Kirk couldn’t take his eyes off Lucy from the moment he spotted her in the restaurant. It was as if the rest of the room was a 2D cartoon and she was the only real thing in it. She was just his type: blonde, slim, so pretty. But the girls he was usually attracted to had had a great deal of help – hair extensions, fake tans that rubbed off on his Egyptian cotton sheets, acrylic nails. This girl seemed to be real. Daphne had followed his trance-like gaze.
‘Oh yes, now that’s the sort of girl you should be going for.’ Daphne had recognized Lucy at once. Although she hardly ever read newspapers she’d become quite addicted to the social diary column in the Daily Mail. That was Lucy Summers; she’d graced his pages almost every day for the past few weeks. And there had been some falling-out with her boyfriend, the Earl of Balmyle – she couldn’t remember what it was about. Who cared? This girl was single and mixed with aristocracy – much more fitting than the string of near-prostitutes her son had taken to bedding. Honestly, if she read another story about him leaving a club with a glamour girl in the early hours, she would scream. What Kirk needed – for his reputation and for his own happiness – was a real lady. This one was stunning and also well connected. Daphne decided not to tell her son everything she knew about Lucy – after all, an over-enthusiastic mother was enough to put any son off.
Daphne couldn’t help but laugh. Kirk looked just as he had when he was eight and she’d told him he could ride in a helicopter. He was transfixed, his eyes wide and dreamy as he watched Lucy glide to her table.
‘Yes, darling, she is.’ Daphne was keen to get things moving. It would suit her very well for Kirk to form a relationship with Lucy. She had grown to like London very much and might even consider staying if she could meet the right kind of people – the sort she had read about in novels by English authors. Perhaps a charming widower who would take her to the opera and parties. Her own husband, Eddie Kelner – Kirk’s father – had run off a decade ago and had gone through three younger models since, the fool. Some male company would be lovely. Someone who would treat her well, take her to places she had never been. ‘Darling, I have an idea. Treat her to dinner; let her know you are interested.’
Kirk looked unsure.
‘Kirky, otherwise you might never see her again. What harm can it do?’
Kirk smiled. ‘You are absolutely right, as always, Mom. I’ll let the waiter know. Another glass of mineral water?’
‘Yes please, darling.’
‘Good, I’ll stick to the double scotches.’
When Lucy had come over to thank him, Kirk was a little taken aback. She seemed to radiate some kind of unearthly glow. God, she was gorgeous. And that accent – incredibly polished without a trace of the London whine that had so quickly started to grate when he picked up girls from clubs.
Kirk was a little confused by the realization that he was in awe of this woman. Normally, he didn’t give a shit. Ply them with champagne, tell them how beautiful they were, how lonely he got and – bingo! – back to his room for dirty sex. But this girl was something else. So polite, a little shy. Jesus, did she have any idea how stunning she was? Her friend was pretty too. They were like a different breed from the women he’d been hanging out with. Poles apart from one girl he’d slept with, whom he’d spotted just now as he came in… Sheri? She might be a fame-hungry gold-digger, selling stories about him, but it had hardly done his reputation any harm.
Kirk was delighted when Lucy and Amy appeared at the Met Bar. He wasn’t a man who suffered from insecurity, but he had worried they might have had second thoughts and decided not to join him.
But here she was, once again the only luminous thing in the club. Her shiny dress clung to every inch of her. God, to see what was under that dress would be heaven.
‘Hey, glad you made it.’ Kirk stood up as a bouncer lifted the red rope to let them in the booth.
Lucy had been to the Met Bar once before, for the party during London Fashion Week. Part of the Metropolitan Hotel, it was one of the most famous celeb haunts in London, though fewer stars hung out there now compared to the 1990s, when Brit Pop was in full swing. Then, the Gallagher brothers would be snapped staggering out in the early hours, Liam brandishing a bottle of beer and giving photographers his signature one-fingered salute. These days it was more of a venue for rich businessmen in expensive suits drinking on their company’s expense account. A string of newer clubs had most of the paparazzi lying in wait outside, hoping to catch the fresh blood of showbiz like Lily Allen and Amy Winehouse – the current caners of pop.
But tonight the bar was guest list only, in aid of some up-and-coming American DJ who had invited the uber-cool of London to his party. Lucy spotted one of the Kaiser Chiefs at the bar and… oh was that Kate Moss? It was! That’s how you knew the DJ playing was cooler than cool – when he attracted the world’s best-known supermodels to his gigs. And if there’s one thing Kate did well it was tapping into the next big thing, whether it be fashion or music.
Lucy loved to people-watch, even though this was definitely more Max’s scene than hers. Shit, this would be a great source of stories for her. But then she couldn’t very well ask Kirk, who had been kind enough to invite her to this private party, if her sister, who worked for a tabloid, could come to write about him. Anyway, Max had said she was staying in for a night of hot chocolate and DVDs.
Kirk was devastatingly handsome. And so attentive. Didn’t he realize Kate Moss was a few feet away? Or see the gaggle of pretty girls – all miniskirts, hot pants and hair – on the dance floor? He didn’t seem to care. How could any woman fail to be flattered? And he was funny, not at all as self-important as one might have expected.
Amy was in awe of Kirk, laughing like a giddy schoolgirl at his jokes.
After half an hour or so she announced she had spotted someone she’d like to talk to.
‘And no, I’m not being polite. I really have spotted someone I want to talk to,’ she shouted over the music to Lucy and Kirk.
Lucy deserved some luck, Amy thought as she watched Kirk drinking in every inch of Lucy with his eyes. But to have Kelner hanging on your every word? That was taking luck to a brand-new level.