‘Hi, Tom,’ Laura said tonelessly, leaning on the tall mahogany bar and giving the crowded room a quick once-over. In contrast to her studio, which was all about driftwood and artist’s light, Tom’s Seafood and Champagne Bar had gone the other way with the nautical theme, lifting materials direct from the shipyard: the highly polished floor was teak, thick rope intended for tethers had been used for the banisters, the blinds were made from brown clinker-sail canvas, and brass cleats had become coat hooks. Sepia shots of Gatsby-esque schooners adorned the walls, and upturned half-cut boats had been fitted with shelves and were used to store the glasses. Half the tables were already taken, and most of the chairs were turned towards the panoramic windows to watch the dusk blooming like a feather-edged peony against the vanilla sky.
The portly barman looked up from polishing two glasses. ‘Laura,’ he acknowledged.
‘Busy tonight.’
‘Aye. The new chef’s bringing ’em in. His lobster taglia-telle’s a treat. Fresh saffron, white crab meat . . .’
Laura nodded approvingly.
‘Tempted?’
She shook her head apologetically, her fine hair polishing her shoulders. ‘I’d love to, but Jack’s already got dinner on. I’ve got to make this quick. I don’t suppose—’
‘No. Not seen her,’ Tom said quickly, opening a bottle of crème de cassis and pouring it into two glasses.
Laura raised an eyebrow and rested her clasped hands on the counter. ‘Where have you not seen her?’
‘Well, not behind that pillar, for a start,’ he said, uncorking a bottle of the house champagne and pouring it on to the crème de cassis.
Laura took two steps to the right and caught sight of a skinny ankle jigging furiously next to a plastic Hello Kitty bag. ‘Send over two fresh glasses when you get a chance, will you?’
‘Sure thing. D’you want to try one of these? Kir royale?’
Laura looked at the glass suspiciously. ‘Not unless it’s on the house – otherwise just our usual.’
She picked her way cautiously through the tables, taking care not to knock anyone’s drinks with the bags looped over her arm. The furious ankle seemed to pick up speed as she approached, almost as though its owner was picking up on her presence.
‘How did you know I was here?’ Laura asked, looking down at the fresh-skinned, heart-shaped face that was cringing up at her.
‘Your squelch.’
Laura looked down at her red Hunter wellies. They were still shiny from her wade through the water on the way back from the studio; a tendril of seaweed clung limply to the seam around the ankle.
‘You’re the only person Tom allows to wear wellies in here. Working late again?’
‘Thanks to you,’ Laura said pointedly, dropping the shoe bag on the floor and taking the empty seat.
Fee nervously reached for the drink she’d been nursing since she arrived, grateful that there were too many witnesses present for Laura to make an attempt on her life. ‘Look, Laur, I know you might be a bit cross . . .’
‘A bit?’
‘Okay, maybe more than a bit—’
‘Try bloody fuming.’
‘Okay, okay, I know you might be a bit bloody fuming that I took the order without telling you, but I only had your interests at heart, I promise.’
‘Oh really? And that’s your job, is it?’
‘As your manager, yes.’
‘Self-appointed manager. I never asked, and I can’t afford to pay you,’ Laura reminded her.
‘Well, you can now,’ Fee winked, hopeful of raising a smile. Nada. ‘Anyway, I’m doing this out of love, aren’t I?’
Laura looked at her perky, buoyant friend. Petite and whippet-thin with a heart-shaped face, prominent blue eyes and shoulder-length blonde hair as wispy as candyfloss, she was Laura’s opposite in every way. Fee was bright, bouncy, bonny, bubbly and all other happy things beginning with B. Laura was brooding, belligerent, bony. She always felt heavier-footed than her feather-light friend, as though she trod through her life with a weighted soul – or at least with wellies on.
‘It isn’t up to you, or the client, to say how I run my business.’
‘Well now, I hate to point it out, but you wouldn’t have a business if it wasn’t for me. You don’t always know what’s best for you. You’d still be tinkering with dodgy brooches no one ever saw, much less wore, if I hadn’t had that ad of Mum’s necklace made up.’
‘That was different.’
‘Yes, it was. And it’s why you’re doing so well now.’ She leaned forward on her skinny arms. ‘Come on, Laur, the guy made an offer that you couldn’t walk away from.’
‘Funny how I did, then.’
‘Yes, well, you’re just—’ Fee’s mouth dropped open. ‘What?’
‘I chucked him out. I’m not doing it. I’ve spent all afternoon reinstating the appointments.’
‘Oh no, you didn’t?’ Fee moaned, dropping her head in her hands and showing off this week’s colour on her gel nails – a strong lilac that seemed better suited to a little girl’s bedroom. ‘Laur, why didn’t you at least speak to me about it?’
‘Why didn’t you speak to me about it?’ Laura hissed back. ‘How could you let me go into that meeting and be totally banjaxed like that? You know how much I hate meeting new people. It’s the reason why I didn’t want to go professional in the first place. And you just left me to be bullied by some rich guy who walks in and starts telling me he’s cleared my diary.’
‘I thought you’d be made up,’ Fee moaned, raking her hands through her fine blonde hair.
‘What, because he offered double?’
‘It was more than double, actually.’ She dropped her hands flat on to the table. ‘As soon as I told him you were booked up till Christmas, he offered double on the spot and I hadn’t even given him your rates.’ She gave a little shrug. ‘So I bumped it up from eight hundred a charm to twelve hundred.’
‘Twelve hundred?’ Laura’s voice was suddenly quieter.
Fee nodded. ‘And he was going to pay double that. Don’t you get it, Laur? That was your biggest commission yet. You’d have netted nearly seventeen grand.’
Seventeen grand?
The two women stared at each other, one with a look of dawning horror, the other with a look of despair.
‘But I . . . I mean, I . . . Well, I didn’t realize it was so much,’ Laura whispered. She picked up Fee’s glass and took a hefty slug. ‘Shit.’
‘Yeah, I’ll say,’ Fee muttered, wrangling the glass back and draining it herself. ‘I could’ve paid off my credit card with my thirty per cent take.’
‘Thirty per cent?’ Laura looked at her sharply. ‘Who said anything about thirty per cent?’
Fee shrugged. ‘That’s the going rate.’ She patted Laura’s hand lightly. ‘And you don’t need to look so shocked – that does cover PR and managerial duties.’
‘Oh God, I can’t believe I chucked him out.’
Fee looked at her optimistically. ‘How badly did you chuck him out? I mean, what are we talking about here – did you chuck his briefcase in the river? Or did you just do your mega-posh Ice Queen voice that you do when you get pissed off?’
‘I slammed the door in his face and told him good riddance.’
‘Huh. A mix of both, then. Excellent. Well done.’ Fee collapsed her head into her nested arms.
Tom came over with a tray and set down two slim flutes and a bottle of the Prosecco that passed as the ‘out of season’ house champagne. ‘What’s up with you two? Thought you said you were going to be celebrating, Fee?’
Fee shook her head. ‘She kicked him out. It’s not happening.’
Tom looked at Laura and she gave a helpless shrug. ‘I didn’t do the maths.’
‘Her temper got the better of her, is what she means. You’d better take the bottle back, Tom. We’ll just be on the one glass tonight.’
Tom shook his head. ‘Pity,’ he muttered, taking the bottle back to the bar.
‘Well, I was still right to turn him down,’ Laura spluttered finally after they’d both downed their glasses and were sliding their fingers round the rims. ‘I mean, it’s the principle, isn’t it? You can’t just let people run your life because they’re richer than you are.’
Fee hiked up her eyebrows, completely unconvinced. ‘And that’s what you’re going to say to Jack, is it? That you turned down, on one piece of jewellery, nearly as much as he makes in a year?’
‘He makes more than that,’ Laura argued tetchily. ‘The workshop has never been busier. The reupholstery business is recession-proof.’
‘Yeah, but you get my point, though. It doesn’t matter how many people want their sofas resprung – he’s not ever going to be doing so well that you can afford to turn down that kind of money. You’ve got to be really raking it in before you can afford to sniff at seventeen grand. And just before Christmas too.’
Laura slid her elbows along the table and dropped her face on her arms. ‘I just won’t tell him,’ she mumbled into the table. ‘There’s no point in torturing him with what could have been.’
‘What was, you mean. It was all signed and sealed when I put the phone down to him. There were no ifs or buts about it.’
‘Yes, yes, all right! Stop going on about it, will you?’ Laura snapped, more furious with herself than Fee. Fee had been right. She had allowed her temper to get the better of her. ‘There’s nothing I can do about it now. What’s done is done.’
They sat in miserable silence, which was punctuated by the solitary beep of an incoming text on Laura’s phone. She read it and sighed. ‘Dinner’s nearly ready. I’ve got to go.’ She stood up and looked over at Fee, who appeared genuinely crestfallen. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you next time.’
Fee tried to raise a smile. ‘Sure.’
‘Hey, look. Slow and steady wins the race,’ Laura said, trying to raise her spirits. ‘I’ve always believed that. We’ll be okay.’
‘You might be. You’ve got Jack. Meanwhile, I’m fifty short for my rent this month.’
Laura looked down at her friend, who would no doubt be eating a Pop Tart for dinner again. She reached down and rifled in her purse. She handed over a twenty- and two five-pound notes. ‘All I’ve got, I’m afraid.’
Fee cracked a grateful smile that made even Laura respond in kind. ‘You’re a true friend, you are.’
‘Huh, you think?’ Laura murmured. ‘One who undoes all your good work.’
‘Nah, you’re just principled, that’s all. There’s not many people about like you.’ Fee’s slender tapered fingers reached up and squeezed Laura’s knobbly ones. ‘You’re a contrary fairy all right. You might be an acquired taste, but I love you, babes.’