volume. 'Gucci, darling,' cooed Champagne, falling gracefully to her knees to pet him. 'You're hungry, aren't you?' Scooping the shrill scrap of noise into her arms, she left the room.
Jane followed her into a brilliant white kitchen where Champagne was rummaging in a vast metal techno-fridge much taller than she was. Like her, it had evidently not seen any food for several days. The only evidence of nourishment anywhere were the empty bottles of Krug thrust neck down in a Fortnum's box in the corner.
'Bingo!' Champagne, who had been throwing open a succession of empty cupboards, finally produced a tin. As she placed the scraped-out contents before the dog, Jane
49
realised it wasn't Pedigree Chum. 'But that's foie gras,' she said.
'Yah, absolutely,' said Champagne, not batting an eyelid. 'Gucci adores it. Can't stand the stuff myself. Bloody fattening. And so cruel to the geese as well, forcing all that food down their throats. Worse than an anorexic rehab centre.'
Jane's antennae began to twitch. She fished out her pencil and started to scribble. 'Better mention my really cool new car,' Champagne honked, noticing.
'What car?' asked Jane.
'Parked outside. White sports car?'
Jane recalled the menacing machine lurking alongside the kerb. 'Hey, big spender,' she said, mock-chiding but envious.
'Oh, it wasn't that much,' Champagne said silkily. 'Rather a bargain in fact. Amazing after-sales service as well,' she added coyly, looking at Jane from under her eyelashes. 'So I'd love to give them a mentionette in the column, if possible.'
'Fine,' said Jane, wondering what sort of after-sales service Champagne had required. After all, the car was brand new. Perhaps someone had had to come and show her where the ignition key went. Or... It suddenly dawned on Jane that Champagne had probably been given the car for free. Bargain indeed, she thought furiously, breaking the stub of her pencil on her notebook.
There was an abrupt ring at the front door. 'Oh fuck, it's Rollsy,' groaned Champagne, leaping up. 'Sorry, have to run. Got to dash off to New York. But we've done the next column now, haven't we?'
Jane found herself being shown to the door just as the Hon. Rollo Harbottle manoeuvred his teeth into the hall.
50
Up close, he was even more repellent than he appeared in the newspapers. How on earth could Champagne bear to touch him? Nick may be grumpy, but at least he didn't have a face like a basket of fruit. And he was, Jane thought happily, finally back from Brussels tonight. Hopefully with a vast box of Belgian chocolates.
51
Chapter 4
Jane put the phone down, feeling numb with disappointment and fury. She'd spent all lunchtime buying, and all evening preparing, dinner for Nick's return. And now he'd called to say he would be late. Not by a few hours, though. By another whole day. 'There's a Caravanning League of Belgium Fringe Pressure Group fondue I can't afford to miss,' he informed her via a crackling mobile phone.
Depressed, Jane returned to the kitchen. The pasta had taken advantage of Nick's phone call to weld itself to the bottom of the pan, while the putanesca sauce, which she had hoped might set a spicy and whorish tone to their reunion, was starting to burn. Cooking, Jane knew, had never really been her forte. But then, what was?
At least, she thought, poking the flaccid, off-white mass of pasta, she could always beat Tally into a cocked cacciatore. No one this side of Macbeth's three witches was as bad a cook as her. Jane would never forget the evening at Cambridge when Tally had invited her round for supper.
'What's this?' Jane had asked, staring at a burnt-looking lump of bread running with sticky sweet goo. 'Sixth Form Special,' Tally had replied proudly. 'Toasted Mars Bar
53
sandwich. You stick a couple of slices in the Breville and put a Mars Bar in the middle. Close and cook for two minutes. Delicious. We lived off them at Cheltenham.'
Jane felt a stab of guilt at the thought of Tally,
Jane followed her into a brilliant white kitchen where Champagne was rummaging in a vast metal techno-fridge much taller than she was. Like her, it had evidently not seen any food for several days. The only evidence of nourishment anywhere were the empty bottles of Krug thrust neck down in a Fortnum's box in the corner.
'Bingo!' Champagne, who had been throwing open a succession of empty cupboards, finally produced a tin. As she placed the scraped-out contents before the dog, Jane
49
realised it wasn't Pedigree Chum. 'But that's foie gras,' she said.
'Yah, absolutely,' said Champagne, not batting an eyelid. 'Gucci adores it. Can't stand the stuff myself. Bloody fattening. And so cruel to the geese as well, forcing all that food down their throats. Worse than an anorexic rehab centre.'
Jane's antennae began to twitch. She fished out her pencil and started to scribble. 'Better mention my really cool new car,' Champagne honked, noticing.
'What car?' asked Jane.
'Parked outside. White sports car?'
Jane recalled the menacing machine lurking alongside the kerb. 'Hey, big spender,' she said, mock-chiding but envious.
'Oh, it wasn't that much,' Champagne said silkily. 'Rather a bargain in fact. Amazing after-sales service as well,' she added coyly, looking at Jane from under her eyelashes. 'So I'd love to give them a mentionette in the column, if possible.'
'Fine,' said Jane, wondering what sort of after-sales service Champagne had required. After all, the car was brand new. Perhaps someone had had to come and show her where the ignition key went. Or... It suddenly dawned on Jane that Champagne had probably been given the car for free. Bargain indeed, she thought furiously, breaking the stub of her pencil on her notebook.
There was an abrupt ring at the front door. 'Oh fuck, it's Rollsy,' groaned Champagne, leaping up. 'Sorry, have to run. Got to dash off to New York. But we've done the next column now, haven't we?'
Jane found herself being shown to the door just as the Hon. Rollo Harbottle manoeuvred his teeth into the hall.
50
Up close, he was even more repellent than he appeared in the newspapers. How on earth could Champagne bear to touch him? Nick may be grumpy, but at least he didn't have a face like a basket of fruit. And he was, Jane thought happily, finally back from Brussels tonight. Hopefully with a vast box of Belgian chocolates.
51
Chapter 4
Jane put the phone down, feeling numb with disappointment and fury. She'd spent all lunchtime buying, and all evening preparing, dinner for Nick's return. And now he'd called to say he would be late. Not by a few hours, though. By another whole day. 'There's a Caravanning League of Belgium Fringe Pressure Group fondue I can't afford to miss,' he informed her via a crackling mobile phone.
Depressed, Jane returned to the kitchen. The pasta had taken advantage of Nick's phone call to weld itself to the bottom of the pan, while the putanesca sauce, which she had hoped might set a spicy and whorish tone to their reunion, was starting to burn. Cooking, Jane knew, had never really been her forte. But then, what was?
At least, she thought, poking the flaccid, off-white mass of pasta, she could always beat Tally into a cocked cacciatore. No one this side of Macbeth's three witches was as bad a cook as her. Jane would never forget the evening at Cambridge when Tally had invited her round for supper.
'What's this?' Jane had asked, staring at a burnt-looking lump of bread running with sticky sweet goo. 'Sixth Form Special,' Tally had replied proudly. 'Toasted Mars Bar
53
sandwich. You stick a couple of slices in the Breville and put a Mars Bar in the middle. Close and cook for two minutes. Delicious. We lived off them at Cheltenham.'
Jane felt a stab of guilt at the thought of Tally,
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