‘And remember the time we went into the sex shop in Soho, my first time ever in such an establishment, and we fell around the place laughing at some of the stuff and the male customers were not impressed, and then you treated me to lunch in that posh restaurant in Mayfair – I can’t remember the name – and we saw Kenneth Branagh and Emma Thompson? The first time I ever saw someone famous.’
‘I still have the dent in my ribs where you nudged me,’ Colette laughed. ‘I’d forgotten what good times we had. It all seems so long ago now, doesn’t it?’
‘I know, and look at us with our daughters practically grown up. I’m beginning to feel a bit ancient and decrepit.’ Hilary stretched luxuriously on the bed. ‘Anyway I’d better go, we’re heading to Sticky Fingers. I just wanted to give you a call and tell you I was thinking of you.’
‘Sticky Fingers! Jazzy’s favourite place to eat in London. Tell the girls to enjoy it. Listen, thanks for ringing, sweetie. How about I call you next week when you’re home and we’ll have a natter and a catch-up,’ Colette suggested.
‘Perfect! Take care.’
‘You too,’ Colette said, feeling surprisingly lonely when the phone went dead. It would have been such fun to be in London with the girls. Hilary was right, she should keep in touch more. If it wasn’t for her friend ringing every so often their friendship would be practically non-existent, she conceded. It wasn’t that she meant to not keep in touch, it was just that out of sight was out of mind, and her life was so busy time just seemed to pass. And then when she did speak to Hilary, she’d get lonely and want to be at home or in London and she’d feel down after the call, like she did now.
She’d pull her socks up regarding their friendship, she promised herself, as the phone rang again and the chair of one of her charity boards came on the line to tell Colette that the CEO had been caught fiddling the funds and it was going to be on the news that very day, and the backlash was going to be awesome, and she was thinking of resigning. ‘ . . . and if I were you I’d do the same. No one wants to be tainted with that sort of failure.’
Thoughts of Hilary and London flew out of Colette’s head while she wrestled with this new dilemma and wondered should she, instead of resigning, go after the plum position of chair – if Dana Sinclair was sincere about jumping ship – and bring the charity back from the brink?
Hilary smiled, glad she had acted on her spur of the moment impulse to ring Colette. She touched up her make-up and spritzed some 212 on her wrists. It seemed like another lifetime ago when she and Colette had gadded around London with not a care in the world. She had omitted to tell Colette the real reason she was in London. Jonathan’s break-up was his business. There was little love lost between them: there was no need for her to know. She wouldn’t mention to Jonathan either that she had made the call. He’d only say something bitchy about the other woman, as he usually did, so there was no point.
It had been nice to hear her friend’s voice after so long. There was never any awkwardness when they spoke, no matter how long they hadn’t heard from each other, but Colette was the world’s worst for keeping in touch and sometimes Hilary wondered if she didn’t make the effort would their friendship evaporate into the ether as friendships often did.
‘Mum, are you ready?’ Millie knocked on the door and Hilary went to let her daughters in, determined to enjoy this unexpected break with them, evaporating friendships or no.
‘This place is deadly.’ Sophie gazed around at the rock and roll memorabilia that hung on the walls of the glitzy American-themed café.
‘I have to say, Mick Jagger never did it for me,’ Jonathan admitted as the music of The Rolling Stones blasted through the restaurant.
‘Me neither, those loose lips and the skinny, knitting-needle legs . . . no thanks! Same with Paul McCartney. Give me a hard muscular thigh any time,’ Hilary announced, sipping her pre-dinner Brandy Alexander.
‘Leon might have liked him years ago. He likes his men young, and slender, he informed me!’ Jonathan necked a bottle of beer.
‘You’re young and slenderish!’ Sophie said loyally.
‘Not young enough, too lanky, not small and perfectly formed, unfortunately. But thank you, dear heart, for your kindness,’ he said affectionately.
‘And did he drop you like a hot potato, just like that, as soon as you got here?’ Millie asked, stirring the ice in her Coke.
‘Well he had a good feed in – as your mother would call it – a posh restaurant, with expensive cocktails beforehand, the best of wine during the meal, and a brandy to finish off, and then he ditched me, right in the middle of a nightclub.’ Jonathan couldn’t hide his bitterness.
‘I think he’s a bit sad, if you ask me,’ Sophie declared.
‘Why so?’ He looked at her, surprised.
‘Well he’s in his thirties, and he does the kind of thing teenagers do. You know, dropping people after using them, often in nightclubs. He doesn’t sound very mature to me.’
‘Oh! I suppose you have a point.’
‘And he hasn’t even come out properly. He’s a coward as well, running away to London for a gay weekend and going home and pretending he’s straight,’ Millie said derisively. ‘You know who you are and you aren’t ashamed of it. Sophie’s right, he’s sad.’
‘So am I sad, even though everything you said is right.’ Jonathan sighed a gusty sigh.
‘Is this the worst thing that’s ever happened to you?’ Sophie asked sympathetically, reaching across the table to give his
