Page 32 of Spare Heir
Juliette’s expecting me and buzzes me up right away. Her flat is on an upper floor of a tall, elegant buttermilk-hued building near Hyde Park, and I run up the stairs two at a time and arrive to see her standing in the doorway waiting for me.
We kiss effusively in the French style, and she ushers me inside. I walk to the window and admire the wide, tree-lined street from above. It’s like a picture postcard and I’m reminded we are both living our London dream we talked about throughout university.
Calling out to Juliette, who is in the kitchen, I say, ‘You’re so lucky to live here. I told Sebastian where you live, and he said it’s one of the most affluent neighbourhoods in London. Near to his hotel, actually.’
Juliette hands me a steaming cup of milky coffee. Her lips curve into a cheeky grin. ‘Got to be some benefits for putting up with these annoying bureaucrats. They’re enough to drive me crazy, sometimes.’
‘Yes, I can imagine. Good for you, getting a place like this.C’est trés chic,’ I say, as we chatter on in French. ‘You’re also lucky you get to speak French all the time. Apart from with you and the occasional call with Sabine, I barely utter a word these days.’
‘I thought you were teaching the little girl to speak French,’ she says.
‘Teaching a five-year-old some basics is hardly conversation!’
‘True,’ she laughs. ‘Well, you are welcome here anytime. You know that, I hope. I get lonely sometimes, and it’s amazing having you nearby.’
We sink onto the sofa and drink our coffee and nibble at a selection of divine chocolate biscuits. My best friend then interrogates me in the Juliette style I know so well.
‘Talking of your job, how is your sexy boss?’ she asks, her eyes locking onto mine, willing me to serve the latest scoop.
She knows we had a bit ofthingin the kitchen and since I told her, she never tires of asking for the latest news. Juliette is a hopeless, or should I say,hopefulromantic, and is always looking for the happy-ever-after in every story. Sometimes I wish I was as optimistic as her, but I lost my childlike innocence when my family fell apart.
‘He’s good,’ I reply, humouring her after a sip of coffee. ‘He took me and Daisy to Richmond Park this morning.’
‘Yes, you mentioned you were going. And?’
‘And, what?’ I say, playing like I don’t know what she’s alluding to.
‘You know. Did he say anything else about the “let’s be friends” suggestion?’ She purses her lips in a mock kiss. ‘I mean, is he offering friends with sexy benefits, or just friends?’
‘Oh that. Um. Not really,’ I say, feeling like she’s grilling me on a hot barbeque.
She is relentless, and my reticent reply doesn’t put her off. ‘Do you think he was really offering you friends with benefits, or perhaps nanny with benefits?’
I roll my eyes at her mischievous probing. A part of me wants to talk about him non-stop, but another part of me wants to keep my conversations with him between us. They feel sacred somehow, and like I betrayed him by telling her exactly what he said, so I’m not as forthcoming as I know she would like.
‘You’re pursing your lips,’ she says. ‘Honestly, I’ve never known you to be so hesitant talking about a guy you’re into. What is it with this one? What makes him so special?’ She pauses, and bites into another biscuit, then continues after I pull a face. ‘I mean, he’s super-rich, okay, and a big shot CEO, but he’s still just a guy who has the hots for you.’
My cheeks are pink, and my face heats up more as she studies me.
‘You’ve got it so bad. I can see it in your eyes. You’re never usually like this when you’re dating.’
I laugh, but there’s not much humour in it, and the sound is fake even to my own ears. ‘Maybe because we’re not dating!’
‘Come on,’ she says, ‘for heaven’s sake, dish the dirt. I can see there’s more to this than you’re telling me.’
I decide it will do me good to talk to her, and I know I can trust her, so I tell her the latest. ‘Honestly, there’s no dirt to dish! I only wish there was. Ever since our risqué episode in the kitchen, we’ve barely been near each other. I don’t know how much more I can take of it, to be honest,’ I sigh. ‘I’m so hot for him and dream about him every night.’
She stares at me and then asks, ‘And how is he behaving towards you?’
My heart clatters at the question.
‘He’s the perfect gentleman.’ I sigh. ‘But a total wanker, too, though, because he keeps apologising for what happened and it makes me feel like absolute crap.’
She laughs and nearly spits out her coffee.
‘He obviously thinks it was a terrible mistake and regrets every second of it,’ I vent.
‘I doubt it,’ Juliette says with authority, as if she knows something I don’t, after studying me for a minute.