be constantly complimented and entertained. Perhaps it was the attraction of opposites, but there was something very appealing about girls who had to work for their living, who didn’t have the fall-back position of Daddy’s money.
He imagined that the plummy-voiced Alice Waterhouse was just such a daddy’s girl.
‘Jeremy Barker-Whittle,’ he replied, well aware that whilst his own voice wasn’t overly toffee-nosed, it was deep and rich and, yes, impressive. Alex and Sergio used to tell him he could have made a fortune on the radio. People who first met him over the phone were often surprised by the reality of him in the flesh. They clearly expected someone older, and possibly more rotund, with a big chest and stomach. Like an opera singer.
People did make the wrong assumptions at times.
He wondered if he was wrong about Alice Waterhouse. Then decided he wasn’t.
‘I’m the publisher of Kenneth Jacobs’s books,’ he informed her. ‘It seems I’m to be your stand-in auctioneer tonight.’
‘Oh, that’s wonderful,’ she said, not gushing but obviously relieved. ‘Madge said you might do it. I have to confess I was beginning to panic. Thank you so much.’
Against his better judgment, Jeremy found himself warming to her.
‘It’s my pleasure,’ he said. ‘Truly.’ Jeremy had always fancied himself a bit of a showman. He would actually enjoy playing auctioneer tonight.
‘You can bring a partner, if you wish,’ Alice offered. ‘I allocated two places for Mr Jacobs at the main dining table. He said he didn’t have anyone to bring so I was going to sit with him.’
‘I won’t be bringing anyone with me, either,’ Jeremy admitted. He might have brought Ellen, a lawyer he dated on and off, and whose company he enjoyed. But she was overseas in Washington, working, at the moment. ‘I’m a crusty old bachelor too,’ he added, amused by this description of himself. ‘So perhaps you would do me the honour of sitting next to me at dinner tonight.’
‘That would be my pleasure,’ she returned.
‘I presume it’s black tie?’
‘Yes, it is. Is that a problem?’
Jeremy smiled wryly. ‘No. No problem.’ If there was one thing for which Jeremy could be relied upon it was to show up at social functions, properly attired. He loved fashion, and took pride in his appearance. His wardrobe held a wide array of clothes from casual to formal. His dinner suits were the best money could buy, the one he’d worn to Sergio’s wedding made by one of the top tailors in Milan. He’d wear that one tonight.
When she started thanking him again, he cut her short by asking when and where they could meet up tonight. Once he had the details in hand, he said goodbye, hung up then called out to Madge.
She popped her head through the door straight away.
‘Everything settled?’ she asked.
‘Fine. Just tell me one thing. Have you actually met this Alice?’
‘No. I only talked to her over the phone.’
‘So what PR company does she work for?’
Madge looked puzzled. ‘She doesn’t. I mean...didn’t I tell you? She works as a counsellor at a couple of the women’s refuges.’
‘No, Madge, you didn’t mention that.’
‘Sorry. Bit flustered today. Anyway, Alice explained when she first rang that they couldn’t afford the fees of professional fund-raisers so she was doing it all herself. Not an easy job, I can assure you.’
‘No,’ Jeremy said thoughtfully. Damn, but he hated it when he was wrong about someone. He supposed it wasn’t impossible that the daughters of wealthy men could be born with social consciences, plus the desire to make a difference to those less fortunate than themselves. But in his experience, it was rare.
Jeremy was impressed, and resolved to do everything in his power to make tonight’s auction a success.
‘I’d better get back to work,’ he said, but his mind remained elsewhere. He was definitely looking forward to finding out tonight all about the enigmatic and intriguing Alice Waterhouse.
‘THANK YOU FOR lending me this lovely cocktail dress, Fiona,’ Alice said as she inspected herself in the cheval mirror. The dress was black and sleek and strapless, with a matching coat that would protect her from the chill night air till she could get inside the air-conditioned hotel. Despite summer being just over a month away, London was in the grip of a cold snap.
‘My pleasure,’ her flatmate replied, the words reminding Alice of the conversation she’d had earlier today with Kenneth Jacobs’s publisher. What a nice man he was. And what a lovely voice. He would make a much better auctioneer than Mr Jacobs.
‘I seriously wish I was going to your do tonight instead of having dinner with Alistair’s parents,’ Fiona added. ‘But it’s his mother’s birthday...’ Her voice trailed off as she shrugged resignedly. ‘Never a good idea to get on the wrong foot with one’s future mother-in-law.’
‘I would imagine not,’ Alice agreed, glad that she’d never have to worry about such matters. No way was she ever going to get married.
‘You look lovely,’ Fiona said. ‘I wish I had your figure. And your height. And your hair.’
Alice was taken aback by the compliments, thinking there wasn’t anything special about her figure, though she did have nice hair, naturally blonde and easy to style. As for her height, she wasn’t that tall. Just under five eight. Admittedly, Fiona was on the short side. Despite that, she was a strikingly attractive girl with thick dark hair, big brown eyes and the kind of voluptuous body that men lusted after. Not that Alice wanted to be lusted after. It was the last thing she wanted.
‘That dress looks much better on you than it did on me,’ Fiona went on. ‘When I wore it, my boobs spilled out over the top. I had men gawking at them all night. Alistair said I was never to wear it again, so if you want it, sweetie, it’s yours.’
Alice hated the way Fiona called her sweetie, as if she were a kid when in fact they were both the same age. She also didn’t want to be treated as if she were still the girl who’d first come to London and shown up, broke, on the doorstep. Still, it was an understandable hangover from when Alice had first come to London and shown up, broke, on the doorstep of Fiona’s flat, mainly because she was the closest thing to a friend that Alice had ever had at boarding school. Not that they moved in the same circles, but they did share crushes on the same movie stars. Alice had only known Fiona’s address because Fiona had told everyone at school when her billionaire father had presented her with the keys of a Kensington flat for her eighteenth birthday.
To give Fiona credit, she’d taken Alice in and let her have a room, rent-free, till Alice had been able to earn some money. Then, when Alice had said she would be moving out a few weeks later, Fiona had begged her to stay, saying she enjoyed her company. Over the seven years they’d lived together, they’d become quite close, sharing confidences the way girls did.
