Page 64 of Three's a Crowd
Claire had been a rock since her split with Adam and she wanted to repay her kindness.
‘Great, you can pick me up on the way then,’ she said, sweeping out of the room before Daisy could say another word.
Sighing, she saved her work on the computer and turned it off. Claire was right, of course. It would be good for her to get out again. It was time. She couldn’t go on moping around for the rest of her life.
She knew she’d never find anyone she could love more fiercely than Zach, or care for more deeply than Adam,but you never know, she thought to herself,I might have some interesting experiences trying.
When Friday night rolled around, Daisy found herself staring into her wardrobe and not finding a thing she wanted to wear.
It had been such a long while since she’d gone to a party, she didn’t seem to own any suitable clothes for it any more.
She spent most days in jeans and t-shirts, not needing to be dressy for work, and had had a huge purge of her wardrobe when Adam left, in the vain attempt to banish memories of him and what she’d lost from her mind.
She hadn’t been shopping since – hadn’t had the energy for it – and so was now in the challenging position of making herself look decent for a party at a swanky, private members bar which was bound to be full of flashy media types in cutting-edge couture.
Dropping her gaze to the floor of the messy wardrobe, it alighted on her case, which was stashed right at the back. She pulled it out, throwing it onto the bed and opening it. The clothes she’d bought in Cannes were still in it.
She hadn’t got round to giving them away yet. She’d promised herself she would, but actually doing it had been too much of a wrench in her desperately sad state.
Touching the delicate, expensive material of the outfits, she felt a surge of sudden anger. Why had all this happened to her? She was generally a good, kind, thoughtful person who, yes, sure, had made some questionable choices, but why did they have to come back and bite her so hard?
Though Claire was probably right; it was time to stop beating herself up. You had to make your own luck, right?
She pulled a short, flared skirt out of the case and examined it. It was made of a fluid sort of material which fell into a beautiful shape when worn, the back of it dipping in behind her buttocks to cup her bottom, which gave her a striking, curvy outline.
Pulling off her dressing gown, she stepped into it. It fell to just above her knees and felt amazing as it swished against her skin. She twirled around in front of the mirror and admired it on her body. It suited her so well. It had classic lines, but the stark, colourful pattern gave it a contemporary edge.
Riffling through the case, she found the soft, long-sleeved top that went really well with it. It had a sharp, V-cut neckline and flowing sleeves, that ended with a ruffle around her wrists.
Looking at herself in the mirror in it, the outfit really drew attention to how much weight she’d lost recently and she reprimanded herself for getting into this state.
This was ridiculous.
Enough was enough.
It was time to get her life back.
With that thought ringing through her head, she strode into the bathroom to do her make-up and hair, determined to look like the self-assured woman she knew was still there inside her.
No more bloody pining.
She was going to have some fun tonight.
16
The cab pulled up on a Soho side street and Claire and Daisy got out, looking around them.
They walked past a number of innocuous-looking doors until Claire stopped in front of one of them, pointing at it.
‘I’m pretty sure it’s this one,’ she said, ‘They never have signs outside these places.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I did warn you it’d be swanky.’ Crossing her fingers, she pressed the buzzer on the intercom located on the wall next to them.
There was a crackle, then a voice said, ‘Yes, may I help you?’
‘We’re here for the “Ah Vienna” party. Claire Newsome and Daisy Malone, we’re on the guest list,’ Claire said into the panel.
‘Just a minute,’ came the reply. They could hear a clack of fingernails on a keyboard in the background. ‘Okay, come on in,’ the voice finally said.
The door buzzed open and they walked inside and over to a small, simple, oak reception desk with just a laptop and a big, old-fashioned ledger on it.
