Outside the Blue Moon offices, Natalie tried in vain for fifteen minutes to hail a cab. Shit, today of all days she’d hoped she wouldn’t have to take the tube. But there was little or no hope of her getting back to the flat any other way, so she’d have to bite the bullet. Tottering along on her heels, she made her way down the street to the nearest underground station, trying to remember the last time she’d travelled this way. Given that she usually left the office sometime after eight p.m., there was never any problem getting a cab, and in any case, she wasn’t usually in that much of a rush to get home.
But this evening, the dreaded tube would have to do, despite the fact that the dead air in the tunnels always seemed to tire her out. And Natalie wanted to be fully alert tonight – especially if tonight turned out to be the night. It had to be, didn’t it? They got on fantastically well, were madly in love and the sex was just amazing!
He’d ask her tonight, Natalie was almost certain of it. He’d been a bit coy and evasive lately, which she thought was a big hint.
No, her boyfriend’s confidence and single-mindedness were some of the traits that had made her fall for him in the first place. They’d met at one of the many social events she attended in the course of her work and had been introduced by mutual friends. That night, she couldn’t take her eyes off this tall, handsome and self-assured individual who, with his broad chest and closely cropped blonde hair, seemed the embodiment of potent masculinity, and who unfortunately also seemed hell-bent on resisting her charms. It had taken a while (and a few glasses of Veuve Clicquot) for Natalie to break him down and interest him enough to ask her out, but break him down she did, and the two had been together ever since.
Hopefully after tonight they’d be together for good, she thought, feeling the distinctive warm blast of air that signalled the imminent appearance of the next train to the platform. Soon after, she boarded the train and squashed into the carriage with what seemed like half the population of the city, trying her utmost to ignore the sweaty stench emanating from the person brushing up alongside her. It’ll be worth it, she told herself. You’ll be home soon and will have plenty of time to get ready for tonight.
Natalie’s flat was situated not far from Central London and, luckily for her, only a few stations away. Eventually reaching her destination, she practically raced out of the carriage and away up the stairs towards the exit.
Seven p.m. Steve would be picking her up at eight. Despite their intense relationship, the two hadn’t yet moved in together, although this was because of Steve’s necessity to be near the airport for all the travelling he tended to do with work. Natalie, on the other hand, had no desire to live outside a five-mile radius of Central London – she preferred the city on her doorstep. Still, she knew this couldn’t last forever, particularly if she and Steve were to get married. No doubt he’d want to move somewhere sensible and affordable, whereas Natalie would give anything for a pied-à-terre in Belgravia. Well, a girl could dream.
Reaching her flat, she flung her bag and coat on the sofa and headed directly for the shower. Their housing arrangements were certainly something they’d have to discuss when he popped the question tonight. Well, one thing at a time, she thought, massaging Clarins showergel onto her bronzed skin – bronzed courtesy of the good people at Sun FX. If tonight Steve produced the ring, like she was certain he would, they could think about the practicalities some other time.
Half an hour later, Natalie was fully made up and dressed to impress in a strapless raw silk Ben de Lisi, the raspberry colour of the dress setting off her dark eyes and glossy hair, now styled with seductive flicks à la Kelly Brook.
An hour later she was still waiting, the flicks drooping in tandem with Natalie’s spirits. Where the hell was Steve? He’d assured her he’d pick her up at eight before heading out to this surprise destination, which Natalie hoped was a suitably romantic spot for a marriage proposal. She’d tried his mobile, which was switched to messages, sent him a text enquiring about his whereabouts and still nothing.
At about nine thirty, when Natalie was just about to give up and change into a pair of comfy pyjamas, ignoring the La Perla ensemble she’d bought especially for the occasion, the love of her life appeared at her door.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, when Natalie had thrown the door open, her hands on her hips and the expression on her face leaving him in no doubt that he was in the doghouse. “Something came up at work, and I couldn’t get away.”
“You couldn’t get away for long enough to phone and let me know what the hell was going on?”
“Don’t be like that, babe,” he said, reaching out and lightly caressing her bare arm. “You know how these things can go.”
Almost immediately Natalie’s resolve softened. She could hold a conversation with someone as important and charismatic as Bill Clinton any day of the week without batting an eyelid but when it came to this man she was like a piece of limp lettuce. In a way, it was what she loved most about him. He was unpredictable, could be very unreliable yet was totally addictive.
And if he was planning to propose she couldn’t go too hard on him either, could she? Heaven forbid then that he might change his mind!
“You could have let me know,” she went on, her tone softening.
“I know and I was going to, but I didn’t think things would go on this late. If I had known I wouldn’t have let myself get caught up in it. Especially when you look so good,” he pulled her into his arms, “so good that I don’t know if I want to go out at all.” He began to gently nuzzle her neck.
“But what about your surprise?” she asked.
He stiffened slightly. “My what?”
“Your surprise,” she reminded him. “You told me you were taking me somewhere special for our anniversary, but you wouldn’t say where.”
“For our what?” Suddenly, Steve released her from his arms and drew back.
“Our anniversary,” she said. “Our six-month anniversary?”
Steve gulped. “Em, right, yes.”
By his tone, Natalie knew he’d forgotten all about it. He hadn’t planned any bloody surprise for them at all, never mind a big proposal! He hadn’t even remembered that today was their anniversary – that they’d had six whole months of romantic bliss.
“I’m sorry, I erm . . . thought we were just going out for a bite to eat . . . I didn’t realise it was that important to you.”
Obviously not, Natalie thought, disappointment flooding through her as Steve went through to the living room. OK, so maybe she’d jumped the gun a little bit with the proposal thing. But she was so sure she’d read the signs right! She and Steve clearly adored one another, and he was always telling her how wonderful she was – particularly in bed, where they tended to spend most of their time.
So why wasn’t she wonderful enough to marry? Sod it! Natalie followed him into the room, yet again cursing herself inwardly for wanting it so much – and admittedly so soon. Maybe six months wasn’t that long after all – not long enough for Steve anyway. Six bloody weeks had been enough for Natalie to know she wanted to marry him – or indeed to get married at all!
But why did she want it so much, she wondered? What was wrong with things the way they were? They got on great and had a great sex life – what more did she want?
But despite her exciting career and lively social life, lately she’d been thinking a lot about settling down and starting a family. At thirty-two she’d been living, working and partying in London for nearly fourteen years and at this stage was beginning to tire of it all. While she adored her work, deep down she felt that there had to be more to life than working eight to eight and schmoozing some of London’s most self-important glitterati.
And, she admitted ruefully, her good friend Freya’s forthcoming wedding had a lot to do with that.
When Natalie first moved to London almost a lifetime ago, she’d been full of energy and enthusiasm, eager to experience life outside rural Hertfordshire. Hoping for a foot in the door of the London PR scene, she’d applied for a job as a senior publicist’s assistant, and it was here that she first came into contact with Freya Parker.
The two girls had hit it off almost immediately and for the next few years they shopped, partied and sampled the best of what the city had to offer, including the men. Naturally confident and incredibly flirtatious, Freya was never short of a man or two, while Natalie’s curvy figure and outgoing personality also drew men like flies. Throughout the years, Natalie worked hard at the agency, gained some important clients and even more important media contacts, and it wasn’t long before she was headhunted by one of London’s most prestigious firms, Blue Moon PR – the improved salary greatly helping to finance her girl-about-town exploits.
In the meantime, Freya met the love of her life, Simon Ford, and soon things began to change. Within a few months, Natalie’s best friend had changed from mad, fun-loving, champagne-guzzling Freya to a sensible, more mature, occasional drinker who, instead of partying in some of the city’s best bars and clubs, now preferred to host sophisticated dinner parties at the new home she shared in South London with her city broker fiancé.
It was inevitable that their city-girl friendship wouldn’t last forever, Natalie thought, but while she was genuinely thrilled for her friend, she still couldn’t help thinking that Freya’s fabulous new house, her upcoming wedding and her blissful domesticity seemed to garishly highlight her own lack of progress in this regard. Natalie had been ready to settle down and get married for some time, and the fact that Freya had beaten her to it merely made her want it all the more. Not to mention the fact that everyone she knew – Danni (who was only twenty-five!) included – seemed to be getting engaged and married too and Natalie was now in serious danger of being the only one left behind.
Having decided that it was too late to go out to dinner, Steve had since settled himself comfortably in front of the TV. “You don’t mind, do you?” he asked.
“No, I don’t mind,” she said, slumping down on the sofa alongside him, her raw silk Ben de Lisi now decidedly wrinkled from all the sitting around waiting. “I’ll be up early tomorrow morning anyway. I’ve got a lot of work to catch up on.”
The comment was intended as a jibe but, sure enough, he didn’t seem to notice. Steve was like that sometimes, Natalie thought wryly, the little barbs and remarks that could be so effective at work making no impression whatsoever on her easy-going boyfriend.
Then she sighed inwardly. She hated feeling like this, feeling so out of control, so much so that she’d reduced herself to behaving like some clingy, desperate wannabe. She was thirty-two years old, for goodness sake! Sophisticated thirty-somethings did not sit around sulking and pouting like teenagers when things didn’t go their way. No, sophisticated thirty-somethings were mature and adult and dignified enough to actually do something about those things. So there would be no more pouting and sulking about this, Natalie decided then – instead she’d have to think of a plan of action, something to help put this situation back on track. Feeling better now that she’d reasserted some control, Natalie began to think more clearly. Typically, when she encountered a sticky situation – usually at work – she wasn’t the type of person to sit in a corner feeling sorry for herself like she’d done just now; usually she went right ahead and tried to find a solution. But Steve wasn’t work, was he? And Natalie couldn’t just dream up a fast-fix solution to this particular problem – could she?
Over the last few weeks she’d interpreted the situation very badly by convincing herself that Steve was working up to a proposal. Her usually dependable intuition seemed to have deserted her this time, and she didn’t like it. Then again, for some reason her intuition always made a run for it when it came to men.
Although she knew Steve loved her (the sex was amazing after all and he said himself he couldn’t get enough of her), the idea of marriage obviously hadn’t yet entered his stupid little head. And this was a problem, because she knew without question that she wanted to marry him and had no intention of sitting around waiting for him to realise it.
Natalie’s gaze drifted idly towards the TV programme Steve was watching, some holiday programme or other.
Steve yawned. “I could definitely do with something like that soon,” he said, nodding at the screen. “The negotiations for this new deal are taking forever.”
And just like that it hit her. A holiday! Perfect!
Natalie thoughts began to race a mile a minute. She and Steve hadn’t really been spending enough time together lately – a week away at some fabulous sunny destination would surely convince him once and for all that she was the one for him. She sighed blissfully. Imagine a week relaxing in the sun at some fabulous hotel, doing nothing but eating and drinking and . . . well. Natalie grinned to herself as she stared at the TV. By the time she was finished with him, Steve wouldn’t be able to remember what life had been like without her!
The following morning, Natalie arrived at the offices of Blue Moon, tired and still deflated that last night hadn’t gone exactly as planned.
As she went upstairs in the lift, she glanced critically at her reflection in the elevator mirror. It was no surprise really that Steve wasn’t interested in taking their relationship to another level. She looked like absolute shit. Her wardrobe needed serious updating, and she could definitely do with losing a few more pounds. But at least the lipo-dissolve sessions she was getting would sort that out. Still, she made a mental note there and then to book herself a fresh appointment with the image consultant she used now and again. In this business, appearance counted for a hell of a lot and, apart from Steve, she was lucky that she hadn’t frightened off the young footballer and his father yesterday!
Yes, a session with Janet from the Image Agency followed by a good dose of retail therapy at Selfridges would soon set her on the right track. And if she wanted to get to work on Steve properly during their romantic break in the sun, she’d have to ensure her wardrobe was well up to the task!
Finding the time for all this was another story though. What with leaving the office early yesterday evening, and being out of it for much of the afternoon, she’d be lucky if she found the time to have lunch at her desk for the next few days, let alone factor in an image consultancy.
Which made her doubly determined to go and see that time-management consultant Freya had recommended. Her friend had secured someone to help her cope with the time constraints of her forthcoming wedding, and Natalie thought she could certainly do with some of that type of advice too.
“She’s fabulous, Nat,” Freya had gushed. “She made me break my time down, not into things to do, but into blocks of time. And she reckons I’m way too generous with people and that I should use my time much more constructively.”
Yes, Natalie could certainly do with some of that.
But speaking of consultants, she thought, saying a quick hello to Danni before going into her office and closing the door behind her, she needed advice from someone in the travel business, and quickly.
She had it all arranged within the hour. The travel rep had informed her over the phone that at such short notice there wasn’t ‘a monkey’s chance’ of getting availability for her and Steve in her preferred holiday destination, St Tropez, or indeed anywhere in the Cote d’Azur. Instead, for this time of year, she’d helpfully suggested Sharm El Sheikh in Egypt.
“Egypt? Isn’t that one of those troublesome places?” Natalie asked, frowning.
“Well, if guaranteed thirty-degree sunshine, warm waters and unadulterated luxury is troublesome?” the travel rep joked. “Honestly, I’ve been there myself and it’s heavenly. Tony Blair goes there all the time – I think he has a holiday home in Sharm actually.”
Well, Natalie thought, if it was good enough for the PM, it was definitely good enough for her and Steve. And when the rep mentioned that the place was a treasure trove of beautiful gold jewellery, she nearly burst a blood vessel trying to make the booking.
“So, it’s for two adults leaving Saturday?” the other woman clarified as Natalie gave her and Steve’s details. “And flying first class from Heathrow to Sharm?”
“That’s right.” The flight and five-star hotel were going to cost her an arm and a leg but what the hell – Steve was worth it. And if, as Natalie hoped, the romantic trip abroad took their relationship to another level, well, then it would definitely be worth every penny!
He would get such a surprise when she told him, she thought, gleefully calling out her gold-card details. And what man wouldn’t be chuffed with a girlfriend who arranged last-minute luxury holidays abroad, not to mention Chelsea tickets at the drop of a hat?
That morning before he left her flat to go to work, Steve had casually mentioned that he’d kill to get his hands on tickets for the upcoming Chelsea Champion’s League opener in Stamford Bridge. In her line of work, piffling things like football tickets were simple to get, and since the beginning of their relationship she’d been arranging such tickets (corporate box tickets) on a regular basis. In fact, she did it so often that anyone would think Steve was seeing her just for easy access to the tickets, she thought grinning. But of course they’d be wrong.
“Your holiday tickets will be forwarded to your address within two working . . . actually, because you’re leaving at the weekend, it might be best if you collect them,” the travel rep told her.
“No problem, I’ll send a messenger,” Natalie said.
“And of course, you do realise that payment is completely non-refundable at this stage?”
“Of course.”
“Great. Well, thank you for booking with us, Ms Webb. I do hope that you and Mr Watson have a wonderful holiday.”
Oh, we will, Natalie thought, as she ended the call, you can count on it.