Fast Friends (4 page)

‘Well, that settles it,’ announced the fat woman,
addressing
Camilla as if she were a
schoolgirl once more. ‘If she’s your
friend you must go and see her, say
hello. It wasn’t two minutes
ago, after all.
Jessie and I’ll wait here for you and if you could
just ask her for a couple of autographs whilst you’re
there, for
our grandchildren, of course . .

If Roz was there, Camilla decided, she would bump into her
accidentally whilst in the process of choosing the violet silk
underwear set she had yearned for earlier. She
wished now, as
she entered the
lingerie department and glanced anxiously
around, that she hadn’t sent
what Jack had so scathingly termed the fan letter. It put her at something of a
disadvantage and a
chance meeting would have
been a much nicer way of re
acquainting herself.

And there –
less than ten feet away – was Roz.

Experiencing another jolt almost akin to an electric
shock,
Camilla stopped and stared for a
second at the slight, dark
figure she
remembered so well from fifteen years ago, even
more slender in the
flesh than she appeared on television and unfairly elegant in a white T-shirt,
tight flared jeans and a scarlet
fedora.
Then, every hastily laid plan rushing from her head as
the sheer pleasure of meeting her old friend again
took over, she flung her arms wide and called out: ‘Roz! I can’t believe
it
. . . how
are
you?’

In the
noisy, chaotic atmosphere of Vampires, Loulou reigned supreme. She often felt
that in her business life at least, she had
hit
the jackpot. The restaurant, which had started life as a wine
bar and become almost of its own accord a hugely
popular meeting and eating place, was her own. In the kitchen and
behind
the bars her staff worked like navvies, watched over by
her manager; all she
had to do was be there, the decoration on
the top of the cake,
doing what came naturally. Simply, the
more appallingly she treated her customers, the more they
loved it.

A beautiful, witty and extremely feminine version of the
late
Peter Langan. One journalist had
described her thus in an
upmarket national newspaper some years ago, and
trade had
doubled practically overnight.
Visitors to Vampires were insulted
if they weren’t insulted and Loulou,
who had been sacked from
thirteen office
jobs before she was twenty, usually for saying
what everyone else longed to but did not dare say, never failed
her
customers. It was all so easy, so enjoyable and so amazingly
profitable that she couldn’t understand why
everyone didn’t do
it. It hadn’t even
been too arduous sleeping for a fortnight with
the sleepy-eyed journalist before persuading him to run the
feature
in his newspaper.

‘
Take those terrible
things off this instant,’ she said sweetly
to a man in his thirties, fixing her gaze upon his green-and
white checked trousers, and amidst the noise at
the bar the
customers who had heard her command abruptly halted their
conversation and turned to stare at the offending
item of
clothing.

‘
Dammit, Lou. Why do
you always pick on me?’ protested
the man, lighting up a cigarette and
preparing to argue. Loulou pulled her ‘What can you do with an idiot’ face and
turned to address her other customers.

‘
OK, we’ll put it to the
vote. You lot don’t look as if you’ve
got an ounce of sartorial elegance
between you, so I’ll vote.
Trousers off. And
Tommy, as long as you continue to wear
hideous clothes, I’ll tell you to
remove them or get out. It’s that simple.’

Having dressed in anticipation of the event, Tommy
disposed
of his trousers to reveal tanned
legs and scarlet boxer shorts
with ‘Long Vehicle’ printed across the
front. Laughter erupted, several flash guns exploded (for Tommy, son of a
viscount, was
always newsworthy) and Loulou
took the opportunity to
announce that if Tommy walked into a wall with
an erection he
would most certainly break
his nose. It wasn’t true, of course, as she herself could testify, but neither
Tommy’s wife nor her
own present
boyfriend would be thrilled to hear it. Besides,
no-one came to Vampires
for compliments.

‘
Don’t do it, darling,’
she called across to a woman entering
the
bar with a too-trendily dressed younger man. ‘He’s only
after you for
your money. Never be
that
desperate . .

Busy abusing the woman – pink and white and turning pinker
by the second because she knew only too well that the loud accusations were
perfectly accurate – Loulou failed to spot the
entry of the two women until a long fingernail prodded her spine and she
swivelled round on her chair with a shriek of
outrage. Then she flung
her arms around Roz’s neck and yelled
even
more loudly, ‘You old tart, what on earth are you doing
here? Halloween isn’t until next week, for God’s
sake. Ah, and
I see you decided to bring your mother along.’ With
perfect
solemnity she clasped Camilla’s
unsuspecting hand and said,
‘So you’re the raddled old trout I’ve heard
so much about. Well,
we don’t do special
prices for pensioners, but since Roz is an
old pal I’ll stand you both a
drink.’

‘Lou,’ said Roz evenly, enjoying Camilla’s shell-shocked
expression, ‘you must remember Camilla Avery-Jones.
From
Elm House. We met quite by chance
in Harrod’s knicker
department this afternoon . .

And if I’ve
had to put up with her I don’t see why you
shouldn’t
suffer too, signalled her expression.

‘Of course!’ exclaimed Loulou, gazing with astonishment at
Camilla’s flushed face. ‘I do remember you
now. But my God,’
she added with deliberate slowness, ‘how you’ve
changed.’

But despite the pained look she had given Loulou, Roz was
intrigued. Camilla Stewart had mentioned in passing that her
husband’s name was Jack, and Roz, whilst
acknowledging that
his name was a relatively common one, was wondering
whether Camilla’s Jack could possibly also be hers.

‘
And you haven’t changed
at all,’ Camilla was gushing,
oblivious
to Loulou’s implied insult, as she hoisted herself on to
a bar stool. ‘I can scarcely believe it, bumping
into Roz like
that and now coming to Vampires and seeing you. This is
just
incredible, you couldn’t possibly
understand. I haven’t had such
a marvellous day for years!’

And it really had been a marvellous
day, she told herself
dreamily as she sipped a second glass of the rich, warm
Beaujolais
and gazed at the two of them, now deep in con
versation together. Roz, with her
striking dark looks, was
simply too glamorous for words and Loulou, with her waist-
length rippling blonde hair and
innocent eyes, looked like an angel. Between them they were capable of
intimidating
even
the most self-possessed person and Camilla experienced
a flush of pride, unselfishly
admiring them. She wasn’t in
their league – she knew that – but at least she was here,
with
them.

And she, at
least, had a husband.

That was it, she realized with excitement. All through
their
schooldays together, Roz and Loulou had
collected and care
lessly discarded
members of the opposite sex and the only
experience more embarrassing
than being excluded had been the times when they had offered her their
cast-offs. Now at least she was the one with a man of her very own, a handsome
one at
that, and she longed quite suddenly
and fiercely to show him
off to her two old school friends.

‘My husband and I are having a dinner party next week,’
she
said, reaching over and touching Roz’s
arm. ‘Will you come?
Both of you? We can’t simply lose touch again after
meeting up like this.’

Please, please say ‘yes’ she begged
silently, as Roz frowned.
It would show Jack too, that she hadn’t made a fool of herself
by writing to Roz. He would be
impressed, both with his wife
and her
glamorous school friends, and she would regain some of the self-respect which
had been eroding steadily away for years.

‘When?’ asked Roz, stalling for time, and Camilla thought
quickly.

‘
Monday.’ She guessed
it to be the night when they were most
likely
to be free, and Roz nodded slowly, glancing across
at Loulou to gauge her own response. Loulou
shrugged,
indicating that she was easy.

‘We’d be able to meet your family,’ said Roz, her
expression thoughtful. ‘What does your husband do, by the way?’

Camilla smiled happily. ‘He’s a broker, working in the
City. Yes, of course he’ll be there. You’ll like him, I’m sure.’

Incredible,
thought Roz. It
had
to be the same Jack Stewart.

‘
I’m sure I will,’ she replied, sipping her wine. To
herself she added: It rather seems as if I already do.

Jack had
phoned thirteen times so far, but Roz had left her answerphone running even
when she was at home, only picking
up calls
once she had established that they weren’t from him.
She was still
intrigued, but also a little angry with Jack. Always
priding herself upon
her honesty, it irritated her to realize that
he must have known that she and his wife had been to
school
together. Why else would he have
never even mentioned Camilla’s name? And why did he feel he had to keep it a
secret . . . surely he knew Roz well enough to
realize that it
would hardly make any difference to her? Yes, Jack’s
motives were definitely questionable, Roz decided. She might be amoral, but she
was never purposely deceitful and she was determined now to find out why Jack
had chosen to be so.

At six o’clock Camilla slumped down at the kitchen table. She
was
exhausted and Jack wasn’t being any help. All day she had been working in the
kitchen, preparing an elaborate four-course meal for ten guests, and half an
hour ago he had arrived home
from work in a
foul temper and had promptly disappeared into
his study.

So much for thinking that he would be
proud of her for arranging tonight’s dinner party and for inviting two such
illustrious guests, she thought sadly.
Instead he had reacted
almost
angrily when she had told him and all her happiness had seeped away, leaving
her wishing she had never even suggested
the
bloody party in the first place. If Jack was going to spend
the entire evening in a sulk he was hardly likely
to impress
either Roz or Loulou.

But the food did smell magnificent. In the steamy warmth
of
the kitchen the scent of the
boeuf
bourgignon
mingled with
the
comforting aroma of baking potatoes. And the seafood
cocktails, lined up
on the kitchen table looked so pretty on their
lettuce beds that surely no-one would be able to resist them. In
the fridge the creamy syllabub was all prepared. On
the shelf
above it sat the white marble cheeseboard, carefully wrapped in
Clingfilm so that the ripe Stilton and Brie wouldn’t
taint the
delicate flavour of the dessert.

Everything’s ready, thought Camilla. Except me.

Jack, stabbing at the phone for the
tenth time that day,
realized
that he was furious not only with Camilla but also with
Roz. She simply had to be playing one of her irritating games
with him, having guessed that Camilla was his
wife. He had
meant no harm by the small deception and now she was
clearly
angry with him for not letting her
in on the secret. By refusing
to
answer the phone she was making sure, as always, that she
had the upper
hand. What a bitch she was, leaving him to guess how she would handle the
situation.

‘Jack, can I come in? I need a hand with this zip.’
Camilla’s
voice followed the tentative tap
on the door and he suppressed
a fresh surge of irritation, remembering
that it was he, after all,
who had instructed
her always to knock before entering his
study. Dropping the phone back on to the hook, he rose to his
feet
and opened the door, coming face to face with Camilla’s effort to look less
like herself, more like Roz. It was, he thought
with a jolt of unexpected sympathy, like dressing a puppy up as
a lizard. Camilla’s voluptuous figure was
naturally suited to
pastel colours and lace, but, in her efforts to
streamline herself,
she had chosen a sharp,
ruthlessly tailored dress. Her dark
blond hair, which so suited her when
it curled loosely to her shoulders, had been scraped back into a chignon which
cruelly
emphasized the beginnings of a double
chin, and the soft blue
eye make-up she usually wore – on special
occasions only – had been replaced by less flattering shades of poison-ivy
green and rust brown.