Page 36 of Who’s That Girl?

‘Evening?’ she repeats, her eyebrows shooting up.

‘We’re having dinner,’ I say, trying to sound all casual. ‘At his hotel.’

‘Oh.’ She’s nodding, digesting this piece of information. ‘How very intimate. Though that’s probably what they do in Hollywood,’ she muses.

‘Yes, probably,’ I agree, brushing away my doubts.

Turning back to her keyboard once more, she types, Thursday. Evening. Dinner with Larry Thompson. ‘OK, you’re all set.’ Grabbing her mouse, she clicks ‘save’ with a flourish. ‘It’s in the diary.’

Chapter Eleven

The rest of the day flies by, returning calls, talking to journalists, dealing with clients, until before I know it it’s late afternoon and Beatrice and I leave the office and walk the few hundred yards to Exhale, the newly opened spa.

Arriving, we discover the party in full swing, spa-style: soft, tinkly music is wafting from out of the concealed speaker system, a fountain made from an ancient rock is gently trickling water, and dozens of barefoot staff are flitting around, handing out lotus flowers and offering free treatments.

Casting my eye around the large crowd, I take a gulp of ice-cold champagne and savour the sensation of bubbles fizzing on my tongue. I never would have believed it but it seems Beatrice’s mother might be right about something. OK, I wouldn’t call it the best medicine ever, and I wouldn’t say I’m heaps better, but I’ve only had half a glass and I have to admit I’m already starting to feel a lot more relaxed about things.

‘Canapés?’ A waitress walks past with a large silver tray.

‘Mmm, yes, please,’ I enthuse. ‘What are they?’

‘Quail’s eggs with tomato,’ she proffers brightly, passing me one on a napkin.

About to take a bite, I hesitate. ‘Are they free-range?’

Well, OK. Not that relaxed.

The waitress’s smile fades. ‘Um … I’m not sure—’

‘Ooh, those look yummy,’ interrupts Beatrice. She glances at me. ‘What? You’re not eating yours?’ She gasps, staring incredulously at my untouched canapé.

‘Actually, I’m not that hungry,’ I fib.

‘Well, if you don’t want it …’ As the waitress moves away, she swiftly takes it from me. ‘Mmm, this is a really good launch party, I have to say.’ She nods approvingly and takes a sip of champagne. ‘Are you going to try one of the free treatments?’

I glance at my watch. ‘I should get back to the office.’

‘Free five-minute facial?’ offers one of the therapists wafting past. She looks at me enquiringly.

‘Ooh, Charlotte, go on, you should try one,’ says Beatrice, nudging me with her elbow.

I shake my head. ‘I really need to finish up a press release.’

‘It will only take five minutes,’ she points out insistently.

Honestly, you’d never think I was the boss and she was my assistant. Then again – I hesitate – a relaxing facial might be just what the doctor ordered, and I can always take some work home with me. Saying that, when don’t I take work home with me?

‘OK, why not? That sounds great.’ I smile at the therapist.

She beams back. ‘Wonderful.’ Pressing her hands together, she does a little bow. ‘My name’s Suki, and if you’d just like to come over to one of the chairs …’

Dutifully I follow Suki over to three large leather recliners that are tucked away behind a small painted screen featuring a Zen-like landscape. Aromatherapy candles are burning, and there’s a large pot of bamboo in the corner. It screams relaxation and inner peace.

Sinking into the soft leather, I close my eyes as Suki removes my make-up and presses a hot towel on my face. It smells of eucalyptus and I take a deep breath.

‘Now, we’re just going to open your pores,’ Suki’s voice chants soothingly.

As she begins gently dabbing the towel against my cheeks, then slowly on to my forehead and over to my chin, I can feel the tension slowly trickling out of my body like sand through an egg-timer. The doctor was right: I am really stressed.