Name & Address Withheld (24 page)

But when you are kissing your man you should be a million miles away from your shopping list. Remember that first time? Those teenage kissing marathons? When the world stood still until you had finished? Granted, the only other potentially pressing concerns were probably homework and curfews—both of which were better off forgotten. But as you get older achieving good sex is all about focusing your mind. If you are a man there is no other way. In order to be victorious on the pitch, on the sofa or under the duvet you need to be concentrating one hundred per cent on the job in hand, in utero, etc. etc….

Lizzie was back on track. It was 7:00 p.m. and still sunny. The clocks had changed. Even the air in Putney was smelling sweeter. Summer was round corner and her self-esteem was on its way back from its spring break.

A couple of glasses of Chilean Chardonnay over lunch in the uncharacteristically warm April sunshine and Rachel was feeling quite sentimental about life. A cocktail of alcohol and UV rays was all it took. Everything seemed to be coming together. Saint Will of Battersea was working his magic, plus she was finally getting Matthew back where he belonged. Only now did she realise how much she’d missed her anchor, and his reluctance had made him all the more desirable. This time she’d appreciate the people around her. She smiled to herself. Lizzie Ford was a lifesaver.

Rachel leant back in her chair and re-read the e-mail on her screen. She hovered above the ‘send’ icon before letting her mouse give it the go-ahead. It was a bit more gushing than she usually felt comfortable with, but daytime drinking had definitely softened her edges.

Dear Lizzie

Haven’t heard from you in ages. Needless to say you’ve been busy helping people round the clock, but this isn’t business—instead, hopefully, it’s a bit of plea
sure, and no less than you deserve. I want to invite you round for dinner. Before you say no, I promise I’m not a psycho-stalker. I’d just really appreciate the chance to say thank you in person for all your advice and support.

Everything you suggested seems to have worked, and you really helped me to understand how my husband’s mind was working when I hadn’t got a clue. Oh, God, reading this back again, this is so not me. Gush, gush, gush. If anyone I work with saw this they’d think I was suffering from an overdose of
Oprah
. But I bet you don’t get lots of thank-yous.

Anyway, I would really like Matthew to meet the woman who has given us another chance at being happy. I can clear most evenings next week—just let me know when would be good for you.

Look forward to hearing from you soon.

Yours, Rachel x

Lizzie was in her inbox and her heart was pounding in her chest as it concentrated on pumping all her blood to her temples in a hopeless attempt to blur her vision and prevent her from reading the message in front of her. Pulse thumping, she read the e-mail again. Just to make sure.

And then she woke up…

No, she was awake already. Awake, dressed and breathing. Why couldn’t it all have been a dream instead of a living nightmare? How could Lizzie contemplate dinner in Turnham Green? Yet how she could turn Rachel down without emigrating or befalling a tragic accident and losing her memory?

In the absence of an answer Lizzie employed pure ostrich tactics and ignored the invitation. When, bored with waiting, Rachel started e-mailing suggested dates, Lizzie side-stepped each and every one, concocting a spurious cocktail of last-minute work engagements. After several days of procrastination, having drafted several versions of varying apology and
in the absence of Clare’s spectacular sounding board properties, Lizzie finally got the balance right.

Rachel

Apologies for the delay in getting back to you but I’ve been rushed off my feet at this end.

Efficient, but not brusque enough to arouse suspicion. Lizzie knew she could do this convincingly.

Thanks for your kind invitation for dinner. I’m very flattered, but for many reasons I think it would be best to take a raincheck. General busyness aside, the magazine does have a policy which strongly discourages me from meeting my readers in person on a social basis. I’m really glad that things are going well for you and Matthew. It’s all part of the service.

Yours, Lizzie

She read it back. Perfect. What a relief for her readers and listeners that she was better at her job than she was at managing her own life.

Never underestimate the power of a grateful career woman. Lizzie was at home, answering yet more letters, when her editor at
Out Loud
called the same afternoon.

‘Darling. How’s my favourite columnist doing?’

Lizzie was concerned. Susan never rang her at home. She didn’t see the point. After all, that was—she believed—what having e-mail and a PA was all about. Lizzie sensed an impossible deadline on the horizon.

‘Fine, thanks.’

‘Listen, I won’t keep you from your work. I’m sure you’re up to your armpits in dreary heartache, as usual, and far be it from me to get in the way of you helping people who can’t help themselves.’

Despite all the spin to the contrary, churned out by the press
office, compassion for the general public was not something that oozed from her editor.

‘How can I help?’

‘Well, I’ve just had a conversation with the most charming woman. It’s restored my faith in our readers. She wasn’t a fuckwit at all…’

Lizzie smirked as Susan flouted every convention of political correctness.

‘She’s got just the reader profile we want. Anyway, she’s so pleased with you and your advice that she wants to invite you round for dinner.’

‘Really?’

Lizzie’s stomach lurched. She’d been outplayed.

‘Yes—and by the sound of her I think it’ll be quite a decent dinner at that. She says that she’s already asked you by e-mail but that you’re being all professional about mixing business with pleasure.’

If only Susan knew quite how unprofessional she’d been. Lizzie mumbled something about confidentiality clauses and anonymity but was soon interrupted.

‘Anyway, I was just calling to say that there’s no reason why you shouldn’t go. It’s not like you get lots of perks in this job, is it? You know I’m always impressed by your professional attitude, but for God’s sake lighten up. Take some of your own advice and be cool, chill out, whatever… Where was I? Oh, yes—this woman…what was she called…I wrote it on a Post-it here somewhere… Jesus… Why is it you can never find these things when you want them? I am practically drowning in paper. God knows why I have the only PA in the country who is allergic to filing… You wouldn’t believe how messy my desk is… Got it… Yes, this woman… Rachel, I think my writing says…yes, Rachel…seems genuine and charming and—well, normal in a you and I, PLU sort of way.’

Lizzie flinched involuntarily. She hated all these ‘in’ acronyms. Especially when they meant ‘People Like Us’. If it was a time-saving thing, it didn’t take much longer to say all three words, but more importantly it was the smug middle class inference that really got to her. Them and Us. Fine if you
were a Shark or a Jet, a Greaser or a Soc, or even a Capulet or a Montague. Not fine if you ran a magazine and lived in Notting Hill. Plus Lizzie resented the fact that Susan thought that she and Lizzie were in the same bracket.

‘Look, she only wants a chance to say thank you, and it’s not like she’s offering you a suitcase full of used twenty-pound notes or a stolen Cartier wristwatch, is it?’

Lizzie couldn’t help but laugh at this latest analogy. She liked Susan. She might at times be a veritable caricature of herself, but at least she was consistently eccentric and her heart was usually in the right sort of place.

‘No…I suppose not. Thanks.’

Lizzie thought she should at least try and sound grateful.

‘Anyway, in case you’ve been turning down dinner invitations by the handful, this particular fan is called Rachel Baker and I promised her that you’d be in touch soon. I’ve got her work number here.’

‘OK. I’ve got a pen…’

Lizzie went along with the charade of writing it down, even though it was part of the autosignature at the bottom of every e-mail that Rachel had sent her. How on earth was she going to get out of this one now?

‘One more thing, Liz…’

‘Yup?’

‘Well, I was sort of thinking—if this woman is as nice as she sounds on the phone maybe we should be thinking about running a feature on the two of you. She told me earlier that she’d never imagined she’d ever consult an agony aunt. An article might encourage more people like her to write in.’

More people. Looking at the postal debris creatively piled around her study, Lizzie didn’t feel that she was short of letters. As for an article—no way was she going to advocate that all members of the West London Love Triangle be featured on one double-page spread.

‘I don’t think Rachel would be interested. Dinner’s one thing, but I don’t think she’s told anyone that she wrote to me so I can’t see her baring all. In some ways she’s quite a private person.’

‘Well, maybe we could just use her first name and use a model for the shoot? We could even try for an interview with the husband instead…’

Lizzie refused to be rattled. She couldn’t be bothered to argue this one out now. It wasn’t happening, but she didn’t feel the need to antagonise Susan by being quite so apparently difficult right now this minute.

‘Thanks for calling with that. I’d better get on, or you won’t have next week’s column by the end of tomorrow.’

‘Marvellous. I loved “Life has more dimensions if you have oestrogen”. Genius. But I guess that’s what we pay you for. Keep up the good work. Maybe I’ll run into you in the office soon? I always seem to be in meetings when you’re here. Maybe it’s time we had a lunch?’

‘That would be great.’

‘Excellent. Give Bridget a call. My expanding waistline is testament to the fact that she is better at booking restaurants and co-ordinating lunches than she is at filing. Speak to you soon. Bye.’

‘Bye.’

Lizzie had been cornered. As she was discovering to her dismay, Rachel had the determination and focus to succeed in every area of her life provided she put her mind to it.

A flurry of e-mails ensued, and it seemed she’d agreed to a date in about three weeks’ time. She still had a few more weekends to dream up excuses, but it seemed that yet again fate wasn’t on her side. She must have really fucked up in a previous life. Surely it was someone else’s turn now?

chapter 20

R
achel applied a second coat of lipstick. It was only another magazine launch, but if things went according to plan she would finally get to meet the elusive Lizzie Ford.

She marvelled at Lizzie’s modesty. Modesty was a quality that she aspired to add to her repertoire one day. People always had more admiration for people who kept their trumpets hidden enigmatically from view, but Rachel always found herself blowing hers after a few drinks. She could try and dress it up as reaction to a deep-seated insecurity, but she knew that if she was being honest she was just a bit of a show-off. She couldn’t bear other people taking the credit for her achievements, and just batting her eyelashes and saying ‘it was nothing really’ seemed like a bit of a waste of time. Why be demure when you could be direct? She was her own life coach, marketing manager and spin doctor rolled into one.

Rachel made her way to the bar and perched on a stool with the launch issue of
Blue
. If Lizzie didn’t show up tonight then she’d persuade Matt to take her out for dinner after a few free cocktails. It was a no-lose situation.

Matt listened to his voicemail message one more time and sighed at no one in particular as Rachel’s excited tones radiated from his speakerphone. There it was again—a quickfire delivery of directions and instructions. There didn’t appear to be a ‘no’ option and, as he hadn’t been sitting at his desk when she’d called, now he’d have to go.

He rummaged in his bottom drawer for his sparkling wit. As he gulped down a couple of mouthfuls of vodka with a mouthwash chaser he could feel his body waking up. He turned the volume up on his computer and forced himself to jig about to a couple of dance anthems at his desk. Wednesday night. Party time. He was ready.

Lizzie could tell the party was already in full swing before the lift doors opened on the sixth floor of the Kensington Roof Gardens. The oasis of calm had been transformed, at undoubtedly vast expense, for the launch of
Blue
, and if she was to believe the call she’d received a few days ago from her very excitable agent, Robyn Summers, they wanted to sign her up when her contract at
Out Loud
expired.

Going to suss out the opposition all seemed a bit cloak and dagger to Lizzie, and she was sure that Susan Sharples wouldn’t have been thrilled to find her on the guest list of this particular party, but after a firm arm-twist from Robyn, who could obviously sense a greater percentage hitting her coffers, she had promised to make an appearance and check them out.

Lizzie was under no illusions about her negotiating skills. In a world of sharks and charlatans she was a serious loyalty case and had never been very good at the cut and thrust of playing hard to get or selling herself to the highest bidder—a failing of hers both in and outside of the business arena. She’d learnt the hard way in her first few relationships, but when it came to her professional life she was relieved to have the pecuniary Robyn Summers at hand. The bigger Lizzie’s deal, the more Donna Karan Robyn could have in her wardrobe, and there was no harm in doing a bit of window-shopping and nowhere better to start than Kensington.

If Lizzie had been blindfolded and dropped into the party by helicopter she reckoned she’d have been able to guess the magazine title in a matter of seconds. Blue was the theme—right down to the garish cocktails that were being mixed. She took her complimentary launch pack and made a beeline for the nearest barman.

She hadn’t taken more than a couple of sips from her outsize blue glass of wine when a beautiful dark-haired woman swept up to her and embraced her like a long-lost friend. Her mind went into free fall as it tried to link voice and face. She was normally quite good with the latter, and she was almost certain that she had never set eyes on this woman before.