Read Online What My Best Friend Did by Lucy Dawson - Free Book Online

while we—”
    “—were in the hot tub and Gretchen made a toast to surrealism,” finished Vic before I could say anything. “You said. So backtrack a bit. What do you mean, Tom said about getting married? That’s huge! What did you say?”
    “Nothing really. It’s not huge at all, I promise. It felt like it was at first, but it’s not. He didn’t ask me to marry him, he hinted he intended to ask me—there’s a big difference. You know what he’s like, Vic, he was just getting his knickers in a bit of a financial knot. All he actually said was we ought to think about getting a place together because it would be a good time for us to try and buy, and that I shouldn’t worry about anything going wrong, because it wasn’t going to.” I yawned. “I think the jet lag is starting to catch up with me.”
    “Still, he said the actual M word?”
    “Yes,” I admitted. “But in a forecasting sort of way.”
    “Oh. Well I won’t buy my hat just yet then. Dear old Tom—always doing things by the book. So. What have you got coming up in the next few days? Any other interesting jobs?”
    “Not really.” I considered. “Gretchen’s got a brother who is a travel writer and, apparently, might know some people who could put some stuff my way. She said she’d call me. She probably won’t though—I think it was one of those things you say on a trip like that and don’t actually mean.”
    There was a silence.
    “Hello?” I said. “Vic? You still there?”
    “Yup,” she said eventually.
    “There’s a hell of a time delay on this line,” I said. “Do you think I should call her? Or would that look like I was hustling?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “You’d really like her you know, Vic—she’s very funny.”
    “She sounds a hoot.”
    Right on cue my mobile, which was lying on the sofa next to me, began to ring.
    “Oh my God!” I said in surprise, catching sight of the name on the phone. “You’re not going to believe this, but that’s actually her calling me now! I’d better take it. Can I call you back?”
    I quickly hung up and grabbed my mobile.
    “Alice?” said a bright voice. “It’s Gretchen Bartholomew.”
    “Hello!” I exclaimed happily. “How was your flight back?”
    “Oh great, thanks,” she said. “Couple of movies, nice glass of champagne and the most fantastic foot massage I think I’ve ever had. I’d marry Richard Branson if he weren’t already taken …and didn’t have hair like Aslan. Not that it was actually him who did the foot massage, of course.”
    “I kind of got that.” I smiled.
    “So how was your journey? It’s such a shame we were on different flights.”
    I thought of the stinky bloke who’d sat next to me, exuding such potent curry fumes from every pore on his body, I’d subtly asked to move, and then had to suffer the embarrassment of the hostess coming back and saying, “There are no free seats, I’m afraid. I can get you a blanket to wrap around your head though, if the smell”—she nodded at the man—“gets much worse?”
    Horrified, I’d looked at the man, who had stared, deeply insulted, back at me. It had been an uncomfortably long eleven hours in every sense.
    “It was OK,” I said to Gretchen.
    “Good! Now, I spoke to my brother and he told me about some luxury travel magazine launch party he’s been invited to. He’s away though, so he can’t go, but I thought it might be right up your alley … I’ve got my agent to wangle us two invites. It’s next Friday night at the Dorchester. You free?”
    It turned out I was. Very. I called Vic back excitedly to tell her, but she didn’t pick up—probably Doctor Luc had just got home from work. A luxury travel magazine! Tom had been right: good things were waiting just around the corner!
    “Well, I’m just so sorry,” Gretchen said in the back of the taxi, smoothing out her skirt as she crossed her legs and flicked an invisible spot from her very high heels. “What a bunch of