would be terribly noisy, you know.’
Bella didn’t respond to that but counted to ten, out loud. He seemed to get the message.
‘OK.’ James gave in, switching off the engine. ‘I’m not asking for instant decisions. But we need to take anideas shower about who owns what. No need to involve solicitors, I’d have thought; don’t you agree?’
‘Yes James, I do agree. For several reasons: first, I’d have thought you’d know that the months before Christmas aren’t a good time to sell. For another thing, I’ve got a TV show being filmed in the house over the next few weeks, and for another, I’m not planning to go anywhere just yet. Apart from lunch with Charlotte, right now.’ She leaned over and gave him a brief kiss on his overscented cheek. ‘But, hey, thanks for the lift.’
‘Bella darling! Lovely to see you!’ Charlotte hugged Bella and airkissed a loud ‘mwah’ alongside her left ear. Bella inhaled a delicious scent of Chanel 19 mixed with expensive hair products.
‘Charlotte – you’re looking fantastic, as ever.’ And it couldn’t be denied, however much Bella would have loved it if this woman who was responsible for scything her income had turned up looking like a dowdy crone. Charlotte always looked wonderful, and her shoes became ever more eccentric as she got older. Today’s were lavender faux snakeskin with pink and purple straps twining halfway up her calves. Bella also guessed she was carrying the kind of handbag that was more expensive than a pedigree show dog and probably involved a two-year waiting list. Bella thought she’dkeep her own Top Shop bag (stylish in its way) well out of Charlotte’s line of vision.
Both women had a swift look round the restaurant as they were shown to their seats. The clientele at the Quo Vadis looked very media: women had haircuts that were either expensively mussed up or sleekly angled. Far more men than the national average for their pre-fifties age group were bald. Style-wise, Bella’s newly sharpened radar for clothes noted a typically London-safe preponderance of black, even though the September day was scorching, but that set off the abstract art selection on the walls rather well. Thorough observation was a bit thwarted here, as diners were obviously sitting down and you couldn’t get much clue about a look when it was only from the waist up. Beneath the heavy white tablecloths, the otherwise black-clad could be almost to a woman (and possibly to a man) wearing tartan, or floor-length citrus brights, or glistening satin in sugared-almond shades.
Dotted about were faces that Bella thought she almost recognized but couldn’t quite name. They were probably not famous, but as with any place that you’d read about in the chic magazines, you couldn’t help feeling that they should be. Bella could see that all the women sitting nearest to her had perfect make-up and very sleek and well-tamed eyebrows that were clearly accustomed to professional attention. On the pretext ofmoving her fringe out of her eyes, Bella ran a finger over her left one. When had she last plucked hers? When did she last really look at them for spikes and stragglers? She couldn’t remember. And did it really matter that much, or would anyone with any style take one look at her and recognize a woman whose personal grooming could – at the most generous – be described as slightly chaotic?
They ordered food and relaxed with a glass of champagne each (Bella crossing her fingers that Charlotte was going to pick up the bill on behalf of the Sunday Review ), and after a few minutes asking after each other’s families and with Charlotte rather pointedly not asking about Rick, the serious business of the meeting had to be faced.
‘I’m so sorry, Bella,’ Charlotte began when she was comfortably a third of the way down her champagne glass. ‘It absolutely wasn’t my idea to change the “Week Moment” page. Not at all . There are editorial changes all round,
Bella didn’t respond to that but counted to ten, out loud. He seemed to get the message.
‘OK.’ James gave in, switching off the engine. ‘I’m not asking for instant decisions. But we need to take anideas shower about who owns what. No need to involve solicitors, I’d have thought; don’t you agree?’
‘Yes James, I do agree. For several reasons: first, I’d have thought you’d know that the months before Christmas aren’t a good time to sell. For another thing, I’ve got a TV show being filmed in the house over the next few weeks, and for another, I’m not planning to go anywhere just yet. Apart from lunch with Charlotte, right now.’ She leaned over and gave him a brief kiss on his overscented cheek. ‘But, hey, thanks for the lift.’
‘Bella darling! Lovely to see you!’ Charlotte hugged Bella and airkissed a loud ‘mwah’ alongside her left ear. Bella inhaled a delicious scent of Chanel 19 mixed with expensive hair products.
‘Charlotte – you’re looking fantastic, as ever.’ And it couldn’t be denied, however much Bella would have loved it if this woman who was responsible for scything her income had turned up looking like a dowdy crone. Charlotte always looked wonderful, and her shoes became ever more eccentric as she got older. Today’s were lavender faux snakeskin with pink and purple straps twining halfway up her calves. Bella also guessed she was carrying the kind of handbag that was more expensive than a pedigree show dog and probably involved a two-year waiting list. Bella thought she’dkeep her own Top Shop bag (stylish in its way) well out of Charlotte’s line of vision.
Both women had a swift look round the restaurant as they were shown to their seats. The clientele at the Quo Vadis looked very media: women had haircuts that were either expensively mussed up or sleekly angled. Far more men than the national average for their pre-fifties age group were bald. Style-wise, Bella’s newly sharpened radar for clothes noted a typically London-safe preponderance of black, even though the September day was scorching, but that set off the abstract art selection on the walls rather well. Thorough observation was a bit thwarted here, as diners were obviously sitting down and you couldn’t get much clue about a look when it was only from the waist up. Beneath the heavy white tablecloths, the otherwise black-clad could be almost to a woman (and possibly to a man) wearing tartan, or floor-length citrus brights, or glistening satin in sugared-almond shades.
Dotted about were faces that Bella thought she almost recognized but couldn’t quite name. They were probably not famous, but as with any place that you’d read about in the chic magazines, you couldn’t help feeling that they should be. Bella could see that all the women sitting nearest to her had perfect make-up and very sleek and well-tamed eyebrows that were clearly accustomed to professional attention. On the pretext ofmoving her fringe out of her eyes, Bella ran a finger over her left one. When had she last plucked hers? When did she last really look at them for spikes and stragglers? She couldn’t remember. And did it really matter that much, or would anyone with any style take one look at her and recognize a woman whose personal grooming could – at the most generous – be described as slightly chaotic?
They ordered food and relaxed with a glass of champagne each (Bella crossing her fingers that Charlotte was going to pick up the bill on behalf of the Sunday Review ), and after a few minutes asking after each other’s families and with Charlotte rather pointedly not asking about Rick, the serious business of the meeting had to be faced.
‘I’m so sorry, Bella,’ Charlotte began when she was comfortably a third of the way down her champagne glass. ‘It absolutely wasn’t my idea to change the “Week Moment” page. Not at all . There are editorial changes all round,
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