Prime Time (24 page)

I was by now an old hand. As the camera was set up around one of the tables I held forth about my new-found enthusiasm for the cross-trainer, listened to some advice from Nicola about increasing the amount of time I spent in cardio-vascular activity to enhance fat-burning and then engaged in some fervent “noddies” – the extra bits of film they used for cutaways, whereby I nodded at Nicola as if she were talking to me and then she did the same to me, feeling suitably proud and film star-like as various gym-goers watched from afar. I was now able to look dismayed/fascinated/disbelieving/joyful on cue.

‘I really can feel a difference,' I proclaimed for the third time, sounding like a TV ad.

‘OK, we're done!' Cal kissed me on both cheeks. ‘You're a natural.'

I went to collect my stuff from the changing room and put some more make-up on. When I came back, Tanya, Russ, and Matt were outside smoking. I could see the glow of their cigarette ends in the darkness. Cal was waiting for me inside the glass doors, wearing a soft grey jacket over his open-necked white shirt and jeans. His hair was a bit longer than last time, I noticed now. It curled against his collar.

He gave me a big smile. ‘So can you recommend somewhere good to eat?'

Tanya came back through the doors as he said it. ‘You coming with us?' he asked her.

She ran a hand through her spiky hair and shook her head. ‘I'm going back to town with the guys,' she said sharply. ‘I'm hitting Kay's party later with Len.'

For a moment I thought Cal looked irritated then he shrugged. ‘OK. Have a good time.'

Tanya turned on her heel and strode back outside again.

‘Is she OK?' I asked.

‘Yes, she's fine.' Cal smiled again. ‘Just having one of her strops.'

Probably because she never ate anything, I thought, as I got into Cal's dark blue BMW. Low blood sugar could make you bad-tempered. Stanley was the same – when he was a small child I'd carried biscuits in my handbag in case he threw a tantrum and I needed to get him in a half-nelson and ram one of them into his mouth. I grinned at the memory of how he would be instantly wreathed in smiles.

‘You look happy.' Cal swung out of the gym car park. ‘And I must say you look amazing too. I can't believe how much weight you've lost.'

‘It's only a few pounds,' I said self-consciously.

‘Well, the effect's terrific.'

I might lose even more at this rate. I was strangely un-hungry myself despite not having eaten for hours. Finally being all alone with Cal had left my stomach ridiculously fluttery and I couldn't think of a single thing to say.

Fortunately, he talked. By the time we reached the bottom of Broadstairs High Street I knew he'd read English with Film Studies at Warwick, had a garden flat in Clapham and an older brother who was a photographer. He'd briefly worked as a production assistant on
Big Brother
but found it “very manipulative” and had high hopes of our film giving him a name in the industry and leading on to greater things.

‘Who knows, maybe we'll do something together again one day.' he said casually, as we turned into Albion Street. ‘Where do I park?'

I'd suggested we went to Greens because it was the first place that came into my head and because at least I could just have something snacky like hummus and pitta bread – except that I'd have to demonstrate my eschewal of all things carbohydrate so it would be hummus and hummus – and the wine bar was friendly and relaxed and a bit more trendy than some of the other proper restaurants and, if I was totally honest, I wanted to show Cal off to Sarah.

She didn't disappoint me. ‘Mmm,' she said under her breath as I went to the bar for menus, leaving Cal at the table in the window. ‘Where did you get him from?' I told her about the documentary and she raised her eyebrows in admiration. ‘Lucky you! I must say you're looking ever so well – I love your hair – and very slim!'

I patted my stomach. ‘I'm wearing those jeans that hold it all in. But yes, I have lost a bit – been sweating it out in the gym.'

‘I keep thinking I should do that,' said Sarah. ‘But then I get all the exercise I need in this place running up and down the bloody stairs to the kitchen.' She laughed. ‘You could crack nuts between my thighs!'

There was a pop as she uncorked a bottle of Macon Blanc Villages.

‘How's Stanley now?' said Sarah, putting two glasses in front of me. ‘Has he settled down?'

‘I think so,' I said. ‘Although he does get anxious – especially about his weight. I mean he is a bit chubby I suppose, but he's hardly obese …'

Sarah shook her head. ‘You really shouldn't worry. He's only 11 isn't he?'

‘Nearly 12.'

‘He's only young – it will sort itself out. Luke was always like that. He'd keep growing outwards and then just as I was thinking I'd better do something, he'd suddenly shoot up and it would fall off again. Look at him now!' Her eldest son was a head taller than her and like a beanpole.

‘Anyway,' Sarah continued, ‘I should leave him be. Better they're a bit plump than get an eating disorder. My cousin's boy got anorexia when he was 14. It was awful – he ended up in hospital.'

‘Oh I don't say a word. It's The Twiglet who lives with my husband who goes on about it. She's obsessed.' I picked up the bottle and tucked two menus under my arm.

Sarah laughed. ‘Well, tell her to put a sock in it. There's some specials on the blackboard,' she added. ‘We've got a great seafood linguini.'

‘Not doing carbs,' I said.

Sarah pulled a face. ‘Don't get obsessed yourself, eh?'

‘That's what Charlotte says,' I told Cal as he poured me more wine. ‘She thinks I've become obsessive too.'

‘Maybe she's jealous?' suggested Cal. ‘Because you're looking so good?'

I nibbled on a bit of grilled halloumi. ‘Oh no, Charlotte's not like that at all. I mean, she's being very supportive. Stanley's round there now – she said she'd have him to stay so I could do all this. It's just that she isn't into dieting and exercise and doesn't understand.'

‘When people make radical changes to their lifestyle, it can be quite challenging for those around them,' said Cal thoughtfully. He cut into his steak. ‘There was a documentary on Channel Four last year –
The Women Who Lost Forty Stone
– did you see it?'

I shook my head. He put a small piece of tomato onto his fork and speared a cube of fillet. I found myself watching his mouth as he chewed.

‘Well,' he said, when he'd swallowed. ‘These eight women had lost over forty stone between them. They looked totally different, all of them, years younger, full of confidence. But what was interesting was that by the end of the programme, five of them had split up with their partners!'

‘Oh well, no worries there,' I chortled. ‘Mine buggered off while I was still fat.'

‘You weren't at all,' said Cal at once. ‘I thought you looked great as you were, actually. But you do look very yummy now.' His eyes lingered over me and I was suddenly glad I was wearing my new uplift, cleavage-enhancing bra. The wine had mellowed me nicely and I felt suddenly warm and sexy.

‘Thank you,' I said coyly. I looked at his hands on the table; the long fingers, the clean, manicured nails.

‘Are you pleased with your face?' Cal was saying. ‘It's very subtle – you mostly just look very fresh and healthy but you do definitely look younger too.'

I glanced sideways into the mirror on the wall next to us. Sarah had lit the candle on our table and in the shadowy light of the flickering flame I did look OK.

Suddenly I was, indeed, still young and firm, the contours of my face clearly defined, my eyes large and shining. I remembered Tanya's Lenny telling me how lighting was everything. I turned my face slightly to get an even better angle.

‘Thank you,' I said again, feeling a thrill of excitement run through me. Perhaps if spent the rest of my life just sat here in the half dark I could still pass for 35 …

‘So, in three weeks, we're going to do one last session with you,' Cal was saying. ‘We've found a really fabulous new boutique hotel in Clerkenwell where they're thrilled for us to film – I think they're really going to push the boat out – and they've got a pool and Jacuzzi, steam room and sauna. So – bring your swim suit.'

He topped up my glass and crinkled his nose at me in a way that made my stomach flip. ‘Unless, of course, I can persuade you into a bikini after all, as you're going to be in such wonderful shape?'

‘Oh no, I don't think so. I won't be in that sort of shape,' I said, flustered and taking a larger swallow of wine than I'd intended.

He smiled. ‘No pressure,' he said lightly. ‘I'm just indulging my fantasies.' I swallowed again.

Cal was still talking. ‘They got a terrific write-up in
Heat
,' he said easily. ‘The restaurant and the cocktail bar has been attracting the A-list already. I think we're going to have a fab night whatever we do.'

I held up the almost empty bottle, not knowing what else to say. ‘Don't you want some more wine?'

‘I'd love some but I can't – I'm driving. You have it.' He put his hand on mine. ‘I've got some really exciting ideas for our final session and I know you're going to be fantastic. And listen, La, I know your role has really expanded, so I'm getting you a fee sorted from the budget. It will only be a few hundred quid but the point is you'll have the beginnings of a show reel with the DVD of this programme and you might be able to get some other TV work on the strength of it'

My head was reeling – not just from the thought of being on television as “work” but from him calling me “La”. Charlotte called me “Lu”, but I'd known Charlotte for ever. Shortened names like that were intimate – were for people you felt close to.

He was looking at me intently, his head lowered, his hair flopping. I wanted to run my hands through it.

‘Really?' I squeaked.

‘Really.'

He leant over and kissed me very gently on the corner of my mouth. ‘It's been a great evening and I'm really looking forward to next time. We can celebrate the end of the filming.'

He kissed me once more – so lightly it was like a feather brushing my lips.

‘I won't be driving then …'

Chapter Twenty-six

‘Ready for your hot night out?' Charlotte stood on my doorstep looking lovely in a long black skirt and fuchsia top, and big chunky silver and black beads. Her usually wild mass of blonde curls was held back from her face in two silver clips. ‘Speaking for myself,' she said, ‘I can hardly contain my excitement.'

She waited while I gathered up my handbag and shouted goodbye to Stanley and Ashley – the 16-year-old from down the road who was performing his début as a babysitter.

‘He seems very sensible,' I said to Charlotte as we walked back down the path. ‘I don't think they'll burn the house down.'

‘Roger's got a face on,' she said breezily as we reached the car.

‘Oh, why?'

‘Doesn't want to go and I'm making him drive. As I said to him, how does he think I feel? I think I'm a pretty brilliant wife to spend an evening with all those bores – I'm certainly not staying sober while I do it.

‘Just telling Laura you've got a face on, love,' she said, as I opened the back door of the car.

‘Hi Roger!' I enthused. ‘Thanks for this.'

He greeted me back and then lapsed into silence. I wondered whether Charlotte was right about his mood. Or was he sweating, not only about his wife and Hannah being in the same room, but me there too, watching it all?

Part of me felt guilty and interfering but another stronger part said if there was nothing going on, there was nothing for him to worry about. Charlotte was no fool anyway – if this Hannah was hanging about, she'd soon pick up on it. Hopefully that might be enough for Roger to send her packing.

‘Where is this do, anyway?' I asked brightly. ‘In the offices?'

‘Upstairs room of the Conservative Club,' Charlotte informed me. ‘Pictures of Thatcher and Queenie everywhere. Lots of old farts in blazers. Usual curly sandwiches and sausage rolls.'

‘You said the food was lovely last time,' said Roger mildly.

‘I said the food was the best thing about it,' Charlotte replied briskly. ‘Which is not the same thing at all. I'm always amazed how many people have no idea how to put on a decent buffet.'

For the rest of the journey Charlotte treated us to a diatribe entitled
The Worst Party Food I've Ever Eaten
, with sound effects, so that I was feeling suitably nauseous by the time we made our way up the blue-carpeted stairs of the Conservative Club. At the top, I followed her and Roger into a dark panelled room with a bar at one end.

A waitress in uniform held a tray with white and red wine or small glasses of sherry.

‘Bet it's not cold enough,' muttered Charlotte, taking a glass of white.

‘Think I'll get a beer,' said Roger heavily, heading for the bar.

Clumps of people stood about talking, the men mostly in dark suits, the women in dresses and skirts. I scanned the room for anyone who looked even vaguely like the woman I'd seen Roger with.

‘Which is the one who always cries?' I asked.

Charlotte surveyed the room too. ‘Can't see her – perhaps they've got rid of her – but, oh God, here we go.'

A large woman in bright blue chiffon was bearing down on us.

‘Ah Charlotte, how lovely.' She kissed Charlotte loudly on both cheeks before swinging round to bestow a bountiful smile on me. ‘And this is?'

‘This is my friend, Laura,' Charlotte said. ‘Laura is carrying out some research into the families of lawyers – their perceptions of their role in the furthering of the corporate whole and its values.' Mrs Chiffon looked slightly glazed. ‘She's come along to see how we do things at Hammond and Barnes. Laura, this is Sheila Hammond – wife of Alan, the longest-standing of the senior partners. Alan's the one retiring.'

I tried to keep a straight face as I held out my hand. Sheila pressed the tips of my fingers with hers. ‘How fascinating,' she said, looking round the room. ‘Have you spoken to Ellen, yet?' she asked Charlotte, lowering her voice. ‘She's still getting over the operation …'

While they were talking, I checked out where Roger was. He was standing near the end of the bar with three other men in their fifties. I couldn't see anyone who looked remotely as I remembered Hannah. She must be coming. Charlotte had said that the practice were very hot on every single employee and their partner turning out for these dos and if she was a senior partner's secretary she'd surely have to be here – especially if it was the one who was leaving.

‘A face I don't recognise!' Beside me, a tall man in an expensive-looking suit was holding out his hand. ‘I'm Jeremy, one of the partners.'

‘Oh hi – Laura,' I said. ‘I've come with Charlotte and Roger.'

‘Splendid! We could do with a bit of fresh blood at these things.' He laughed. Charlotte looked over her shoulder and winked at me.

‘Hello, Jeremy,' she said dryly.

‘Hello, darling,' Jeremy gave her a long, lingering kiss on the cheek, which made Sheila Hammond raise her eyebrows.

‘Do behave yourself, Jeremy,' she said, as he swept toward her.

‘You just want one too, I know,' he declared, planting a kiss on her cheek as well.

‘Don't be silly.' Sheila gave a girlish giggle.

‘So what do you do, Laura?' Jeremy turned back to me and raised one eyebrow in what he clearly thought was a rakish manner. ‘Fill me in.'

I gave him the line about the research and the in-house magazine, deliberately doing so with lowered lashes and an admiring look on my face. I glanced back quickly. Charlotte had moved away slightly. She and Sheila were now talking to a tall woman with grey hair and a stick.

‘Maybe,' I said coquettishly, ‘you could fill me in on the gossip. Any good office scandals erupted lately? Romances? Affairs?' I kept my eyes on his.

‘Oh well,' he said, moving in closer and putting a hand under my elbow. ‘Let me see now, we could always start one …'

He was quite attractive in a self-congratulatory sort of way and quite amusing to talk to if you didn't mind the size of his ego. He didn't have any beans to spill about anyone else but I stood nodding and smiling as he regaled me with tales of the long line of secretaries who had fallen so uncontrollably in love with him they'd been unable to do their jobs, and the High Court judge who was always asking him to visit her in chambers.

While he was talking I kept one eye on Roger in the corner and the other roving around the room for any sign of the Bunny Boiler. Jeremy probably thought I had a squint.

We'd just got to the point in Jeremy's story where he'd been invited back for a nightcap but had been warned by the male PA that it might be a threesome that was on the menu, so was considering his options, when I suddenly saw her over his shoulder.

It was the same woman for sure. I recognised the way she held her head, slightly to one side as if shy. She was wearing a calf-length, dark green jersey dress over boots, and several strings of beads with little dangly bits. Her hair this time, was blow-dried in a big cloud around her face and, apart from lipstick, she didn't seem to have much make-up on which made her appear quite pale and fragile. Probably quite deliberately, I thought crossly, as I watched her slide up and nonchalantly join Roger's group.

I saw him turn and give her a brief smile, the other two men nodding to her too. But it was Roger she positioned herself next to. As I watched, their arms were almost touching.

I spun around in alarm to see where Charlotte was. She was still talking to the grey-haired woman. Sheila Hammond seemed to have disappeared.

‘So I thought – ha ha,' Jeremy was saying, ‘discretion being the better part of valour and all that …'

‘Yes, quite!' I chortled too, though I hadn't got a clue where we'd got to in the saga. I darted another glance over to where Roger's group were still talking, catching Charlotte's eye accidentally as I did so. She gave me a little wave and mouthed something. I wondered how I could get to talk to Hannah. I guessed I'd just have to wait till she went to the loo and follow. I looked again. She had a glass in her hand now, though by the look of it, it was only water.

Let's hope that wasn't all she was going to drink and she didn't have a cast-iron bladder that would last till she got home.

‘I hope you're looking after my friend, Jeremy.' Charlotte had appeared by my side. ‘And not leading her astray.'

‘Unfortunately not,' said Jeremy, with an expression of mock regret. ‘But we are having a delightful time. How are you darling?'

‘A little wine-depleted,' said Charlotte, holding up her empty glass. ‘And it looks as though Laura is too. Would you be a star …?'

She grinned as Jeremy headed for the bar. ‘He's all right, really,' she said. ‘If you don't mind all his bullshit. I notice he's on his own tonight so I think we can safely assume the latest woman has very sensibly dumped him. They never last very long. Can't think why.'

‘He's quite funny,' I said absent-mindedly, still looking at Roger. Was it my imagination or was that woman actually brushing against his sleeve now?

‘What's the matter? What are you staring at Roger for?' Charlotte asked suddenly.

‘I'm not!' I said quickly. ‘Actually, I was looking at that guy he's talking to – he, er, looks familiar – who is he? The one in the pink tie?'

‘Dunno,' said Charlotte dismissively. ‘Haven't seen him before. The other bloke is Tom their finance guy – he and Roger get on well.'

‘Is that his wife?' I asked innocently.

Charlotte shrugged. ‘No, Linda's over there. Don't know who she is either. One of the secretaries, I expect. They always seem to have a few new ones knocking about. Jeremy frightens the old ones off!' she added, as Jeremy returned carrying two white wines.

He laughed. ‘I can't help it if they all get the hots for me and fade away with unrequited desire,' he said smugly.

‘In your dreams.' Charlotte laughed too. They began reminiscing about the previous year's Christmas party and someone called Jeanette who'd dressed up as a reindeer and done something Jeremy had never fully recovered from when she'd got him behind the photocopier after too many Tia Marias.

‘Don't give me that! You couldn't believe your bloody luck,' Charlotte was saying. ‘Apparently she needed her stomach pumping …'

A waitress appeared with a tray of cheesy pastry squares and I took one. More people seemed to have arrived and there were now a large couple blocking my view of Roger and his gang. I craned my neck to see if they were all still there and caught sight of the back of Hannah's head. Damn it, I'd need a pee myself soon and I couldn't keep going. Still, it would be as well to find out where the loo was, so I was prepared.

I asked Charlotte, left her and Jeremy still running through past episodes of drunken debauchery, and went out of the room and along the corridor to the ladies.

It was empty. As I was washing my hands, the door opened and I braced myself, wondering what I would say if it were
her
. But another woman of about my age came in, smiled, and went into one of the cubicles. I put some more lipstick on in the big mirror and stuck a bit more gel on the spiky bits of my hair, which, miraculously, had gone into quite a pleasing shape tonight, and was just about to go out when the door opened again. It was Charlotte.

‘Wondered where you'd got to. You bored witless yet?'

‘No, not at all. I'm having a good time.'

Charlotte pulled a face. ‘You're easily pleased.'

She went into one of the cubicles. I waited, fiddling with my hair a bit more. It would be just my luck if Hannah came in now while Charlotte was in earshot. Though quite what I was going to say to her, I didn't know.
Leave my mate Roger alone or I'll scratch your eyes out?

‘I hope they bring out something a bit more substantial to eat soon,' Charlotte called, over the sound of flushing. ‘I've had all this wine and I'm starving. Still, at least Roger won't want to stay very late,' she said, as she came out and went to the basin. ‘Not if he's had to cuddle the same pint all night.'

As long as that's all he's cuddling, I thought darkly.

As we went back into the party room, I suddenly felt apprehensive. What
was
I going to say to Hannah? A waitress came up to us with a bottle in each hand.

‘Sorry,' I looked around. ‘I don't know where my glass is.'

As Charlotte went across the room to where some filled ones were still on a tray, I looked for Roger once more. Now there was only him and the guy Charlotte had said was Tom, leaning against the bar. Hannah had disappeared.
Shit.

‘Here you go,' Charlotte put a glass in my hand. ‘Now, where's the bloody food?'

I searched the room as if looking for it. I couldn't see Hannah anywhere.

‘I think I've left my lipstick in the loo,' I said. ‘I'll just go back and look.'

Charlotte nodded. ‘I'm going downstairs for a fag. Can't wait any longer. Linda!' She waved at a dark woman in a red dress. ‘Ciggie break?'

‘You be OK?' she asked me.

‘Yes, sure.'

‘Rog is over there, if you need him,' said Charlotte. ‘He'll look after you. Ah, here's someone for you to talk to.' I sighed inwardly as she pulled a smiley girl with long brown hair toward us. ‘This is Anji Perkins – she's one of us. Likes her wine and wants something decent to eat with it.'

Anji was very friendly, but I was only half listening to her as she regaled me with what a great cook Charlotte was and how, having spent nine years in Asia, she, Anji, even though she said it herself, made a mean curry …

Usually I'd have been fascinated – I like a good jalfrezi myself – but I was twitching to locate Hannah before Charlotte returned.

‘I'm so sorry,' I blurted out after a few minutes, ‘I've just got to …'