Miss Wrong and Mr Right(7)

‘Xander honey. That coffee isn’t gonna cross the street by itself…’

‘Yes, of course,’ he said grabbing his phone and getting up. ‘Natalie?’

‘I’m good thanks,’ I said holding up my americano. He left, and Nicky followed me through into the office we share and closed the glass door.

‘So Xander, is he…?’

‘Yes, he’s got a partner called Paul,’ I said.

‘Perfect. Guilt-free ogling.’

‘How was your holiday?’ I asked as I put my bag down on my desk.

‘Nat. The resort was amazing, the only downside was that Bart made my wrist ache…’

‘Men can be so disgusting,’ I said. I realised she was talking about something else when she held out her wrist to reveal a dazzling bracelet.

‘Oh my gosh, are they real?’ I asked.

‘Yes. Diamonds. Yes,’ she said wiggling her wrist with a grin. ‘So many carats I’ll never have to eat my five-a-day again!’

‘Blimey Nicky. Your husband is still so romantic after twenty years…’

I pulled out my laptop, and the BenjiYoga leaflet fluttered to the floor. Nicky picked it up.

‘Attention Ryan Harrison, discretion assured,’ she read out loud. She raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

‘Benjamin virtually forced it into my bag,’ I said grabbing it back.

‘Nat. Ryan Harrison is not going to BenjiYoga,’ she said with an air of finality.

‘Why not? Benjamin is a good yoga teacher.’

‘And a good self-promoter, which is fine, but we need to protect Ryan…’

I went to protest. But Nicky went on.

‘And Ryan Harrison’s manager made us put in his contract that if he’s sick, he is only seen by a Harley Street doctor…’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Nat. Didn’t you get foot fungus from BenjiYoga?’ asked Nicky.

‘That was months ago, and it was athlete’s foot…’

‘That’s just fancy talk for foot fungus. Do you know how much a Harley Street doctor charges to treat foot fungus? Probably a good chunk of our Arts Council funding for the next quarter.’

‘Okay, okay,’ I said folding the leaflet and stuffing it back in my bag. Nicky put her hand on my arm.

‘Honey, I get the attraction to Benjamin. He’s tall, well-built, arrogant. I’m sure he can reach the places other men can’t reach… But there is a great guy out there for you, I’m sure of it.’

‘I gave him a key this morning,’ I said defiantly.

‘A key to what?’ she asked.

‘To my flat…’

I didn’t get to hear her response as there was a loud bang from outside, and then a squealing of metal. We went to the window and saw a lorry parked by the kerb. A massive pile of crash barriers was being unloaded onto the road below.

‘Do you really think we’ll need all these tonight?’ I asked.

‘Nat. This is Ryan Harrison,’ said Nicky. ‘He has crazy fame. When the costume department on his TV show take his clothes to the laundry it has to be in an armoured truck. A woman from Ohio bid ten thousand dollars for a pint of his bath water in a charity auction. Allegedly his stalker has a stalker…’

‘Well, tonight’s crowd should be a bit more demure. We’ve invited press and theatre people,’ I said.

‘You’d be surprised,’ said Nicky.

There was a knock at the door. Val, the box office manager, poked her head of short grey hair around the door.

‘Morning ladies, there’s a group of muscly men in the foyer downstairs. Either it’s an early birthday present for me, or the security guys you hired,’ she said.

‘We’ve already bought you slippers for your birthday,’ I said with a wink. ‘Xander should be back soon, he can deal with them.’

‘Okay, I’ll put them in the bar, and when Xander is back I’ll get him to do a coffee run,’ said Val leaving with a smile.

‘Right. Let’s go through our to-do list for tonight, and make sure nothing is forgotten,’ I said.

‘First I wanna know what you’re wearing?’ asked Nicky. I unzipped the garment bag, and pulled out a black pencil skirt and an orange blouse. The second it was out, Nicky wrinkled her brow.

‘Did you choose this, or did a sales assistant railroad you into it?’

‘I don’t get railroaded!’ I protested.

‘Honey, you’re British. Half your wardrobe is what you’ve bought to be polite.’

‘I chose it. From that place off Carnaby Street where the girls all dress like they did during the Blitz… It’s vintage!’