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“Will you take a look at these babies!” Polly held up a shoe like it was a precious jewel.
“Don’t even think about it!” said Alice firmly. “You are going to wear the same shoes as the others.”
Polly pouted. “Oh please, Munchkin.”
Over breakfast Felicity had learnt that Munchkin was Polly’s pet name for Alice. Apparently, it had come about when Polly and Alice were teenagers working at the Book Genie together, probably due to Alice’s diminutive size. “I tried to stop her using it once, but then I missed the nickname and re-instated it,” Alice explained with a sigh.
Judith now waded into the debate. “I think the pumps Alice chose are perfect.”
“That’s because you are closely related to a gazelle,” Polly flung at her. “This is discriminatory against short-arsed women.”
Alice gave a helpless shrug. “I knew this would happen.”
By now Polly had bounced over to another stand. “These are perfect.” She held up an elegant pump in the same colour as the ones Alice had chosen, but with a significantly higher heel, then proceeded to wink at Felicity. “C’mon, English contingent. Back me up. You and me are almost the same height, you’ll look good in these.”
Felicity exchanged a glance with Alice.
“I’m better with flats,” was all she said, to which Polly nodded sympathetically.
“Oh yes, Alice has knee problems too. Maybe it’s a family thing.”
Felicity changed the focus to Polly, the same way she distracted children who were about to arc up in class. “Maybe you should try both pairs and we can help you decide.”
“That’s very diplomatic.” Polly sighed. “Guess I’m resigned to looking dumpy.”
Alice flapped her hands in mock despair. “Okay, okay. You can buy the ones with heels.”
By the time they’d purchased the three pairs of shoes, Felicity’s head, still on Greenwich meantime, was starting to spin.
“Lunch time,” said Alice firmly. “I arranged for Aaron and the others to meet us at the Shamrock.”
When they entered the pub, the familiar smell of old wood and beer met Felicity’s nostrils and for a second, she could almost believe she was back in the Slug and Lettuce in Islington. As if any minute she would blink, and Evie and Felix would saunter through the door.
Polly disappeared to the bar and returned with a bottle of champagne and four glasses. As she popped the cork and poured, Alice’s phone rang. She glanced at it, “It’s Andrea. It’s probably about the menu,” and moved over to a quieter corner of the pub to take the call.
The other three sat and chatted about London.
“I’d love to go to the nightclubs,” Polly sighed. “But my wild party days are over, so it’s good I have no plans to visit.”
“I’d go to Liberty and buy up all their fabric,” Judith said wistfully.
“You know, it’s weird, I think I’ve only been to Liberty once, and I don’t go to nightclubs, which makes me sound boring as batshit. I buy all my clothes in flea markets. That’s the thing about living somewhere, isn’t it? You rarely do all the tourist things. I haven’t even been to the Tower of London.”
“What, never?” Polly looked amazed.
“Nope, never.”
Polly gave a shudder. “The Tower would be top of my list—after the nightclubs. It’s so deliciously macabre.”
“If I ever get to London,” said Judith, “you’ll have to take me to the flea markets.”
Just then Alice came back to the table and sat down. “Felicity, you know the plan was for you to move into the lean-to when Henry and Gabe arrive? Well, Andrea has just offered you a room at their house, which will be so much nicer for you.”
Polly gave a thumbs up. “The Blake Mansion. You have to take them up on it.”
“It’s really luxurious,” Alice agreed.
“And you’ll be there with Oliver.” Polly was most definitely smirking.
