Mel was too much of a threat for Bridget, Bately had told her. They were around the same height and both had slender frames.
‘But with one big difference,’ Bately had spat.
‘What’s that, sweetie?’
‘Her face doesn’t look like she’s chewing a wasp.’
Bridget had laughed. ‘Darling Bately, you are such a hoot.’
She couldn’t remember much more of the conversation. It was an age ago – just a few months after she’d started dating Hartley first time round. She hadn’t banked on him holding a grudge for quite so long. Thankfully, Hartley had seen the light, she thought as she listened to him reassure his friend she was a changed woman. Dear H, she thought, as she heard him come out with gems like ‘everyone’s allowed a second chance’ and ‘she’s in a much better place these days’.
Simple phrases even his dyslexic buffoon of a friend Bately might understand. Psycho-babbling Hartley was falling for her all over again. And that simply proved what Bridget had known all along: they were meant for each other. Even if he didn’t realize it at the moment, if he was ‘encouraged’ to think about a future and family with Bridget, he would see it all made perfect sense.
LUCY LETS HER HAIR DOWN
‘Oh. My. God. Kirk Kelner wants to take us to a party? Are you joking?’
Lucy laughed. Amy’s face was etched with delight, shock and fear.
‘Not joking, Aims. Just me, you and Kirk Kelner. You don’t think James will mind?’
‘Stuff James, Luce, it’s Kirk Kelner. If he wants our company, who are we to refuse? Of course, he really wants to be with you. Will I be in the way?’
‘Oh please. He insisted you come. Anyway, he might be Kirk Kelner but he’s still a stranger – I won’t go unless you come.’
‘Luce, I was just fishing – of course I’m coming.’
‘Good.’
‘But I am going to bugger off if it looks like you two are hitting it off. I want a Hollywood wedding, Luce, the full works. Max and I will be bridesmaids.’
‘Yes, yes. I’m sure he’ll have his pick of girls once we’re in the club. He’ll probably slip off with some gorgeous clubber barely out of her teens. Let’s just have some fun.’
‘Exactly. And don’t worry about the world knowing. I promise not to call everyone I’ve ever known tomorrow to tell them – although I bloody want to. Just James and my mum, OK? I know the last thing you want is more attention.’
‘Thanks, Aims. Now let’s party.’
Amy was delighted to hear Lucy talk like this. Lucy always put others first, often before her own happiness. She never really let go or threw caution to the wind. Perhaps that had become a natural instinct, growing up as big sister to Max. Carrying her home after a night out, fielding calls from smitten exes wondering why she was ignoring them. Lucy was so used to being the sensible one, it came naturally to her.
If only she could see how bloody attractive she was, and started enjoying it. Maybe that’s what was happening tonight. Lucy was enjoying herself. She was more vibrant than Amy had ever seen her.
She had been wounded so deeply by what had happened with Hartley – not just knowing that people thought she had set out to lie and trap him, but mostly because Hartley had believed the very worst of her. Amy was relieved to see Lucy picking herself up and having fun.
Kirk had asked them to join him at his table for a glass of champagne before they left for the club. Daphne, whose jade-green Chanel pencil skirt suit showed off her slender frame, was charm personified. She asked Lucy and Amy about themselves and said she was delighted to be leaving her son in the company of such intelligent and beautiful ladies. After twenty minutes or so Daphne glanced at her watch. With a flurry of air kisses she announced she really had to go and bade them goodnight.
Draining his flute, Kirk warned them that some paparazzi would probably be lying in wait outside the restaurant. He offered to call another car for them to leave five minutes after his exit.
‘Otherwise,’ he said, ‘you might appear in some rag as “Kirk’s mystery girls”. I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.’
Lucy agreed. She was sure Kirk had no idea of the press that had followed her since meeting Hartley. Little did he know what a great story it would be for them – Lucy Lands Another Millionaire – painting her as… hell, who cared? At least this way, if they left in different cars, the press wouldn’t get the chance. Lucy giggled as she read Amy’s face. She could tell Amy quite fancied the idea of being splashed all over the papers with the world’s sexiest man.
She’d love to see James’s face as he picked up the paper with snaps of his fiancée on Kirk’s arm. It would bring a whole new meaning to keeping him on his toes.
Kirk had been thoroughly charming to Amy, asking where she lived, commenting on her lovely jewellery. But his expression changed when he looked at Lucy. He couldn’t stop taking her in – not so much in a sleazy way as with mounting curiosity. She was so different to the girls he’d been spending time with in London.
What a beautiful pairing they would make, Amy thought as she watched them. Both were almost impossibly gorgeous – tall, flawless skin, fair silky hair, bright white smiles.
Shortly after he left the restaurant, with instructions to meet him inside the Met Bar on Park Lane, where their names would be on the door, Lucy and Amy followed in a black Bentley.
‘Not bad for a standby car,’ Amy laughed as they sped off.
Full of anticipation for the glitzy night that lay ahead, the girls watched the bright lights of Covent Garden whizz by in a blur.
SMITTEN KELNER MAKES HIS MOVE
Kirk couldn’t take his eyes off Lucy from the moment he spotted her in the restaurant. It was as if the rest of the room was a 2D cartoon and she was the only real thing in it. She was just his type: blonde, slim, so pretty. But the girls he was usually attracted to had had a great deal of help – hair extensions, fake tans that rubbed off on his Egyptian cotton sheets, acrylic nails. This girl seemed to be real. Daphne had followed his trance-like gaze.
‘Oh yes, now that’s the sort of girl you should be going for.’ Daphne had recognized Lucy at once. Although she hardly ever read newspapers she’d become quite addicted to the social diary column in the Daily Mail. That was Lucy Summers; she’d graced his pages almost every day for the past few weeks. And there had been some falling-out with her boyfriend, the Earl of Balmyle – she couldn’t remember what it was about. Who cared? This girl was single and mixed with aristocracy – much more fitting than the string of near-prostitutes her son had taken to bedding. Honestly, if she read another story about him leaving a club with a glamour girl in the early hours, she would scream. What Kirk needed – for his reputation and for his own happiness – was a real lady. This one was stunning and also well connected. Daphne decided not to tell her son everything she knew about Lucy – after all, an over-enthusiastic mother was enough to put any son off.
‘She is gorgeous.’
Daphne couldn’t help but laugh. Kirk looked just as he had when he was eight and she’d told him he could ride in a helicopter. He was transfixed, his eyes wide and dreamy as he watched Lucy glide to her table.
‘Yes, darling, she is.’ Daphne was keen to get things moving. It would suit her very well for Kirk to form a relationship with Lucy. She had grown to like London very much and might even consider staying if she could meet the right kind of people – the sort she had read about in novels by English authors. Perhaps a charming widower who would take her to the opera and parties. Her own husband, Eddie Kelner – Kirk’s father – had run off a decade ago and had gone through three younger models since, the fool. Some male company would be lovely. Someone who would treat her well, take her to places she had never been. ‘Darling, I have an idea. Treat her to dinner; let her know you are interested.’
Kirk looked unsure.
‘Kirky, otherwise you might never see her again. What harm can it do?’
Kirk smiled. ‘You are absolutely r
ight, as always, Mom. I’ll let the waiter know. Another glass of mineral water?’
‘Yes please, darling.’
‘Good, I’ll stick to the double scotches.’
When Lucy had come over to thank him, Kirk was a little taken aback. She seemed to radiate some kind of unearthly glow. God, she was gorgeous. And that accent – incredibly polished without a trace of the London whine that had so quickly started to grate when he picked up girls from clubs.
Kirk was a little confused by the realization that he was in awe of this woman. Normally, he didn’t give a shit. Ply them with champagne, tell them how beautiful they were, how lonely he got and – bingo! – back to his room for dirty sex. But this girl was something else. So polite, a little shy. Jesus, did she have any idea how stunning she was? Her friend was pretty too. They were like a different breed from the women he’d been hanging out with. Poles apart from one girl he’d slept with, whom he’d spotted just now as he came in… Sheri? She might be a fame-hungry gold-digger, selling stories about him, but it had hardly done his reputation any harm.
Kirk was delighted when Lucy and Amy appeared at the Met Bar. He wasn’t a man who suffered from insecurity, but he had worried they might have had second thoughts and decided not to join him.
But here she was, once again the only luminous thing in the club. Her shiny dress clung to every inch of her. God, to see what was under that dress would be heaven.
‘Hey, glad you made it.’ Kirk stood up as a bouncer lifted the red rope to let them in the booth.
Lucy had been to the Met Bar once before, for the party during London Fashion Week. Part of the Metropolitan Hotel, it was one of the most famous celeb haunts in London, though fewer stars hung out there now compared to the 1990s, when Brit Pop was in full swing. Then, the Gallagher brothers would be snapped staggering out in the early hours, Liam brandishing a bottle of beer and giving photographers his signature one-fingered salute. These days it was more of a venue for rich businessmen in expensive suits drinking on their company’s expense account. A string of newer clubs had most of the paparazzi lying in wait outside, hoping to catch the fresh blood of showbiz like Lily Allen and Amy Winehouse – the current caners of pop.
But tonight the bar was guest list only, in aid of some up-and-coming American DJ who had invited the uber-cool of London to his party. Lucy spotted one of the Kaiser Chiefs at the bar and… oh was that Kate Moss? It was! That’s how you knew the DJ playing was cooler than cool – when he attracted the world’s best-known supermodels to his gigs. And if there’s one thing Kate did well it was tapping into the next big thing, whether it be fashion or music.
Lucy loved to people-watch, even though this was definitely more Max’s scene than hers. Shit, this would be a great source of stories for her. But then she couldn’t very well ask Kirk, who had been kind enough to invite her to this private party, if her sister, who worked for a tabloid, could come to write about him. Anyway, Max had said she was staying in for a night of hot chocolate and DVDs.
Kirk was devastatingly handsome. And so attentive. Didn’t he realize Kate Moss was a few feet away? Or see the gaggle of pretty girls – all miniskirts, hot pants and hair – on the dance floor? He didn’t seem to care. How could any woman fail to be flattered? And he was funny, not at all as self-important as one might have expected.
Amy was in awe of Kirk, laughing like a giddy schoolgirl at his jokes.
After half an hour or so she announced she had spotted someone she’d like to talk to.
‘And no, I’m not being polite. I really have spotted someone I want to talk to,’ she shouted over the music to Lucy and Kirk.
Lucy deserved some luck, Amy thought as she watched Kirk drinking in every inch of Lucy with his eyes. But to have Kelner hanging on your every word? That was taking luck to a brand-new level.
AMY MAKES HER MOVE
Sheri had had some offers in her time but this one took the biscuit. In fact, she could hardly believe what this woman was asking her.
‘Have you ever had an STD?’
‘Excuse me?’ She stared back incredulously.
‘A sexually transmitted disease.’
‘I know what a fucking STD is, you cheeky cow.’
Sheri had hit the town with Envy to celebrate her wind-fall courtesy of Billy Brown. She’d squeezed in an appointment at the hairdresser’s and felt great showing off her new mane of dark blonde extensions. The peroxide ones had been too hard to maintain as her roots came through. She looked altogether classy, even if she did say so herself. Her Fantasy Tan was much more realistic than the St Tropez she’d been using. And her royal-blue mini-dress with the zip all the way down the front made her look as skinny as any of the famous footballers’ wives, but with a far superior cleavage.
Envy had got them into the Met Bar and it was brilliant – loads of famous people, big-name models and cool DJs. Bet they had some quality gear – top-of-the-range coke. She thought about making a run for it when Kirk Kelner came in – he might take issue with her kiss-and-tell. Then again, she had made him sound like the sex god he was far too drunk to have been. She had made eye contact with him for a second and, with just a whisper of a smile, she could tell he recognized her. He had quickly turned his attention to a member of staff who was showing him to a booth. Even though he had come in alone, he had seemed distracted, then totally focused on the blonde who joined him. She was stunning, must have been a model. Sheri had been making eyes at the DJ – apparently the next big thing, who looked the sort who’d be well up for a threesome with her and Envy – when some woman had tapped her on the shoulder. She was a pretty girl, even if she needed a bit more make-up.
Sheri couldn’t understand why this woman was being so nice to her. She was shouting over the music, asking if she was having a good time, if she came here often.
‘Look, darlin’, I’m no carpet-muncher.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Dyke. I ain’t no bloody lesbian. At least not if no men are involved. Not interested, if that’s what you’re after.’
Knowing she was looking h-o-t tonight, Sheri could hardly blame this bird.
The girl had apologized, insisting that’s not what she had meant. She said something about her job and could she ask a personal question. Then, bang, asked if she had had a bloody STD.
She seemed to have sussed she was out of order from Sheri’s reaction.
‘Have I had a fuckin’ what?’
‘Oh God, sorry.’
This bird was from Manchester, a Manc – the same accent as Liam and Noel Gallagher, but a bit softer.
‘I don’t think you heard me introduce myself. My name is Amy and I work for a charity that raises awareness of STDs and safe sex.’
Sheri stared at her, then gazed over her shoulder, wondering if the DJ would have any coke.
‘The thing is… How can I say this? I can help design posters about the dangers of chlamydia until I’m blue in the face… but it’s almost impossible to get the attention of the young people they’re aimed at.’
Sheri looked back at her blankly.
‘Sorry, I’ll cut to the chase.’ Amy was grateful the music had quietened a little. ‘I recognize you; you’ve had a few, erm, relationships with famous people, yes?’
‘What’s it to you?’
‘You are, well, a bit of a role model to some young girls who dream about going out with a famous footballer or pop star.’
This was stretching the truth somewhat but working on the basis that flattery got you everywhere – and that she didn’t want to be lamped by Sheri in the middle of the Met Bar – Amy continued.
‘I’ve been thinking of getting a celebrity to front a campaign aimed at teens and young women but I’ve not come up with anyone I think they would really believe.’
Amy could tell she had hooked Sheri, who was now nodding and ‘uh-huhing’ as she spoke.
‘And I thought that you, being a girl with real experience, could be perfect for –’
‘Bl
oody right,’ Sheri cut in. ‘The stories I could tell you. I know better than most you can never judge a book by his cover – bloody footballers might look gorgeous, but I can tell you from itchy experience they might often have crabs too.’
Amy laughed. ‘That’s just what we need – someone with humour, who can tell it like it is and make people take notice.’
Sheri had visibly perked up. ‘Well, I’m your girl.’
A DRUNKEN LUCY MAKES HER MOVE
Lucy felt like a different person. When Kirk suggested another bottle of champagne, she knew the old Lucy would have said no. So she said yes. Amy had already left, to talk about a work project with a woman she’d met at the bar, checking first with Lucy that she was happy to stay on with Kirk.
‘My mobile will be switched on, Luce. You call me if anything happens, OK?’
Lucy had reassured Amy she would call should something go wrong, but she was sure Kirk would be quite gentlemanly.
Amy blushed furiously as Kirk kissed her goodbye.
As the party wound down, Kirk suggested he get his driver to drop Lucy off at home before heading back to his hotel. When his charcoal-grey Jaguar pulled up at her flat, Lucy knew she should at most kiss Kirk and give him her number. But where had doing the right thing got her so far? No boyfriend, miserable and most probably despised by half of London’s elite. And this wasn’t just any guy, it was Kirk Kelner. One-night stands had never been Lucy’s thing – mainly because she was sure she’d struggle to cope with no contact after sharing something which should be special. But hell, you should do everything once. And if you’re going to have a one-night stand, it might as well be with Kirk Kelner.
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