“Not really.”
“But your brain will go soggy!”
“It won’t go soggy!” She sounded affronted. “You know, I do Suzuki music every week with the boys. It’s stimulating for both children and parents, and I’ve met some other great mums there.”
“You’re telling me you’d rather do Suzuki music and drink cappuccinos than be a top marketing director.” I tried to inject an incredulous note, even though I would a million times rather be doing Suzuki music and drinking cappuccinos right now than dealing with all this.
“Yes,” she said flatly. “I would. Why are you approaching me, anyway, Lara?” Suddenly her voice was more alert. “What’s going on? Have you got a problem? Because you can always talk to me about it, you know, if things are going wrong…”
Oh God. Not the fake-o sympathy.
“Nothing’s going wrong! Just trying to do my big sister a favor.” I left it a moment or two before adding casually, “So, those mums you’ve met at Suzuki music. None of them used to be a top marketing director, did they?”
You’d think out of eight formerly professional mothers there’d have been one marketing director with retail experience who wanted to return to work at once. You’d think.
Anyway. So much for that bright idea. In fact, so much for all my ideas. The only possibility I’ve found is a guy in Birmingham who might move if Leonidas Sports pays for his helicopter commute every week. Which is never going to happen in a million years. I’m doomed. All in all, you’d think now would not be the best time to be glammed up and going to a party.
Nevertheless, here I am in a taxi, glammed up and going to a party.
“We’re here! Park Lane!” Sadie peers out of the window. “Pay the driver! Let’s go!”
Bright flashes from cameras are filling our taxi, and I can hear the hubbub of people greeting one another. I see a group of about ten people in evening dress arriving on the red carpet leading up to the Spencer Hotel, where the Business People dinner is taking place. According to the Financial Times , four hundred of the top business talents in London are going to be gathered here tonight.
As one of those talents, I was all set to cancel, for many, many reasons:
1. I’m back with Josh now and shouldn’t be attending dinners with other men.
2. I’m too stressed out by work.
3. I mean, really stressed out.
4. Janet Grady might be here and yell at me.
5. Clive Hoxton, ditto. Not to mention:
6. Have to talk to Mr. American Frown all night.
But then it hit me. Four hundred businesspeople, all together in one room. Some of them have got to be top-level marketing executives. And some of them have got to want a new job. Surely.
So this is my last-ditch plan. I’m going to find a candidate for Leonidas Sports tonight, at the dinner.
I double-check that my evening bag is well stocked with business cards and glance at my reflection in the window. Needless to say, Sadie took charge of my outfit again. I’m in a black sequined vintage dress with fringed sleeves and beaded Egyptian-style medallions at the shoulders. Over this I’m wearing a cloak. My eyes are heavily kohled, I have a long gold snake bracelet, and even a pair of original stockings, just like Sadie used to wear, apparently. And on my head is a close-fitting diamanté mesh cap, which Sadie found at some antique market.
Tonight I feel a lot more confident, though. For a start, everyone else will be dressed up too. And even though I protested about the cap, I secretly think I look quite cool. I look kind of glam and retro.
Sadie’s dolled up too, in a fringed dress, all turquoise and green, with a peacock feather shawl. She’s wearing about ten necklaces, and on her head is the most ludicrous headdress, with a diamanté waterfall cascading past her ear. She keeps flipping her evening bag open and shut and seems in a manic mood. In fact, she’s been manic ever since she told me that story about her old dead lover. I’ve tried to ask her more about it, but no dice. She just glides away or vanishes or changes the subject. So I’ve given up.
“Let’s go!” Her legs are twitching. “I can’t wait to start dancing!”
For God’s sake. She’s obsessed. And if she thinks I’m dancing with Ed in the middle of the bar for a second time, she needs to think again.
“Sadie, listen,” I say firmly. “It’s a business dinner. There won’t be any dancing. I’m here to work.”
“We’ll find some,” she says confidently. “You can always find dancing.”
Yeah. Whatever.
As I get out, people in evening dress are everywhere, shaking hands confidently and laughing and posing for the cameras. Several of them I recognize from Business People photo spreads. For a moment I feel all twingey with nerves. But then I glance at Sadie and raise my chin, just like she does. So what if they’re important? I’m as good as they are. I’m a partner in my own company. Even if it consists of two people and a dodgy coffee machine.
“Hi. Lara.” Ed’s voice greets me from behind, and I turn. There he is, looking as square-cut and handsome as I might have expected. His dinner jacket fits him perfectly; his dark hair is brushed back perfectly.
Josh never wears a standard DJ. He always wears something offbeat, like a Nehru jacket over jeans. But then, Josh is really cool.
“Hi.” I take Ed’s hand before he gets any idea of kissing me. Not that I think he would. He’s looking my outfit up and down with a quizzical expression.
“You look very… twenties.”