Page 11 of Love ad Lib
Libby grinned. ‘Fair enough. Can it wait until the weekend? I’m cooking for Lucas tonight.’
Claire looked at her watch and raised her eyebrows. ‘Holy shit, Libby. It’s one p.m. You’d better get a move on.’
‘Ha-de-ha. I need to go shopping first.’
‘Ah, yes. I forgot how far you have to travel to buy food in London.’
Libby gave her friend a hard stare. ‘His big show is coming up soon and he keeps forgetting to eat. I want to support him.’
‘Support is a two-way street, Libby. That man does not deserve you. Or your amazing food.’
‘I’ll cook for you and Ritchie on the weekend?’
‘No, darling.We’llcook foryou.’
Libby hesitated. She wanted to ask if she could bring Lucas with her, but wasn’t sure it was the right moment to make that request.
Claire hugged her. ‘I’ll see you on Saturday. Don’t bring anything with you except for yourself.’ She stood back and held Libby’s gaze as if about to impart life and death information. ‘We did great today. Be proud of yourself. You’re amazing.’
‘We’reamazing.’ She high-fived her friend. ‘Go team Awesome Aston-Fletcher.’
‘Go team Awesome A.F.,’ Claire replied with a grin.
‘Hiya, only me,’Libby called out as she staggered into the hallway of the flat she shared with India Markham, a woman she’d met in rep theatre.
India poked her head around the living room door. ‘Ooh! Curry?’
Libby nodded. After a twenty-minute walk from the City to Taj Stores on Brick Lane to pick up the best ingredients for Lucas, followed by the three mile walk home, she was knackered, but there was no time to rest.
India helped her carry everything into the pokey kitchen at the back of the flat. Most of the floorspace was taken up by an old wooden table, currently covered with balls of wool.
‘I’m preparing for that indie film in Morocco in a few weeks,’ India said, pushing them to one end.
India’s parents had not only bought their daughter the ground floor flat in an 1920’s house, but also gave her an allowance so she could take low-budget film roles that usually only covered expenses.
‘With wool?’ Libby asked, unpacking the bags.
‘Apparently everyone in Hollywood is knitting on set these days. Kirsten Bjorkstrom created a poncho out of qiviut when she was filming the lead role in theRamboreboot. She modelled it forVoguelast month.’
‘Qiviut?’
‘Muskox wool. It’s softer than silk and more expensive than saffron.’
‘Is that what you’ve got there?
India sighed. ‘Sold out, so I’ve got Alpaca instead. Ooh! How was the workshop today? Which of the Pride and Prejudice boys did you have? Please tell me you had at least one Mr Darcy?’
Libby laughed. This was one of their favourite topics of conversation: trying to find real-life versions of their favourite Jane Austen characters.
‘It was a City brokerage firm,’ she replied. ‘So they’re all a cross between Darcy and Wickham.’
‘No Bingleys?’
Libby’s thoughts jumped to Henry. There was something in his initial reserve and aloofness that had reminded her of Darcy, but he had the shy sweetness of Bingley.
‘There was one who was fifty-fifty.’
‘Mr Bincey? Or Mr Dangley?’
