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‘No,’ said George, busily looking in all his pockets for something. ‘No, it’s not Ladakh, it’s . . .’ A panicked gleam came into his eyes. ‘Lahore. I’ll be back in five.’
He swept back out of the door, presumably to ask his assistant where he was actually going. Text was from Jude.
Quickly texted Jude back.
Jude:
Me:
Suddenly two texts came in. The first was Jude’s reply:
Clicked the other text, thinking maybe Roxster? It was from George.
Looked up and nearly choked. George had somehow got back into the boardroom without me noticin
g, and was sitting opposite with a small, hip-looking guy in a black shirt, greying stubble-beard and Steven Spielberg round glasses, but with one of those slightly raddled, alcoholic-looking faces, which is different from Steven Spielberg’s cheery ‘I’d never have a facial peel but I look as though I have!’ glow.
I blinked at them, then suddenly leaped to my feet, holding out my hand across the boardroom table with a gay smile.
‘Dougieeeeeeeee! It’s so nice to meet you at last. I’ve heard SO much about you! How are you? Have you come far?’
Why do I turn into a Girl Guide/Her Majesty the Queen whenever I feel uncomfortable?
Fortunately, just then George’s assistant rushed in, looking flustered and whispered, ‘It’s not Lahore, it’s Le Touquet.’ At which George abruptly left, leaving Dougie and I to spend quite a lot of quality ‘exploring time’. This consisted of me actually – for once! – being allowed to talk properly about the feminist themes in Hedda Gabler, while Imogen looked on with a fixed smile.
Dougie, on the other hand, seemed really enthusiastic. He kept shaking his head in admiration and saying, ‘Yup, you’ve got it.’ I really think Dougie is going to be an ally in making sure that Leaves (as we now simply call it) stays true to its basic heart.
However, after Dougie had left, miming two thumbs on a phone and saying, ‘We’ll talk,’ the conversation almost seemed to turn against Dougie.
‘He, like, rurely needs this,’ said Damian dismissively.
‘So needs it,’ said Imogen. ‘Look, Bridget, this is absolutely, you know, lips-sealed, but I think we have an actress!’
‘An actress?’ I said excitedly.
‘Ambergris Bilk,’ she whispered.
‘Ambergris Bilk?’ I said disbelievingly. Ambergris Bilk wanted to be in my movie? Oh. My. God.
‘I mean, has she read it?’
Imogen gave me an indulgent, closed-mouth twinkly smile, the same sort of smile I use when telling Billy he’s earned his Wizard101 crowns for emptying the dishwasher (though not, of course, licking the plates).
‘She loves it,’ said Imogen. ‘The only thing is, she’s not one hundred per cent sure about Dougie.’
THE TROUBLE WITH OUTFITS
Thursday 16 May 2013
10.30 a.m. Mmmm. Another dreamy night with Roxster. Tried to engage him in conversation about the skinny-jeans issue but he had no interest in the matter whatsoever and said he liked me best with no clothes on.
11.30 a.m. Just had a ‘conference’ call with George, Imogen and Damian, to talk about me meeting Ambergris Bilk, who is over in London. Love conference calls, and the ability they give one to mime throat-slitting and toilet-flushing actions whenever anyone says something which vaguely annoys you.
‘So here’s the thing,’ said George. There was a loud mechanical roar in the background.
‘I think we’ve lost him,’ said Imogen. ‘Hang on.’
Just had another look at Grazia. Scarf is the thing I am missing with the skinny-jeans look, clearly. A floaty bohemian scarf, double-looped round the neck. Hmm. Also what am I going to wear for Talitha’s party? Maybe New Spring Whites? Gaah! They’re back. Greenlight, I mean. Not New Spring Whites.
