I nodded, still feeling unsure.
‘Maybe. Oh, Sam, it’s good to see you.’
‘You too. Now tell me all about Jacqueline and Douglas! Is the engagement public knowledge yet?’
‘Not yet, so you’re sworn to secrecy.’ I had no qualms about trusting Sam. ‘I think Mum’s going to do some soft-focus Instagram announcement, all very J Lo, this week sometime.’
‘Sounds fab. And do you think the marriage will last?’
‘I hope so. I’ve got a lot of time for Douglas. He “gets” Mum and can see what she needs and who she is besidesMayfair Mews’biggest star, but he’s also quite firmly his own person. He doesn’t try to dominate her, or compete with her, or show her off, which must be pretty refreshing. God knows she’s been with some shockers in the past.’
‘She has. Remember Gavin?’
We both pretended to puke, causing the taxi driver to raise his eyebrows in the rearview mirror.
‘Gavin was the worst,’ I said. ‘I think he thought Mum was some sort of prize he’d won, which made him special in some way. He didn’t last long.’
‘Not beyond the second time he got stroppy because a restaurant didn’t have room when he tried to reserve a table in his own name, but came up with one when she took the phone from him. I know she can be a pain, but I do love your mum at times.’
‘Also, Douglas is the longest relationship she’s ever had, other than with her hairdresser…’
‘And you.’
‘And me, but she’s known Linda longer! She’s never lived with a man, let alone been married to one, but I have a feeling the two of them will be okay.’
‘Good. Are you going to organise the wedding?’
‘I hope not. The “small and intimate” engagement party is bad enough. But you can come as my plus one.’
‘Yes, please! Although maybe handsome, capable Alexander will fill that role.’
‘He’ll be there anyway, for his father, so you’re on the list! You would be anyway, Mum adores you. Anyway, you know I wouldn’t ditch you for any man, ever.’
‘I know. Do you want some help organising the engagement party?’
I groaned.
‘Yes! All the help! Seriously, though, if I need to, can I call you?’
‘Darling, I’ll do better than that. Why don’t I come up? It sounds as if you’ve got plenty on your hands with the Christmas Fayre and you know me and anything to do with weddings – I love them.’
‘And Mum loves you! I bet she’d be thrilled if you were there. Are you sure you can spare the time?’
‘Of course. After tonight there’s only that bank Christmas party tomorrow and the birthday on Wednesday and they’re both going very well. I’d love to come and help, Fallon; I hated seeing you knocked sideways by work. There must be a local pub I can stay in.’
I was prevented from answering by the taxi drawing to a sudden stop.
‘Here we are,’ said the driver and we jumped out, made sure we had everything and headed inside.
The hall was empty but looked spectacular, nonetheless. It was made from white marble, with carved columns sweeping up to the moulded ceiling; huge arched windows dressed with enormous curtains, tied back now to let in the winter light; and an unusual mezzanine level or gallery running around three sides, behind the columns. We were greeted warmly by Judy, who managed the space and several others like it in London.
‘Let me show you backstage,’ she said, leading us to a door at the back of the hall. ‘There’s a kitchen, loo and small sitting room where you can leave your things and set up your laptop. It’s yours for the whole evening.’
As we settled in, my phone rang: Lindy. I answered it with some trepidation in my heart, but sounding as breezy as I could.
‘Lindy, hi!’
‘Oh! Fallon! You are in London, aren’t you? Do say you are.’
