let my shoulders sag and drank a little more champagne.
‘Can we go now?’ whispered Fran. I nodded.
‘And can you order us a couple of limos?’ said Amanda.
Good God, I didn’t even know you could do that. And I’d never been in a limo …
My eyes cut to Fran. She sighed and looked upwards, then nodded her head.
‘OK, everyone?’ shouted Amanda brightly. ‘Are we ready to party?’
The girls giggled and shrieked, ‘Yars!’
‘I know the limos are naff, but, hey, it’s my hen night! We’re gonna go crazy!’
Seven reserved posh girls did their best to look crazy as Amanda signed her name with a flourish and flashed her gold card. Then we manoeuvred through the chairs. Outside, as if by magic, were two absolutely ludicrous jet black limousines.
‘Our carriages await! Yanna’s, please!’ Amanda ordered the drivers.
Yanna’s was some desperately exclusive club in Mayfair. Shrugging her shoulders, Fran squeezed into the first of the cars, and I followed her. There was a slight pause outside as we realized that the girls all wanted to go in the second limo with Amanda and not us, but that got sorted out somehow, and the one I’d identified as Mookie slid in gracefully.
I looked around the limo. It was done up in high seventies style, with lots of burgundy leather, and there was a white fur rug on the floor, as well as a phone on a string, a TV, and a little fridge in which – hooray – nestled even more champagne.
‘My God, this is a white trash fantasy dream,’ sighed Fran as I opened the champagne. ‘I wonder how many revolting old men have shagged teenage blonde girls in the back here?’
‘Shall we ask the driver?’ I said mischievously, pointing to the button that raised the screen.
‘Do you really want to know? Yuck!’
‘What, if Mick Jagger had fifteen young virgins on the floor? Sure.’
‘It probably does one hundred and fifty hen nights a year and two smart functions,’ said Fran gloomily. ‘Really, it’s a bit of a wanker’s mobile.’
As if in confirmation, as the car inched its way down Regent Street, some students came up to the blackened window, shook something at us and yelled, ‘Rich bastards!’
I looked at Fran in disbelief. ‘We’re rich bastards!’
‘Well, hooray!’ said Fran.
‘Gosh, how terribly amusing,’ said Mookie, looking at the students, although she wasn’t smiling. Up till now she’d been sitting silently, and I’d assumed she was disgruntled at not getting into the Princess’s limo. ‘Did you know those chaps?’
I looked at her. ‘Ehm, no. Why, did you?’
She giggled at this. ‘No! Me neither!’
This felt almost like a conversation, but not quite.
‘OK. Are you having a good time?’
‘Why, erm … yars, of course.’ She looked a bit mystified by the question. ‘I mean, the restaurant was in Vogue this month, it’s almost impossible to get bookings.’
‘Really?’ said Fran. ‘God, we were lucky.’
‘How long have you known Amanda?’ I was persevering with the small talk, while making my usual subtle nudges to Fran to put the tape on. She glowered at me.
‘Well, Jacintha and I are cousins, and we were at school together with Philippa – she’s having another party tonight; she doesn’t like Amanda …’ – my eyebrows raised – ‘I think she had her eye on Fraser herself. Well, most of the Right Hons are spoken for, or will only go out with models, or are complete poofters, so there’s not that many left, rally,’ she finished sadly.
Oh.
‘Anyway, the Vryker-Lyons are old neighbours of ours from the village, so when Araminta went up, she met Amanda, and that’s how it all fits together, rally.’
‘Right. I see.’
‘So,’ said Fran, ‘are you and Amanda really good friends?’
‘Well, I’m going to be one of the bridesmaids.’ Mookie was blushing more and more at being bombarded with these questions. I wondered if, underneath it all, she might be rather nice.
‘That’s lovely,’ I said, reassuringly. ‘And … what do you think of Fraser?’
I expected her to get stroppy, remembering my little outburst earlier, or silent and defensive.
Instead she looked mildly uncomfortable, and blushed again.
‘Well,’ she said. Fran helpfully refilled her glass.
‘Go on, you can tell us,’ I said. ‘We won’t tell anyone.’
Except, you know, Fraser, I thought.
‘Scout’s honour,’ said Fran. With one hand behind her back.
She smiled. ‘You won’t tell Amanda?’
‘Oooh no.’
Slightly drunk, she burped and said, ‘You know, rally, I kind of agreed with what you said earlier.’
I nodded encouragement.
‘Well, when Fraser first came on the scene, he was rally innocent, you know? He kept getting invited to these parties, and he thought it was because some people he knew from university rally liked him, you know?’
‘How stupid can you get?’ I said, smiling through gritted teeth.
‘Rally! So at first we took the piss a bit, especially with Amanda rally coming on to him like that … I mean, she was still seeing that guy from Les Mis at the time.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘Rally – I think she finished it, though. For the wedding and stuff.’
‘Well, that was good of her.’
‘Anyway, then I got to know him a bit more. And now I think he’s rally nice.’
‘Oh, he is.’
‘And Amanda bosses him about rally horribly. I mean, I know she’s dead lovey-dovey in public, but honestly’ – she lowered her voice – ‘I’ve heard her be rally nasty to him.’
‘There’s a surprise,’ I said.
Fran tutted. ‘For God’s sake, let’s just kill her,’ she said.
Mookie looked down suddenly and giggled. ‘Oh, it must be the champagne,’ she groaned. ‘Please,
