just a few minutes more,” she promised. “Have a glass of something sparkly in the meantime, and mingle, darling.”
“Mingling is the last thing I want to do,” Holly muttered. But she grabbed a glass of Prosecco from a passing tray, took a deep breath, and dutifully made her way into the drawing room.
Relieved to see Alex and Camilla deep in conversation with her father across the room, she took a seat as far away from them as possible on the sofa.
As she made polite conversation with Lady Blandford, Holly took a small square of Cheddar skewered with a frilly toothpick and a very lengthy sip of Prosecco.
“I don’t know how you young people deal with that dreadful traffic every day!” the earl’s wife was saying. “It’s such a waste of one’s valuable time.”
“Yes, the traffic out of the city today was awful,” Holly agreed. “Do you go to London often?”
Her ladyship gave a shudder. “Oh, heavens, no. I make it a point to avoid London at all costs.”
“I’m sure that’s very wise of you, Lady Blandford.”
Holly looked up to see Alex standing before them, a drink in hand.
“London has its faults,” Holly agreed, irritated by his habit of popping up unexpectedly, like the Cheshire cat. “But as someone once said, he who grows tired of London grows tired of life.”
“Samuel Johnson.” Alex raised his brow. “Unfortunately, unlike in Sam’s day, London also means traffic, and train delays, and congestion charges.”
“Oh, don’t be so negative, darling.” Camilla came to stand beside Alex and linked her arm possessively through his. “I absolutely adore the City.”
“Ms Shawcross, I believe?” Lady Blandford enquired, and half rose to extend a regal hand. “It’s a pleasure.” She glanced at Holly. “Ms Shawcross is an MP, you know.”
“No, I didn’t.” So Red Thong was a Member of Parliament as well as Alex Barrington’s girlfriend, Holly realized. The surprises just kept on coming.
“Speaking of which,” Camilla said as she consulted her watch, “I’ll need to leave soon. I’ve a surgery in the morning. I have to make an early night of it, I’m afraid.”
Holly regarded her with interest. “A surgery? Oh — so you’re a doctor, as well as an MP?” Evidently Camilla Shawcross had more abilities than Superwoman.
“A doctor? Oh, my goodness, no!” she said, and let out a peal of laughter. “What a ridiculous notion.”
“A surgery is a clinic held with an MP’s constituents to discuss issues of concern,” Alex explained. “It normally takes place on Saturday, since Parliament sits during the week.”
“Oh.” Hot with embarrassment, Holly pasted an intelligent look on her face and nodded. Inwardly, she seethed. Camilla had an uncanny ability to make her feel incredibly stupid — particularly in front of Alex Barrington.
“I’ll say goodnight, then,” Camilla announced. “It was lovely to meet you, Lady Blandford.” She gave Holly a brief nod. “Goodnight, Ms James.”
“Shall I walk you to your car?” Alex asked.
“No, it’s not necessary.” She added huskily, “After all, we’ll see each other again, soon enough.” She brushed her lips against Alex’s cheek, gave him an intimate smile, and left.
Holly stood up, intent on making her own excuses. Suddenly she wanted nothing so much as to flee back to the safety of her room with its posters of horses and boy bands. She felt out of her depth and invisible whenever Camilla Shawcross was around.
“Would you like a canapé?” Holly’s mother asked as she approached them with another tray. “I have some delicious prawns on offer.”
“Thank you.” Alex nodded politely and took one. “Holly?”
She shook her head. “No. I’m good.”
“Well! I can see you two are getting on like a house on fire.” Cherie smiled at Alex. “I don’t know if you remember, but Holly used to tuck her little pug up in the pram and push him round your garden when she was little. She told me she wanted to marry you when she grew up,” she confided, “and have lots of babies—”
“Mum,” Holly cut in, scarlet with embarrassment, “I was five. I also ate Marmite-and-jam sandwiches and wore the same dress every day, neither of which I do any longer. Let me help you with that tray, shall I?”
She followed her mother into the kitchen and hissed, “Please don’t talk about babies and marriage in front of Alex! It’s mortifying. You’re as subtle as…as Ted Nugent.”
“There’s nothing like a gentle nudge where men are concerned,” Cherie said firmly. “Besides, he’s a vast improvement over that dreadful musician you were seeing.”
“You’ll be happy to know that Mick and I broke up. He and his amplifiers have departed from my life — permanently.”
“Well, I’m not sorry to hear it. You can do so much better, darling. Here, take this out and circulate.”
So saying, her mother thrust a tray with cheese and pineapple cubes skewered onto a grapefruit into Holly’s hands.
“What on earth is that naff thing?” Holly asked as she eyed the tray with distaste.
“It’s a cocktail hedgehog. Offer it to Henry first.” And she nudged Holly out of the door.
Well, Holly reasoned as she circulated with the cocktail hedgehog, Alex hadn’t said anything to indicate he’d seen the BritTEEN interview. Surely he would have confronted her by now.
Ergo, she reasoned as Mrs Henley finally appeared to call everyone in to dinner a few minutes later, there was really no need to tell him about it yet, was there?
No need at all.
At dinner, Holly found herself seated between Alex and Lady Blandford.
This isn’t so bad, she decided, and began, by degrees, to relax a bit. After all, Camilla Shawcross was gone, she had Alex all to herself at dinner, and she hadn’t heard a word back from Sasha.
Which meant, Holly hoped, that her off-the-record interview disaster with Alex wasn’t, perhaps, such a disaster after all? If it was, Sasha would surely have called her back by now.
Alex reached inside his jacket pocket and leaned over. “Don’t tell anyone, Ms James, but I’m having a quick look at my messages before the soup arrives.”
Holly, smoothing the napkin on her lap, froze. “Messages?”
“Yes. I’m expecting an email, rather an important one.” He began tapping the screen.
“No!” she squeaked,
