‘Hey, Jonny.’ I reach up and give him a quick peck on the cheek. ‘Thanks for coming all this way.’
‘Well you know I lose my super powers the second I cross the river,’ he jokes. Jules rolls her eyes.
‘Can I get either of you a drink?’ Jonny can obviously see the way the conversation is heading.
‘I’m all right but there should be some champagne knocking around somewhere.’ I point at the bar. ‘See that guy. That’s Rich; he’ll know where everything is.’
‘Got it,’ Jonny dips his head and makes his way towards Rich.
‘So that’s the famous Rich.’ Jules squints in his direction. ‘You never mentioned he’s a dead ringer for Tom Cruise. If Tom Cruise were tall.’
‘You probably only think that because he’s behind the bar.’ Rich says something that makes Jonny laugh then ducks under the table and reappears with a champagne bottle and two glasses.
‘Probably. He is gorgeous though.’ Jules starts looking around the room. ‘More than a match for the beautiful Izzy.’
‘When did you meet Izzy?’ My voice is sharper than I meant it to be. But Jules is my friend, not Izzy’s.
‘I presumed she was the tall blonde in the metallic number who let us in.’ Jules looks a bit taken aback by my intensity. ‘She had a right face on her. Uber glam but a bit done, if you know what I mean.’
‘She looks as good in joggers as she does tonight.’ I shrug, trying to bring things back to normal. ‘She’s just one of those people.’ I glance back at the doorway to see if I can spot her but Izzy’s gone.
‘Check out this house anyway.’ Jules’s eyes are wide. ‘This basement conversion is insane. And don’t tell me they sunk the garden so it was in line with the kitchen. That must have cost a fortune.’
‘It wasn’t cheap. Luckily, Rich is a banker and they had a bit of family money.’ I look through the aluminium and glass bi-fold doors to the garden beyond the patio. The tips of the grass are glazed with frost, like a winter wonderland. Even the weather cooperates with Izzy.
‘Is that our managing ed?’ Jules interrupts her own running commentary to clutch my arm again. ‘How on earth do you know Tony Maxwell-Martin?’
Izzy’s dad. I look over. In a long silver dress with her blonde hair cascading around her shoulders, Izzy’s mum, Glenda, has worked hard to look like an exact replica of her daughter. Her cheekbones are unnaturally prominent, and I know she spends her life in the gym. Next to her, Tony looks bloated. He’s supposed to be on a health kick but the skin around his eyes is pouchy and he could do with losing a few pounds.
‘That’s the family money,’ I say. ‘Tony’s Izzy’s dad. I’m surprised you didn’t know. I thought everybody at work did.’
Jules frowns. ‘I’ve never heard anyone mention it. Certainly nobody in beauty.’
‘Really?’ I recall the humiliation of walking into the loos on my second day to find two girls from the fashion department bitching about Tony dropping by my desk to say hello. I’ve been convinced everyone thinks I got the job because of him ever since. It’s one of the reasons I keep such a low profile. ‘Well, for God’s sake don’t tell them now.’
‘Of course I won’t. Anyway, I mustn’t monopolize you. I should go and find Jonny and enjoy our forty-five minutes of freedom before we head back north.’
‘Thanks for coming, Jules. I really appreciate it.’
‘I wouldn’t come to deepest, darkest south London for anybody else. Have an amazing night.’
Jules plunges into the party. I look around. Izzy’s behind the breakfast bar now, pulling serving platters out of a cupboard. I could go over but she looks like she has her hands full and I’m not sure what to say yet. I look for Ed instead. He’s over by the sofa talking to the same group of guys from work as before. I hesitate. It’s not that I don’t like Ed’s colleagues; more that I’m worried they don’t like me. They all love Izzy and I thought that being her friend would grant me automatic acceptance. But every time I see them, they crack inside jokes and I find myself either tongue-tied or spiky and defensive. Which means half of them probably think I’m a moron and the other half think I’m a bitch. But right now that group’s my best option so I put on a bright smile and slip through the crowds towards them. Perhaps tonight’s the night for a fresh start.
‘Hi, guys.’ I nudge my way into a space next to Ed.
‘There you are.’ Ed pulls me in. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’
‘We were just quizzing Ed about how he popped the question,’ says the only girl in the group. She’s got dark hair and a sharp face with a mouth that turns down at the corners. I think her name is Emma. ‘Congrats.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Congratulations,’ says the short guy with the goatee standing next to her. ‘I’m Ian, by the way. I don’t think we’ve met before.’
‘Ian’s joined us from Slaters.’ Ed names one of their major competitors.
‘Nice to meet you.’
‘Are you in insurance as well?’ he asks.
‘God no.’ Worried I sound rude, I add: ‘I’m not nearly clever enough.’
‘Bec writes for Flare,’ Ed answers for me. ‘It’s one of the country’s leading women’s consumer magazines.’
‘One of the leading women’s magazines, is it?’ smirks Ben, the self-anointed leader of the group. Ed says he goes out to lunch with clients at least three times a week. It shows; he’s got the gut of a man ten years his senior. ‘What’s it leading women to, then?’ He laughs and I force myself to join in.
‘Better shoes,’ I suggest and then, when nobody reacts: ‘We’re the usual selection of fashion, health and beauty, celebrity and lifestyle.’
‘And current affairs,’ Ed reminds me. ‘There’s a healthy mix of that sort of stuff in there too.’
‘You’ll be perfectly placed to plan a wedding then,’ drawls Emma as if Ed hasn’t spoken. ‘I imagine you have a lot of contacts.’
‘A few.’ I don’t mention that most of the connections are above my pay grade.
‘Have it planned by the year end, will you?’ Ben continues. ‘Watch out, Ed, the net’s tightening.’
He mimes a fishing rod reeling Ed in and this time they all laugh.
‘I’m well and truly on the hook,’ Ed says, but Ben’s self-satisfied guffawing drowns him out. ‘Anyway the point I was making about the new trade credit regs is pretty simple.’ And off he goes.
‘Izzy’s offered to plan it for me,’ I can’t help saying when they’ve quietened down. No matter how churned-up my feelings are, I know she’ll have my back with Ben. ‘Were you at their wedding, Ben? It was amazing. I don’t remember seeing you.’
Spotting her, I add: ‘There she is. Shall I call her over?’
I can see Ben’s Adam’s apple bobbing as Izzy adjusts one of the canapés. She’s paid local teenagers to come and waitress (I’ve already snagged a duck roll and a mini Yorkshire pudding from someone with thick eyeliner and hunched shoulders) but Izzy makes everything herself. As she turns around and bends over the oven to pull out the final baking tray, I can almost hear the saliva frothing in Ben’s throat. It’s disgusting.