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‘Go on, get back in there,’ she said. ‘I’ll take over. Dinner will be just a couple of minutes.’
Sitting down at the dinner table, wedged in between Ed and Courtney, Brooke quickly found herself much more at ease. Matt’s friends were fun and intelligent and conversation bounced between the serious, such as universal health–care schemes, to the more frivolous, such as the latest exposés in the New York Post. The casserole was actually excellent, although the gateau was still semi–frozen – but by then Brooke didn’t care; she was relaxed and having fun. It was so unlike the birthday celebrations she usually went to these days: they were more like exercises in social competitiveness. They were held in restaurants that hadn’t yet officially opened or had the guest list managed by the hottest PR agencies in town. When they were held at people’s homes they were grand affairs: dinner–parties catered by Mario Batali or cocktail parties for one hundred to demonstrate the size of their duplex. Brooke had also found that once she started talking about David, in particular recounting the Florida drama for the benefit of an open–mouthed Courtney, Susie relaxed a little and seemed actually quite sweet. She was clearly besotted with Matthew, at any rate. And isn’t that a good thing? she asked herself. Of course it was.
‘So, Brooke, will you be having frozen cake at your wedding?’ asked Greg, crunching his fork into icy chocolate. Matt threw a napkin at his friend.
‘Hey, you’re a guest,’ he laughed, ‘but any more cheek from you and you’ll be washing up.’
Ed and Pete cheered raucously at the suggestion, drumming their hands on the table.
Courtney leant forward, resting her small breasts on top of the table. ‘Is it all right if Matt tells us every detail of the wedding after it’s happened?’
Matt looked up. Although Courtney was at the other end of the table, his ears seemed to be tuned into any conversation directed at Brooke.
‘Oh I’m not going,’ he said quickly.
‘Why not?’ asked Courtney.
‘Nah, quite right, I wouldn’t invite this reprobate either,’ said Greg, winking over to Brooke.
‘No, no, of course you’re invited,’ said Brooke, fixing her gaze on the birthday boy.
Matt smiled and then looked down at his empty plate. ‘So who’s for coffee?’ he said, quickly getting to his feet. ‘I think we need something to defrost that cake.’
Brooke glanced her watch. It was gone eleven and she was feeling more drunk than she had done in ages. ‘No, I think I have to run,’ she said, beginning to rise, then sitting down again. ‘Actually, stagger is more like it. I think I’ve had one too many of Greg’s cocktails.’
‘If you need any help with the bar at your wedding, you know where to find me,’ winked Greg. Susie went to get Brooke’s cashmere coat from the bedroom and helped her on with it.
‘Good luck with everything,’ said Courtney, grabbing Brooke and clasping her to her sequinned bosom. ‘I wish I was you.’
‘I’ll come out and get a taxi with you,’ said Matt, guiding her out into the dark hallway. He pressed the button and they waited for the elevator.
‘That was fun,’ smiled Brooke, buttoning up her coat. ‘And Susie is lovely.’
‘Brooke. Don’t make this bigger than it is,’ he replied. He was standing so close to her that she could smell the alcohol on his breath.
‘Listen, Matt. I know you’re still thinking about Kate, and that’s really sweet, but you don’t have to feel guilty for dating again.’
They both turned as they heard Matt’s
front door creak open. ‘Matt. Do you want me to make the coffee?’
Susie had a slightly hopeless, insecure look on her face that made Brooke’s heart go out to her. She was just an ordinary girl doing her best to defend her new man – a doctor no less, a real catch in most circles – from a threat she saw as impossibly glamorous. Brooke felt awful for all the uncharitable things she had thought about Susie throughout the night. In the end, like all of us, she thought, she’s just looking for someone to love. Brooke tapped Matt’s arm in the most platonic way she could.
‘I forgot,’ she said, looking over at Susie, ‘it’s the launch party for one of my books on Friday. It would be great if you could both come along.’
Susie’s worried face broke out into a relieved smile. ‘That would be great,’ she beamed, walking over to Matt and hooking her arm through his. The lift arrived and the doors swished open.
‘Well, goodnight,’ said Brooke, hurriedly air–kissing them both like the good politician’s wife, then jumped inside, watching the floors click past, suddenly glad to be out of there.
CHAPTER FORTY–THREE
‘Mr Billington,’ she gasped. ‘That was … absolutely … spectacular.’
Liz slid off Wendell’s cock and collapsed onto the mattress, her flushed face mashing into the pillow. Liz and Wendell had been meeting three times a week since their first encounter in the Hamptons, and the sex just seemed to get better and better every time. The convenience of Wendell’s permanent suite at the Pierre certainly helped. They had been known to slip out of their respective offices for lunch and be back, invigorated and alert, for a meeting an hour later. Far from interfering with work, Liz felt there was nothing like a quick, hard, lunchtime fuck to sharpen you up for the day ahead.
Wendell got out of bed, put on a bathrobe and moved to the table by the window where lunch had been set out on starched white table linens. He stabbed his fork into his swordfish and picked up the Financial Times, neatly folded by his china side plate.
Liz looked over with interest. As one of the world’s most important investors she felt sure that Wendell read every piece of global financial journalism, but the question was: what was he reading about? With his insider knowledge and contacts, she might be able to sniff out some valuable information; in fact Liz had heard a rumour that Wendell was about to buy Vue, a huge British vision–care business, for an estimated billion dollars.
