‘God no!’ exclaims Miffy. ‘Can’t work through lunch, sweetie. It’s just not done. Don’t be a spoilsport, come and meet the gang. Don’t want to get stuck with this lot.’ She lowers her voice and gestures towards the rest of the sales team, raising a perfectly groomed eyebrow. I smile to myself as the rest of the team are not exactly plebs, they’re all genuine, bona fide owners of Louis Vuitton handbags and regular radiance facials, which is all more than I have.
‘Fabulous, meet you in the foyer at 12.30.’ Miffy takes advantage of my silence and totters off. ‘Don’t be late!’ she calls, casually flicking her long fingers in a miniscule wave without bothering to look back.
The rest of the sales team, who have been ineffectually pretending they weren’t listening, go back to work.
Amanda seems to appear from nowhere. ‘I expect you might like to go to lunch a little earlier today, Sophie?’ she asks, glancing at me speculatively.
‘Oh, erm, yes that would be lovely, thank you, if it’s not too much trouble,’ I add hesitantly. ‘I mean I don’t have to if it is a problem.’
‘Of course not, Sophie. Miffy has invited you, that means you must go and don’t worry about being back on time.’ Amanda tootles off to speak to someone else and I try to ignore the jealous and incredulous glares of the other girls, pretending to be busy checking out the next bridal salon on my list. But I simply can’t concentrate; I’m too excited.
Just before lunchtime, I leg it into the toilet and try to tidy my look, but end up appearing exactly the same as I did when I went in, apart from refreshed lipstick. Oh well, it’s as good as it’s going to get.
I meander down the large sweeping staircase at the front of the office, trying to look casual, and spot Miffy with her usual squad of elegantly groomed women loitering in the doorway.
‘Sophie, darling!’ she bellows, and I smile and wave, rushing down the steps to join her to be dramatically air kissed four times on each side. I’m a bit taken aback as I only saw her about an hour ago, but I can go with this. It’s my opportunity to blend with the big shots and I’m prepared to take this whole networking thing very seriously.
Miffy leads the way out of the gigantic gold revolving doors of Modiste, to where a huge black limo is waiting. To my amazement, the smartly uniformed driver, who has been patiently standing, opens the door and Miffy’s brigade climbs in. ‘Come on then, darling,’ she calls to me. ‘Haven’t got all day, you know.’
I promptly close my mouth, which I think must have been hanging open like a goldfish, and clamber into the limo, struggling in my straight skirt as it doesn’t allow my legs to move that far apart. I seem to remember hearing they give royalty, such as Princess Kate, guidance so they can learn how to climb in and out of cars elegantly, thus avoiding any disastrous flashes of knickers such as those demonstrated by Britney Spears many years ago. Perhaps I should try to get some lessons if this travelling in limos is going to become a habit.
I attempt to act nonchalant as I sit down in the huge car, but fail miserably as the seat is deeper than I expected and I end up sprawled inelegantly backwards with my feet in the air. Not very stylish but Miffy just laughs. ‘Emma said you were hilarious,’ Miffy snorts. ‘Absolute classic.’
Miffy’s friends don’t look amused at all. There are only three of them in the end but I notice them exchanging bitchy smirks.
As the limo pulls away smoothly, it feels like being in an aeroplane and I have a job not to smile, it’s all so surreal.
‘This is Nina, Bunty and Natasha.’ Miffy sweeps her hand in the direction of her three colleagues who smile in a fake flash of expensive dentistry. Actually, in comparison, Miffy is quite natural looking, a little horsey even with her long dark mane of hair, slightly aquiline nose and strong arched brows. She has money but shrugs it off with an easy natural country style in contrast to the others who look more Towie and fake than she does, in spite of their designer clothes. And Miffy is quite nice actually, as Emma had said. Although she’s totally different from me, she’s friendly at least.
Nina, who as it turns out is from Norway, is the daughter of an oil tycoon. She’s wrapped expensively in layers of fur, real by the look of it. ‘So, you work in Classifieds?’ she asks in clipped accented tones.
‘Yes,’ I reply and that’s the end of that conversation, but I’m getting used to these blunt disinterested responses so it doesn’t matter quite so much and I’m actually more interested in thinking about where we’ll be eating lunch.
Then a thought suddenly makes me go hot and cold; what if I can’t afford the food? This group will hardly think twice about a hundred pounds per person for lunch and I’ve just spent more than half of my savings on the annual membership of the dating agency. I suppose I’ll have to put it on my card but I hate spending money I don’t have, it mounts up and needs paying just the same. It took over a year to pay off my initial student overdraft after leaving uni. That and the student loan is enough to depress anyone.
Miffy’s phone suddenly rings out. ‘Hello?’ she answers, snapping open the Swarovski jewel-encrusted cover. ‘Oh hi, Bree darling. Oh that’s sooo annoying. I suppose it can’t be helped. What did Michel say? Okay then, the truffles will simply have to be served at the end of dinner and we’ll hope that Maria can source and deliver them before 8.30 this evening. Okay thanks, Bree, yes bye, darling… bye, bye.’
I look questioningly at Miffy, not wanting to pry.
‘That was Bree, my PA,’ Miffy explains. ‘Absolute treasure but complete cock-up with the catering for this evening. Not her fault of course, it’s my truffle supplier. Michel will be furious and I did want the truffles to be a centrepiece. These things happen I suppose but it’s terribly frustrating all the same.’
‘You’re far too lenient with the staff,’ drawls Natasha, who is Russian, judging by her accent. ‘I would have her bags packed letting me down like that a few hours before dinner.’
‘Yes, darling, that’s why you have the highest staff turnover of anyone of my entire acquaintance,’ Miffy remarks without turning a hair. I want to smile at her confident comeback but look out of the window instead as I can sense Natasha glaring in my general direction. ‘I’m having a little soiree this evening with a few friends: Lady Victoria Hervey, Santa Montefiore and darling Jasper,’ explains Miffy.
‘Do you mean Santa Montefiore the novelist?’ I gasp.
‘Yes, as it happens, and a few others. Do you know them, sweetie?’ she asks, to my bemusement.
‘Erm, not exactly,’ I stutter. I mean I read Hello magazine of course and check out all the celeb gossip but I absolutely love Santa Montefiore’s books. Actually The French Gardener made me cry for ages but I wasn’t going to divulge such embarrassing details in front of this group.
‘She probably read about them in a magazine,’ is Natasha’s bitchy but accurate comment.
I smile enigmatically and continue watching the crowded lunchtime streets of Mayfair whizz past in a glorious technicolour blur. I love people watching and here is the most amazing place for it, everyone is so incredibly stylish.