her hand but he was already kissing her on both cheeks, in a way that would have given Chris Stevens a heart attack.
‘It’s great to meet you.’ He examined the bottle she offered him. ‘Hey, Cloudy Bay. My kind of woman. Come in, come in.’
Thea followed him into a living room which had a beech floor, grey Farrow & Ball walls decorated with huge black-and-white pictures of unattractive babies. Bebel Gilberto crooned from hidden speakers. A group that included that irritating twerp Marco Jensen and Roxanne Fox in one of her trademark dull little skirt suits, was standing by the window, another by the fireplace. No sign of Luke. A blonde woman in black leather jeans and a diaphanous grey top approached.
‘Thea, meet my wife, Farrah. Farrah, remember I told you about Thea? She’s one of our best producers and I’ve just lured her back from New York to be part of my crack team.’
‘Oh yes, I remember.’ Farrah smiled. ‘Dean’s so chuffed to have got you back.’
9 6
‘That’s nice,’ purred Thea, as the doorbell chimed.
‘I’ll get that,’ Dean exclaimed and hurried out into the hall, leaving the two women together. Thea’s heart sank. She hated wives. But one of the many things that made her brilliant at her job was knowing they were the people you absolutely had to get on side. So she smiled in her friendliest fashion.
‘And what do you do, Farrah?’
‘What an interesting question. I’m mainly a mother, of course, but now the kids are both at school I’m retraining as a colour therapist. It’s just amazing. When you get a person’s colour right you can totally change their lives.’
‘Oh.’ Thea nodded.
‘You would not believe how many people’s energy is being sapped by disastrous colour choices. Some people are cool and some are warm and they should never mix it up. But you’d be amazed how often they do. It’s shocking.’
‘Oh yes, it must be.’ Thea tutted, listening to male voices laughing in the hall. Luke’s. She didn’t care, she told herself. It was ancient history. She was long over him.
‘I saw one client recently, who was head to toe in browns and oranges and I said, “Sweetheart, I’m telling you this for your sake, you should be in spring-colours with that pale skin” and she said, “But surely I should wear the opposite of my colouring.” I mean, I was speechless. Speech. Less.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘Now you, Freya, you would look stunning in orange. That green does not do a thing for your colouring.’
‘Oh. Right.’ Thea smiled, wondering if she should set Farrah straight about her name.
‘I’d be very happy to give you a consultation, Freya. Mates’ rates, of course. I’ll make sure to give you one of my cards.’ She looked Thea up and down. ‘You’re a Gemini, am I right?’ Before Thea could reply, ‘No, but you are an idiot’, she continued, ‘Now there is a lady who knows what colours are right for her.’
Turning round, Thea felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. Standing in the doorway was Luke, looking even more charismatic than she remembered him. Like a double espresso he sent a jolt through you.
And holding tightly to his arm was a girl, no one could reasonably call her a woman, looking absolutely petrified. Fuck, though, she was pretty with her fine blonde hair and tiny feet in gold ballet slippers. Jealousy crackled off Thea’s body in green lightning forks as all the insecurities she nursed about her appearance: that she was too dark, too shapeless, needed to trowel on make-up to look even halfway presentable, danced for attention in her head. Her vision narrowed as if she was about to faint. With superhuman effort she smiled.
‘Luke.’
‘Thea.’
Kiss. Kiss. Soft, newly shaved cheek. Smell of Imperial Leather. Once Thea had discovered it was his soap (he didn’t believe in aftershaves) she’d gone out and bought a bumper pack and slept with it under her pillow.
‘It’s great to have you back,’
‘It’s great to meet you.’ He examined the bottle she offered him. ‘Hey, Cloudy Bay. My kind of woman. Come in, come in.’
Thea followed him into a living room which had a beech floor, grey Farrow & Ball walls decorated with huge black-and-white pictures of unattractive babies. Bebel Gilberto crooned from hidden speakers. A group that included that irritating twerp Marco Jensen and Roxanne Fox in one of her trademark dull little skirt suits, was standing by the window, another by the fireplace. No sign of Luke. A blonde woman in black leather jeans and a diaphanous grey top approached.
‘Thea, meet my wife, Farrah. Farrah, remember I told you about Thea? She’s one of our best producers and I’ve just lured her back from New York to be part of my crack team.’
‘Oh yes, I remember.’ Farrah smiled. ‘Dean’s so chuffed to have got you back.’
9 6
‘That’s nice,’ purred Thea, as the doorbell chimed.
‘I’ll get that,’ Dean exclaimed and hurried out into the hall, leaving the two women together. Thea’s heart sank. She hated wives. But one of the many things that made her brilliant at her job was knowing they were the people you absolutely had to get on side. So she smiled in her friendliest fashion.
‘And what do you do, Farrah?’
‘What an interesting question. I’m mainly a mother, of course, but now the kids are both at school I’m retraining as a colour therapist. It’s just amazing. When you get a person’s colour right you can totally change their lives.’
‘Oh.’ Thea nodded.
‘You would not believe how many people’s energy is being sapped by disastrous colour choices. Some people are cool and some are warm and they should never mix it up. But you’d be amazed how often they do. It’s shocking.’
‘Oh yes, it must be.’ Thea tutted, listening to male voices laughing in the hall. Luke’s. She didn’t care, she told herself. It was ancient history. She was long over him.
‘I saw one client recently, who was head to toe in browns and oranges and I said, “Sweetheart, I’m telling you this for your sake, you should be in spring-colours with that pale skin” and she said, “But surely I should wear the opposite of my colouring.” I mean, I was speechless. Speech. Less.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘Now you, Freya, you would look stunning in orange. That green does not do a thing for your colouring.’
‘Oh. Right.’ Thea smiled, wondering if she should set Farrah straight about her name.
‘I’d be very happy to give you a consultation, Freya. Mates’ rates, of course. I’ll make sure to give you one of my cards.’ She looked Thea up and down. ‘You’re a Gemini, am I right?’ Before Thea could reply, ‘No, but you are an idiot’, she continued, ‘Now there is a lady who knows what colours are right for her.’
Turning round, Thea felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. Standing in the doorway was Luke, looking even more charismatic than she remembered him. Like a double espresso he sent a jolt through you.
And holding tightly to his arm was a girl, no one could reasonably call her a woman, looking absolutely petrified. Fuck, though, she was pretty with her fine blonde hair and tiny feet in gold ballet slippers. Jealousy crackled off Thea’s body in green lightning forks as all the insecurities she nursed about her appearance: that she was too dark, too shapeless, needed to trowel on make-up to look even halfway presentable, danced for attention in her head. Her vision narrowed as if she was about to faint. With superhuman effort she smiled.
‘Luke.’
‘Thea.’
Kiss. Kiss. Soft, newly shaved cheek. Smell of Imperial Leather. Once Thea had discovered it was his soap (he didn’t believe in aftershaves) she’d gone out and bought a bumper pack and slept with it under her pillow.
‘It’s great to have you back,’
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