The Importance of Being Married (34 page)

“He’s having a party,” she said, frowning curiously as if surprised I didn’t know.

“Oh, I see.” I looked at her uncertainly.

“Of course we’re going,” another girl said. It could have been Saffron, but then again, it could have been Meg, Charlotte, or Clare, too. “I mean, we’re not staying here all night.”

She met my eye and looked slightly sheepish. “We’d love to, of course,” she added quickly. “But you know, we can’t desert poor Henry.”

“Of course not,” I said levelly. “You go to his party just as soon as you want.”

“So, gorgeous,” Anthony said, appearing behind me. “Are you all getting on famously?”

“Absolutely,” I said, suddenly feeling guilty for my last comment. Maybe Henry had been planning his party for months, after all.

“I’m so pleased. But I knew you would. My best friends and my best girl!”

I smiled weakly.

“So,” Tatiana said, smiling brightly at me. “Tell me the truth, Jess. Are you pregnant? How many months? You can’t be more than five months. I mean, you’re not showing much at all. Still, I imagine you’re already searching for an idyllic country house to live in where your sprogs can run around to their hearts’ content. I mean you can’t bring up children in London, can you?”

I stared at her in disbelief. “Pregnant? I’m not pregnant.”

“And we’re not moving to the country. I hate the country, as you know,” Anthony said at the same time.

“You’re not pregnant?” Tatiana regarded me suspiciously. “But I thought…I mean, when Anthony told us…It just seemed likely that…”

“That I was up the duff?” I asked hotly, turning to Anthony indignantly. “And what do you mean you hate the country?”

He grinned benevolently at me. “Isn’t Tats hysterical?” Then he turned to her. “’Fraid there are no buns in the oven, and we’re not moving anywhere. It was just a whirlwind romance.”

“
Whirlwind
is certainly one word for it,” Tatiana said archly. “I thought you were seeing that other girl anyway. What was her name?”

“No, no one else,” Anthony said quickly, putting his arm around me and pulling me away. “Come on, Jess, there’s more people for you to meet.”

“Do you really hate the country?” I asked tentatively, as he pulled me toward a thin, balding man with very large glasses.

“Absolutely loathe it,” he said, grinning. “It’s muddy and you can’t get anything delivered.”

“But if we had a big house,” I said, thinking of Grace. “Would you maybe live there then?”

“Not in a million years,” Anthony said, winking. “But look, come and meet Ian. Ian, this is Jess. Jess, this is Ian. Old friend from way back when. Works for the
News of the World,
but don’t hold it against him. Now, let me get you a drink, Jess. Champagne?”

I nodded, and Anthony disappeared. I looked at Ian hesitantly. He was wearing a suit with wide lapels—he was either very cool and wearing them ironically or very square and unaware that fashion had changed since 1970. I couldn’t decide which.

“So, Anthony tells me you’ve hired the Park Lane Hilton?” he asked. He nodded as he spoke, reminding me of a puppet.

“Um, yes, that’s right,” I said. “So, you work for the
News of the World.
What sort of stuff do you cover?”

Ian smiled, nodding again. It was almost hypnotic, I thought as I watched him. “Celebs, mainly. You know, pop star caught with her knickers ’round her ankles, that sort of thing.”

“Right.” I smiled uncertainly. “Well, that must be…interesting.”

“Not really,” Ian said, shrugging. “But it’s where the money is, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” I asked. I found that I was nodding, too, now. Any minute now we were going to crash into each other.

“Er, yes. That’s what I just said,” Ian said, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“Of course. Sorry.” I looked at him for a few seconds, waiting for him to say something else, but then I realized that he was waiting for me, only I had nothing to say and now it was too late anyway.

“So,
News of the World,
” I said weakly.

“Yeah. Well, lovely meeting you. And good luck with everything,” Ian said, nodding violently as he turned and fled. This, I thought desperately, was why I never went to parties.

Suddenly a drink arrived in my hand. “Darling! Where’d Ian go?”

Anthony put his arm around me and I relaxed into his shoulder. “Ian? Oh, he…he had to go and talk to someone,” I said, smiling as brightly as I could.

“How very rude. Now, you’ve met Fenella, haven’t you?”

I shook my head. “Not yet. Is she here?”

“You haven’t met Fenella? Oh, you have to. Stay here—I’m going to get her.”

“No,” I said, slightly too quickly. “I can meet her later. Why don’t we talk a bit?”

“Rubbish. You’re going to love her,” Anthony said, winking. “Wait right here.”

Immediately he disappeared into the throng. Five minutes later, when he hadn’t returned, I decided to go in search of him. It didn’t take me long—he was up at the bar, drinking champagne. “God, I was going to find Fenella for you, wasn’t I? I’m so sorry. Got waylaid by…” He looked down at his glass sheepishly. “By this. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I said quickly. I felt hurt—my cheeks were red and my hair was beginning to frizz at the roots. “I don’t need to meet her now anyway. Let’s just stay here. I’ll grab a stool.”

“Perfect.” Anthony grinned. “You come and sit next to me. Jessica Wild. The future Mrs. Milton. So how are the wedding preparations going, anyway? Do we need to have a stand-up row about the way the napkins are folded?”

I laughed, forgetting my frizz for a moment. “Actually I’m not sure either of us will have a choice. I rather think Fenella’s going to be telling me how they’re going to be folded.”

“Marvelous. That’s one argument averted. Using Party Party Party is really an investment in our future, wouldn’t you say?”

I nodded. He hadn’t realized I was joking. Not that it mattered, I told myself. Seconds later a suited man launched himself on Anthony. “Anthony? Oh, it is you. Wondering where you were hiding. Look, come and meet Gareth, the guy I was telling you about.”

Anthony shot me a
what-can-you-do?
look and stood up. “Richard, have you met Jessica? My fiancée?”

The man held out his hand to shake mine. “Great to meet you. Congratulations. Really great stuff.” Then he turned back to Anthony. “He’s over in the corner. Really wants to meet you.”

They wandered off, and I turned back to the bar. Not the worst place to be, I decided. I could do with a drink, after all.

“Jess!”

I looked up reluctantly; it was Marcia. “Great party,” she said, smiling. “Are you having a great time?”

“Oh, great,” I said, nodding purposefully. “Really great.”

“He’s a great guy, Anthony. You’ve done really well for yourself.”

I nodded thoughtfully; Marcia frowned. “What’s up?” she asked curiously. “You’re not having doubts, are you?”

I shook my head. “No. God no. I just…His friends. This girl, Tatiana, thought I was pregnant. Thought that was why…”

“Tatiana?” Marcia’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t listen to her. She’s just a jealous old shrew.”

“You know Tatiana?” I asked curiously.

Marcia blanched slightly. “I’ve come across her. You know. At parties.” Parties, I found myself thinking. Did everyone in the whole world spend their time at parties?

“Jess! There you are!” Helen exclaimed, appearing in front of me suddenly. “We were wondering where you’d gotten to.”

Marcia looked her up and down. “Well, I’d better go and mingle,” she said, shooting me a little smile. “See you later.”

Helen watched her leave then looked at me, one eyebrow raised. “Don’t tell me. Marcia?” she asked.

“Marcia,” I confirmed, putting my drink down. “She’s actually okay when you get to know her. So, having fun?”

Helen shrugged. “I guess. Ivana and Sean are having an argument about something and I’ve just been propping up the bar really. So who are all these people anyway? Do you work with all of them?”

I turned to stare at the crowd. There were a few faces I vaguely recognized—one or two creatives, a few clients I’d seen in the lobby of Milton Advertising.

“Well, that’s Ian,” I said eventually, pointing him out.

“The short bald one who looks like a Weeble?” Helen asked, raising an eyebrow.

I giggled. “Okay, well, um…” I pointed out a couple of creatives, and Gillie. “And that’s Tatiana,” I concluded. “She’s a friend of Anthony’s. She thinks I look five months’ pregnant.”

“Bitch.” Helen frowned in Tatiana’s direction, then held up her hand. “There’s Max!” she said, waving at him. I looked up and reddened slightly as he caught my eye and walked toward us.

“Jess.” He nodded. “And it’s Helen, right?”

She nodded and smiled rapturously. He turned back to me. “So, pleased with the party?”

He was smiling, but it wasn’t his usual crinkled smile—it was his formal, meeting-with-clients smile.

“Sure,” I said. “It’s great.”

“I’m glad.” He looked at Helen, his eyes narrowing. “So, Helen. You’re the flatmate, right?”

Helen nodded flirtatiously; immediately Max’s eyes started to twinkle. “
Murder, She Wrote,
” he said, grinning. “That was you, right?”

Helen nodded and giggled. “I was watching it purely in the name of research, you understand,” she said. “I work in television, you see.”

“Television. How interesting. What field?”

I found myself frowning. Television wasn’t
that
interesting.

“Well I was a researcher on
Watchdog
for a couple of years, then I worked on this documentary series that told stories about Londoners, then I worked on this diet program.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m resting,” Helen said, grinning. “You know, waiting for the right job to come along.”

“Hence the watching of television during the daytime. Sounds like a very sensible way to spend your time!”

His eyes were still twinkling, I noticed. It was almost as though he were flirting. With Helen. I’d never seen Max flirt before. He’d certainly never flirted with me.

“Max is the deputy managing director of Milton Advertising,” I found myself saying. “He set up the firm with Anthony.”

“Really?” Helen asked, her mouth opening slightly in a way that I suddenly found very irritating. “Wow, so you’re a real entrepreneur, then?”

Max shrugged. “Hardly.”

“In Russia, we only call someone entrepreneur if they multimillionaire,” Ivana said, suddenly appearing out of nowhere.

“Which confirms my point,” Max said immediately. “I’m just a guy who works in advertising, that’s all.”

“Jess, please stop talking about work,” Helen said, rolling her eyes. “Honestly, this is your engagement party, not an office do. Max, tell her to lighten up, will you?”

Max looked slightly perplexed for a moment, then grinned. “You’re absolutely right, Helen,” he said seriously. “And it’s entirely my fault. So why don’t you tell us about your ideal job in television?”

Helen opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, a tall, leggy brunette suddenly came rushing up and grabbed her. Her tousled mane trailed down her back and hit me in the face as she passed me.

“Jess?” she asked Helen, batting long false eyelashes caked in mascara. She was wearing a pale pink dress that showed off long tanned limbs, and her long, manicured nails matched her dress perfectly. “Is that you? God, I knew you’d be gorgeous. Everyone is so jealous, and so they should be.” She pulled Helen toward her and kissed her on both cheeks. “Fenella. Fen. So pleased to finally meet. Anthony sent me over—so rude of me not to have met you on the door, I know, but you have no idea how many balls I’m juggling here. Now, we must get a date in the diary soonest—so much to go over. I’ve got some fabulous ideas, some quite off the wall, but now I’ve seen you I just know you’re going to love them…”

“Actually,” Helen said, managing to extricate herself from Fenella’s vise-like grip, “I’m Helen. Jess’s friend.”

“Helen?” Fenella looked at her uncomprehendingly and flicked her hair, which again landed on my face; I stepped back. “But Anthony pointed at you. He told me to come over—”

“I expect he was pointing at me,” I interrupted politely.

Fenella frowned; at least she tried to—her forehead didn’t move an inch but her face did take on a slightly vexed look.

“At Jess,” Helen said, looking at me pointedly.

“At…” The penny seemed to drop and Fenella slowly turned back to me, sweeping her hair as she did so and this time hitting Max. “Jess!” she exclaimed, her voice rising several octaves, a huge smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes plastered across her face. “God, how awful. Bad mistake. Well, great to meet you, too.” She kissed me, a little too vigorously, on both cheeks and we stared at each other awkwardly for a few seconds. “So, look,” she said eventually, “I won’t bore you with the same spiel. Just so great to meet you. And same goes. Coffee, soon,” she said, seriously. “Lots of things to talk about. Really going to be”—she looked me up and down—“great. Just, you know, fabulous. Oh, you’ll be such a…blushing bride. You must be the happiest girl in the world right now. And so you should be. Must dash now…” She shot one last disappointed look at Helen, then wandered off into the throng, leaving me staring after her silently.