I smiled. Her digs at him were surely a cover for her feelings. Would Gav hate it if I tried to chivvy things along a bit?
She sighed and reached for the chocolate mint Mike had left in his coffee saucer.
‘You and Gav make a right pair,’ I said, matching her jokey tone. ‘One might even say a nice couple.’
She frowned. Had I gone too far? She hadn’t burst out laughing, which was a good sign.
‘The problem with Gav is he’s Darcy.’
What did she just say? ‘You’re comparing Gav to Mr Darcy fromPride and Prejudice?’
‘Yeah,’ said Lucy, oblivious to how odd she sounded.
Since when did a man being too much like Darcy constitute a problem? Did she mean that Gav was overly proud or arrogant? ‘You’ve lost me, Luce. I don’t see the similarity at all.’
‘He’s so serious all the time,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t have a playful bone in his body. Cute, but a bit dull, you know? He’s Darcy and I’ve always had a thing for the devilish Wickham.’
She should have sounded mad, sitting here comparing Gavin to a breeches-wearing Jane Austen hero, but she was making perfect sense. Playful and fun always attracted me way more than solid and reliable. But look who Lizzie Bennet had ended up with.
Lucy went off to dance. Our conversation had unsettled me, so I went in search of a bit of peace and I found it, quite unexpectedly, at the bar. With so much wine at the dinner table and an embarrassment of waiters hovering to refill glasses, most people didn’t need to get their own drinks, so I sat on one of the bar stools and ordered a vodka.
As the bartender prepared a highball glass with ice, tonic and lime, a woman in black satin trousers and backless top climbed onto the stool next to me. She had long fair hair and I recognised her as Nick’s blonde from earlier. She gave me a weak smile and I couldn’t help notice the smudged mascara and watery eyes. When she started to sniffle, I couldn’t ignore her.
‘Is everything okay?’
The girl extracted a tattered tissue from her expensive-looking clutch, then blew her nose quite unselfconsciously. Good for her.
‘You’d think I could come to this amazing place and enjoy myself.’
She was American.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, like a British cliché. But what else was there to say? I was madly curious to know if she was Nick’s date.
She leant towards me. ‘Never get involved with an unavailable man.’
‘Too late.’
Why had I just said that?
She grinned. ‘I’m Pippa.’
‘Zoë. Pleased to meet you.’
She sighed. ‘Men should come with warning labels, don’t you think? “Commitment-phobic”, “Heartbreaker”, “Secretly gay”.’
Now, I was interested. Was I being unsisterly if I didn’t disclose the fact I knew who she was talking about?
She frowned, like she was weighing up asking me a question. Then her eyes shifted to something behind me. ‘Can I borrow your drink?’
She didn’t wait for an answer. She curled her hand around my glass and sprang to her feet.
I swivelled round just in time to see her throw my vodka tonic into the face of a very surprised-looking – and now very wet – Nick.
