swatted his arm. ‘You’ll have to excuse my husband, he’s an idiot.’
‘She’s the co-owner of a restaurant as well, aren’t you, Clare.’
I couldn’t resist getting in a plug for Dom’s new restaurant. Sophie and Alex were the sort who ate out every night and, besides, I liked the thought of our friendship groups intertwining.
‘Hardly co-owner. It’s my husband’s. Launches next month.’
‘Darling, you’re friends with a divorce lawyer. Speak to her and then tell me you don’t want your name above the door, however much of a sleeping partner you might be.’
‘Believe me, I don’t want to get involved,’ laughed Clare. ‘If I tell my husband I want more involvement, he’ll have me making choux pastry swans before I know it. And I hate cooking. I can’t even make fairy cakes.’
‘Well, remind me to introduce you to my friend at The Times. Food critic. Maybe we can all go down for dinner and he can write something.’
‘That would be amazing. Thank you,’ said Clare. ‘Perhaps you could come to the launch?’
‘We should go and say hi to Helen,’ said Alex diplomatically.
‘So long as I don’t have to tell her how much I love her work,’ Sophie said, rolling her eyes at me. ‘Excuse us, Franny – lovely meeting you, Clare.’
Clare raised her eyebrows when they had gone. ‘Franny?’
‘Term of endearment.’ I smiled, noting her disapproval.
‘Well, it had better not stick.’
‘It was good of her to say she’d introduce you to The Times critic,’ I said. Suddenly it seemed important to get Clare’s approval for my new friends.
‘If it happens,’ said Clare, taking another glass of champagne.
‘He’s here,’ I said, my words trailing off as I looked across the crowd.
As Martin entered the room, my heart juddered with anticipation, excitement and anxiety. He hadn’t seen us, he was too busy shaking hands and slapping backs, a handsome charismatic centre of attention in a dark suit, moving like a jungle cat, at ease but powerful. I glanced at Clare, watching her watching him, and it was obvious his magic was already working on her – and I felt smug in the knowledge that I was the one who would be going home with him.
‘He’s sexy,’ she said, not taking her eyes off him. I couldn’t help feel disappointment, but what did I expect her to say? He’s fascinating, he’s brilliant, he’s damn-near perfect?
Clare didn’t know Martin, hadn’t met him, how could she see him as I did? And did friends ever really approve of partners? I didn’t much like her husband Dom, that was true. Perhaps Clare, with her shrink’s hat on, could explain it to me, but for some reason it was deeply important that the two people I was closest to should get along, impossible though that seemed.
Finally Martin saw me and I felt a crackle in the air as our eyes met. Murmuring something to the woman he was talking to, he made a beeline for us.
‘Francine, you came,’ he said, kissing me on the cheek. ‘And you must be Clare. I’ve heard a great deal about you.’
I thought he would turn the full force of his laser-beam charisma on her, but instead he gave a shy smile. ‘Sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived. I hope you weren’t too bored.’
I noticed Martin kept his eyes on Clare as he said it, paying attention to her, deferring to her. He knew the charm playbook inside out, but then I was sure Clare knew exactly what he was doing: tics, tells, all of those little manipulations people used to deceive were a psychiatrist’s bread and butter. It was like watching two grand masters try to out-think each other.
‘Martin’s one of the sponsors of tonight’s event,’ I said nervously.
‘And a friend of the artist,’ added Clare.
‘More like client of the artist.’ He shrugged. ‘I can’t lie, it’s a business move,’ said Martin with the ghost of a smile. ‘High-level contacts are vital to the Gassler Partnership, and I don’t think you’ll find a greater concentration of wealthy individuals than at an art gallery opening. Especially when the artist is as hot as Helen North.’
‘I do actually like her stuff,’ said Clare.
‘You do?’
‘Really. I wasn’t joking when I said about the light and shade. I’m all about the light and shade.’
Martin laughed. ‘Me too,’ he said, taking Clare by the arm. ‘Come on, I’ll introduce you.’
As he led her away, Clare turned and grinned, giving me a discreet thumbs-up. She was a tough nut to crack at the best of times and had always been suspicious of my boyfriends, so to get her approval was everything. I let out a long breath and took a swallow of my champagne: it was already making me fuzzy.
‘I think you’re good for him.’
I turned. Alex was watching Martin work his way around the room.
‘Well, I am a very good barrister,’ I said.
He twisted his mouth. ‘You know what I mean, Fran. I’m his friend, not the Bar Council,’ he said, his expression softening into a smile.
I’d wondered how much Alex had worked out at our dinner at Ottolenghi. Whether he had guessed that I was Martin’s lover as well as his lawyer.
‘Besides, you’re two consenting adults and he’s my business partner. We’ve built something good together. I don’t want it destroyed because of that woman.’
‘Well, I don’t think it will come to that.’
He nodded, but I don’t think he was really listening.
‘After Donna, before you, he was drinking Jack Daniels for breakfast. Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it, because he’s in a better place now than he was three months ago, and I think that difference is you.’
I was stunned to silence. On the one hand, it was what I longed to hear – confirmation of Martin’s feelings for me. But Alex’s words also unsettled me. I had worked long enough as a divorce lawyer to know that toxic relationships brought a lot of emotions to the surface, not all of them positive. Jack Daniels for breakfast suggested a different version of events to the one Martin had given me about the breakdown of his marriage.
I could see him through the crowd and felt an unsettling prickle of envy at how good he looked standing next to Clare. I was about to look away but our eyes met and he smiled, and it was so intimate and reassuring that I felt a little bit lighter.
I almost didn’t notice Tom Briscoe. At first he blended in so well with the smart surroundings that I didn’t recognize him, but then there he was, helping a Sloaney blonde out of her coat. I felt bound to the spot, until a voice in my head told me to get out of there. This wasn’t like bumping into my neighbour Pete by the bus stop near our flat. This was Tom, my colleague. He couldn’t
