Rachel Does Rome by Nicola Doherty Page A

me up and down with a smile, before kissing me on both cheeks.
    Jay looks good too. He’s wearing a dark jacket over a white shirt, and dark blue
     jeans and polished brown loafers. Very simple, but he’s in great shape so his clothes
     always look good on him. He’s an amateur boxer; he took it up when white-collar boxing
     became popular among City guys a few years ago. His dark blond hair is slicked back,
     showing off his profile, which always reminds me of Ryan Gosling’s . . . but I’m not
     thinking about that right now.
    We join the queue, and he re-introduces his friends: Henry, the posh, vacant-looking
     one, and Rob, the dark-haired one who Maggie liked.
    ‘So this should be quite fun,’ Jay says, as we reach the head of the queue. ‘At least
     I hope so . . . should be better than Inferno’s in Clapham anyway.’ He winks at me,
     and I laugh as I remember a hellish night out we had there for a colleague’s birthday.
     He gently puts his hand on the small of my back to move me forward. I move away, but
     I have to admit, part of me likes it.
    Being seen with him, in fact, is another guilty pleasure. It makes me more confident,
     especially in such an über-glam setting. I picture what all the people who thought
     I was a nerd in school would think if they saw me beside Jay right now, in my Herve
     Leger-esque dress, queueing for a secret cool club. They probably wouldn’t even recognise
     me. But I’m still relieved when the man on the door, instead of turning me away, lets
     me in with the others.
    Now we’re walking along a gravelled path in the darkness, on the edge of a lawn in
     a park. There are a few little lanterns strung up here and there, but aside from that
     it’s pitch dark; everyone’s giggling and bumping into each other as they walk along.
     I’m suddenly nervous; I hope it’s not going to be some kind of Eyes-Wide-Shut-style
     orgy and that we’re not going to be given a rubber mask and a whip when we get to
     wherever we’re going.
    I’m certainly not taking part in an orgy, whatever Jay thinks. And I also want him
     to know that I haven’t forgotten what happened between us. I want to play it cool,
     but I’m not above a pointed hint.
    ‘How’s Tamara or whatever her name is?’ I ask him levelly.
    He looks blank for a minute before saying, ‘Tamsin? God. Rachel. That is so over.’
     He shakes his head. ‘She was . . . that was
not
a good idea.’
    I’m about to ask him more, but we’re nearly at the dance floor. I can hear music
     getting louder; it’s a souped-up dance version of ‘Mambo Italiano’. I suppose that’s
     his version of an apology; I’m happy to leave it there for now. We can talk later.
     I can also hear Maggie chatting to Rob – good – and Henry trying to chat up Lily;
     her Man Repeller dress obviously isn’t repellent enough.
    Finally the path turns a corner and we’ve arrived. The first thing I notice is that
     on the other side of a lawn there’s an amphitheatre, floodlit, packed with people
     dancing; not just on the base of it but on the steps, the better to show off their
     tiny black dresses, gold jewellery, bandeau tops and hot pants, or in the case of
     the guys, tight white T-shirts or shirts with half the buttons undone. We’re standing
     in the garden which is obviously the chill-out zone. It’s lit with lanterns, with
     sofas set out under topiary hedges, and a pop-up bar, and a platform where more people
     are dancing. There are floodlit fountains and hot tubs. Hot tubs! A guy goes past
     us wearing a pale blue suit with a pocket square, and sunglasses. At night!
    ‘Let’s grab these seats and get a drink,’ says Jay. ‘Ladies, what can I get you?’
    Within moments we’re all lounging around on a low white sofa under a tree, drinking
     Campari and soda, while cool trance music plays in the background. God, he’s smooth.
     A disloyal thought pops into my head: Oliver would never have brought me somewhere
     like