Page 24 of Always, in December

Josie glanced around but there was no one else she recognised in the entrance hall. She should have timed it better – deliberately arrived twenty minutes late or something. Although surely Laura, at least, must be inside somewhere. They checked their coats, and Josie felt a shiver run down her spine as she gave up her extra layer. When Max touched her bare shoulder to steer her in the right direction, she jumped, and he raised his eyebrows.

‘Sorry,’ she said, trying to smile even though her mouth was dry. ‘Just cold.’ She glanced at him as they walked, though his attention was on the interior of the building, not her, looking up and around them, his lips occasionally moving as though he was silently talking. She realised she was twisting her hands in front of her and dropped them, deliberately flexing her fingers at her sides. She shouldn’t have brought Max with her. Now she had to try and pretend she was all breezy, at the same time as worrying about what he was doing and whether he was having a good time.

Josie led the way into the hall, and, like Max, she couldn’t help looking up as she did. The ceiling was phenomenal, arched over them like a dome in a beautiful lattice design. The windows were huge, the tops of them domed to match the ceiling, each one decorated with fairy lights, and there was a Christmas tree in each corner. There were circular tables dotted around the room, with what looked like a mini stage down the other end, and a large buffet-style table on one side. And there were people here, thank God. Josie let out a slow breath as she realised they were not the first ones to arrive, that the room was already filling up, people milling about with glasses in their hands or sitting at the tables in small groups, heads bent towards each other.

‘I knew they’d renovated it in here, but I haven’t ever been in,’ Max muttered, and Josie cocked her head up at him, not totally sure he was talking to her, given his gaze was still flicking around the building. ‘It’s impressive.’

‘Prosecco?’ A woman, dressed smartly in black and white, held out a tray to them and Josie took one of the glasses gratefully, taking a sip immediately.

They walked a little further into the room, and Josie felt heat from somewhere caress her skin. There was music in the background, she realised now – not the usual Christmas tunes but something instrumental and classical; she could hear the violins. She searched the room for someone she knew, someone from her own company, and pressed her lips together when she saw Janice, sleek black hair twisted into a bun, sitting on one of the tables near a makeshift stage.

Josie stopped as Max turned in a small circle to admire the room a little more, and felt her face soften into a small smile. At least if the evening was a complete fiasco he’d at least have appreciated the architecture. He grinned a little guiltily at her when he saw her watching, then looked over her head, his gaze sharpening.

‘Where are all the bikini models then?’ Max asked, taking a sip of Prosecco. ‘It’s the only reason I came.’

‘I knew there was an ulterior motive.’

He shrugged. ‘Of course.’

She laughed, then jolted, nearly spilling her drink, when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to see Oliver, smiling in a way that looked painful. He was a bit pixieish, now that she thought about it, all clean-shaven and perfectly smooth hair, his frame quite obviously petite in his smart black jacket and maroon shirt – a nod to the festive season, she supposed. His eyes – the ones she’d described as chocolate when she’d first gushed about him to Bia, didn’t sparkle with pixie mischief tonight though, but rather looked a little mournful.

‘Hey Jose,’ he said. ‘Happy Christmas Eve.’ He reached out for a hug and, feeling it would make a scene if she refused, she returned it, trying not to think of how comforting and familiar he smelled, how her body remembered exactly where to fit against his. She pulled away as soon as she reasonably could. She glanced up at Max and though his expression gave nothing away, the perfect poker face, she was pretty sure he’d seen Oliver coming and made her laugh deliberately.

‘Nice to see you again,’ Max said affably, shaking Oliver’s hand.

Oliver frowned. ‘I didn’t know you’d be here.’

Max smiled easily, a direct contrast to Oliver’s tense jaw. ‘It was a last-minute decision.’

Josie was saved from having to try and bridge the conversation when she saw a blonde, broad-shouldered woman by the tray of Prosecco and waved her over, trying not to look desperate. Laura marched over to them at a speed that indicated she hadn’t broken her no-heels rule even for the party, with her fiancé John, only ever known as Scottish John in the office, following just a step behind her.

‘Thank God you’re here,’ Laura said as she approached. She dropped her voice so that only Josie could hear. ‘I was dreading having to make small talk with Accounts.’ She jerked her head behind her where two women and a man stood huddled together. Laura took the glass of Prosecco that John handed to her and took a glug. She was wearing a very un-Laura like dress, black, sparkly and floor length, which worked because of her enviable flat stomach. ‘It’s my sister’s,’ she said, noticing Josie’s appraisal. ‘Thought I’d best make an effort what with all our shareholders here.’ She fluffed up her hair, then, sparing no more than a nod for Oliver, smiled at Max. ‘Sorry, I’m Laura, I’m in the PR team at Peacock’s with Josie.’ She had her formal work voice on, all brisk and efficient.

‘Max.’

‘And which company are you with?’

‘Actually, I’m with Josie,’ Max said easily, toasting Josie with his Prosecco as he did so.

Laura’s blue eyes, as usual framed only with mascara, turned appraisingly. ‘Are you now?’ Laura raised her eyebrows at Josie, and Josie shook her head, giving her a look to tell her she’d explain later. She hadn’t told Laura ahead of time that she might be bringing someone, in case he hadn’t actually shown up. Laura smiled at Max. ‘Well, it’s nice to meet you. This is my fiancé, John,’ she said, indicating the tall, just-as-blond man beside her. Luckily, John was more olive-skinned than Laura’s pinky tone, and had brown eyes rather than her blue, otherwise they might well have been mistaken for siblings.

‘At least I’m not the only tagalong,’ John said, grinning through his beard, his Glaswegian accent still strong despite his years in London. Max and John struck up an easy conversation while Laura sighed, nodding to where Janice was waving her over.

‘I’d better go see what she wants.’ Laura headed off at that same clipped speed, leaving Josie alone with Oliver. She tried to take a sip of Prosecco to distract herself, but found her glass empty. John was now explaining to Max that he worked as a freelance journalist, and Josie tried to think of something to say to insert herself into the conversation, but she wasn’t fast enough – Oliver grabbed her wrist and pulled her away a step.

‘Josie, I really need to talk to you.’ He glanced at Max and John. ‘Privately.’

Josie shook her head. ‘Not now, Oliver.’

‘Please.’ He looked at her with those big Bambi eyes, adopting the puppy-dog look he always used to try and get his own way. ‘It’s not about what you think, I promise. I just . . . I don’t want you to hear it from someone else, that’s all.’

Josie’s stomach twisted, making her feel a little sick, and, like she was somehow a beacon, Cara was immediately obvious. She was standing towards the stage area and, like a taunt, was wearing that same red dress she’d worn to the Christmas lunch, the one that showed off a slim, perfect figure and toned, tanned legs – even if the tan had to be from a bottle. Cara’s gaze flicked towards Josie, then away quickly, and Josie felt sure she was watching them, waiting to see her reaction.

At that moment, Max laughed at something Scottish John had said, and Oliver scowled over at them. ‘Seriously, Jose,’ he muttered, ‘who is that guy?’

Before Josie could say that it was none of his business, that he had no right to look so angry when he was surely about to tell her that he and Cara were an item now, that he could very much go to hell, Janice got up from the table and swept over to them, her stiletto heels clicking on the wooden panel flooring.

‘Josie, don’t you look wonderful?’ Janice said, barely sparing her a glance. ‘Oliver, a quick word?’ She left him no option, gripping his forearm and steering him away from Josie and back towards the entrance.