She was going to do herself up, take herself along to the party, flirt with strangers and have an all-round bloody good time. Telling Bruno to get stuffed could wait until next week.
And who knew whom she might meet, Janey decided, daydreaming as she turned on the bath taps and tipped in at least half a pint of peach bubble-bath. As long as she maintained a positive attitude the possibilities were endless. And if the worst came to the very worst, there was always the water-skiing racing driver .. .
By eight-thirty she was almost ready and for once, to her immense relief, everything seemed to be going right. The black sequinned dress she so seldom had the opportunity to wear looked as good as it always did, enhancing the curves she wanted enhanced and discreetly skimming over those she preferred to keep to herself. Wickedly expensive but worth every penny, it imbued Janey with self-confidence and glittered like coal when she moved.
Her hair, too, had decided to behave this evening; the bronze combs holding it up at the sides were staying firmly in place and even the loose blond tendrils at the nape of her neck were falling naturally into place instead of sticking out at silly angles as they so often did when she tried to look chic.
Bronze eyeshadow, black mascara, a bit of eyebrow pencil and two coats of pinky-bronze lipstick later, Janey was done. Stepping back and surveying her reflection in the mirror, she decided that if she said so herself, she looked pretty damn good.
She was going to the party and she was ready for anything.
Except maybe water-skiing at dawn, she thought ruefully. At least, not in this dress . . .
Chapter 25
The restaurant had been transformed. Tonight, minus its twenty-five tables, with wild music pulsating from loudspeakers and the lighting subdued, it looked more like a nightclub. And although it wasn’t yet ten o’clock the place was already heaving with glamorous bodies intent on having a fabulous time.
Bruno, wearing a new, raspberry-pink silk shirt, monopolized what was now the dance floor. With a bottle of Remy Martin in one hand and a fetchingly dishevelled brunette in the other, he was performing the lambada and simultaneously carrying on a shouted conversation with a tall blond actor, star of a long-running series of coffee commercials. Watching him as he laughed, joked and didn’t miss so much as a single move of the complicated dance, Janey realized that this was Bruno’s speciality; here, as if she needed it, was yet another example of his ability to have it all. He wanted to dance and he enjoyed talking to his friends, so why waste time doing first one thing, then the other? And when he liked two women, why miss out, she thought bitterly. Why not have both?
Gazing around, she realized she couldn’t see Nina anywhere. All the women were amazingly done-up, there wasn’t a shred of sprigged Laura Ashley cotton in sight.
The next moment, in mid-gyration, Bruno saw her. Whispering something in the giggling brunette’s ear, he pressed the bottle of cognac against her cleavage and turned her in the direction of the actor. As he made his way over to Janey she felt the familiar tug of longing in the pit of her stomach. The man was a liar and a cheat but sexual attraction didn’t automatically evaporate into thin air. Willing herself to overcome it, she returned his welcoming grin with a brief smile and urged herself to remain in control. She supposed she ought to feel honoured that he had abandoned the brunette in order to come and see her instead.
‘Janey, you look incredible! Mmm, and you smell of peaches ...’
As she submitted awkwardly to his embrace, Bruno murmured, ‘Sweetheart, relax. It’s my birthday; I’m expected to kiss my guests.’
‘Here’s your card.’ Taking a step backwards, she pulled it from her bag. Then, eyeing the table stacked with elaborately wrapped gifts she added, ‘I didn’t buy you a present.’
‘Don’t worry, you can give it to me later.’ Bruno winked. ‘Upstairs.’
He simply didn’t care, thought Janey. He wasn’t even bothering to lower his voice. Taking another step back, she flinched as her high heel landed on someone else’s foot. Behind her, more and more guests were arriving, piling in through the double doors like customers on the first day of Harrods’ sale. The stifling, perfumed heat combined with the green and gold decor gave the place a jungle atmosphere. Over to her left a tall woman screeched with laughter like a parrot.
The place was noisy and chaotic but Bruno, she thought crossly, shouldn’t assume he couldn’t be overheard.
‘... absolutely gorgeous,’ he continued, sliding an appreciative forefinger along her exposed collarbone. ‘Janey, you should do yourself up like this more often. I can hardly wait to unwrap you. Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to—’
He was, Janey realized, well on the way to getting drunk. She hadn’t seen him like this before. Removing his hand from her shoulder before it could weasel its way anywhere embarrassing, she said abruptly, ‘Where’s Nina?’
‘Nina?’ Bruno laughed. ‘Do I know a Nina? Come on sweetheart, make my day. Tell me you’re wearing stockings underneath that delicious dress.’
‘Don’t be stupid.’ Trying to sound brisk, Janey slapped away the errant hand now threatening to slide down her thigh. ‘Where is she?’
‘I say, you sound just like my old headmistress.’ Bruno gazed at her in admiration. ‘Now there’s an idea.’
‘Where is Nina?’ repeated Janey, loudly enough for those around her to hear. People were beginning to stare. ‘I need to speak to her.’
‘Her grandmother’s been taken ill.’ He grinned once more, totally unrepentant. ‘She was rushed into hospital this morning. Nina’s gone up to Berkshire to see her. She won’t be back until tomorrow night at the earliest.’ So that was why he wasn’t bothering to be discreet, thought Janey. Feeling sorry for Nina she said, ‘Is it anything serious?’
‘Chronic affluence.’ Bruno helped himself to a glass of pink champagne from the table behind her and raised it in mock salute. ‘Dear old Granny Bentley. Seriously wealthy and ninety-three to boot. Well past her sell-by date, wouldn’t you say?’
At first Janey didn’t say anything at all. At that moment her task became easier. To Bruno it had simply been a flip one-liner, but as far as she was concerned it was downright cruel. And wonderfully, miraculously off- putting.
‘My grandmother is ninety-four,’ she lied, her tone icy. ‘Maybe you think she’s past her sell-by date, too.’
Andre Covel, who owned the hugely successful surf shop where Alan had spent most of Janey’s hard-earned money, and who had been a particular friend of his, refilled Janey’s glass with white wine. Glancing across at Bruno, who was now back on the dance floor with the stunning Italian wife of a well-known rock singer, he raised his sun-bleached eyebrows and said,
