She composed her face to hide her irascibility and opened the door.
‘Surprise! Surprise!’
‘Colette! What are you doing here?’ She stepped back, astonished. Colette waved at someone in the back of a glossy black car. ‘Just let me wave Des off. He’s on his way to a business dinner in Guilbaud’s. I couldn’t face it, so here I am! He said to say hello.’ Colette flung her arms around her and Hilary hugged her back, her heart sinking. Trust Colette to arrive when the house was close to being a tip and she was half-tiddly.
‘Where’s everyone? The house is very quiet!’ Colette glanced around.
‘No one’s here except me and a friend,’ Hilary said, pointing out to the patio.
‘Anyone I know?’
‘No.’
‘Get rid of them, and let’s have a good old natter,’ Colette ordered, handing her a bottle of Veuve Clicquot, and a gift bag with a bottle of Chanel No 5. ‘I’ve loads to tell you, and I don’t want to be making polite conversation with a stranger. And I’m starving! I could murder a kebab! I keep thinking about the ones we used to get in Ishmael’s. I haven’t had one for years.’ She swanned ahead of Hilary into the kitchen and Hilary gazed at her friend’s retreating back, thinking crossly: And how high exactly do you want me to jump, Colette? Well, I’m not dumping Jonathan just because you’ve arrived on my doorstep without a by your leave!
C
HAPTER
S
IX
Colette strolled out to the patio, having glanced around the messy countertops in the kitchen with a slightly raised eyebrow, much to Hilary’s chagrin. How typical of Colette to arrive unannounced and find the house in a mess. She hastily shoved the Chinese cartons into the bin and gave the countertop a quick wipe. She put the champagne in the fridge and couldn’t help but spray some of the timeless perfume on her wrist and sniff it. Colette always bought her expensive gifts when she flew home for a visit, even though Hilary told her not to.
‘You know me, I love spending, so why not spend on someone I care for?’ she’d said once, having presented Hilary with a beautiful silk Dior scarf. And yet her friend would expect Hilary to do the hot potato act and get rid of Jonathan, so that she could be the centre of Hilary’s attention for the evening.
‘Hello there, I’m Hilary’s oldest friend,’ she heard the other woman say to Jonathan, holding out a languid hand. ‘Colette O’Mahony. We haven’t met before I don’t think,’ she said, not waiting for Hilary to perform the introductions.
Jonathan stood up courteously. He could sense the blonde, petite, designer-dressed and immaculately made-up woman was merely being polite and was not best pleased to see him.
‘Jonathan Harpur,’ he reciprocated, returning the handshake with a firm grip. He hated limp handshakes.
‘I don’t remember Hilary ever mentioning you,’ Colette remarked, glancing around at the detritus of their meal.
‘That’s because, until today, I had never met Jonathan,’ Hilary said cheerfully, emerging onto the patio and handing Colette a glass of wine.
‘Oh! Really? I suppose that explains it.’ Colette sounded bored. She took a sip of her wine. If Jonathan hadn’t been there she would have slugged it, but impressions had to be made, no matter how fleeting.
‘I should be making a move.’ He didn’t resume his seat. ‘I guess you ladies have some catching up to do.’ He smiled at Hilary. ‘I had a lovely day!’
‘Yes, indeed we do! I haven’t seen Hilary in yonks. Lovely to meet you,’ Colette said sweetly.
‘Don’t go yet, Jonathan,’ Hilary protested.
Jonathan saw Colette flash an exasperated glance at her friend but because Hilary was looking at him she didn’t see it. ‘Colette’s brought a chilled bottle of champers, let’s pop the cork and toast our new venture,’ Hilary grinned at him, quite oblivious to the fact that Colette had a face on her that would stop a clock. His diva instincts kicked in. He didn’t like this snooty friend of Hilary’s who wouldn’t even try and let on that she wasn’t anxious to get rid of him. Why should he go? She was the one who had gatecrashed their party.
‘Get you! You’ve just said the magic words “champagne” and “new venture”.’ He turned to Colette, casually dropping an arm around Hilary’s shoulder. ‘You’re looking at . . . wait for it . . . ringing bells and whistles . . . drum roll . . . Hammond and Harpur Interior and Lighting Design Specialists—’
‘And don’t forget Zen garden design,’ Hilary giggled.
‘How could I, Mzzz Hammond?’ Jonathan ramped up his gay persona, throwing his eyes up to heaven theatrically and running his fingers through his hair.
Colette looked at them, gobsmacked. ‘That will be the day. Hilary, what do you know about interior design?’ she derided. ‘You two are obviously pissed,’ she said crossly. ‘I should leave you to it.’
‘Don’t be silly, kick your shoes off and sit down and get pissed with us. Will I order something from the Chinese? We’ve just finished ours.’ Hilary saw the disgruntled expression on Colette’s face and felt her deliciously tipsy feeling begin to fade a little.
‘I don’t fancy Chinese!’ her friend said petulantly.
‘Indian?’ Hilary persisted.
‘Too fattening, all that cream.’ Colette dismissed that proposal.
‘I have some steak in the fridge, a fillet. You could have it with salad and some ciabatta.’
‘Fine,’ Colette agreed, slipping out of her pink Chanel jacket and handing it to Hilary. ‘I just need to freshen up, Heathrow makes you feel so—’
‘Manky,’ Jonathan chipped in.
‘Well . . . er . . . yes, I was going to say hot and sticky.’
