Chapter Ten #2
‘Why not?’ Sebastian grinned, sliding his jacket on and giving himself a satisfied once over in the mirror. ‘She’s a babe . . . although why she’s going out with an ugly mutt like you I’ll never know.’ He shot an amused look Daniel’s way. ‘Not your usual type.’
He stiffened. ‘I don’t have a type. Are you ready?’ He jangled the car keys in exasperation to try and speed his brother up.
Sebastian finally took the hint, and headed towards the front door, smoothing down the lapels on his James Bond DJ. ‘’Course you do. And blonde and fluffy is not your usual type.’
‘Rich coming from you,’ Daniel observed sarcastically, following him out of the door, feeling uncomfortable with Sebastian’s comments but not really sure why.
‘Aw, but bro, I’m as shallow as a puddle — remember?’
They crossed to the car and Daniel gave his brother a reproving look.
Apparently double firsts in Maths just didn’t cut it with ‘the chicks’.
He sometimes wondered if maybe his brother wasn’t hanging around with the wrong chicks.
But Sebastian was honest and, despite his hefty IQ, he was shallow as a puddle in drought and lived life short and sharp, fast and loose.
He took after their mother — with the attention span of a toddler in a supermarket.
Except Sebastian never lied to any of the girls he saw or two-timed them. It was something both of them hated. Their mother lived in Kent now, with her new husband, Martin, and two new children.
He and Sebastian had seen at first hand the destructive force betrayal wrought when Martin’s wife, a haggard blonde, had turned up on the doorstep of their family home, insisting Dad make his wife behave and leave her husband alone.
Daniel could still remember the shock etched into his father’s face reminiscent of Munch’s painting, the moment of horror penetrating as he realised that his wife had been having an affair.
The rip in the fabric of the family had been sudden and violent, like a tablecloth wrested from a fully laden table sending crockery and food crashing to the floor without warning or preparation, the resulting devastation too widely spread for anyone to know where to start picking up the shattered pieces.
Olivia really had no idea what she was getting into.
They’d only been driving for five minutes following the signs for the M4 London, before Sebastian spoke again, as if he’d been considering the subject for a while.
‘I always thought Olivia was more your type. How is she and that demon sister of hers?’
Daniel swallowed the groan. Instead his fingers gripped the steering wheel wishing his brother would drop the whole subject. Shallow and a gossip. ‘Kate’s living in Australia now, though she’s home at the moment.’
Sebastian eyed him with amusement. ‘Nice curve ball. I always thought you and Olivia—’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, we’re friends! Always have been. Always will be!’ he snapped.
Sebastian grinned unconcerned. ‘So spill.’
‘What?’
‘Something’s eating you.’
Daniel decided he might as well give it up. He had the whole drive into London with this. ‘I’m just a bit pissed off with her at the moment, if you have to know.’
‘Ooooh, do tell.’
‘Turn down the camp, you idiot — keep it for your luvvies, not me.’
Sebastian just grinned and raised an eyebrow. A trick that irked Daniel but only because he used it himself to the same effect and recognised in it the genetic ability they shared with their father.
‘She’s seeing a married man,’ his words came spitting out with a terseness he’d meant to keep hidden. ‘And no, I don’t approve, however Victorian that makes me sound.’
Silence greeted his words. Daniel turned to see Sebastian’s sceptical, disbelieving face.
‘Seriously? Olivia? I can’t believe that but even if she is, what’s it got to do with you?’ He paused before flashing Daniel a wicked, childish grin, ‘Unless you’re in luurve with her?’
Daniel slapped the steering wheel. ‘I know she’s a big girl . . . I know she can do what the hell she likes . . . it just pisses me off. Thought I knew her better. Thought she would be the last person to . . . you know.’ He scowled. ‘She knew what it was like for us.’
Sebastian groaned. ‘Please tell me you didn’t.’
‘Didn’t what?’ snapped Daniel, wondering why Seb always had to be so damn obtuse.
‘You didn’t go bleating to her about runaway Ma, did you? Christ, I’m surprised she’s ever been friends with you. No wonder you never got to first base with her.’
Daniel stamped his foot on the accelerator and swerved into the fast lane, his jaw tight with concentration. Sometimes his brother didn’t deserve a response. He took everything back. The little shit was shallower than a puddle in the Sahara.
Fifteen minutes passed before Sebastian piped up again. Daniel had tuned out his presence focusing on the drive-time show on Radio 5.
‘So, what’s the deal tonight? Who’s the boss? Emily or Olivia?’
Daniel’s mouth turned down. Good question.
Whenever he had spoken to Emily this week he’d had an earful of her woes.
He sympathised to an extent, he could understand that Emily felt disappointed that she hadn’t got the promotion and felt she’d been a victim of office politics, but, he sighed out loud, after a while you just had to get on with it.
‘Whatever you do, don’t make a big deal of it.
Emily’s still a bit sore that Olivia got promoted instead of her.
Officially Olivia is the boss . . . and God knows she’s good at the organisation stuff, I saw the brief she sent over for you, talk about detailed!
Just don’t let either of them down or I’ll never hear the end of it.
Emily’s desperate to make a good impression with this Miranda woman. ’
‘Shouldn’t be a problem. Miranda’s hot . . . high maintenance, but I can handle that.’
‘So’s Olivia these days.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, sounds like the promotion . . . has gone to her head a bit.’ Daniel shrugged.
‘Been giving Emily a really hard time at work. Undermining her, giving orders. And then at home, she’s been a bit of a cow, borrowing Emily’s stuff without asking.
Emily says the promotion has completely gone to her head. ’
Sebastian shrugged. ‘And again . . . it’s not your problem. You’ve got too much of a damsel-in-distress complex. Want to rescue them all. You want to look after Emily. Rescue Olivia from herself. You need to ease back, mate.’
Daniel glared at him, knowing he was probably right.
Sebastian gave him a rueful smile. ‘But . . . I know you. Why don’t you just talk to Olivia? Say something to her. Com-muuun-iiicate. Talk to her.’ He held up his hands in speech marks. ‘Tell her you think she’s bang out of order.’
‘I want to. Feel I ought to, except I’m not supposed to know.’ Even as he said it, Daniel felt like kicking himself. He sounded pathetic.
With a curl of his lips, Sebastian said, ‘Tough shit. You do know. You either say something or stop whingeing.’
‘Put up or shut up,’ said Daniel with a wry smile.
‘That’s about the size of it.’
‘You know, for a total idiot, you occasionally talk sense.’
He would talk to Olivia. The first chance he got. Have a chat with her. Hell, he had nothing to lose.
* * *
‘Emily. Stop it,’ I said, giggling.
‘Can’t help it. It’s so exciting. Everyone thinks we’re famous. Shall I wind down the window and wave?’
‘Don’t you dare,’ I said. Even though I was trying to be blasé about driving through the West End in a chauffeur-driven car, Emily’s mood was infectious.
We were like a pair of overexcited five-year-olds on our way to our first party.
Frank, our driver, politely ignored the giggles that erupted every time we caught sight of someone trying to peer in the tinted windows.
I was tempted to tuck into one of the bottles of Cristal champagne in the limo’s drinks cabinet. I certainly deserved it but I didn’t dare. It didn’t bear thinking about if a single drop got spilt on Miranda’s outfit.
Between us lay the ￡10,000 Caroline Crammond dress like an elaborate wedding cake.
Fashion philistine that I was, even I had to admit that the finished design was quite simply stunning.
Made from blindingly white silk it was covered in six large, coloured lip prints, all of which were the same size, apart from one over the bottom which was twice as big.
The strapless style was floor length and created to wrap around Miranda’s perfectly proportioned figure like an elegant glove.
It was unbelievable the amount of angst that had gone into all that simplicity.
Should the silk be white, champagne or cream?
How many lip prints should be hand-painted onto the fabric?
Where should they go? Was the large one over the bum too suggestive or too vulgar?
And as for the time it had taken to agree the colours!
Should we go for muted shades? Should they all be bright?
Coral Kiss, Minx Red, Candy Capers or Peach Pudding — the discussions were endless.
Colourful was definitely the way to describe the dress fittings, whether it was blue for Caroline’s language or red for Miranda’s temper, I’m not sure.
Those sessions were better than Eastenders.
From the moment Caroline whipped her tape measure around Miranda’s waist and uttered the words, ‘My, you’re deceptively thin’, war was declared.
Miranda was absolutely tiny; she made me feel like Gulliver which wasn’t helped by Caroline’s constant needle-like jibes.
‘You’ll need to breathe in more to be a size 6.
’ They constantly tried to outdo each other, name dropping all the celebrities they allegedly knew.
Their little black books must have been encyclopaedic.
* * *