Page 30 of Last Christmas in London

‘Does it?’ I said, sitting back in my chair and laughing a little. ‘It’s a lot. You have to put her before everyone else.’

Alison’s gaze was steady. ‘Can I be honest?’

‘Of course.’

‘I’ve been in a relationship with someone for the last five years and it recently ended.’

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden intimacy. Up until that moment, Alison had been impeccably professional, her answers polished and precise. And yet something about her level of comfort and confidence felt familiar in a way that made me smile.

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘It should have ended years ago.’ Alison swatted my apologies away. ‘I stayed because I thrive on taking care of people, but I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I think that’s what makes me a good assistant. However, I do speak my mind, I am no-nonsense, and I know what I want. I want to travel; I want to work, and I don’t want to be tied down to anything.’

‘You’ll be tied to Pim,’ I pointed out.

She clicked her teeth, a spark of humour in her eyes. ‘Well, I suppose each of us needs a weight to keep us grounded, otherwise we’d never get anything done.’

I laughed. ‘Have you even heard of Pim Hardcastle before?’

Alison opened her mouth and then closed it, before finally saying, ‘You know what? No.’

I grinned and looked over to Megan, who was nodding with an impressed look on her face. It was refreshing. Alison wasn’t dazzled by fame, she was candid, and she wanted the job, not the gossip.

‘Well, if you think London office jobs pay badly, you might be surprised by this pay cheque. But the benefit of this role is that all the travel, accommodation, and food is paid for. All the money you get is for you and you alone. No bills, no tax, no rent.’

‘No time to spend it either, I imagine.’

I couldn’t stop the grin expanding on my face and, as I looked at Megan’s, I could see she was smiling too.

Clearing my throat, I extended my hand. ‘Alison, how would you like to be Pim Hardcastle’s new assistant?’

Chapter 10

‘This shellfish is delightful!’ Pim cried, as she dug into a poached oyster in the Savoy restaurant. Of course, it was the most expensive starter on the menu, but it did sound and smell delicious. ‘You must try this,’ Pim said to me, offering one of the oysters for me to try. I took the shell and tilted my head back. She was right, of course. It was utterly divine.

‘Good God, that’s amazing,’ I said. My starter of steak tartare was also delicious, but now I regretted not pulling a Pim and going full-on decadent.

It was fairly typical for us to dine together at least once a week and go over her upcoming schedule. Although it had been a while since our last dinner; Pim had had so many evenings out with old friends and co-stars from way-back-when as a result of rarely being in London for the past eight years. I don’t think she had realised how happy it would make her to be amongst her old friends again, but I could tell how pleased she was to have so many invitations. These days she was usually up and out of bed when I arrived with her coffee and breakfast in the morning, bustling with energy, waiting for the day to begin. And more and more she was asking me to organise taxis to collect her from parties and dinners later than normal, as she knew she was going to want to stay and enjoy herself. It was pleasant to see her having fun – and giving me extra time to spend by myself, in my favourite city.

Especially when it meant running into handsome buskers and enjoying a little harmless flirtation.

I shook my head, reminding myself that I would probably never see Simon ever again.

With indecent haste, I finished off the last of my tartare. ‘How was the latest tech run?’ I asked Pim, who was making a dramatic effort to make her starter last for as long as possible, pulling different orgasmic faces with each new taste. I looked around for any fellow diners taking sneaky photos. This was not a moment I thought she would want captured and shared online.

‘Perfect,’ she spoke with unexpected jollity. ‘The lighting is superb. I had someone sit in for me so I could see for myself what every viewer would see from each seat in the theatre.’ I bet the lighting designer and producers loved that, I thought sarcastically. ‘Even those in the balconies at the back will be able to see me clearly.’

‘Well, that sounds good,’ I said. ‘And the microphone issue was sorted.’

‘Oh yes, I’m just going to hold the microphone. None of those clip-on things. I don’t want to have to plan my outfit based on that, I want to plan my outfit based on my mood and my hair.’

‘And the lighting.’

She agreed, nodding as she took the last bite of her starter.

‘Utter perfection,’ she said, placing down her napkin with a flourish. Within seconds the waiter had returned and cleared our plates. ‘Tell the chef that that was the best dish I’ve ever eaten,’ she told the young man, before quickly taking up her compact and pressing powder across her nose. ‘Maybe the chef will come to the table,’ she explained.

I smiled at her, realising what she was up to now. She had spotted the chef earlier when he had left the kitchen to visit at another table; one look at him and she was licking her lips. It was as much him she was hungry for as the oysters.