Read Online The Next Best Thing by Sarah Long - Free Book Online

among the Amerindians. It was fascinating to watch him — he still had an irresistible effect on women, a magnetism that
Jane remembered all too well from their own early days. ‘It’s a need with me, Ali,’ he was saying, his eyes on a level with her flat chest, ‘to get beyond the pedestrian, to
test myself to the limits.’
    The model nodded down at him. ‘I know what you mean. I always say to myself, come on Ali, you really could look even better, just give it all you’ve got.’
    Will looked insulted by the comparison. Scowling into a camera was hardly on a par with his own spiritual journey to the heart of another culture, He carried on regardless. ‘As I was
saying only the other evening to David Hare, most people in our society can’t see beyond their couple. They get locked into their little lives, can’t see that there’s a
fascinating world out there . . .’
    ‘I’m single at the moment actually,’ she interrupted him. ‘I’ve got a few issues to deal with before I enter another relationship.’
    Would the bloody woman not shut up and let him finish? ‘Whereas I strive constantly to explore, to under stand, to recognise that I am just a tiny cog in the greater scheme of
things,’ he continued. ‘In essence I suppose you could say my work is an exercise in humility . . .’
    Jeremy cut across him. ‘What exactly arc your issues, Ali?’ he asked, unable to resist the scent of psychobabble.
    Ali jumped at the chance to talk about herself and her problems. ‘Oh, eating issues for one,’ she said. ‘You’ve always got them if you’re a model; and then
I’ve got confidence issues, of course, but I do feel I’m becoming stronger . . .’
    Jane caught Will’s eye and smiled sympathetically. She knew he couldn’t stand the language of personal growth. But Will frowned and turned instead to talk across to Roland, by now
dangerously red in the face.
    Jane was rescued by the man with the twirly moustache. ‘I understand you’re in the translation game?’
    This was her chance to talk herself up a bit, make herself sound fascinating. Instead she took the easy option of turning things back to him.
    ‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘And I would guess you’re an artist of some kind, judging from your appearance.’
    Twirly gave a dismissive gesture to his velvet jacket and floppy bow tie. ‘Might as well look the part. I’m a novelist, actually. Do you translate fiction?’
    ‘No, I don’t do literary. I’m more on the practical reference side. Less scope for misinterpretation.’
    Dull, dull, dull, she thought. He gave her a pitying nod.
    ‘I know it’s a bit of a poor relation,’ she apologised. ‘Will can be rather cruel about it actually. You know, if you can’t do, teach. If you can’t write,
translate.’
    ‘Oh rubbish,’ said Twirly, unconvincingly, ‘we must each do what we can.’
    ‘Well, yes. I used to have an office job, but I wanted to change to something I could do from home so I could be there for my daughter.’
    She saw his interest waning and was annoyed with herself. Everyone knew it was social suicide to start on about your kids as if you had nothing else to talk about.
    The model broke away from Jeremy to join their conversation. She clearly had the concentration span of a flea. ‘Don’t you find it boring working at home?’ she said.
‘It’s a bit nerdy, isn’t it, all by yourself. I’d be watching Kilroy all the time. Or Trisha. Mind you, I could never be a translator, I’m useless at
languages.’
    ‘I work at home too,’ said Jeremy, ‘keeping myself gorgeous for Roland, and let me tell you, that is a full-time job.’
    ‘With splendid results,’ said Twirly, his eyes feasting on Jeremy’s biceps bulging out of his tight little tee shirt. ‘Give us your secrets, Jeremy, I might make you a
character in my next novel.’
    Jeremy settled back in delight at this invitation to hold forth on his favourite subject. ‘Jojoba oil,’ he