Page 107 of Who’s That Girl?

Charlotte and Miles have made an amicable decision to separate. Their decision was made by best friends with a huge amount of love and respect for one another. Their relationship has ended, but their friendship continues. They would request that the media respect their privacy at this sensitive time.

Gosh, it sounds great, doesn’t it? We sound so mature and laid-back about it all, so cool. It makes you almost want to split up with your boyfriend.

In fact by Sunday morning I feel cheered up and am imagining Miles and I doing amicable dinners with our future partners. That is until Miles arrives at my flat waving an itemised telephone bill and demanding £7.38 ‘because it’s the principle and everyone has to be financially responsible’, bitterly dumps two bin-liners full of my stuff on my doorstep and then informs me in a triumphant voice that he’s got tickets to see the James Bond tribute band and he’s taking Helen, his bookkeeper, who apparently is a huge fan, and who I know has always had a not-so-secret crush on him.

On second thoughts, perhaps forget the amicable dinners.

I lie awake on Sunday night, unable to sleep for mulling over recent events in my head. I feel as if I’ve made a complete mess of things. Miles now hates me, and my younger self hasn’t taken any of my advice. And what’s worse, I don’t blame her. I mean, when it comes to love and relationships, I’ve hardly got it sussed, have I? What was I doing, thinking I could give advice about men? Maybe she does know better. What was it she said? The conversation starts replaying in my head: ‘My advice for getting over a man – get underneath another one.’

Abruptly my mind throws up an image of Oliver. I throw it back again like a hot potato. Honestly. That’s just nonsense. You can’t go rushing from one man to the next. Even if I did think he was sexy and wanted to sleep with him – which I don’t – he’s not going to be interested in me, not when I ignored him all those years ago. No doubt he’s forgotten about me already.

But that’s fine. Meeting him again was one of those weird, interesting coincidences, but I don’t plan to make a habit of it. After all, it was ten years since I last saw him. Chances are, it’s going to be another ten till I see him again.

I wake up on Monday morning in a much better mood. It’s like that saying: ‘Today’s the first day of the rest of your life.’ So I’ve decided. Last week was full of surprises and all kinds of upheaval, but this week I’m determined not to have any more surprises. I can do without it. So I’m going to put everything that’s happened behind me. I’m going to forget about relationships and men and giving advice to my younger self and concentrate one hundred per cent on work.

And I’m going to need it. I’ve got a big week ahead of me. Despite it being a bank holiday today, I still have to go into the office. Tomorrow’s the press launch for Star Smile UK and there’s masses to organise. Plus I’m supposed to be ‘touching base’ with Larry Thompson sometime today, so I need to focus.

In fact it’s probably a really good thing I’m not going to have any other distractions, I decide, hurrying into my walk-in wardrobe. The yellow sequinned blouse I bought on Saturday catches my eye, but I brush past and grab a pair of smart cream trousers and a crisp white cotton shirt. A really good thing indeed.

I arrive at the office feeling motivated and positive.

‘Morning, Bea.’ Throwing her a large smile, I sweep up my coffee and stride over to my desk.

‘Gosh, you’re in a jolly mood.’ She beams, which is impressive considering she’s working the bank holiday too. But then, she insisted. She knows how important tomorrow’s press launch is. ‘Good weekend?’

Briefly I consider telling her about Miles. Then I see her shiny, happy eyes and realise I can’t do it. According to Beatrice, we’re the perfect couple. I can’t face telling her the truth. It would be like telling a child Santa Claus doesn’t exist.

‘Busy,’ I reply, swiftly sidestepping the issue. Well, that’s not a fib. It was busy. I was up half the night packing Miles’s collection of property magazines. He saves all the back issues so he can keep track of house prices. He even drew a graph and stuck it on to his fridge. ‘How about you? What did you get up to?’

‘Oh, not much.’ She shrugs, pushing up her sleeves and folding her arms. ‘On Saturday I watched polo – my eldest brother, Toby, was playing. Saturday night I went to the opera with my friend Maddy, who has a box there, and then on Sunday it was Granny’s birthday and we all had dinner at The Dorchester.’

‘Um, yes, you’re right, just a regular weekend, then.’ I smile teasingly. I love hearing about Beatrice’s weekends. It’s like reading the society pages of Tatler. She lives in a completely different world to most people, and yet the thing I love about her is that she has absolutely no idea and thinks it’s all terribly normal, darling.

‘Which reminds me, I saw that friend of yours at The Dorchester.’

Sipping my coffee, I start leafing through the post. ‘Who?’ I murmur distractedly.

‘You know, your friend’s husband. The one in the photo.’

I stop what I’m doing and glance up sharply. ‘You mean Julian?’

‘Oh dear, have I said something wrong?’ Anxiously she clutches at her pearls as if they can somehow protect her from my wrath.

‘No, of course not,’ I reassure her quickly. ‘But are you sure it was him?’ She eyes me warily. ‘Beatrice, this is important.’

‘Absolutely,’ she says gravely. ‘I never forget a face.’

My mind is scrambling around. I think back to Julian’s conversation with Vanessa over dinner on my birthday. He said he had to work. That’s why he couldn’t take the kids to the aquarium. So what was he doing at the hotel?

Business, I tell myself firmly. That’s it, he was probably doing business with one of his posh clients. I do it all the time. I’m always in hotels.

‘And what time was it?’

‘Um, now, let me think …’ She tips her head on one side. ‘Gosh, it was after we’d had the petits fours, because Granny then fancied a brandy and I remember saying I’d have one too, but not before I’d gone to the loo.’

‘Bea, is this story leading anywhere?’ I gasp impatiently.

‘Oh, most definitely.’ She nods. ‘Because you see, it was when I was going to the loo that I went through reception and bumped into him.’