I laughed. ‘Not bad. Entertaining.’
Later I apologised to her about the scarf, even though I wasn’t convinced it was me that had lost it. As she wasn’t the tidiest of people, I was hoping she might say she’d found it. But she hadn’t.
‘Where’s it got to, then?’ she asked puzzled. ‘I do remember seeing it on the post the other day. You didn’t wear it again?’
‘No. Look, if it doesn’t turn up, let me buy you another one.’
‘You can’t. It was a one-off. That’s why it cost so much.’
Great. Make me feel worse.
‘Don’t worry,’ she added. ‘It’s not like you to lose things. It will turn up.’
After that, there was a distinct improvement in relations, which was just as well because things were hotting up with Miranda and I needed all hands on deck.
Chapter Ten
To my surprise I was getting the hang of things on the beauty team and even starting to enjoy it. At first, the incompetence of some of the girls on the magazines amazed me.
‘Hi, it’s Trudy, onBabemag. I need another sample of the Sunset Pink lipstick.’
‘But I’ve already sent you two.’
‘Yah, but I left one at the shoot and well the other... yah, the photographer stood on it. Be a poppet and send another.. . two. You know. Just in case.’
There must be a black hole in Soho full of make-up and skincare products.
By the end of the first week, I was an old hand and didn’t bother asking what had happened. I just gaily shoved more products into horrifically expensive padded envelopes to bike round to them. Our budget for sending out make-up and moisturiser was twice the national debt of a small dictatorship.
As I learnt the ropes, I was relieved to find diplomatic relations were holding up, although Emily was no help at all. It wasn’t deliberate, she was just incompetent — spectacularly so. None of the things that she was supposed to do ever got done.
Luckily Cara had warmed up and was quite helpful. I suspected that her cheerful attitude today had something to do with Arsenal winning their latest match. Her mood did tend to depend on their results.
Most of the time, she was quite cheery so I guessed they were quite good. Her supporting them might come in quite handy, as I could get the inside track on this football business. Which reminded me. I’d promised Ned I’d speak to Jabba about tickets to the box and a game.
* * *
Everything was going well until two days before the premiere. Miraculously Miranda and Rowan’s relationship had lasted longer than their dual celebrity average had suggested — but then he’d gone and blown it, which I only discovered when Emily had burst into the flat the previous night clutching theEvening Standard. ‘I don’t believe it. Look what’s happened. Miranda’s going to go ballistic.’ She looked positively gleeful about it.
Apparently while celebrating his number one, Rowan had got roaring drunk and seduced a nearly sixteen-year-old schoolgirl who then sold her story to theSun. Judging from her grainy portrait, the girl could have passed for a twenty-year-old hooker quite easily. Miranda promptly dumped him and was now milking Rowan’s betrayal for all she was worth. Telling her heartbroken tale to theMirrortook precedence over coming to try the dress on. The headline read, ‘Chart Break for Miranda.’
While the publicity was great, it did leave a slight problem. With less than forty-eight hours to the premiere, it was now down to me to conjure up a man, and quickly. Short of nipping down to the nearest fire station, I was running out of ideas. Fiona had taken her handy little black book with her. After all, it wouldn’t do for me to be too successful.
Then I had a brainwave. Sebastian. Daniel’s brother. He would be perfect.
I hadn’t seen or spoken to Daniel since that awkward moment the morning after my accident and I’d been trying hard not to think of him. Every time I did, my brain tied itself up in knots trying to figure out whether I might have given myself away that night. Did he have any inkling how I felt about him?
I chickened out and got Emily to phone him. By the end of the day everything was sorted and we had an escort for Miranda. Sebastian would be meeting us at the hotel the following evening.
One more problem down. All I needed to do now was get Miranda to the sodding dress fitting.
* * *
By the time we left the office that evening it was late and I felt as if I was coming apart at the seams, but thankfully nearly everything was in place. I’d even managed to sort out tickets for Ned and me to go to a football match as a guest of Collingwood Construction next week. He was thrilled to bits. I still wasn’t sure.
In the meantime, the premiere was front of mind. This time tomorrow I’d be there, as long as I remembered to pick up my dress from the dry-cleaners and go to the doctor’s surgery. I was hoping the nurse would down grade my bandage to a smaller dressing otherwise I’d be having a severe wardrobe crisis.
In the course of arranging the evening, Emily had managed to wangle official invites to the premiere in a swanning-down-the-red-carpet capacity for us. The gilt-edged invitation was taking pride of place on the mantelpiece in the flat.
