She wandered along to the Grand Hotel and her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten. Elvis was probably okay, having munched a year’s supply of hedgehog food.
Regan stood outside the hotel and watched the taxis and posh cars pull into the semicircular drop-off zone. The doorman watched her and Elvis closely. At last a large black car glided in, and Cleo waved from the back seat. Regan still didn’t have a coherent explanation for her. She’d considered elaborate stories about burglars, travellers and a swarm of cockroaches, but they were all too far-fetched. And in her heart of hearts, she knew her friend deserved the truth, however embarrassing that may be.
Cleo flung herself out of the car and into Regan’s arms, making Elvis bark excitedly. It was so good to see her again. Unexpected emotion made Regan give herself a mental shake. She’d been through a lot over the last few weeks, and doing it without her best friend by her sidehad made it doubly difficult. Above all else, it was wonderful to have Cleo home.
‘Look at you,’ said Cleo, holding Regan at arm’s length like a proud auntie. ‘I’d almost forgotten what you look like.’
‘No, you hadn’t. And look atyou. Still pale and interesting.’
Elvis pawed at Cleo’s expensive-looking dress, which wasn’t great, but at least he wasn’t chewing, peeing on or humping it, so it was a massive result in Regan’s book.
‘And who is this?’ said Cleo, making a fuss of him.
‘This is Elvis.’
‘Great name. Irish wolfhound?’
‘Yes. Yes, he is.’ Regan was relieved that Cleo had taken to him – maybe it would soften the blow about the trashed canvas.
‘Good luck, Elvis,’ said Cleo, addressing the dog directly. ‘She’s never managed to keep a pot plant alive until now, so you’re a real test.’
Regan frowned at the implication. ‘Hey … some cacti are sensitive.’
The chauffeur appeared at Cleo’s side. ‘I’ve left your bags at reception, Miss Marchant. And the doorman says the dog is welcome inside.’
They all looked up to see the doorman tip his head at them.Today is full of surprises, thought Regan.
Inside, Regan found that the Grand truly was dog friendly. Elvis was welcomed by staff like a movie star, which he of course lapped up. They settled in the lounge, and Cleo passed Regan a menu. ‘On me,’ she said.
Regan scanned the food choices greedily. She hadn’t eaten out for so long. Elvis crashed out under the table, allowing the women to catch up over dinner. Cleo filledRegan in on the dramas of Japan and Oscar and her decision not to do the Taiwan leg of her tour. Regan nodded and oohed in the right places. Even Cleo’s tales of disaster were glamorous.
‘Now, tell me what you’ve been up to.’ Cleo leaned forward expectantly. ‘Oh, and him.’ She nodded towards Elvis, who was twitching in his sleep. ‘He’s adorable.’
‘Well, basically, if he can’t eat it or shag it, he pees on it.’
‘I’ve known men like that,’ said Cleo.
‘Me too.’
‘And what about the whole Jarvis, job, fireman thing?’ Cleo’s eyes were bright.
Regan thought the world of Cleo, and seeing the hopeful innocence in her eyes, she knew once and for all that she couldn’t lie to her. ‘Right, well get comfy because I’ve a shitload of crap to update you on.’ Cleo’s eyes widened but she remained intrigued. ‘And there’s bits of this that you’re really not going to like.’ This time it was Cleo’s turn to make noises in the right places – although hers were mainlyouchsounds and wincing. She hugged her and they both shed a tear when Regan retold the night of the hit and run.
‘So to conclude,’ said Regan, ‘I am homeless, Elvis is orphanedandhomeless, and we’re squatting in the studio. For which I am genuinely sorry.’ Regan felt wretched. She knew she’d let herself down and that she’d deceived Cleo, which was the worst thing.
Cleo pursed her lips, and Regan waited for the bollocking she knew would come – it would be a civilised bollocking, but it would be a bollocking all the same.
‘It’s fine,’ said Cleo, at last.
‘Fine?’
Cleo nodded. ‘I can’t say I’m thrilled, but if I’d been here I could have helped you, and I wasn’t, so …’
Regan didn’t let her have any time to reconsider. ‘You’re the best,’ she said, flinging her arms around her friend.
‘And so are you,’ said Cleo, hugging her back tightly.
Cleo insisted that Regan stayed at the Grand for the night, because she was a little concerned about breaking the terms of the studio’s tenancy agreement. She still wanted to keep it on so she had somewhere to paint when the mood took her. They had connecting rooms, and after the initial excitement of having a toilet to drink out of, Elvis had settled down on the end of Regan’s bed and he and Regan had both had a blissful night’s sleep.
