All Because of You (Lakeview #2) (18 page)

It was three weeks after Steve had embarrassingly dumped her but, mercifully, Natalie was now beginning to get over it. What else could she do?

Granted she had sent Steve one or two late-night text messages tentatively suggesting that they talk about things but she’d given up when he’d eventually replied:
‘Leave me alone, you psycho bitch!’

So that was that. Another love lost, another dream shattered.

In the meantime, she did what any normal broken-hearted girl would do and threw herself into her work even more. Jordan King, her latest recruit, was taking up much of her time as she and Danni worked strenuously on keeping his profile squeaky clean, and strangely, Michael Sharpe, the regular thorn in Natalie’s side, seemed to be behaving himself. Evidently, yet another brush with the FA disciplinary board for kicking a Premiership referee up the arse during a recent match had given him something to think about, and for the moment he was being a good boy. Although goodness knew what he was up to in his spare time.

So as usual, work was going smoothly as ever while Natalie’s personal life went from bad to worse. And this time, it seemed she no longer had Freya at hand to help her get over it. Her best friend had since moved to an admittedly fabulous stately pile in Richmond – miles away from Central London and way too far for Natalie to pop over and cry on her shoulder like she used to when she lived in town. She’d phoned Freya the night after Steve dumped her – hoping for some much-needed sympathy. 

“I always thought he was a prick anyway,” Freya told her helpfully. “You deserve much better than that.”

“But I really thought he was the one!” Natalie wailed down the line.

“Nat, you think every guy who looks at you half-arsed is ‘the one’,” Freya sighed.  “Remember that time we had to take the Tube?” She said the word ‘Tube’ as if the word itself was liable to infect her. A London girl all her life, Freya had only once or twice used the London Underground, and only when she was absolutely forced to, so convinced was she that the entire network was one of the Seven Circles of Hell. A while back, when the two needed to get from Oxford Street to Leicester Square in quick time and there wasn’t a taxi to be had for love or money, they’d racked their brains for a suitable alternative. Eventually Natalie tentatively suggested they take the Tube. 

“Ugh, too icky!” Freya had started scratching herself as if a swarm of ants had suddenly appeared out of nowhere and attached themselves to her Prada coat. But eventually she’d relented, and while on the train Natalie had become convinced that a guy sitting directly opposite and smiling in her direction fancied her, despite the fact that he looked (and smelt) as though he hadn’t lived indoors in decades.

“But he
was
kind of cute,” Natalie insisted now. “In a rough and ready sort of way.”

“Very definitely rough,” Freya agreed. “At least Steve was some kind of improvement.”

“I don’t know what I’ll do without him,” Natalie said sadly, the mention of Steve’s name sending her back into the depths of depression.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Nat – you barely knew him! And you’ll find someone else – you always do.”

Natalie was taken aback and a little hurt by her friend’s irritable reaction. She’d hoped that Freya might suggest coming over for the night, so the two could sit in and spent the night scoffing chocolates and bawling over
Sleepless in Seattle
, the way they used to before she met boring old Simon.

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re engaged, and happy and – ”

“Pregnant,” Freya finished dryly.

“What?”

“I’m pregnant. And before you ask, no – it wasn’t planned. It very definitely wasn’t planned.”

“Oh.” Natalie didn’t know what to think. Freya was not the maternal type. She’d even go as far to say that her best friend hated kids, hated being in same room as them, breathing the same air …

So Natalie’s first reaction to this news was amazement. And her second was pure and unadulterated jealousy. Freya was getting married with a baby on the way. She was living Natalie’s dream.

“I know, I didn’t know what to say either when the doctor confirmed it,” Freya said when Natalie remained silent. “I’ve been on the Pill forever and me and Si aren’t exactly at it like the newlyweds we’re soon supposed to be. But it’s happened and he’s thrilled, and it’s the end of my life as I know it. And of course now we have to postpone the wedding until after it’s born, which is obviously a total bore.”

She sounded so hard and dismissive about the whole thing that suddenly Natalie wanted to throttle her. How could she be so callous? Did she not realise that she had the perfect house, the perfect man – the perfect life? While Natalie would give anything for a fraction of what Freya had – namely a willing husband-to-be. As it was, she couldn’t even find herself a decent prospect, let alone a boyfriend, and had only lately been reduced to making eyes at homeless men on the bloody Tube!

“Well, congratulations,” she said tentatively, while at the same time bracing herself for an onslaught of abusive outrage from Freya. ‘What do you mean congratulations?’ she could imagine Freya wailing, ‘This is my worst bloody nightmare!’

But instead her friend replied simply. “Thanks – I suppose. But sorry, Nat, I really can’t chat for much longer. Si’s parents are coming over for dinner this evening

and – ”

“That’s OK. I’d better go too.”
Back to my sad, lonely and pathetic existence
, she added inwardly. “Talk to you soon.”

“No problem, darling. And don’t worry too much about that idiot Steve. Plenty of fish in the sea and all that.”

Natalie smiled tightly.
That idiot Steve was the man I was hoping to marry
, she told her silently. “Of course. See you soon.” 

Natalie replaced the receiver thinking that she had never felt so lonely in her life. She’d been so sure Freya would understand, had been certain that her friend would be only too happy to help her get over the humiliation of it all – like they’d done for one another all throughout their friendship. And her other close friends, Jodi, Sarah and Rachel were all either happily married, engaged or long-term attached. No point in phoning them either; no doubt they were just as uninterested as Freya was about the ups and downs of Natalie’s pathetic love life. 

OK, so she had only been with Steve for a few months at the most. That didn’t mean her relationship was any less worthwhile than theirs, did it? Although, evidently, in Happily-Married Land, it did. Natalie’s repeatedly disastrous love life was now a million miles away from her friends’ lives of cosy coupledom and happy domesticity.

At work, Danni had been reasonably sympathetic, although Natalie was loath to go into any detail, other than to let her know that she and Steve had split up.  She was Danni’s boss after all, and it wouldn’t do to have PR Supremo Natalie Webb letting her guard down in front of the staff. 

But now three weeks on, things were improving, and Natalie was moving on. And as that evening she and Danni grabbed a cab and drove in the direction of Kensington, she found that despite herself she was looking forward to attending the launch of Purple Grapefruit, the newest in a long line of supposedly ultra-trendy London clubs.  Although a rival PR firm was handling the account, several invites had been issued to Blue Moon, their rivals evidently hoping that some of the other company’s more prolific clients – England international Michael Sharpe, actress Jennifer Cox, or the much-photographed glamour model Cassandra – might make an appearance.  Cassandra would be there, Natalie knew; the model never lost an opportunity for her and her humongous breasts to be photographed for the tabloids, earning herself a fat fee in return for their usage. The girl was a nightmare to work with, but despite her trashy image was a very shrewd businesswoman, determined to use her …erm …
assets
to the best of her ability. 

Having reached the venue, Natalie got out of the cab, adjusted her brand new blue and green Pucci mini-dress over her thighs, and waited for Danni to pay the cab driver. 

Natalie had bristled on hearing that they had to pay their own way there. If the events company were any good they would have sent VIP guests a stretch limo, she thought, rather self-satisfied that their rivals evidently didn’t have Blue Moon’s class. And the red carpet was insane. Didn’t they have any imagination? 

Now, if the company Natalie used to arrange events for a club this size made such a dismal effort she’d have them strung up! Whoever this lot were, they were clearly amateurs, and if the club’s promoters thought they could attract celebrities to Purple Grapefruit on this dismal showing, they really had their work cut out for them. 

Apart from Cassanda, Natalie wasn’t sure whether any other Blue Moon clients would show. Michael had received his invite but was still lying low after the whole kicking-the-referee-up-the-arse fiasco, and she was certain Jennifer was away shooting some movie in Toronto. 

But if all else failed, and this launch failed to attract the big stars, the ex-reality TV contestants could always be relied upon to pick up the slack, Natalie thought, spying a well-worn regular standing on the sidelines and gleefully waving at cameras despite the fact that they were pointed the other way. Now, if Natalie had been handling this launch, she wouldn’t let those bottom-feeders near the place. No, the club needed to start as it meant to go on, and if it wanted to attract exclusive high profile clientele, it needed to invite London’s finest. At this rate they’d be lucky to attract extras from
EastEnders.

But, she thought, as she and Danni entered the club and accepted a glass of champagne –
cheap
champagne, she discovered grimacing (she would have insisted on Laurent Perrier at the very least) – this wasn’t her gig, so tonight she could just sit back and relax and if photographs from the event didn’t make the papers the next day, some other poor sod could take the rap.

Barely an hour into the event, Natalie was bored senseless. There wasn’t a sniff of celebrity, even Cassandra hadn’t bothered showing up, and the atmosphere at a chess convention would have been more exciting. 

Although Danni seemed to be enjoying herself, she thought wryly, seeing her assistant chatting with a group of men at the bar. Then again, Danni rarely got to attend one of these events outside work and she wouldn’t be here at all if Natalie hadn’t strong-armed her into accompanying her. She sighed. She was definitely getting too old for this. A few years ago she would have been the life and soul of the party, flitting from here to there and charming everyone – no matter how tedious the company might be. 

But these days, she just couldn’t be bothered. While she still thrived on the cut and thrust of the day-to-day stuff, dealing with media contacts and managing client accounts, she was beginning to find the social aspect of it all samey and tiring. 

Fourteen-odd years working the London scene did that to you, she supposed, and it was inevitable that she’d eventually tire of it all. And once again she sorely wished that like most of her thirty-something friends, she had a warm house and welcoming partner to come home to. 

Realising that lately she seemed worryingly prone to gloominess, Natalie took a large gulp from her glass of cheaper-than-cheap fizz and strode resolutely across the room to Danni and her new friends. She’d better snap out of this and start working the room – otherwise, word would get round that Natalie Webb had lost her edge and she’d be on the scrapheap in more ways than one!

“Natalie, there you are!” Danni beamed at her, a smile that would have looked warm and welcoming to anyone else, but which Natalie knew meant ‘please save me!’.  “Everyone, this is my boss, Natalie Webb.”

As Danni didn’t offer any further introductions, Natalie just smiled and said hello to the three men who all looked to be in their mid-to-late thirties, and were dressed in a mixture of Hugo Boss and Paul Smith. The bald one, despite his thick gold wedding ring, seemed to be flirting unashamedly with Danni, while the others alongside him looked on, mildly amused. City types, Natalie decided instantly, thinking that she recognised at least one of them from some other event she’d attended recently. The kind of people who often got invited to these events to make up the numbers.

“You work in PR too?” One of the men, he too sporting a wedding ring, asked Natalie as the bald man renewed his onslaught on Danni.

“Yes.”

“Sounds like an exciting job.”

“It can be.”

“Bet you get invited to parties like this all the time.”

“Yes, but to be honest, most of them are a little more exciting than this,” she couldn’t resist saying. So she shouldn’t bitch, but she was in a foul mood, and she’d wasted her first outing in her new Pucci dress on this poor showing!

“Really?” the third man interjected.  “You’re not having a good time?”

“Not exactly.” Natalie wrinkled her nose. “Are you?”

“Well, we’ve got excellent food, champagne and a great atmosphere – what more do you want?”

Deciding instantly that she didn’t like this guy with his haughty eyes, aquiline nose and slightly weird accent, Natalie squared up to him.

“A little bit of imagination might be nice,” she said, having met his type many times before. “Champagne and foie gras are old news.”