wasnât tempted. She didnât have to go to vile offices, was paid pretty handsomely for her painting, and her life was, just about, perfect.
Yet ⦠It was just the bloody weather, she told herself, and a niggling loneliness. One of the reasons she loved Andy so much was his innate goodness, which manifested itself in his dedication to his work, but sometimes she wished more of that dedication could be sent her way. Like coming home in time for dinner.
She clicked onto Poppyâs next photo, in which she was giggling with loads of people Bella didnât know, in a club that was probably the Studio 54 du jour. Damian was conspicuous by his absence. Bella hoped that all was well with them. She opened another bottle of wine and started to think about all the fun sheâd had in the past. She used to be that clubbing chick, the one with the cool photos and funny stories.
Then her phone beeped.
Bella my love, Iâm outside. So sorry Iâve been neglecting you. Bloody job. I love you! Come down. Anything you want to eat and drink is on me, wherever you want to go. And everything you want me to do to you, Iâll do double. Triple. Xxxxxxx
Bella looked out of the window and saw Andy, arms outstretched, smiling up at her. Her heart soared as she ran down the rickety steps of her flat and realized she wouldnât trade any of her hedonistic, uncertain past for what she had with him, right now.
âI mean, I love her, you know I do, but itâs just so fucking annoying!â Bella looked over her glass of Pouilly-Fumé at Andy. They were in her favourite restaurant, The Wolseley. Enormous iron chandeliers glowed overhead, the excited hum of chatter buzzed around her, she was with her favourite person in the whole world. Yet her second favourite dish in the whole world (moules marinières; spaghetti vongole was her first, but they didnât do it here) lay practically untouched in front of her.
âPoppyâs life is just so bloody exciting, and EVERYONE loves her!â
âI donât love her.â Andy leant across the white linenâd table and held both Bellaâs hands in his. âIn fact, I think sheâs a self-centred pain in the arse, but I do love you.â
Bella smiled and kissed both his hands.
âThanks and sorry. I love you too.â
âNot bored with me already, are you?â He said it lightly, but Bella could tell he meant it.
âIâll never be bored with you, my love. I just sometimes get a bit bored with life in grey old London, with its endless depressing news, when everybody else seems to be having so much fun, in such exotic places. Bloody Facebook.â
âYou spend far more time on that site than is healthy, my darling. And letâs look at it mathematically: you have â what? â 350-odd Facebook âfriendsâ?â Andy did the inverted commas fingers signal and Bella nodded, slightly shamefaced.
âMost of us go on holiday at least once a year, so letâs divide that by twelve.â
âUm â nearly thirty people on holiday every month?â
âExactly! It may look as if everyone is having the times of their lives on beaches or mountains, while weâre stuck in dreary old London, but itâs a snare and a delusion. We were in Ibiza only a couple of months ago, after all.â
âOh, I know, I know, Iâm being horribly spoilt.â Bella sighed and took another swig of her wine. âBut Poppy IS getting her huge bite of the Big Apple, even during this horrid recession. I donât know why I canât be more pleased for her.â In the old days sheâd have been happy, unreservedly , for Poppy, but ever since the Ben thing, something sour had crept in. She had loved helping her plan the wedding, and the nuptials themselves had been wonderful, of course, but this new, extra level of success was a little galling.
Six weeks earlier, three weeks after Poppy and Damian
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