Coconuts and Wonderbras (4 page)

    ‘Well, hello again,’ he says with a wink.

    ‘Hi,’ I say, forcing a smile.

I should be banned from black-tie dos. I could easily rip the shirt off him too. I’m either seriously sex-starved, or my hormones have gone crazy. I assure you that I don’t normally spend my life wanting to rip shirts off men.

    ‘We must find somewhere less salubrious to meet,’ he jokes and my heart flutters, much against my will. What is he doing here? I then remember that he is a client and what’s worse, one of mine it seems.

This time he is with what is obviously the blancmange to his jelly. She is exactly how I would have imagined. A size ten and with legs up to her armpits, blonde hair, flawless porcelain skin, and wearing a backless little black dress that clings to her shapely hips. Clearly, no corset needed here. Smokey grey eyes lock onto mine for a second and then travel critically over my black shirty wots-it. I feel like I must be wearing sackcloth and ashes. She goes to smile, but her thin lips seem to struggle.

    ‘Penny, let me introduce you to Libby, my agent,’ he says, raising his eyebrows at me.

    ‘Hello, Libby, nice to meet you,’ she says in a stiff voice and reluctantly holds out a limp hand. I go to take it but she moves away leaving my hand hovering in the air. I look like the Queen waving to the nation.

    ‘Gerald, how are you?’ she calls and dismisses me with a half-hearted wave. I find myself walking backwards nodding stupidly. It’s a wonder I don’t curtsey. Alex Bryant gives an apologetic smile. I take a final step and bump into Miles, Hobnobs accountant.

    ‘Throwing yourself at me, are you old girl? I say, you are looking sophisticated tonight.’ He burps, and champagne fumes waft into my face.

    ‘Less of the
old girl
please, Miles,’ I say, wrinkling my nose.

I try to see Toby amidst the throng, but he is nowhere to be seen.

    ‘What, no drink? Good heavens girl it’s bloody Christmas. If you can’t get off your face tonight then when can you?’

I am dragged to the bar to join the others who are determined to get off their faces. Miles reluctantly orders me an orange juice, attempts to make me laugh with his jokes, fails miserably and finally directs me to our table. I spot Issy, gesturing with her head to the seat next to her. I gasp. Oh no, not Alex Bryant. I see Toby approaching, aka my fiancé, at least, that is what I had said. He reaches the table and leans towards me. I think it is for a kiss but instead his lips whisper into my ear.

    ‘Where have you been? I’ve been lumbered with that bloody shirt-lifter for the past fifteen minutes.’

Is that the distinctive smell of Trésor that is wafting up my nostrils? I turn to Toby and see he is staring at Bryant.

    ‘Oh for God’s sake, what is he doing here? Did you arrange the seating?’

Before I can answer Jamie glides up and drapes an arm around Alex.

    ‘Let me introduce you,’ he says gaily, oblivious to our shocked faces. I spin round to grab a glass of champagne from the waiter. I do believe now is the time to get off my face.

    ‘Thanks very much Libby,’ mumbles Toby.

Why is he blaming me? Christ, this is turning into a fun evening. I should have gassed myself while I had the chance. Anyway, the introductions that followed should have gone something like this…

    ‘Libby, this is Alex Bryant. You’ve heard of Alex, of course?’

    ‘Yes, of course. What an honour to meet you Mr Bryant.’

    ‘Alex, this is my fab assistant Libby and her lovely, soon to be fiancé Toby, whose work you have read of course.’

    ‘Of course. I found your article on the Cambodian revolt fascinating Toby.’

Then there are lots of cheek kisses that aren’t quite kisses, and we all sit down and smile at each other.

It actually went like this:

    ‘Libby, this is Alex Bryant, the famous war correspondent who you’ve heard about of course, and this is his lovely fiancée Penny. Alex has recently joined Randal and Hobson.’

Now Jamie tells me. So, she’s his fiancée. I should have known someone like him would have been taken. Not that I care of course. I avoid eye contact and clasp Toby’s hand under the table. He squeezes it gently and I feel a little bit better.

    ‘Hello,’ I respond nonchalantly and blow my nose noisily to release the Trésor odour.

There is a tiny cough from Jamie and he continues,

    ‘Of course, you know of Toby Mitchell don’t you Alex?’

An uncomfortable silence follows. Issy burps and I respond with,

    ‘Bless you.’

Alex Bryant, who shall be known as
The Bastard
from here on in, looks only slightly embarrassed.

    ‘And this is Issy,’ I throw in casually. ‘Writes for the agony column and burps for England but not necessarily in that order. You’ve heard of her surely?’

Issy drops the olive that she was about to pop into her mouth. The olive rolls towards Blonde Blancmange who stands up haughtily, swings her shoulder-length bob over her shoulder, sighs heavily and declares,

    ‘How rude, I don’t have to listen to this.’ She makes to leave the table. Bryant gently takes her hand and pulls her back down.

Toby looks thunderous, and with knuckles clenched he gives Jamie a disparaging look while Issy stares wide-eyed. Alex Bryant, correction, The Bastard is the only cool one amongst us and why am I not surprised. Issy hands me another glass of champagne which I knock back in one hit. The only way to be in difficult social situations is drunk.

    ‘Libby, what is wrong with you?’ whispers Issy.

Alex leans across the table with an outstretched hand.

    ‘Nice to meet you Libby,’ he says softly. I ignore the little flutter in my stomach and put it down to flatulence. Why isn’t he mentioning that we have met already? I touch his hand and a tingle runs through my body. Toby snatches my hand roughly.

    ‘Right, that’s enough. You have already tarnished my name, so keep your hands off my girlfriend,’ he snaps.

I’m quite impressed. Shame his voice has a shake though. Although after reading what the bastard Bryant has done to some people, armed with only a cheese grater, it is enough to make anyone shake.

    ‘Blimey,’ says an astonished and rather tipsy Miles.

    ‘Criticism should always be taken in a constructive manner Toby, that was exactly how I meant it,’ croons The Bastard.

What a patronising sod, I think. Oh no, I didn’t think it, I actually said it. There is silence. Alex Bryant and I lock eyes across the table.

    ‘I can see it is going to be quite a challenge working with you Libby,’ he says finally.

I look at Jamie with daggers in my eyes.

    ‘Don’t do anything rash,’ hisses Issy as I stand up.

Why does she always think I am going to do something rash?

    ‘Jamie…’ I begin.

    ‘Constructive,’ explodes Toby, making me jump as I reach for an olive and accidentally knock over Blancmange’s champagne glass. A foaming tsunami rushes towards her and spills onto her legs. Oh shit. She lets out a squeal and Issy quickly dabs at her with a serviette. It is quite gross to watch. I am relieved when Jamie pulls her off. There is a loud screeching sound from the PA and a booming voice silences us all.

    ‘Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is about to be served.’

    ‘Bloody marvellous,’ groans Toby, elbowing me in the ribs as he shuffles in his seat. Great, food is all I bloody need right now. I always eat more when I am angry or upset. Just as well I am starting my diet properly on Monday. Miles squeezes himself into the seat the other side of me.

    ‘That was bloody exciting,’ he whispers. ‘I wouldn’t fancy taking on old Bryant myself, what? He’d slice your tongue out before you could say Bruce Lee.’

Why do these things happen to me? And who does this Alex Bryant think he is that he can go around patronising everyone? Okay, not everyone, but he did patronise Toby. I see him burst out laughing at something Jamie has said. Blancmange follows suit, and I feel dead miserable.

    ‘Bloody poof,’ says Toby sulkily. ‘And I can’t believe you are going to work with that arrogant prick.’

    ‘It’s the first I have heard of it,’ I protest feebly and hate myself for thinking what nice even teeth Alex Bryant is displaying.

    ‘It feels like treachery,’ moans Toby in a pained voice.

    ‘Treachery,’ I echo.

    ‘Salmon with salad madam, or turkey with roast potatoes?’ trills the waiter hovering beside me with a plate of each. I suppose I had better have the salmon and salad. I watch enviously as skinny Blonde Blancmange accepts only the salad. Show off.

    ‘You and Jamie conspiring against me, that’s what it is.’

    ‘Conspiring?’

Christ, I’m turning into a parrot.

    ‘Why do you keep repeating everything I say?’ he snaps.

    ‘Everything you say?’ I question.

I find I am pointing to the turkey. This is so wrong. Redirect finger Libby, redirect. But it is too late. Four lovely, crispy roast potatoes are placed in front of me and then covered with lovely fragrant gravy. Oh, heaven.

    ‘That looks good,’ comments Bryant with a smile that both Toby and I return with icy stares. Blancmange looks at my plate in distaste, while Issy points greedily at it and requests the same.

    ‘I couldn’t possibly eat a dead bird,’ says Blancmange pompously.

I stab the turkey viciously with my knife.

    ‘Just checking,’ I smile. ‘Yes, it’s definitely dead. I couldn’t possibly eat a live one.’

Issy giggles and good Lord, is that a sly grin on Bryant’s face? He catches my eye, and I quickly turn away. He leans across Blancmange and her slim arm with its row of silver bracelets jangles around his neck. Why is it that I now feel fat, clumsy and ugly in my black shirty wots-it thing?

    ‘Why, it’s Alex Bryant, how wonderful,’ bellows a high-pitched voice followed by a highly fragrant, over made-up woman who is wearing what appears to be my mother’s living room curtains. She leans across and plonks a wet kiss on Alex Bryant’s cheek.

    ‘Lucy Parker-Smythe, thrilled to meet you,’ she says, wiping the lipstick stain from his cheek with her thumb.

    ‘Oh, may I join you,’ she squeals excitedly.

Before any of us has the chance to object she has plonked her wobbly bum onto a chair and begins spouting a load of bollocks.

    ‘I mean, this situation in Cambodia is just dire isn’t it? Personally I think we should round up all those rebels and be done with it. Give the peasants more rice and everyone will be happy. Our WI is going to be doing something on it this month.’

Oh well, that’s the Cambodian problem solved then. Maybe the WI after bringing world peace can help me with my weight problem.

    ‘I’m afraid it is a little more complicated than that. The rebels aren’t all bad actually. The politics are very confusing,’ says Alex Bryant with that irritating smile.

    ‘Well, that is certainly a matter of opinion,’ argues Toby. ‘I would say rounding up the rebels is not such a bad idea. They are clearly thugs.’

Oh dear, not again.

    ‘Actually, it was quite clear from your article that you wrote it with the minimum of research. You haven’t been to Cambodia have you?’ replies Bryant, calmly.

    ‘These things are black and white if you ask me.’

I roll my eyes, tuck into my roast potatoes and nod at Issy who is replenishing everyone’s glasses.

    ‘I wonder Alex,’ coos Lucy Parker-Smythe, leaning closer to him so that her breast wobbles very near to his nose. ‘If you could come and have a little chat with our ladies and advise them what to put in their shoe boxes.’

    ‘Nothing in Cambodia right now is black and white Toby,’ responds Alex Bryant, manoeuvring his nostrils from Lucy Parker Smyth’s nipple and depositing her into a chair in one motion.

    ‘Smooth,’ I remark to Issy.

    ‘Oh, he is that,’ she replies, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

    ‘I thought Toby’s piece had some interesting points,’ butts in Jamie, pouring gravy onto his turkey.

    ‘Thank you Jamie, but I really don’t need you to stand up for me,’ snaps Toby.

Alex passes a dish across the table towards me.

    ‘Stuffing,’ he says flatly and the colour rises to my cheeks.

    ‘Ooh,’ Issy whispers into my ear and the burning spreads throughout my body. I lift my eyes to Alex Bryant to see him looking at me with that arrogant smile on his face. He really manages to make me feel quite ridiculous, and feeling ridiculous is something I do very well without anyone helping me thank you.

    ‘That’s fattening,’ remarks Toby, snatching the dish from Alex.

He is quite right of course. In fact, the whole dinner is full of sodding calories, but did he have to really make the point in front of everyone? I wish I could crawl home to my little cottage with a cheap bottle of wine and a box of Toblerone and not be a part of this debacle.

    ‘How about fifty quid,’ bellows Miles. There is silence and all eyes are on Miles. Well, it makes a change from all eyes on me.

    ‘In the shoebox, put fifty quid in each one. Surely dosh is the best thing. You can’t send over a shoebox of rice, what!’

What, indeed.

    ‘Honestly, how naïve,’ mumbles Toby, but Alex Bryant, who evidently has bionic ears, hears him.

    ‘With all due respect, it is no more naïve than your article, which apart from the outstanding paragraph on the futility of war, was really very lame and lacked substance.’

    ‘Didn’t you write that bit Libby?’ chips in Issy gaily.

Toby shoots me a murderous look.

    ‘She just tidied up some errors,’ snarls Toby.

Alex squints at me. Oh dear, now my life will not be worth living.

    ‘I wasn’t aware you contributed to the article,’ says Bryant, studying me.

    ‘Why did you have to open your big mouth,’ Toby snaps at Issy.

I feel quite inclined to ask Bryant the same question. It is at this point in the proceedings that I decide to take up smoking. Not literally you understand. I just need to make my escape and get out of the hall.