‘I wish! Look, I can’t talk long, Chloe. I’ve a load of calls to make. Can I phone you back at lunch?’
‘I just wanted to tell you my exciting news,’ she says coyly.
‘Oh okay, fire away.’ I flick absentmindedly at the sales list.
‘Kian’s moving back in.’ Chloe rushes the words out, probably trying to get it over with.
‘Oh my God, he’s what?’ I blush as I realise I’ve shrieked and everyone in the office is staring.
‘I know he’s been a bit of a… you know, a…’
‘A complete and utter bastard,’ I chip in, and then realise everyone is peering at me again. Obviously my conversation is a lot more interesting than theirs. I really hate open-plan offices. How’s anyone meant to have any kind of private chat?
‘That’s a bit harsh,’ she says. ‘At any rate, he says he’s sorry, he’s changed. It was because he felt pressured and he was so sweet. You should hear what he said.’
I’m thinking please not as I already feel quite sick, but let her finish anyway.
‘He says he’ll always love me and I have to give him another chance,’ she continues pitifully. She’s got that dreamy note back in her voice, the one she had when she first met Kian.
‘Chloe, you really can’t do this; you’ve got to have more self-respect. You can’t take him back, not after how he’s been, and what he did to you. He was hideous to all of us, Mum, Dad. Kian’s a nasty bit of work.’ I stop because I can hear muffled sobbing on the other end of the line.
‘But the thing is… I still love him.’ Chloe sniffs.
‘Look, I understand, and you know I’m always here for you, whatever you decide, okay? But I’d better finish my sales list – I’ll phone you back at lunchtime.’ I feel bad but Chloe seems okay, saying something about buying bits for dinner, and rings off.
I sit there staring blankly at my computer. I can’t believe Chloe’s going to take this guy back. He’s her second husband and worse than her ex. He’d sounded a really bad idea right from the start – apparently his wife didn’t understand him, he was nearly divorced/separated – whatever crap he told Chloe. Most people would have avoided him, but Chloe who is really kind-hearted and always rescuing someone, whether it’s dogs, old ladies or husbands, fell for Kian hook, line and sinker. After a short while of marriage to Chloe, he started being out all hours. Worse still, he took all of Chloe’s confidence away with his mood swings and neurotic behaviour.
It turned out he was having an affair with someone at work and Chloe became the wife who didn’t understand him. She was devastated of course and threw him out, and has been trying to move on with her own life for the last few months. She’s so strong, and I thought she was succeeding, but she can be pretty stubborn – there’s nothing I can do but show her some support when she needs it.
I half-heartedly pick up the phone and call a couple of salons. Neither is interested in buying any advertising space even though I’ve finally managed to perfect my pitch to a fine art.
I look up and am pleased to spot Mark coming towards me. ‘Morning – just came along to find out how you got on at the agency, darling?’
He says the word agency in a loud stage whisper, which makes me want to either giggle or squirm in my seat as subtlety is not exactly his speciality.
‘It was all right.’
‘Sounds great.’ He smiles sarcastically. ‘Come on, let’s go get some blinis and you can fill me in on the goss.’
I jump up, glad to escape my desk. This is the most motivated I’ve felt all morning. Modiste is simply too posh to have bacon butties or coffee mid-morning; smoked salmon blinis are brought in by courier from Harrods.
Sitting gossiping to Mark, munching a yummy mouthful of blini, the world suddenly looks a brighter place. I recount the details of my visit to The Jane Austen Dating Agency, my raucous impression of Miss Palmer-Wright causing him to go off into fits of laughter.
‘I simply can’t wait to meet her,’ he hoots, wiping tears from his eyes. ‘You have to get me in there somehow… and as for Darcy Drummond, he sounds delicious.’
‘I don’t know. I’m not sure if I’m going to join,’ I reply pensively.
‘Why on earth not? You can’t let one bitchy cow put you off. You’ve been a crazy Jane Austen fan ever since I’ve known you, you can’t miss out on this incredible opportunity. It’s perfect for you.’
‘You’ve only known me a few weeks,’ I tease, ‘but yes, I’m going to think about it. God, it’s 11.30, we’d better get back to the office.’
We walk slowly towards the sales floor. Mark scrutinises me with his intense blue eyes, pulling his tousled blond hair back with his hand. He’s making me nervous staring like that.
‘You need an escape, a distraction, darling. You’re young and single yet you have mal de vivre. Why aren’t you out partying?’ He shrugs comically. Everything Mark does is exaggerated, as though he’s playing a part on the stage.
‘Mal de vivre?’
‘You’re just too serious, like you’re carrying the burden of the world on those shoulders. All work and no play can make life pretty damn boring.’
I smile sheepishly. ‘Yeah, I know, but by the time I get home I’m tired and you know, blah blah.’ I try to defend myself, aware it sounds like empty excuses. Mark’s a total party animal, always out at some premiere or other. I don’t know how he does it. He’s got to be ten years older than me but he seems to have boundless energy. He’s the kind of guy who appears to know everyone in the room within about two minutes of being there, and is often in someone or other’s photo looking tanned and fabulous. Mark’s life seems so relaxed and above all, fun.
‘As you aren’t going to help yourself, it’s a good job I have the cure for your ennui right here.’ Mark waves a smart-looking envelope at me.
I open it and pull out a very elegant embossed card. It’s an invitation for the GQ Grooming Awards at the Royal Opera House. There’s an awards dinner, dress code formal of course.
‘Sounds very nice,’ I say noncommittally. ‘Are you going then?’
‘Yes of course, and you, darling, are coming with me.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, you, Cinderella, are coming to the ball. Well, not a ball exactly but it’ll be a pretty amazing night.’
‘How come?’
‘Yours truly has been given an extra ticket. Tim’s busy that evening with Fashion Week stuff so who better to come with me than you?’
‘Sounds fun,’ I say carefully, trying not to sound too ungrateful or unenthusiastic.
‘Fun… fun, darling?’ Mark leaps about, gesticulating, causing those around us to stare and tut at the noise. ‘It’s the social event of the year! Half these snotty cows would do anything to get in. In any case, you’ll so want to go when you know who’s going to be there! Look at the invitation again.’
I peer at the card, unseeing until I suddenly spot, written in small print at the bottom, ‘Sponsored by Drummond Associates’.