Twenties Girl (25 page)

“Lara.” He turns to me. His face is confused and his eyes are a little glassy. Has he been taking drugs or something? “I think we should go dancing.”

“What?” I peer at him, perplexed.

“I think we should go dancing.” He nods. “It would be a perfect way to round off the evening. It just came to me out of the blue.”

I don’t believe it.
Sadie
.

I whirl around on the pavement, searching the darkness, and suddenly spot her, floating by a lamppost.

“You!” I exclaim furiously, but Ed doesn’t even seem to notice.

“There’s a nightclub near here,” he’s saying. “Come on. Let’s have a quick dance. It’s a great idea. I should have thought of it before.”

“How do you know there’s a nightclub here?” I retort. “You don’t know London!”

“Yeah, right.” He nods, looking a bit flummoxed himself. “But I’m pretty sure there’s a nightclub down that street.” He gestures. “Down there, third left. We should go check it out.”

“I’d love to,” I say sweetly. “But I must just make a call. There’s a conversation I need to have.” I direct the words meaningfully at Sadie. “If I don’t have this conversation, I
won’t be able to dance.”

Sulkily, Sadie descends to the pavement, and I pretend to punch a number into my phone. I’m so angry with her, I almost don’t know where to start.

“How could you just leave me like that?” I spit in an undertone. “I was completely lost!”

“No, you weren’t! You did very well. I was watching.”

“You were
there?”

“I felt rather bad,” says Sadie, looking distantly over my shoulder. “I came back to see if you were all right.”

“Well, thanks a lot,” I say sarcastically. “You really helped. And now what’s all this?” I gesture at Ed.

“I want to dance!” she says with defiance. “I had to take extreme measures.”

“What have you done to him? He looks shell-shocked!”

“I made some … threats,” she says evasively.

“Threats?”

“Don’t look at me like that!” She suddenly rounds on me. “I wouldn’t need to if you weren’t so selfish. I know your career’s important, but I want to go dancing! Proper dancing! You
know
I do. That’s why we’re here. It’s supposed to be my evening. But you take over and I don’t get a look in! It’s not fair!”

She sounds almost tearful. And suddenly I feel bad. It
was
supposed to be her evening, and I did kind of hijack it.

“OK. You’re right. Come on, let’s go dancing.”

“Wonderful! We’ll have such a good time. This way …” Her spirits restored, Sadie directs me through some tiny Mayfair streets I’ve never been down before. “Nearly there … Here!”

It’s a tiny place called the Flashlight Dance Club. I’ve never heard of it. Two bouncers are standing outside, looking half asleep, and they let us in, no question.

We descend a set of dim wooden steps and find ourselves in a large room carpeted in red, with chandeliers, a dance floor, a bar, and two guys in leather trousers sitting morosely at the bar. A DJ on a tiny stage is playing some JLo track. No one’s dancing.

Is this the best Sadie could find?

“Listen, Sadie,” I mutter as Ed goes up to the neon-lit bar. “There are better clubs than this. If you really want to dance, we should go somewhere a bit more happening—”

“Hello?” A voice interrupts me. I turn to see a slim, high-cheeked woman in her fifties, wearing a black top and gauze skirt over leggings. Her faded red hair is up in a knot, her eyeliner is crooked, and she looks anxious. “Are you here for the Charleston lesson?”

Charleston lesson?

“I’m so sorry,” the woman continues. “I suddenly remembered we had an arrangement.” She stifles a yawn. “Lara, is it? You’re certainly wearing the right clothes!”

“Excuse me.” I smile, haul out my phone, and turn to Sadie.

“What have you done?” I mutter. “Who’s this?”

“You need lessons,” Sadie says unrepentantly. “This is the teacher. She lives in a little room upstairs. Normally the lessons are during the day.”

I stare at Sadie incredulously. “Did you wake her up?”

“I must have forgotten to put the appointment in my diary,” the woman is saying as I turn back. “It’s not like me—thank goodness I remembered! Out of the blue, it came to me that you would be waiting here.”

“Yes!” I shoot daggers at Sadie. “Amazing, the powers of the human brain.”

“Here’s your drink.” Ed arrives by my side. “Who’s this?”

“I’m your dance instructor, Gaynor.” She holds out her hand and Ed takes it, looking bewildered. “Have you always been interested in the Charleston?”

“The Charleston?” Ed looks mystified.

I feel a bit hysterical. The truth is, Sadie always gets her way. She wants us to dance the Charleston. We’re going to dance the Charleston. I owe it to her. And it might as well be here and now.

“So!” I smile winningly at Ed. “Ready?”

The thing about the Charleston is, it’s more energetic than you realize. And it’s really complicated. And you have to be really coordinated. After an hour, my arms and legs are aching. It’s relentless. It’s worse than my Legs Bums and Tums class. It’s like running a marathon.

“And forward and back…” the dance instructor is chanting. “And swivel those feet …”

I can’t swivel my feet anymore. They’re going to fall off. I keep confusing right and left and bashing Ed in the ear by mistake.

“Charleston … Charleston …” The music is tripping along, filling the club with its peppy beat. The two leather-trousered guys at the bar have been watching in a silent stupor since we started the lesson. Apparently dance lessons are quite common
here in the evenings. But everyone wants to learn salsa, according to Gaynor. She hasn’t given a Charleston lesson for about fifteen years. I think she’s quite chuffed we’re here.

“And step and kick … wave your arms … very good!”

I’m waving my hands so hard I’m losing sensation in them. The fringes on my dress are swishing back and forth. Ed is doggedly crossing his hands back and forth over his knees. He shoots me a quick grin as I look at him, but I can tell he’s concentrating too hard to talk. He’s quite deft with his feet, actually. I’m impressed.

I glance over at Sadie, who’s dancing in bliss. She’s amazing.
So
much better than the teacher. Her legs are twinkling back and forth, she knows a zillion different steps, and she never seems to get out of breath.

Well. She doesn’t have any breath, let’s face it.

“Charleston … Charleston …”

Sadie catches my eyes, grins, and throws back her head in rapture. I guess it’s been a long time since she’s sparkled on the dance floor. I should have done this before. I feel really mean now. We’ll do Charleston dancing every night from now on, I resolve. We’ll do all her favorite twenties things.

The only trouble is, I’ve got a stitch. Panting, I head to the side of the dance floor. What I need to do is to get Ed to dance with Sadie. The two of them alone. Somehow. Then I really will have made her evening.

“OK?” Ed has followed me off.

“Yes. Fine.” I mop my brow with a napkin. “It’s hard work!”

“You’ve done very well!” Gaynor comes over to us and, in a sudden show of emotion, clasps our hands in turn. “You’re very promising, the pair of you! I think you could go far! Shall I see you again next week?”

“Er … maybe.” I don’t quite dare look at Ed. “I’ll call you, shall I?”

“I’ll leave the music on,” she says enthusiastically. “You can practice!”

As she goes, hurrying across the floor with her little dancer steps, I nudge Ed.

“Hey, I want to watch you. Go and dance on your own for a bit.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Go on! Please! You can do that one-two thing with your arms. I want to see how you do it. Please …”

Rolling his eyes good-humoredly, Ed heads out on the floor.

“Sadie!” I hiss, and gesture at Ed. “Quick! Your partner’s waiting!”

Her eyes widen as she realizes what I mean. In half a second she’s out there, facing him, her eyes lit up joyfully

“Yes, I’d love to dance,” I hear her saying. “Thank you so much!”

As Ed starts swinging his legs back and forth, she synchronizes with him perfectly. She looks so happy. She looks so right. Her hands are on his shoulders, her bracelets are glittering under the lights, her headdress is bobbing, the music is fizzing along, it’s like watching an old film—

“That’s enough,” says Ed suddenly with a laugh. “I need a partner.” And to my dismay, he barges right through Sadie, toward me.

I can see the shock on Sadie’s face. As she watches him leave the floor, she looks devastated. I wince, wishing so hard he could see her, that he knew….

“I’m sorry,” I mouth at Sadie as Ed drags me onto the floor. “I’m really sorry.”

We dance awhile longer, then head back to the table. I can’t help feeling exhilarated after all that effort, and Ed seems in pretty good spirits too.

“Ed, do you believe in guardian angels?” I say on impulse. “Or ghosts? Or spirits?”

“No. None of the above. Why?”

I lean forward confidentially. “What if I told you that there’s
a guardian angel in this very room who fancies the pants off you?”

Ed gives me a long look. “Is ‘guardian angel’ a euphemism for ‘male prostitute’?”

“No!” I splutter with laughter. “Forget it.”

“I’ve had a good time.” He drains his glass and smiles at me. A full-on, proper smile. Crinkled eyes, uncreased brow, everything! I almost want to shout “Geronimo! We got there!”

“So have I.”

“I didn’t expect to end the evening like this.” He looks around the little club. “But it’s … great!”

“Different.” I nod.

He rips open a bag of peanuts and offers it to me, and I watch him as he crunches them hungrily. Even though he’s looking relaxed, the frown lines are still faintly etched on his brow.

Well, no wonder. He’s had a lot to frown about. I can’t help feeling a rush of pity for him as I think about it. Losing his fiancée. Coming to work in a strange city. Just getting through life, week after week, without enjoying it. It was probably really good for him to come dancing. It was probably the most fun he’s had in months.

“Ed,” I say on impulse. “Let me take you sightseeing. You should see London. It’s criminal that you haven’t. I’ll show you around. At the weekend sometime?”

“I’d like that.” He seems genuinely touched. “Thanks.”

“No problem! Let’s email.” We smile at each other, and I drain my sidecar with a slight shudder. (Sadie made me order it. Totally revolting.)

Ed glances at his watch. “So, are you ready to go?”

I glance over at the dance floor. Sadie’s still going strong, flinging her arms and legs around with no sign of flagging. No wonder all the girls in the twenties were so skinny.

“Let’s go.” I nod. Sadie can catch up with us when she’s ready.

We head out into the Mayfair night. The street lanterns are on, mist is rising from the pavements, and nobody’s about. We head to the corner and after a few minutes flag down a couple of cabs. I’m starting to shiver, in my skimpy dress and threadbare cloak. Ed ushers me into the first taxi, then pauses, holding the door open.

“Thanks, Lara,” he says in that formal preppy way he has. I’m actually starting to find it quite endearing. “I had a good time. It was … quite a night.”

“Wasn’t it!” I adjust my diamanté cap, which has fallen lopsided with all the dancing, and Ed’s mouth twitches with amusement.

“So, should I wear my spats for sightseeing?”

“Definitely.” I smile. “And a top hat.”

Ed laughs. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever heard him laugh. “Good night, twenties girl.”

“Good night.” I close the door and the taxi roars off.

SEVENTEEN

ext morning I feel a bit dazed. Charleston music is ringing in my ears and I keep having flashbacks to being The Great Lara. The whole thing feels like a dream.

Except it’s not a dream, because Clare Fortescue’s résumé is already in my in-box when I arrive at work. Result!

Kate’s eyes are like saucers as I print out the email.

“Who on earth’s this?” she says, poring over the résumé. “Look, she’s got an MBA! She’s won a prize!”

“I know,” I say nonchalantly. “She’s a top, award-winning marketing director. We networked last night. She’s going on the Leonidas Sports short list.”

“And does she
know
she’s going on the short list?” says Kate in excitement.

“Yes!” I snap, flushing slightly. “Of course she does.”

By ten o’clock the list has been finalized and sent off to Janet Grady. I flop back in my chair and grin at Kate, who’s staring intently at her computer screen.

“I’ve found a picture of you!” she says. “From the dinner last night.
Lara Lington and Ed Harrison arrive at the
Business People
dinner.”
She hesitates, looking puzzled. “Who’s he? I thought you were back with Josh.”

“Oh, I am,” I say at once. “Ed is just … a business contact.”

“Oh, right.” Kate is gazing at her computer screen, a little dreamily. “He’s quite good-looking, isn’t he? I mean, Josh is too,” she amends hastily. “In a different way.”

Honestly, she has no taste. Josh is a million times better-looking than Ed. Which reminds me, I haven’t heard from him for a while. I’d better call, just in case his phone has gone wrong and he’s been sending texts and wondering why I haven’t been answering.

I wait until Kate has gone to the bathroom so I have a little privacy, then dial his office.

“Josh Barrett.”

“It’s me,” I say lovingly. “How was the trip?”

“Oh, hi. It was great.”

“Missed you!”

There’s a pause. I’m pretty sure Josh says something in response, but I can’t quite hear.

“I was wondering if your phone was going wrong?” I add. “Because I haven’t received any texts from you since yesterday morning. Are mine getting through OK?”

There’s another indistinct mumble. What’s wrong with this line?

“Josh?” I tap the receiver.

“Hi.” His voice suddenly breaks through more clearly. “Yeah. I’ll look into it.”

“So, shall I come over tonight?”

“You can’t go tonight!” Sadie appears out of nowhere. “It’s the fashion show! We’re getting the necklace!”

“I know,” I mutter, putting my hand over the receiver.
“Afterward
. I have a thing first,” I continue to Josh. “But I could come around ten?”

“Great.” Josh sounds distracted. “Thing is, I’ve got a work bash tonight.”

More
work? He’s turning into a workaholic.

“OK,” I say understandingly. “Well, how about lunch tomorrow? And we can take it from there.”

“Sure,” he says after a pause. “Great.”

“Love you,” I say tenderly. “Can’t wait to see you.”

There’s silence.

“Josh?”

“Er … yeah. Me too. Bye, Lara.”

I put down the phone and sit back. I feel a bit dissatisfied, but I don’t know why. Everything’s fine. Everything’s good. So why does it feel like there’s something missing?

I want to call Josh back and say, “Is everything OK, do you want to talk?” But I mustn’t. He’ll think I’m obsessing, which I’m
not;
I’m just thinking. People are allowed to think, aren’t they?

Anyway. Whatever. Move on.

Briskly, I log on to my computer and find an email waiting in my in-box from Ed. Wow, that was quick off the mark.

Hi, twenties girl. Great evening last night. Re: your corporate travel insurance. Might want to look at this link. I’ve heard they’re good. Ed

I click on it and find a site offering reduced insurance rates for small companies. That’s just like him: I mention a problem once, and he instantly finds a solution. Feeling touched, I click Reply and briskly type an email:

Thanks, twenties guy I appreciate it. Hope you’re dusting off your London guide. PS: have you demonstrated the Charleston to your staff yet?

Immediately an answer pops back.

Is this your idea of blackmail?

I giggle and start browsing online to find a picture of a dancing couple to send him.

“What’s funny?” says Sadie.

“Nothing.” I close down the window. I won’t tell Sadie I’m emailing Ed. She’s so possessive, she might take it the wrong way. Or, even worse, start dictating endless emails full of stupid twenties slang.

She starts reading the
Grazia
that’s lying open on my desk and after a few moments orders me: “Turn.” This is her new habit. It’s quite annoying, in fact. I’ve become her page-turning slave.

“Hey, Lara!” Kate comes rushing into the office. “You’ve got a special delivery!”

She hands me a bright pink envelope printed with butterflies and ladybugs, with
Tutus and Pearls
emblazoned across the top. I rip it open, to find a note from Diamanté’s assistant.

Diamanté thought you might like this. We look forward to seeing you later!

It’s a printed sheet with details about the fashion show, together with a laminated card on a chain, reading
VIP Backstage Pass
. Wow. I’ve never been a VIP before. I’ve never even been an IP.

I turn the card over in my fingers, thinking ahead to this evening. Finally we’ll get the necklace! After all this time. And then—

My thoughts stop abruptly. Then … what? Sadie said she couldn’t rest until she got her necklace. That’s why she’s haunting me. That’s why she’s here. So when she gets it, what will happen? She can’t…

I mean, she won’t just…

She wouldn’t just
… go
?

I stare at her, suddenly feeling a bit weird. This whole time, I’ve only been focused on getting the necklace. I’ve lost sight of what might happen
beyond
the necklace.

“Turn,” says Sadie impatiently, her eyes avidly fixed on an article about Katie Holmes. “Turn!”

• • •

In any case, I’m resolved: I’m not letting Sadie down this time. The minute I see this bloody necklace, I’m grabbing it. Even if it’s around someone’s neck. Even if I have to rugby-tackle them to the floor. I approach the Sanderstead Hotel feeling all hyped up. My feet are springy and my hands are ready to snatch.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” I mutter to Sadie as we walk through the bare white lobby. Ahead of us, two skinny girls in miniskirts and heels are heading toward a pair of double doors decorated with swags of pink silk and butterfly helium balloons. That must be it.

Nearing the room, I see a babble of well-dressed girls milling around, knocking back glasses of champagne while music thuds gently. There’s a catwalk running through the center of the room, with a net of silver balloons strung above it, and rows of silk-swagged chairs.

I wait patiently as the girls ahead of me are ticked off, then I step forward to a blond girl in a pink prom dress. She’s holding a clipboard and gives me a chilly smile. “Can I help you?”

“Yes.” I nod. “I’m here for the fashion show.”

She scans my top-to-toe black outfit dubiously. (Pencil trousers, camisole, little cropped jacket. I chose it especially because all fashionistas wear black, don’t they?) “Are you on the list?”

“Yes.” I reach for my invitation. “I’m Diamanté’s cousin.”

“Oh, her cousin.” Her smile becomes even more frozen. “Lovely.”

“In fact, I need to talk to her before the show; do you know where she is?”

“I’m afraid Diamanté’s tied up—” the girl begins smoothly.

“It’s urgent. I really, really do need to see her. I’ve got this, by the way.” I brandish my VIP backstage pass at her. “I could just go hunting. But if you could locate her it would help. …”

“OK,” the girl says after a pause. She reaches for her teeny
jewel-encrusted phone and dials a number. “Some cousin wants to see Diamanté; is she around?” She adds in a barely concealed murmur, “No. Never saw her before. Well, if you say so…” She puts her phone away. “Diamanté says she’ll meet you backstage. Through there?” She points down the corridor to another door.

“Go ahead!” I instruct Sadie in a whisper. “See if you can find the necklace backstage! It must be easy to spot!” I follow a guy with a crate of Moët down the carpeted corridor and am flashing my VIP backstage pass at a bouncer when Sadie reappears.

“Easy to spot?” she says, her voice trembling. “You must be joking! We’re never going to find it!
Never!”

“What do you mean?” I say anxiously as I walk in. “What are you—”

Oh no. Oh bloody hell.

I’m standing in a large area filled with mirrors and chairs and hair dryers blasting and the chatter of makeup artists and about thirty models. They’re all tall and skinny, slouching on their chairs or milling around talking on their mobile phones. They’re all wearing skimpy diaphanous dresses. And they’re all wearing at least twenty necklaces piled high around their necks. Chains, pearls, pendants … Everywhere I look there are necklaces. It’s a necklace haystack.

I’m exchanging horrified looks with Sadie when I hear a drawling voice.

“Lara! You came!”

I wheel around to see Diamanté teetering toward me. She’s wearing a tiny skirt covered in love hearts, a skinny vest, a studded silver belt, and patent stiletto shoe boots. She’s holding two glasses of champagne, and she offers one to me.

“Hi, Diamanté. Congratulations! Thanks so much for inviting me. This is amazing!” I gesture around the room, then take a deep breath. The important thing is not to seem too desperate or needy. “So, anyway.” I aim for a light, casual tone. “I have
this huge favor to ask you. You know that dragonfly necklace that your father was after? The old one with the glass beads?”

Diamanté blinks at me in surprise. “How d’you know about that?”

“Er … long story. Anyway, it was originally Great-Aunt Sadie’s, and my mum always loved it and I wanted to surprise her with it.” My fingers are crossed tightly behind my back. “So, maybe after the show I could … er … have it? Possibly? If you didn’t need it anymore?”

Diamanté stares back at me for a few moments, her blond hair streaming down her back and her eyes glazed.

“My dad’s a fuckhead,” she says at last, with emphasis.

I stare at her uncertainly until the penny finally drops. Oh, great. This is all I need. She’s pissed. She’s probably been drinking champagne all day.

“He’s a fucking … fuckhead.” She swigs her champagne.

“Yes,” I say quickly. “He is. And that’s why you need to give the necklace to me.
To me
,” I repeat, very loudly and clearly.

Diamanté’s swaying on her shoe boots, and I grab her arm to steady her.

“The dragonfly necklace,” I say. “Do-you-know-where-it-is?”

Diamanté turns her face to survey me a minute, leaning so close I can smell champagne and cigarettes and Altoids on her breath.

“Hey, Lara, why aren’t we friends? I mean, you’re cool.” She frowns slightly, then amends, “Not cool, but … you know. Sound. Why don’t we hang out?”

Because you mostly hang out in your massive villa in Ibiza and I mostly hang out in the wrong end of Kilburn? Maybe?

“Er … I dunno. We should. It’d be great.”

“We should get hair extensions together!” she says, as though seized by inspiration. “I go to this great place. They do your nails too. It’s, like, totally organic and environmental.”

Environmental hair extensions?

“Absolutely.” I nod as convincingly as I can. “Let’s definitely do that. Hair extensions. Great.”

“I know what you think of me, Lara.” Her eyes suddenly focus with a kind of drunken sharpness. “Don’t think I don’t know.”

“What?” I’m taken aback. “I don’t think anything.”

“You think I sponge off my dad. Because he paid for all this. Whatever. Be honest.”

“No!” I say awkwardly. “I don’t think that! I just think … you know …”

“I’m a spoiled little cow?” She takes a gulp of champagne. “Go on. Tell me.”

My mind flips back and forth. Diamanté’s never asked me for my opinion before, on anything. Should I be honest?

“I just think that …” I hesitate, then plunge in. “Maybe if you waited a few years and did all this on your own, learned the craft and worked your way up, you’d feel even better about yourself.”

Diamanté nods slowly, as though my words are getting through to her.

“Yeah,” she says at last. “Yeah. I could do that, I suppose. ’Cept it would be really
hard.”

“Er … well, that’s kind of the point—”

“And then I’d have an obnoxious
fuckhead
of a dad who thinks he’s bloody God and makes us all be in his stupid documentary … and nothing in return! What’s in it for me?” She spreads her skinny tanned arms wide. “What?”

OK. I’m not getting into this debate.

“I’m sure you’re right,” I say hastily. “So, about the dragonfly necklace—”

“You know, my dad found out you were coming today.” Diamanté doesn’t even hear me. “He called me up. He was, like, what’s she doing on the list? Take her off. I was like, fuck you! This is my fucking first cousin or whatever.”