Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-One

Only one woman gets to be the belle of the ball. Make every effort to ensure that lady is you.

Matilda Beam’s Guide to Love and Romance, 1955

By the time we reach Christ Church in Spitalfields – where tonight’s awards are being held – I’m freaking exhausted. Peach totally clammed up again when we picked up a very-cute-in-his tuxedo-but-clearly-shitting-himself Gavin from his flat in Hammersmith, and he wasn’t much better either. They smiled nervously at each other in greeting and mumbled a bit before conversation completely halted and it got all kinds of awkward. Which I didn’t particularly mind, but Peach was dying. In order to fill the silence and make it all a bit less uncomfy, I talked and talked the whole way here. As agreed earlier with Peach, I pretended to Gavin that Leo always referred to me by my middle name – Lucille – and that’s what he should call me too, rather than Jess. Then I talked about the heatwave and how hot it’s been and thank God for the car’s air conditioning. Then, when conversation ran dry, I basically turned to commentating throughout the entire journey like some kind of glamorously dressed personal tour guide. ‘So here, we pass a local McDonald’s. Very busy indeed, as is to be expected on a Saturday evening.’ Etcetera. Exhausting.

At the venue, we get out of the car, hand our tickets in at the entrance and make our way to the Nave as instructed by one of the very dapper stewards. When we enter the ball space, all three of us gasp in awe. What a room for a party! It’s a converted church: the ceiling is sky-high and ornate. The room is bordered by swish oak panelling and thick, Tuscan columns, all uplit with pink and purple lighting. It’s completely majestic and exciting. The place is already busy, and the atmosphere is throbbing with expectation; an excellent big band plays Ella Fitzgerald numbers at the front of the room, guests in fancy tuxes and luxurious ballgowns mill about the huge dance floor or chatter at one of the huge round tables that are topped with extravagantly colourful flower centrepieces, twinkling lights weaved in-between the leaves.

‘Wow,’ Peach breathes. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it!’

‘I know!’ I look around in astonishment. ‘They’ve seriously gone all out. My stomach flips with excitement against my will.

‘Listen, guys, I’m going to go and find Leo. He said he was arriving with his work colleagues, so he must already be around here somewhere.’

Peach’s eyes widen in horror at the prospect that I might be leaving her alone with Gavin so soon.

‘Don’t worry,’ I assure her. ‘You two go to the bar, and I’ll find our table, OK?’ Gavin takes a deep breath and musters every drop of courage he has within him to say, ‘Come on, Peach, let me buy you a drink.’

Before they leave, I grab Peach by the arm and whisper in her ear, ‘A shot of tequila will make things easier, OK! Loosen you both up a bit. You’re ace, Lady P. Just chill out and pretend you’re talking to me. Come and find me in a bit.’

Peach nods fervently and I wave her off as they rush over to the bar in search of a little liquid courage.

As I scan the room for Leo, my insides tilt and churn in anticipation of seeing him again. What if my resolve fades and I just dive in for another one of those kisses? What if he wants to make lurve to me tonight? How will I have the willpower to say no? Ugh. I need to get this bloody thing finished. I can’t stand feeling so all over the place.

‘Lucille!’ Leo’s familiar deep tones sound out from behind me.

I spin round elegantly to face him. Leo presses a hand to his chest as he takes me in. ‘Fuck,’ he whispers, leaning in to kiss me lightly on the cheek. ‘You look incredible, Lucille. I knew you would, but this is something else. You are something else.’

I giggle shyly and to my horror it’s not a completely fake giggle. So I’m basically a person who giggles now? Argh. I fix Lucille’s enigmatic smile determinedly on my face and clear my throat. ‘Gosh, you look rather wonderful yourself, Leo.’

I’m not lying. He’s wearing a sharp black tuxedo with a crisp white shirt and black bowtie. His hair is styled more naturally than the super-perfect quiff, a bit mussed-up around the front. His eyes sparkle in a way that I’m sure is reserved for just me.

How did I think he was weird-looking when I first met him?

He’s lovely-looking. Gorgeous-looking.

Hmm, I wonder what he looks like in the buff? I bet his willy is a really good one.

Argh. Danger-thoughts.

Must change the subject.

‘This is quite an event isn’t it?’ I purr, indicating the extravagantly opulent room. My eyes widen in awe as I notice Daniel Craig stroll past us towards the bar as if it’s completely normal that he’s here with the non-famous folk.- ‘Bond,’ I squeak. Now there’s someone who definitely looks good in the buff.

‘Ah, it’s just the brands showing off,’ Leo chuckles, as if James Bond hasn’t just breathed in the same air as us. But then, he is super used to hanging out in celebrity circles. ‘They bring their famous spokespeople so it all looks more glamorous and important.’

At the back of the room I spot Benedict Cumberbatch – God, is there any event that guy doesn’t attend? And ooh, there’s Claudia Winkleman. I like her. I like her fringe.

Leo reaches into his inside pocket and pulls out a tiny grey velvet box. ‘Not a sick bag this time,’ he grins. I take the box from him, rub my thumb over the soft velvet and open it. Nestled inside is a tiny diamond and sapphire brooch in the shape of a Ferris wheel. It’s unusual and lovely and exactly to my taste.

‘Wow,’ I gasp. ‘You . . . you really shouldn’t have.’

‘I wanted to!’ He lifts the brooch out of the box and carefully pins it onto my dress. ‘Something to remind you of the night we met.’

‘I love it,’ I say truthfully, shame squelching around in my belly at the fact that he’s bought me this amazing present under entirely false pretences.

I reach into my clutch bag and hand Leo the package I brought with me.

‘What’s this?’ he says, his eyes twinkling with surprise.

‘You’re not the only one who can bring gifts to a date, y’know.’

Bemused, Leo tears open the navy giftwrap and opens the lid of the oblong box, peering inside.

He laughs out loud. ‘A paintbrush!’

‘It’s a good one. The website says it’s fine-pointed and the tip is made of Kolinsky sable,’ I mumble, embarrassed to find that I feel suddenly shy. Why did I bloody get him a paintbrush? It seemed like a cool, funny idea last week. Now, at a fancy ball, and him having just given me a diamond brooch, it feels all kinds of meaningful and romantic. I cough. ‘I just thought you could, you know, paint some stuff.’ I shrug casually. ‘Do some art . . . things.’

Leo stares at the brush for a second, fingering the tip of it before pressing it to his chest. ‘Thank you, Luce,’ he says quietly, looking at me in an intense, serious sort of way that tickles my skin. Then he tucks the box into his inside pocket and leads me towards our table. As we make our way through the bustle, I notice that everyone’s eyes are on me. Not in the way they were the night at The Beekeeper launch, like I was a subject for ridicule, but with interest, envy, lust, wonder. It’s a weird sensation, and not an entirely pleasant one, either. I feel a bit like I’m on show, like I’m a doll to be admired. Like . . . Felicity.

But still, I’m here to do a job, so I do it; I smile and simper graciously as guest after guest says hello to Leo, congratulating him on his nomination, predicting that he’s a shoe-in to win it, how they just looooove his Drive Alive ad . . .

Despite Leo making every genuine effort to include me in the conversations, it occurs to me that apart from an appreciative or envious glance or polite hello, no one is paying any real attention to me. No one asks me any questions about myself. I am, quite simply, arm candy.

We eventually make it past all the advertising suck-ups and reach our table. Leo introduces me to the people already sitting down.

‘Lucille, this is Martin, our copy man. Martin has the most amazing Ferrari you’ve ever seen. I’ll have to take you out for a ride in her soon. She runs like a dream.’

‘Of course!’ Martin says cheerfully.

I frown slightly as I get a flashback of Leo making a sexist comment at the fair, talking about giving someone curvy a ride before Martin took her home. Was he talking about a car? Man alive, I really have got the wrong end of the wrong stick about Leo Frost. I was so quick to judge him . . .

He introduces me to two more people from the senior team at Woolf Frost and their partners, who all seem nice and friendly, if a little formal. Then he reintroduces me to the fourth table-dweller − bloody Rufus Frost, the world’s douchiest douchebag − who calls me Lucy and kisses my hand again with his gross old cigar-stinking mouth. Spew.

‘Wait – where are your friends?’ Leo asks. ‘Are they still coming?’

I peer over towards the bar and spot Peach and Gavin deep in conversation. The tequila shot must have worked! Peach is laughing at something he’s saying, her hand rubbing his forearm. Ha! I might just leave those too alone a little longer – they’re clearly managing just fine without me.

‘They’re here – they must be in the crowd somewhere!’ I say innocently. ‘I’m sure they’ll catch up with us later.’

We take our seats and Leo pops open one of the many bottles of vintage champagne that are sitting in huge buckets on each table. He pours everyone a glass and clears his throat to make a toast. But before he can get a word out, his dad interrupts, his exceedingly plummy tones blasting across the table like a foghorn.

‘Here’s to a win for Woolf Frost,’ Rufus drawls, holding his glass up to the centre of the table.

‘And Leo,’ I add, before I can stop myself.

Oops. I didn’t mean to blurt that. But something about his dad just winds me up big-time. Especially now I know how he betrayed his own son. Rufus Frost sneers a little and reluctantly agrees with my correction in a bored voice. ‘Yes, of course . . . And to Leo.’

Leo gives me a pleased wink. ‘Cheers, guys!’

‘Cheers!’

I drink my champagne, the sweet buoyant bubbles lightly dancing on my tongue. To my surprise I don’t entirely dislike the taste of it tonight.

I take another sip.

Am I . . . Am I starting to get a taste for vintage champagne? Shit, am I now part of the champagne conspiracy?

God, what is happening to me?

* * *

Perhaps I shouldn’t have advised Peach that a tequila shot to loosen her and Postman Gavin up was a good idea. Because they clearly haven’t limited themselves to just the one. Our table is having a very sensible conversation about the work of all the other nominees,when Peach finally leaves the bar, dragging Gavin over by the arm. I can tell just by looking at her that she’s pissed – she can barely walk in a straight line and her blinks are lasting longer than usual. Shit.

‘LUCILLE!’ she calls with a totally hammy wink. ‘There you are. And this must be Leeeeeooooo. Luscious Leo.’

Oh, Jesus. How many shots has she had? Gavin’s cheeks are flushed and shiny, his bowtie already undone and hanging limply round his neck. They can’t have had that many, surely? We’ve only been here for fifty minutes.

‘Good evening, kind sirs and ladies,’ Gavin says with a weird old-fashioned bow. Crap, how many shots has Postman Gavin had?

Balls.

Leo laughs. ‘Peach and Gavin, right?’ He stands up to kiss Peach on the cheek and shake Gavin’s hand warmly. ‘I’m so glad you guys could make it.’

‘It’s a party . . . in a church!’ Peach giggles, using her hand to cover a burp. She reaches over and takes one of the bottles of champagne off the table. ‘Is . . . is this free?’ she asks, already popping it open, the cork whizzing precariously close to Rufus Frost’s ear.

‘It is,’ Leo replies, grabbing a couple of glasses from the table for Peach to pour the golden fizz into. He hands one to Gavin, who knocks it back instantly and holds the glass back out for another.

‘Partay!’ he yells, punching the air, which makes everyone else at the table wince with distaste.

Eep. If they drink much more I’m in real danger of things going awry. God, why did I think it was a good idea to bring them? I was trying to be nice, but it was a stupid, stupid plan.

‘Come on!’ I say breezily, standing up from my chair so rapidly that it makes the table shake. ‘What say we dance?’

‘Great idea!’ Leo agrees, draining the rest of his drink.

‘Come on, you two,’ I gesture to a swaying Peach and Gavin, taking their flutes away and placing them firmly on the table. They sulk in response.

‘Come on!’ I repeat, in the same voice I use when I’m trying to get Mr Belding not to take a dump on Grandma’s carpet. ‘Come on now! That’s it!’

My coaxing works and they follow me towards the dance floor.

As the four of us inch our way through the happy crowds towards where the other guests are dancing, I hang back and grab Peach by the arm.

‘We’ll catch you up in a second,’ I call over to Leo and Gavin. ‘Just a little ladies-only chat.’

When the two of them are out of earshot, I pull Peach over to one of the huge columns surrounding the room.

‘You’re fucking pissed,’ I grumble, folding my arms huffily.

She hiccups. ‘I’m not. I only had five shots. And look, now Gavin and I are getting along famoushly. He’s really, really, really nice. He likes to hike on the weekends. And his favourite colour is blue. Like my dress. It’s like we’re meant to be!’

I see that she’s been grilling him twenty questions-style like she did with me on our first night out at Twisted Spin. I wonder if she’s assigned him a nickname yet.

‘I love you, Jeshicaaa,’ she grins, closing one eye to focus on my face. ‘You’re my besht pal. I won’t dump you for Gavin, you know. I’m not that kind of friend.’ Then she pulls my head down to her sizeable bosom and pats my hair with her big meaty hands.

‘Ow, gerrof! And it’s Lucille,’ I hiss, removing my head from her boobs. ‘You’re supposed to call me Lucille.’

‘Lucille − oh, yeah. Sorry.’ Peach nods sagely and rubs her eye, causing a bit of mascara to splodge onto her cheek. I flick it off. ‘You’re actin’ a little uptight,’ she pouts. ‘Thas not like you. It’s not who you are.’

She’s right, I’m usually chillin’ like Matt Dillon on penicillin. But tonight I am uptight. I’m super on edge. There’s just so much a stake now. Part of me genuinely wants to be here, on a night out with Peach and Leo (not too bothered about Gavin, to be honest) having fun. The other part of me just wants to do one, so I don’t have to acknowledge the complicated situation I’ve managed to get myself into.

I peek over towards Leo, who is awkwardly dancing with Gavin on the dance floor. It’s a pretty slow song, so they’re just sort of swaying from side to side and making small talk.

‘No more booze, all right?’ I say to Peach sternly and sounding a lot like Grandma. ‘Your innocent body won’t be able to handle it and we’ve got work to do. We can’t risk any slip-ups. Think of Matilda. How important this is to her.’

‘I won’t slip up! I wouldn’t do that to you, because you’re my person, like Cristina Yang and Meredith in Grey’s Anatomy. I love Grey’s Anatomy. Do you, Jess? D’you love it?’

‘Peach!’ I hiss. ‘Listen to me!’

‘Fine. Fine. I’ll jusht have one or two more drinks, maybe five more drinks. That’s all.’

Jeez. Is this what I’m like when I’ve had a drink? Is this why Summer used to get so mad at me?

I try to keep my patience. ‘Promise me you won’t drink any more.’ I plead, putting my hands on her shoulders.

Peach throws me a look as if I’m being a huge spoilsport, shakes my hands off her shoulders and stalks off to find Gavin. With a sigh, I follow her, reaching Leo just as the band starts up with a big-band version of ‘Some Kind of Wonderful’ by the Drifters. Leo’s face softens when he spots me. He takes me into his arms and together we glide across the dance floor in a waltz, just like Grandma taught me. At first I move stiffly, trying to remember the steps, trying not to tread on Leo’s feet, but he has obviously had a great deal more practice than me and sweeps me across the dance floor effortlessly, making me look like I know what I’m doing. It’s like something from a film. I’m basically Baby Houseman right now.

‘I like your friends,’ Leo grins, nodding over towards Peach and Gavin, who are shuffling from left to right, arms wrapped around each other like a couple of thirteen-year-olds at the youth club disco. ‘Most people at these kinds of events are so bloody serious. It’s nice to see someone having fun.’ As he says this, he twirls me under his arm. It makes me dizzy, but in a pleasant giddy way.

‘They’re great,’ I tell him, feeling guilty about getting grumpy at Peach. ‘Though I don’t really know Gavin, to be honest. Tonight’s his first date with Peach.’

‘Ah.’ Leo nods slowly. ‘That makes sense. While you were chatting with Peach before, I’m pretty sure Gavin called you Jess!’

Oh shit.

Act natural.

‘How bizarre,’ I say steadily. ‘He’s a little tipsy, I think.’

I glance over to where Gavin and Peach are dancing, now grabbing each other’s bums and squeezing them in the manner of someone squeezing a stress ball. They are well on the way to being wasted.

I manoeuvre us a little further away from them on the dance floor, just in case.

I squint up at Leo. Does he suspect something? He doesn’t seem to . . . But I can’t risk it. I need to distract him from all thoughts of Gavin calling me Jess, I need to eradicate that memory from his mind. At least, that’s my reasoning for what happens next. I tilt my head up and to the side, my eyes flicking down to Leo’s mouth. He takes the hint like a champion, immediately leaning towards for a kiss.

Our lips meet.

KABLAM! POW! YESSSSSS!

If there was any doubt in my mind that the kissing we did in the park was anything other than a fluke, that has now been completely obliterated. Because this kiss is even better. Leo weaves his hands up into my hair, his tongue slipping gently into my mouth. My entire body relaxes into it, and if I didn’t know that it was something that only happens in romance novels, I’d swear my knees go weak.

Fuck. I should probably stop kissing him now. When I kiss him, everything gets complicated. The feelings get stronger, making me all wibbly and dazed and stupid.

Have to stop kissing him.

But I can’t stop kissing him. Things feel, I don’t know, better when I kiss him. Calmer. Like medicine. Just a little longer will be all right, won’t it?

I don’t know how long Leo and I kiss on the dance floor for. I lose all concept of time. It could be two minutes, it could be two hours. I don’t even care.

‘Well, well, well. Don’t you two look cosy?’ comes a familiar voice from behind us.

My blood runs cold. I break off from Leo, my eyes flying open.

Standing there, and looking like the cat that got the cream, is Summer.