Read Online What My Best Friend Did by Lucy Dawson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lucy Dawson
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leathery, mahogany, Hooray Henrys. It was like Eton does
Saga
magazine. Who the bloody hell goes on cruises these days anyway?”
I laughed. “Please don’t feel bad. It was very kind of you to fix it up for me in the first place.”
“Well, I tried,” she shrugged. “Still, we had a laugh anyway, didn’t we? And unlike the readership of that magazine, the night is still young. I need to make this up to you. Let’s go and grab a proper drink. I’m a member of a club not far from here.”
I hesitated. I’d never actually been to a private members’ club and, much as I didn’t want to be, was quite curious to see inside one. Then equally, our new Spanish flatmate was moving in later. But Tom was also a bit on edge, marching around talking firmly about getting off on the right foot, not giving an inch or sliding down a slippery slope, which all sounded exhausting. It would probably be better if I just stayed out of the way and let him deal with it. Anyway, a drink would be fun. Gretchen was certainly dressed for it, in an artfully cut midnight blue dress that I’d admired on sight. She was the perfect person to have a glamorous Friday-night drink with. It was nice to see her again.
“That,” I smiled, “sounds very good to me indeed.”
SEVEN
A t the club, Gretchen found us a table with two deep armchairs and ordered us a couple of cocktails. I looked around discreetly. It didn’t really look that much different from a nice bar, except there were more people staring furiously at laptop screens and some very good-looking and attentive bar staff. There was also a quiet air of excited expectation, but that might just have been me.
“So,” said Gretchen. “Tell me what’s new with you. What interesting jobs have you got coming up? My agent loved the LA shots you did, by the way. She said you did some work for some of the gossip mags—inside Surrey footballers’ houses, that kind of thing. That must have been … an experience.” She kicked her shoes off easily, curled her legs under her, took a sip of her drink and waited eagerly.
“That’s one way of putting it,” I said, remembering the monogrammed carpet and outdoor infinity pool the couple were determined to pose in, although they almost went blue it was so cold. “That was just a one-off really, as a favor to a friend. I do quite a lot of studio stuff too.”
“Do you do any of the fashion mags?” She sipped her drink.
“I’ve done some of them, yeah. Not so much since I’ve gone out on my own, but one or two. They’re all completely mad.” I shook my head and sat back in my seat comfortably.
“I’ll bet.” She laughed. “Quite cliquey too, I’d imagine.”
“I can see how they’d appear that way,” I said, thinking about it, “but it’s mostly because they’re—”
Before we could continue, a couple of men wandered over to us, completely ignored me and said excitedly, “Hiiiiii, Gretch! You coming to the party in a bit?”
“Oh, who’s having one?” she said interestedly, sitting up like a meerkat and peering over my shoulder.
“Not entirely sure”—the man wrinkled his nose—“but Daniel Craig is supposed to be coming, so who gives a fuck? Want me to stick you on the list?”
Feeling a bit like Cinderella, I reached for my drink, annoyed with myself for minding that I wasn’t invited to a party that, until three seconds ago, I hadn’t even known existed.
“Yeah, why not. Could be good for a giggle,” said Gretchen. “Alice’s surname is Johnston.” She nodded at me pointedly, forcing them to acknowledge me too.
“Cool.” The blokes smiled at me vaguely before drifting off.
“It’ll probably be crap,” Gretchen said conspiratorially, “these things usually are, aren’t they? But we could have a couple more here and then go over and see if we can damage Daniel.” She reminded me a bit of Vic when she said that. Was it the glint of mischief in her eye? Or maybe it was because sitting
Saga
magazine. Who the bloody hell goes on cruises these days anyway?”
I laughed. “Please don’t feel bad. It was very kind of you to fix it up for me in the first place.”
“Well, I tried,” she shrugged. “Still, we had a laugh anyway, didn’t we? And unlike the readership of that magazine, the night is still young. I need to make this up to you. Let’s go and grab a proper drink. I’m a member of a club not far from here.”
I hesitated. I’d never actually been to a private members’ club and, much as I didn’t want to be, was quite curious to see inside one. Then equally, our new Spanish flatmate was moving in later. But Tom was also a bit on edge, marching around talking firmly about getting off on the right foot, not giving an inch or sliding down a slippery slope, which all sounded exhausting. It would probably be better if I just stayed out of the way and let him deal with it. Anyway, a drink would be fun. Gretchen was certainly dressed for it, in an artfully cut midnight blue dress that I’d admired on sight. She was the perfect person to have a glamorous Friday-night drink with. It was nice to see her again.
“That,” I smiled, “sounds very good to me indeed.”
SEVEN
A t the club, Gretchen found us a table with two deep armchairs and ordered us a couple of cocktails. I looked around discreetly. It didn’t really look that much different from a nice bar, except there were more people staring furiously at laptop screens and some very good-looking and attentive bar staff. There was also a quiet air of excited expectation, but that might just have been me.
“So,” said Gretchen. “Tell me what’s new with you. What interesting jobs have you got coming up? My agent loved the LA shots you did, by the way. She said you did some work for some of the gossip mags—inside Surrey footballers’ houses, that kind of thing. That must have been … an experience.” She kicked her shoes off easily, curled her legs under her, took a sip of her drink and waited eagerly.
“That’s one way of putting it,” I said, remembering the monogrammed carpet and outdoor infinity pool the couple were determined to pose in, although they almost went blue it was so cold. “That was just a one-off really, as a favor to a friend. I do quite a lot of studio stuff too.”
“Do you do any of the fashion mags?” She sipped her drink.
“I’ve done some of them, yeah. Not so much since I’ve gone out on my own, but one or two. They’re all completely mad.” I shook my head and sat back in my seat comfortably.
“I’ll bet.” She laughed. “Quite cliquey too, I’d imagine.”
“I can see how they’d appear that way,” I said, thinking about it, “but it’s mostly because they’re—”
Before we could continue, a couple of men wandered over to us, completely ignored me and said excitedly, “Hiiiiii, Gretch! You coming to the party in a bit?”
“Oh, who’s having one?” she said interestedly, sitting up like a meerkat and peering over my shoulder.
“Not entirely sure”—the man wrinkled his nose—“but Daniel Craig is supposed to be coming, so who gives a fuck? Want me to stick you on the list?”
Feeling a bit like Cinderella, I reached for my drink, annoyed with myself for minding that I wasn’t invited to a party that, until three seconds ago, I hadn’t even known existed.
“Yeah, why not. Could be good for a giggle,” said Gretchen. “Alice’s surname is Johnston.” She nodded at me pointedly, forcing them to acknowledge me too.
“Cool.” The blokes smiled at me vaguely before drifting off.
“It’ll probably be crap,” Gretchen said conspiratorially, “these things usually are, aren’t they? But we could have a couple more here and then go over and see if we can damage Daniel.” She reminded me a bit of Vic when she said that. Was it the glint of mischief in her eye? Or maybe it was because sitting
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