Fast Friends

by Jill Mansell

  “There’s probably another wedding party outside; the registrar’s looking twitchy. I think we’d all better start making a move.”

  Grateful for the change of subject, Nico relaxed, his green eyes sparkling with humor as he glanced across at the fidgeting man. “Loulou thinks he’s on speed. Apparently, he officiated at one of her weddings—it must have been the last one—and he was just as twitchy then.”

  “He probably got nervous when he saw Loulou,” said Camilla. “Maybe he thought she was going to get married again.”

  Eventually, the registrar’s office was cleared and everyone piled into their cars. Despite Camilla’s horrified protest at the thought of what it would cost him, Matt had decided that the reception had to be held at the Ritz. He had also booked a suite there for the week, after wisely informing his excitable golfing friends that he would be spending his honeymoon at the Carlton Towers.

  Jack, it had been arranged, would turn up at six o’clock to take Toby, Charlotte, and Marty back home with him. When Camilla had informed him of her imminent remarriage, they had sat down together to discuss the children’s lives. Making no mention of the night he had turned up with Roz at Vampires, she had persuaded him that their shared custody should now become more equal. Jack needed a certain amount of free time and she needed her children. Now that Matt had bought a large five-bedroomed house in Belgravia, they were well able to accommodate them. She had been terrified that, seeing how much it mattered to her, he would create difficulties, but to her surprise and relief, Jack had agreed. Both children, he admitted, had missed her. They weren’t always easy to cope with, although he was pleased with the way Charlotte was maturing. And besides, he added, he wasn’t one to hold a grudge.

  “He doesn’t hold a grudge!” Matt had exploded when Camilla related the conversation to him afterward. “How bloody noble can the lying bastard get?”

  It had all been amicably sorted out, and Camilla wondered if it was possible to be any happier than she now was. From persuading Jack to share the children with her, it was a relatively easy step getting him to accept Marty. Like both Charlotte and Toby, he had had initial reservations, but meeting him swiftly overcame such flimsy obstacles. With his new, spiky haircut, irresistible, ever-present smile, and gradually expanding vocabulary—he could now say Tom and Jerry, hug me, hole in one, champion, and shit with embarrassing fluency—he had bombarded the family with affection and an infectious giggle.

  Marty’s mother, struggling with six other children and a “husband” who seldom came home, was pathetically grateful to Camilla for giving Marty the love and attention she was unable to afford herself. Charlotte wiped strands of saliva and smears of chocolate from Marty’s mouth with the practiced ease of a nurse, assuming as she did so a slightly bossy, long-suffering air that reduced Matt to fits of laughter. Toby spent endless hours trying to teach the distractible Marty how to play soccer. “Mum,” he complained eventually, “Marty doesn’t understand about goals. He keeps pulling up the posts and saying ‘Champion.’ He’s even worse at soccer than Charlotte.”

  Camilla watched them now with pride as they played together at a circular table in the lavish, high-ceilinged, ivory-and-gold Berkeley Suite at the Ritz. The day was perfect, and realizing it, tears of happiness sprang to her eyes.

  Hastily blinking them back and taking a sip of pink champagne, she gazed around the room, observing the other guests. Matt’s parents, Paula and Tom, were laughing at one of Nico’s deadpan jokes. Caroline was deep in discussion with Lloyd, not for the first time that afternoon. Her sleek, honey-brown head bent close to his dark one, and from time to time, she glanced sideways at Nico to see if he was paying attention. Zoë and Loulou also seemed to be enjoying themselves with two of Matt’s friends. The ultramarine dress Loulou wore was borrowed, for hardly any of her pre-pregnancy, notoriously close-fitting clothes fitted her post-pregnancy chest. Camilla was one of only a few people who knew that the nationwide publicity following Loulou’s donation of “all her wordly goods” to research into crib deaths had resulted in a wave of smaller donations being sent not only to the same charity, but also to Loulou herself. Quietly, and without fuss this time, she had written to each of these kindhearted donors, thanking them and explaining that while she was grateful, she was passing the money on to the charity. Not a penny had been kept back for herself. And Camilla had found herself in the happy position of being able to lend Loulou her clothes for a change, their bust sizes now being almost identical.

  Soon, more people would be arriving, she realized. Half a dozen or so of Matt’s closer friends on the international golfing circuit were catching a flight over from Spain and spending Christmas in London. The English family with whom Paula, Tom, and Lloyd Lewis were staying would be here, as would several of the models from Sheridan’s, with whom Camilla had become friendly. Christo was holding the fort at Vampires tonight, but Daisy and Lena had both managed to take the evening off and would be arriving at any moment, dressed up to the nines in the hope of ensnaring a couple of the golfers.

  And there was a possibility that Mac would turn up too. Camilla had phoned him a fortnight ago, mentally prepared for a curt refusal. He hadn’t seen Loulou since the morning Lili was born. She knew, because Nico had told Loulou, who had in turn relayed the information to her, that Mac was bitter. And if there had been any chance at all of him forgiving her, it had apparently been dashed beyond hope by the news that Loulou was now living with Christo Moran.

  “Typical,” he had told Nico with disgust. “That woman isn’t capable of living without a man. I would have thought that Christo at least might have had more bloody sense.”

  He refused absolutely to believe that Loulou’s relationship with Christo was platonic. “She’s a tart. She sleeps with anyone. And don’t try to tell me she’s changed because I know her. I know her only too bloody well.”

  Thinking also that he might have arranged to spend Christmas up in Scotland, Camilla had phoned him anyway, but to her surprise, Mac had thanked her and accepted the invitation. “I’ll bring my camera and take some thoroughly indiscreet, informal photos for your wedding album,” he had said cheerfully. “Nico’s going to be there too, isn’t he?”

  “Yes,” said Camilla, wondering whether her decision to invite Mac had been prompted by Loulou’s insistence that Nico should be there. It was all so complicated, she barely understood it herself.

  “Great,” said Mac. “I’ll see you there, then. But just don’t expect me to speak to Loulou,” he had added in warning tones. “Because I couldn’t.”

  Having just autographed a dozen gold-embossed menu cards for one of the waitresses, Nico tucked his pen back into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and watched Camilla and Matt dance together at the other end of the room.

  Taking care to conceal his feelings, although why he felt it necessary when Caroline was continuing to flirt outrageously with Matt’s good-looking younger brother, he realized the truth of Camilla’s statement earlier that afternoon. She had come a long way.

  Camilla was clearly one of those people, he thought with a flash of envy, who could put the past firmly behind them, and if the events were not forgotten, they were at least relegated to a level of such unimportance that they could cause no further pain.

  Unlike his own, which occupied his thoughts night and day and refused to fade. If anything, he realized, the mismatch with Caroline only accentuated the unhappiness, made the might-have-beens more poignant and desirable. Life’s a bitch, Mac had recently grown fond of informing him. And Nico was beginning to understand exactly what he meant.

  Camilla was looking stunning tonight, the silky material of her dress shimmering beneath the warm, silvery glow of light from the chandeliers; her eyes sparkled and she never seemed to stop smiling.

  Radiant was the word, he supposed, and shook his blond head slightly, mocking himself. I must be bloody mad, he thought, coming here today.
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  * * *

  Loulou was infuriated to find herself glancing across the room each time the impressively carved, golden oak doors swung open to admit new arrivals. But Mac had told Camilla that he would be here, and no matter how many times she told herself he no longer mattered, still her heart leaped and her head swung around like a bloody metronome whenever the doors moved.

  Of all the lousy men in the world to have fallen in love with, she thought, Mac was the worst. He was so moody, so jealous and unpredictable…and by renewing their friendship, but resolutely refusing to sleep with her, he had only enhanced the fascination, that mysterious aura of desirability. Not that she would have gone to bed with him, she reminded herself, but it would have been nice to have the chance to say no, particularly to Mac, who appeared to believe that it was a word outside her vocabulary.

  Hugging Lili to her, she caressed the wondrous curve of her daughter’s cheek as she slept contentedly amid the noise and celebration. Any minute now Daisy’s sister, who had volunteered to babysit for the rest of the evening, would be arriving to take Lili back to Christo’s flat. And any minute now, thought Loulou wistfully, since Camilla had warned her with gentle tact that he would probably ignore her, Mac might arrive.

  “I saw you on TV the other afternoon,” Daisy was saying to one of the Spanish golfers, wondering if he would notice that she had undone an extra button on her shirt when he wasn’t looking. “I was very impressed with the way you handled your nine iron.”

  “As I am impressed with you,” insisted Manuel, gazing at her pale cleavage with devotion.

  At that moment, in the reflection from one of the enormous gilt-edged mirrors lining the walls, Daisy saw Mac arrive. Sliding off the edge of the table upon which she was perched, she nudged Lena furiously.

  “Guess who’s turned up?” In unison, their heads swiveled to the left.

  “And look what he’s brought with him,” said Lena loudly, her voice betraying both admiration and dismay. “Bloody hell. I bet Lou wasn’t expecting this.”

  Loulou wasn’t. For some ridiculous reason, she told herself, the idea that Mac might bring someone with him had not even occurred to her. If she had been prepared, she would have been able to carry on without even missing a beat. As it was, however, she had to turn abruptly away and stare hard at a large bowl of creamy-white lilies, willing her eyes not to fill with tears.

  The hope, so faint that she had scarcely dared to acknowledge its existence, that she and Mac could somehow be reconciled and reunited, was dashed to smithereens like the champagne glass lying unnoticed beneath a chair.

  Mac kissed Camilla on the cheek and shook Matt’s hand. He looked relaxed and cheerful, almost triumphant as he introduced Cecilia Drew.

  Camilla felt a stab of sympathy for Loulou, whose faint hope she had mutely shared. Cecilia Drew, with her hip-length ebony hair, topaz tiger’s eyes, and svelte six-foot figure was a formidable opponent, a force to be very seriously reckoned with. Even Loulou, no slouch in the looks department herself, could scarcely compete with such ferocious glamour.

  The copper-and-gold bugle-beaded dress she wore, strapless and slit to the thigh, was incredibly over-the-top, yet if anyone could carry it off Cecilia Drew, Vogue’s favorite model, star of a thousand catwalks and of a far grander agency than Sheridan’s, could.

  Her grip as she shook Camilla’s hand was surprisingly firm. Her wide, gold-slicked mouth curled into a smile.

  “Congratulations on your marriage,” she said in a low, carefully modulated voice strangely at odds with her startling appearance. “Mac has told me a lot about you.”

  Camilla didn’t make the obvious reply, but Matt, typically, had no such reservations.

  “Well, Mac has certainly kept quiet about you,” he declared with open admiration, winking at Mac.

  Camilla nudged him in the ribs. Didn’t he realize that Loulou, at the far end of the room, had turned back around and was now silently watching them? She looked as if someone was slowly pulling out all her toenails with steel pliers.

  Mac, wickedly handsome in a white tuxedo, his pristine white dress shirt undone at the neck and his black bow tie dangling, ran a proprietary hand down Cecilia’s bare brown back. His black eyes, catching the light from the chandeliers as he tilted his head, glittered like coal. Helplessly, Camilla glanced across the room once more. Loulou’s eyes were desolate with longing and pain. At that moment, she could have kicked herself for inviting Mac. This wasn’t what was meant to have happened. In trying to help, to be a good friend, she had only succeeded in making things a million times worse.

  “We can’t stay too long, I’m afraid,” said Mac. “I do realize that you weren’t expecting both of us, but I wanted Cecilia to meet you.”

  “Stay,” urged Matt, reaching for a bottle of Krug and searching for a couple of glasses. Camilla realized that he simply didn’t understand her frantic signals for him to shut up. He had got on well with Mac on that fateful night at Vampires, and he couldn’t see any reason why he should leave now that he was here.

  Across the room, to her relief, she saw Nico leave Caroline’s side and go to Loulou, placing a comforting arm around her slender shoulders.

  Mac shook his dark head. “No, really. Camilla understands why we have to leave.” He looked at Cecilia, and Camilla saw with a sense of foreboding the odd expression of triumph in his eyes as he did so. “We just wanted you to be the first to know. Cecilia and I have decided to follow your excellent example. We’re getting married in the very near future ourselves.”

  This time, even Matt was momentarily caught off balance. He finally realized what was really going on. Camilla felt as if she had been kicked in the stomach. In that slow second before Matt recovered and began a fresh round of handshakes, kisses, and slightly forced congratulations, Camilla’s gaze locked with Mac’s and they exchanged a look that told her everything.

  Nothing could have stopped him, she realized, and Loulou wasn’t the only one who would suffer. Both Mac and Cecilia were victims, too, of his desperate compulsion to hurt her as she had hurt him.

  But, for the moment, Mac was happy. He genuinely thought this was what he wanted. And he had done exactly what he had come here tonight to do.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Being married again was wonderful, thought Camilla as she unpacked the last of the suitcases and shook sand out of a white silk skirt, but Loulou’s unhappiness still hung like an ominous cloud over the horizon. The change in her was appalling, and Camilla was genuinely concerned. Her friends were all standing by her, helping her as much as they dared—for she still had her pride and tried as hard as possible to present a brave front—but there was only one person who could cure her of the terrible depression, and he was equally proud, equally determined to keep well away from her.

  Mac and Cecilia were the darlings of the gossip columns. Everywhere you looked there they were, immortalized in black and white, presenting dazzling smiles to the cameras, whooping it up in Paris, Mustique, London, and Gstaad. Camilla urged Loulou not to read the papers. Compulsively, Loulou devoured every one, hating herself for doing it and wondering why it hurt so damn much.

  “I can’t understand it,” she confessed when she had last seen Camilla and Matt. “I’m never like this. It’s pathetic. You can laugh your head off at me, Cami…remember all the brilliant advice I gave you? Remember how I bullied you, gave you a couple of weeks to get over Jack? And now here I am, not having even spoken to Mac for months, dripping like a hot tap all over your settee. Go on,” she added bitterly, “have a good laugh.”

  “We aren’t laughing,” Camilla reassured her, taking her thin, cold hand, “and I feel terrible—I should never have invited Mac to our wedding reception.”

  Loulou shook her head; even her hair looked tired these days, lacking its normal bounce and luster. “He would still have done it. But it’s so stupid… Nothing bothered m
e after Lili was born. I floated around on a cloud. I was happy and I didn’t care too much about Mac doing his disappearing act. It wasn’t until he turned up with Cecilia bloody Drew that it suddenly hit me. And who could compete with someone like her even if we were starting out on level pegging?”

  It was as if she had given up, Camilla realized. Her fighting spirit was gone. Nico, to Caroline’s semi-concealed fury, had carted Loulou and baby Lili off to his sisters in Bath, staying there with her for a week. That had really got the press going. Speculation was rife. Neither Nico nor Loulou cared. The short break was pleasant enough, and the mayhem that always reigned in the homes of Nico’s beautiful sisters and their noisy families diverted Loulou’s attention to a degree, but it didn’t really help.

  Laszlo de Lazzari, after a discussion with Christo, offered her a managerial position at Vampires, in the hope that working again would cheer her up. Loulou refused to even consider it. She needed time, she said, to think things through and sort herself out.

  Roz invited her down to Gloucestershire and dragged her out to parties every night. People who had longed for years to meet the glamorous, effervescent Loulou Marks did so and were sorely disappointed. After five days, Loulou escaped back to London, feeling like a hedgehog in search of somewhere to hibernate.

  But Camilla wouldn’t allow her to hibernate. With relentless determination, she phoned Loulou, visited her at the flat, and whenever possible dragged her and Lili back with her to the new house in Belgravia.

  Lifting an ivory chiffon cocktail dress from the suitcase on the bed and slipping it onto a hanger, she decided to call Loulou as soon as the unpacking was finished and persuade her to come stay for a few more days, at least. It had taken all Matt’s efforts to persuade Camilla to go with him to southern Spain for the golf tournament in which he was competing. She had enjoyed herself enormously, but she was also glad to be back. Loulou needed her, having confessed that at least with Camilla she didn’t feel she always had to put on a front. Camilla only wished that there was more she could do to help. Gin and sympathy sometimes simply weren’t enough.