'My God, it looks like you've raided the Cadbury factory!'
'Don't be silly,' mumbled Kate, trying to unclamp her teeth from caramel and nougat.
'So, why the descent into sugar hell? What part of your life do you hate at the moment?'
'Pretty much all of it,' sighed Kate, and went off to brush her teeth and make tea.
Lydia followed her into the kitchen. 'Tell me everything, you know it helps.'
'Well, actually it usually doesn't. You have been the provider of some truly appalling advice in the past, you know.'
'You've either cocked up a story or you want to sleep with someone and can't.'
'How do you know?'
'These are the only two things that make you bad tempered and drive you to chocolate. So who is it? I am assuming it can't be Jonathan.'
'My God, did I really sleep with him? What a terrible mistake. No, you're right – that's all firmly in the past.'
'Well, it must be the chef, then.'
'Oh, Lydia, I've gone and caught him. Like measles.'
'How very inconvenient. Shall I prescribe a darkened room and a cold compress?'
'A large dose of "come to your senses" pills, if you have any,' said Kate glumly.
'I think I'm being a bit stupid here, but what exactly is the problem?'
'Hmm . . . let me see. Oh, yes. I've woven such a tissue of lies about myself to Jake that when I tell him the truth I'm scared he will see a stranger. That is, if I can ever summon the nerve to come clean. And you know, I don't think I can now. I am a serial liar.'
'Tell me about the dreams.'
'Trust you! Well, if you really want to know, last night I dreamed that he and I were swimming naked in a sea of raspberry coulis.'
'That just sounds sticky, not sexy.'
'Lydia, if you used your fridge for anything other than keeping your gin cold, you would know that food can be very sexy indeed.'
'Well, as Freud would say –'
'Oh, does he write a column for Heat magazine? No, I thought not. You have absolutely no idea what Freud would say about anything. Ever.'
'OK, Ms Cleverer than Me Clogs, tell me just why is it you always fall for men who put work before any serious commitment to their private lives?'
'Oh, that's easy,' sighed Kate. 'It's because my work is important to me and they are likely to understand. The good thing about Jonathan was that he would even interruptus coitus for a story. The awful thing is that Jake would definitely understand, except that he doesn't know exactly what sort of career I've got.'
'So tell him.'
'I have tried, honestly. But fate keeps stepping in and stopping me. I don't know why. Oh, yes, it's because I'm a complete coward. He is so full of integrity. And whenever I think I've plucked up enough courage, he has to rush off because the carrots are curdling, or something. Or because my tongue had suddenly become superglued to the roof of my mouth.'
'Ouch.'
'Exactly.'
'Maybe you just need to sleep with him to get him out of your system, like you did with Jonathan.'
'But I don't think I can. I don't think I want to. Really, it's quite simple. All I've got to do is write a totally brilliant story with Jake as the hero, not the villain. It has got to be gripping enough for Jonathan not to notice that it's completely different from my original brief. Then I hypnotise Jake into forgetting I ever lied to him about . . . oh dear, so many things. Then I tackle the supermodel. Don't know quite how yet, but if I survive all the above it should be easy.'
'What are you waiting for?'
'Oh hell! I have started lying to you now. I said I had caught Jake like measles. But really it is much more serious than that,' said Kate sadly.
She was worried that things would be awkward between her and Jake so she dawdled getting ready. Then her tights developed a ladder and it took her another five minutes to find an unholey pair, so she ended up being late for work and barely had time to apologise before rushing into the restaurant.
Then she stopped short so suddenly, Kirsty cannoned into the back of her.
'Blimey! You could have given me some warning! You can't have run out of energy yet – we've only just started.'
'Sorry,' Kate said absently. A sweat of fear started to trickle down her back. Sitting at the bar was a familiar, lanky figure: her archaeologist, Jim.
'Well! Look what I've uncovered! What on earth are you doing here?' he said, beaming.
Kate opened her mouth to explain, but nothing came out except an anguished squawk. This was really too much. She cast around in her mind for something to say, given that Hans was standing nearby, polishing a glass and trying not to look nosy. 'This is a friend of mine from college,' she said, practically manhandling Jim off his bar stool and over to the most distant table.
'Why aren't you in the States counting all the bones you dug up? Surely there were enough of them?'
Jim looked bemused. 'And it's nice to see you too!'
'Oh, look – I'm sorry, but everything is very complicated,' she hissed. 'I can't explain it all now, but' – she glanced about anxiously, but no one was listening – 'I'm not Kate the reporter; I am Kate an ex-PR person, who is working as a waitress while writing her first novel, OK?'
Jim took this in, then a huge grin spread over his handsome, open face. 'You mean, you're undercover?'
Oh crap. She'd forgotten he was absolutely addicted to the American series 24. Give him half an inch and he would have cast himself in a Kiefer Sutherland role. The only problem with this was that he would make a complete hash of it. There was no side to Jim. Angelica would do a better job of working as a double agent.
Grabbing a menu he scanned it briefly, then, giving her a huge wink, he said: 'I'll take the steak, as bloody as you like – as long as I don't have to hack my way through it – know what I mean?'
Kate sighed. And this was just the start of the evening. What the hell could she possibly do that would take his mind off her? Alcohol might work on most people, but not Jim, given his capacity for prodigious consumption. Then she grinned. Yes, that might just work . . .
In the privacy of the loo she dialled quickly.
'Lydia, thank goodness you're in. Listen, I don't care what you are doing, I need you down here fast and in your best frock.'
'Hold on, just reaching for a pen, sweetie. Right, who am I seducing?'
'An archaeologist, an American – the best sort – very bright, energetic and good-tempered. He loves history, whisky and intelligent women. What on earth do you need a pen for?'
'I'm taking notes, of course, so I can dress appropriately for the occasion. Fortunately for you, my hair and nails are always immaculate. Honestly, you are lucky that I'm always primed for action, so to speak. See you soon.'
Kate glanced briefly in the mirror and shuddered. Her hair hadn't seen the attentions of a professional for months and, as usual, smelled of kitchen. The strains of living a double life had caused her to start biting her nails again. Probably the only way she could seduce someone would be during a blackout.
Fifteen minutes later Lydia made her entrance. She was as tall as Georgia, but wider, and tonight she had gone for the Valkyrie with a PhD look. She wore a very short skirt teamed with a smart black blouse demurely buttoned all the way up. Lydia was rigid about sticking to the 'boobs or legs – never both together' rule. She was wearing the glasses again. She was also carrying a copy of National Geographic and looked as if this was always what she read when she popped out for dinner. She did a very credible impression of looking surprised to see Kate and just the right amount of interest tinged with caution when Kate drew her over to Jim's table and introduced her.
'Please don't feel you have to compromise your evening,' said Jim, standing up and guiding her to a seat.
'Oh, this?' Lydia waved the National Geographic airily. 'I was going to catch up with the latest on the excavations at Santorini, but it will keep.' She flashed him her warmest smile.
'So you're interested in
archaeology then?'
'Yes, in my spare time. I must say, I'm thrilled to meet a professional. Kate says you've finished a major dig?'
'Well, it's not on the scale of Santorini, but I think it's quite important . . .' and Kate watched with admiration as Lydia began to reel him in.
'What are you up to?' asked Jake, back in the kitchen.
'Er, nothing. Why?'
'I don't know. You have a look about you. I –'
'What on earth is that, floating in the beans?' asked Kate wildly, but it worked. By the time he was satisfied there was nothing in the beans but what should be there, two more big checks came in and he had to concentrate on cooking.
The next time Kate went near Jim's table, Lydia was saying: 'And the role of women in the Minoan culture – now that's very interesting, isn't it?' and Kate knew she could have served steaks while wearing a balaclava and he wouldn't have noticed.
Another successful mission completed, she thought smugly, later. Jim and Lydia were still deep in conversation over their coffee. Lydia had taken the specs off and was leaning her chin on her hand so she could look intently at Jim as he spoke. It looked like the evening might not end with the meal. Kate went over to refill their cups, and looked up, startled, as Jake walked in. He glanced round casually and then headed towards them. Kate could see he had recognised Lydia from that awful drunken evening when they had first turned up at the restaurant.
'Hello,' he said to Lydia, 'I believe we've met before, haven't we?'
'Delighted to see you again,' said Lydia with a perfectly straight face. Kate was glad someone was enjoying themselves.
Of course Kate had to introduce everyone then. Jim congratulated Jake on the superb meal. 'Please, let me buy you a drink.'
'Well, that's very nice, thank you,' said Jake, sitting down, while Kate gaped at him in horror. She was sure she had heard him saying earlier how tired he was.
'I thought you wanted to get an early night?'
'I did, but I haven't met any of your friends before. Well, not properly,' he said, smiling at Lydia.
Oh, great. Well, it was, in a way: it was always a good sign when a guy wanted to meet your friends. But why these friends and why now? Her mission was being sabotaged and now Jake was asking: 'So, how did you and Jim get to know each other?'
'Oh, we've known each other since we were kids,' Kate burst out. 'I'll take those cups, shall I?' she continued.
'But I thought we were going to have more coffee?' said Jim in surprise.
'I'd quite like a brandy,' and Jake turned round to call Hans over.
'Good idea. Make mine a whisky. And perhaps even a cigar. It's not a vice I indulge in very often, but it's been a very special night,' said Jim.
'Excuse me,' said Lydia, and got up as if to go to the loo. Outside: 'What the hell? You've "known each other since we were kids"? Where did that come from? And why?'
'Oh, hang on, I know – I was fresh out of good lies. There is a limit to how many I can tell in a week. Oh, Lydia, I don't think I can do this any more! I've told so many stories, my nose should be about two feet long. I'm tired and my feet hurt even more than my brain does.'
'Whoa! Calm down, woman. We'll get through this somehow. Just, well, try not to talk. It's not your strong point at the moment.'
They went back and sat down. Jake was pouring some brandy from what looked to be a very old and precious bottle.
'It is,' he grinned, when asked. 'My former boss gave it to me. It's from somewhere deep in rural France – the guy only makes a few bottles a year and, no, I don't know his name, so I'll probably never get another one. But this is a special occasion.' He looked round happily and Kate had to conjure up a cough in order to disguise a groan. She knew what was happening here, and in other circumstances she would have welcomed it. Jake liked her, so much so that he wanted to get to know her friends. In other circumstances this would have been great. In these circumstances – well, now she felt that she could write a pretty damn good article on what it must be like to face a firing squad.
Oh, no – first bullet! 'So, where did you two grow up?' asked Jake, looking puzzled.
'God! That was so long ago!' said Kate brightly. The men looked at her in surprise, as if she had suddenly changed before their eyes into a very old woman. 'Well, you know what I mean,' she began, hastily.
'No,' said Jake.
'I just think that talking about our childhood is best left for the therapy sessions you lot are so fond of,' she said, looking at Jim.
'Well, it is supposed to be the one place where you have to be honest,' said Jim, meaningfully. 'You know, if you were living a double life –'
'Jim, tell us some more about the Romans,' suggested Lydia, and Kate looked at her gratefully. Why hadn't she thought of that? Jake was fascinated by them, she knew, and it was a subject that Jim could talk for hours on. Not that she was going to let him.
Gallic Wars – blah, blah, blah – Julius Caesar – blah, blah, blah – it was all interesting stuff, but she was so scared he would slip up and mention her and the dig, she couldn't enjoy it.
'I remember reading about Roman cuisine,' began Jake dreamily.
'Oh, yeah? That's quite a specialist subject – what do you know about it?'
'Well, they were very highly paid, for a start. Cleopatra's cook was given a house as a reward for having cooked a great meal.'
'Of course, they were literally slaves in those days. They'd be clapped in irons for the least little thing, but I guess it must have kept them on their toes.'
'Their national dish for a long time was a sort of gruel, like polenta. But then they became obsessed with meat. They would eat anything – camels, puppies –'
'Oh, that's gross!' said Lydia.
'– dormice, guinea pigs, elephants –'
'Man, that is seriously weird,' said Hans, coming over to clear away glasses. Kate pretended to look at his watch.
'Gosh, is that the time? I had no idea it was so late!' She stretched.
'But it's only half-past eleven!' said Jake.
'Well, you know – the early bird and all that.'
'No I don't. You actually said the other day that going to bed early was just for wimps.'
'Did I?' Obviously I'm flattered, but do you really have to remember everything I say?
'Yeah, that's exactly what you said when I wouldn't go out for a drink with you all after work the other night. You called me names, as I recall.'
Oh, bloody hell, so I did!
She yawned several times. Wasn't it supposed to be catching? Never had an hour passed so slowly. It was worse than waiting to have her wisdom teeth extracted. But finally, when she had almost given up hope, Jake started to yawn of his own accord.
'Well, I don't care if you do want to call me names, I need my bed. It's been nice, though. I don't seem to do this socialising thing very often. We'll have to do this again some time.'
'Absolutely!' agreed Kate, hustling him through the door and drawing a hand across her throat when she was sure he wasn't looking.
Jake came down to work the next day to find that Angelica was drawing pink ballerinas all over next week's rota.
'Sorry, Jake,' muttered Tess, who was looking extremely harassed. 'My mum is coming for her any minute now, I promise.'
'Why aren't you at school?'
'I've got chicken pox,' said Angelica importantly.
'No you haven't, you little liar,' said Tess, seeing Jake's look of alarm.
'Nits, then.'
'No, you haven't got those either.'
'I've got spots.'
'Yes, but only because you drew them on with felt tip while you were supposed to be having breakfast. The truth is, she locked herself in the bathroom until after the school bus had gone and then my car wouldn't start and then she threw a whole bowl of Rice Krispies down her dress and then – well, I just gave up, I suppose.'
'And why do you not want to go to school?' asked Jake sternly.
'I wanted to see Go
d.'
'We all want to do that, but you won't find Him here.'
'You'll see the back of my hand if you don't watch out, young lady,' muttered Tess.
'I do find him here,' said Angelica indignantly. 'He's walking in right now. Why do you want me to see the back of your hand, Mummy. Have you drawn spots on it as well?'
Jake retreated to his office. Conversations with Angelica were sometimes like being in a particularly surreal episode of Star Trek: Voyager.
His bank manager had written to him, grudgingly offering half the overdraft that Jake had asked for and threatening dire consequences if he exceeded this paltry limit by a penny. Jake wished he was running a restaurant in Ancient Rome. Then if his backers got greedy he could just offer Angelica as a slave, in lieu of payment. Or send Godfrey off to moonlight as a gladiator.
If he lived in ancient times he also wouldn't have to wade through emails like this latest one from Georgia. He was pretty sure that somewhere in the last dozen they had made up, though it was difficult to be sure.
Georgia hadn't cottoned on to the fact that emails were supposed to be brief and to the point. She adopted a stream of consciousness technique, which often ran on for pages. It took Jake four goes to finally pinpoint where she was, how long she was staying and when she would be back. He found himself hoping this wouldn't be for a long time, which was not how you should think about your girlfriend, but if you had just spent most of the previous night having disturbing dreams about a girl with red hair . . .
As if he had conjured her up, Kate walked in.
'You didn't pick up all your post,' she said, dropping an envelope on the desk. Kate had decided to pretend the night of the star-gazing hadn't happened, which she was finding difficult to do. This made her voice sound cold and distant.
'Thanks.'
God, he had really blown it there. She was obviously disgusted with him for trying it on, and really he couldn't blame her. It was the sort of behaviour he despised Harry for, and here he was, doing it himself. He should be ashamed.
He went back to Georgia's missive while he was opening the letter, giving himself a nasty paper cut in the process. He skimmed through it absent-mindedly, the odd word leaping up at him – 'lonely . . . hard work . . . weather awful . . . bad cold . . . nearly sneezed on catwalk . . . I love you lots and lots and can't wait to see you again, darling, darling Jake.'
Recipe for Disaster Page 19