to Bella just at this moment, though she did not actually say so.
‘Well, he has just lost the delicious Deborah,’ said Carlos thoughtfully. ‘No matter who ended it, or how serious it really was, that’s always a bummer.’
But Bella didn’t want to think about ending affairs. Of course, it hadn’t exactly been an affair with Francis. Nowhere near. Right from the start they’d agreed – well, he’d announced and she’d agreed, of course she had – that they couldn’t do anything about their attraction to each other while they were working so closely. It would de-stabilise the team. It wouldn’t be fair, Francis had said, looking noble and handsome and terribly responsible, to anybody. She thought now: how many others had he said that to? Half of them? All twenty? She flinched. How could she have been so naive? How could she? She groaned in spirit.
She found they were all looking at her, surprised, and realised that she had actually groaned aloud. Somehow it was the last straw.
‘What about my hair?’ she yelled. ‘Come on, you idle crimpers. Don’t just stand there wittering. Work your magic.’
So they all went back to the important stuff. And Carlos piled her blonde shoulder-length hair on to the top of her head, leaving some feathery tendrils to caress her long neck.
I just hope it’s clean, thought Bella, uneasily aware that a couple of long showers might not have been enough to clear away the grime of ten water-restricted months spent living in a tent.
But everyone else told her she looked lovely. And Bella had to admit that the soft, artistically untidy style, had turned her wide-eyed and feminine. She hadn’t felt feminine in a long, long time.
She kissed Carlos as she left. ‘Thank you. You’re a miracle worker.’
‘But of course. Haven’t I always said so?’ But he was pleased, she could see.
So was Lottie on coming into Bella’s room to check that her instructions had been carried out.
‘Well, at least no one’s going to mistake you for a Shetland pony now.’
‘What?’
Lottie grinned. ‘I told you, this party is über-posh. Very smart people, deep into the horsey set. The way you were looking this morning, they’d have fed you a carrot and showed you to the stables.’
And, quite suddenly, Bella started to laugh. In fact, she laughed so much she jabbed the mascara wand in her eye and had to start again.
‘Oh, Lotts, I do love you,’ she said, when she could speak. ‘Gosh, it’s good to be home.’
2
‘Trees in Tubs Make Your Party Swing’ – Mondaine Magazine
Lottie called a minicab to take them to the party. Conscious of her own jobless state, Bella protested at the extravagance. But her friend was adamant.
‘These shoes are meant for dancing, not pounding the London Underground,’ she said firmly. ‘You’ll thank me later. Besides, it’s cold out there.’
That was undoubtedly true. Reluctant to spend her remaining cash on a stellar outfit, Bella had in the end found a pretty dress in an Oxfam shop, one of the better ones in Soho that sold nearly perfect vintage clothes, rather than size 20 tee-shirts from George. It was vaguely Ossie Clarke in a heavy, midnight blue crepe. The neckline plunged into a deep V, a bit risqué she had thought, but it also had long sleeves that gathered at the wrist with a row of tiny buttons and it swirled nicely when she walked. But it was almost certainly a retiree from the summer. It was not warm.
‘Odd but stylish. You look like Greta Garbo,’ said Lottie, deciding it would do.
She insisted on dusting Bella’s skin with gold glitter.
‘You’ve got the perfect tan. Light, real and every-where. Make it work for you,’ she instructed.
She also lent Bella a full length suede coat with a big fake-fur collar, along with a sparkly gold bag. They checked the contents of their bags together, just as they used to do when they were eighteen.
‘Lippy, perfume, hankie.’
‘Check.’
‘Phone.’
‘Check.’
‘Keys.’
‘Check. No, I left them in the kitchen—’ Bella dived to retrieve them.
Lottie was patient. ‘OK, that’s it. Except for running away money, of course.’
Their eyes met. It was Bella’s Granny Georgia, a Southern Belle of the old school, who had taught them that: never go to a party without your running away money tucked into your underwear. Ladies didn’t make a