Seductive Viennese Whirl (25 page)

She starts to say something, but I'm suddenly impatient to get started.

"Can't talk now," I say, scurrying into the bathroom and start to run my bath. I take out my dog shampoo and conditioner. Because you haven't got hair like mine, you won't have a clue how excited I am, at the prospect that I may no longer have to spend an hour combing out my tangled mane every evening if I don't want to wake up with hair the consistency of a Brillo pad.

I gulp as I unscrew the cap of the shampoo. I inhale deeply of its apricot scent. Magic in a bottle. I'm as excited as I was the first time I received a letter from Alex. All tingly and breathless. I tear off my clothes and climb into the bath.

Lots of love,

Gherkin

The Canter Agency

28 - 32 Greek Street

London W1 5UJ

England

November 19 2011

Dear Egg,

Today it takes forever to get Eva out of bed. I even have to pick out her clothes for her. This is getting a bit ridiculous, I'm thinking, as I walk down Trumble Road with her dawdling behind. But as we turn into Camden High Street I perk up as I notice that some of the bus shelters are carrying the new McManus ad.
My
ad.

I get this weird kick as I stop to look at the image, of a perfect looking model with creamy skin, naked save for a white fur coat, sitting astride the deer. The male model's standing behind a roulette wheel, holding a game pie up in front of her mouth. The girl, sporting an expression of sexual abandon, takes a big bite while gravy runs down her chin. I suppose you're wondering what a deer's doing in a casino, but ask Simon, he came up with the concept. Something about surrealism superimposed with sensuality. As far as I'm concerned it's a case of art imitating life. I smile as I think of what I must have looked like on that stuffed deer's back, that night I first met Sten.

"Pretty impressive, huh?" I say to Eva, but she just shrugs.

"It's just an ad," she replies, going into Pret à Manger and ordering a cappuccino.

At the office there's a great swell of people outside the entrance. It's the animal rights lot again. Don't they ever give up? Some are dressed in combat trousers and torn t-shirts with piercings in their noses, but quite a lot of them are well dressed, with great haircuts. One of them is wearing the same glittery Karen Millen jumper I got on sale a few weeks back. When I got it home I realized, too late, that it made me look like a sausage wrapped in foil. But this woman, tall and stunning with long blonde hair, looks like the fairy on top of the Christmas tree. Anyway, I digress. The point is, they're all waving placards proclaiming, ‘Fur is Murder.'

The Karen Millen woman blocks my progress. "We at AGFURA find it an absolute outrage …" she says in a posh voice, but I intercept her with:

"AGFURA? Never heard of it."

"The Anti Game Fur Alliance. We're furious about the new McManus Pie ad," she says, "because it condones killing mink to make coats. If I ever get my hands on the people who created this ad, I won't be responsible for my actions. I mean, just who do they think they are? Some people have absolutely no social conscience. It's all about the almighty dollar to them."

"Last time I looked we were still using pounds," I say with a smile, pushing past her.

One of the pierced women chips in with, "The Scottish faction of AGFURA is camped outside McManus' Estate. We're determined to get these ads banned, you see if we don't."

"Oh, right. Well, good luck," I say cheerfully and pull Eva past the horde. She keeps her head down. I think she's scared they're going to recognize her from that photo of her at a charity hunt that appeared in
Hello
! But, to tell the truth, even I wouldn't recognize her. She had her hair all up in a hat and jodhpurs and was peering down from a horse.

"Hi there girls," says Sparky as we get into the office.

"What a bunch of crazies," Eva says, shaking her head.

"Oh them," she says. "They were here yesterday too. Seen the papers, have you?" She holds up page six of the Sun. The photograph is grainy but there's no doubt that the sunburnt figure rubbing lotion into a naked woman's back is McManus.

"Give me that," Eva says, grabbing the paper out of Sparky's hands.

"Eh, I want that back, I haven't read my horoscope yet."

Eva sits down at her desk and starts reading the article. I peer over her shoulder and read that McManus is currently in Jamaica, at an exclusive resort called The Moonflower. Guests at the hotel have complained at McManus' perpetual drunkenness, and propensity for singing loudly outside their windows. His companion is the actress Lola Hemmings.

"What an idiot," Eva mutters.

But before I can get past the first paragraph the Haddock has crept up and pulled the paper out of Eva's hands.

"Oh no, not the
Sun
too," she says giving a shudder. Then she glances at me. "Kate, if I could have a quick word in my office."

I trail after her and once she shuts the door she sits down and sinks her face into her hands. Her face is ashen and there are purplish shadows under her eyes.

"I've tried to contact Mark at the Moonflower but he's not returning my calls."

"Oh, right. What are you going to do about that lot outside?"

"I'm not absolutely sure. Right now I'm more worried about having an unruly client whose antics might damage the reputation of the agency."

"Was there something you wanted to talk to me about?" I haven't a clue what she's got me in here for. If she wants to let off steam why doesn't she just bother Briony?

"Mark hasn't been the same since Eva dumped him." So she'd known they were dating all along, the sly minx.

"If you must know it was the other way round, so don't go blaming Eva."

"Whatever. Mark was a damn site more reliable when he was sober and seeing her. Isn't there some way they can patch it up?"

"I don't think so. Do you mind if I push off, I've got some work I should be getting on with?" The Haddock's really beginning to freak me out. She's being way too nice.

"Actually, I wanted to talk about your performance at the dog show. I suppose you're going to tell me you had nothing to do with the stall collapsing?" That's more like the Haddock I know and hate.

"Well, since you mention it, I didn't."

I can't help wondering what on earth's going on with the Haddock. Her skin is all dry and chalky while her hair looks utterly fabulous, thicker than usual, and all bouncy and lustrous.

She shakes her head, disbelieving. "Well, try and pull yourself together, please, I don't need this sort of incident recurring again. You seem to have a problem keeping out of trouble."

Suddenly it's all so clear to me. I scream, "You're the fucking problem." Actually, I don't. Instead I scurry out the door, go to the chocolate machine and eat a bag of Peanut M&Ms. And then another. And as I'm chowing down on the chocolate I'm wondering, if the Haddock's the problem, then what's the solution?

After a nightmarish day at work (it was extremely irritating being accosted by the Karen Millen woman and her gang every time I left the office) I make the decision to work off my alarming levels of stress at the gym.

I haven't been to the gym in a while. Okay, I'll come clean. The first time I went was also the last. The next day my inner thighs ached so badly I was walking bow legged. It took me a week to get over it. And then what with one thing and another I never seemed to have the time. But I guess when people start thinking you're pregnant it's definitely time to give it another whirl.

When I brush past Doreen at reception she doesn't recognize me and asks me if I want to become a member. The cheek of her. I flash my member's card and she acts like she remembers me, but I can tell she doesn't.

But when I look at myself in the mirror in the changing rooms I realize that I barely recognize myself. Because the dog shampoo actually worked! My hair's all detangled and gleaming, just like, well, just like a dog's coat.

I get undressed, put on my swimsuit and decide that I'll start off with a nice sauna. Ooh that feels good, I think, leaning back on the hot wood. I can see a few legs poking through the steam, but no faces.

"I can cut you a great deal," says a man's voice with a cockney twang.

"I'm not sure, really I'm not. I'm clear out of cash," replies an upper crust woman, as I watch the Smuckbecker twins emerge from the smog. Before I can get to grips with that shock I notice that the Weasel is sitting beside them. When he sees me his face lights up.

"Kate!" he cries, coming over and sitting beside me. There are little beads of perspiration clinging to his chest hair and he smells of a mixture of cedarwood aftershave and fresh sweat. Quite delicious. I know I should just get the hell out of there but my loins are all atremble as he leans in and says, "It's great to bump into you. I've been meaning to apologize about the other night." Other night? The man has a peculiar concept of time since we slept together, ooh, what was it now,
eleven
months ago. "Falling asleep like that, in the middle of it. I've never done that before, on my mother's life."

Well that's all right then, isn't it?

I look at the Smuckbeckers who are staring around the sauna like they're fascinated by the knots on the Scandinavian pine cladding. This is extremely embarrassing. Sweat is dripping down my face and my hair is itching my scalp. What I really want to do is run.

"I was caning it just a little bit too hard that night. I hope you don't blame yourself. I think you're absolutely gorgeous. I phoned you a few times, to see if you fancied going out again. Guess Eva never passed on the message? So, how about it? You and me, getting together sometime?"

"I'm not sure I'm free at the moment. Got a lot of work on. I tend to work late, weekends, you know how it is," I say, smiling in the direction of the Smuckbeckers.

"Sorry, let me introduce you. Poppy and Citronella."

"Actually, we know eachother. They're clients of mine." The Smuckbeckers nod in my direction. They're as embarrassed as I am.

My mind is ticking over. How on earth does the Weasel know Poppy and Citronella? I can't imagine they move in the same circles.

"Well Poppy," the Weasel says eventually, when it's clear there isn't going to be any cheerful banter to fill the heavy silence. "Don't want to rush you or anything, but I need to be on my way, if you get my drift."

"Absolutely," says Poppy, nudging Citronella while the Weasel slips out of the door. "Let's get going Nella, you look a bit red. I don't want you fainting on me."

"But I feel perfectly fine. Besides, we only just got here."

Poppy grabs Citronella's arm and yanks her up.

"What? Oh Poppy, that's mean. You really hurt me." She rubs her meaty arm.

Well well well, isn't Poppy the dark horse. It seems that she wants to pretend to me that Citronella and her just happen to be leaving, when it's obvious Poppy's gagging to have a private chinwag with the Weasel.

"Well, great to see you again," says Poppy, hiking up her towel and plastering a grin on her face. "Super work on the frozen yoghurt campaign."

Citronella, bless her, still doesn't know what's going on, so Poppy pulls her up. In the process Citronella drops her towel, exposing a body as pink and wobbly as blancmange.

Grabbing the towel, Citronella gets down on all fours and starts scrambling about on the floor. "Oh Poppy, I think one of my contacts just fell out."

Poppy's face sets into a grimace. She bites her lip and her eyes almost pop out of her skull with fury and impatience. Then she rushes off after the Weasel.

I crawl around with Citronella trying to find the contact, but it's very steamy in and I know we haven't got a snowflakes chance in hell of finding it. All the time I'm wondering if Poppy and the Weasel have got a thing going. If so, I wish them all the best. But why then is he so keen to go out on a date with me again?

Not worth thinking about.

"I think it's a lost cause, I'm afraid."

"Thanks anyway," she says, trailing out despondently.

I stay in the sauna for as long as I can stand it. When I finally emerge, skin shrivelled as a prune, I grab a quick shower and tip toe past the juice bar where the little trio is gathered. Citronella, her hair tangled around her flushed moon face, munches on a brownie. Meanwhile, the Weasel is leaning in to Poppy, who is, as usual, immaculately finished, pearls in ears, blouse with a collar so tight it seems to be cutting off her blood supply.

None of them notice me as I whisk past towards the exit. Or else the Weasel probably wouldn't have lifted something from his inside pocket, which he places into Poppy's outstretched hand. A clear bag of white powder.

Interesting. The Weasel supplies Poppy with coke. Uptight Poppy, with her Alice bands and funny looking blouses. Who would have thought it? Thinking back to that time at The Blue Room, he probably supplies Lola too. He probably supplies the whole of the West End. Maybe that's why he's keen to get back in touch. He's probably rubbing his hands now at the prospect of a new client.

But you know what Egg? I've already decided I've had enough of London, enough of the Weasel, of the Haddock and our grotty flat. The only thing that's given me any happiness these past few months is Alex's letters. I can't help it, I want to see him again. I don't care if he is Eva's. I wrote those letters didn't I? And he responded. That's got to count for something, hasn't it?

It's only once I get on the Tube that I realize I didn't actually get to do my workout. I guess I was so wierded out by seeing the three of them in the sauna that it slipped my mind. As I'm walking down Camden High Street I notice that the AGFURA people have been busy. All the McManus ads at the bus shelters have been defaced.

Yes, London has definitely defeated me. I think it's time to take a little trip, don't you?

Love,

Gherkin

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