Page 72 of Guilty Pleasures

He fished his mobile out of his pocket and began punching the number in, then looked up at her.

‘I’m Johnny, by the way. Why haven’t we met before?’

‘I’m Stella. And probably because I’ve just moved over from LA.’

‘Well, we’d better start making up for lost time,’ he said, his eyes dancing.

‘How about Thursday?’ asked Stella, feeling suddenly bold.

Johnny grinned.

‘It’s a date.’

‘Is it?’ asked Stella.

He winked and put his mobile back in his pocket.

Tom sat in the beautiful 1956 silver gull-wing Mercedes parked outside Winterfold, watching Stella and Johnny through the glass. Well, that was a foregone conclusion, he thought, watching their body language as they strolled along the grass in the pretty dusk light. They looked like young lovers in a Disney film. Tom cursed himself for not acting sooner. He’d had a brief chat to Stella earlier that day, sharing a laugh as they worked out they had once been naked together in the paddling pool in Provence, but it had been nothing beyond friendly chit-chat. For once, Tom’s bravado had failed him and his cheeky-chappy sparkle failed to shine its brightest. Not that it would have made the slightest bit of difference if Johnny had decided he wanted to have Stella for himself. As long as Tom had known him, from the days when they’d first sat next to each other at prep school, Johnny had always got whatever he wanted, whether it was a place on the rugby team, admission to RADA or a swanky penthouse in Notting Hill, paid for by Daddy. Tom was happy for his friend, of course, although there was still a little nub of envy that he couldn’t shake; a frustration at how one person could have so much luck, how everything so constantly and predictably always went his way. Tom was actually glad he and Johnny had drifted apart. In the last couple of months he’d crashed a few weekends in Johnny’s spare room and they’d gone out to a few parties together, but that was about it. Once upon a time, they had been inseparable, but it had slowly dawned on Tom that having a friend like Johnny was the same as having a sister like Cassandra – bad for your self-esteem.

Someone tapped on the window and Tom opened the door. It was Jamie Curtis, one of Johnny’s West London friends who had been an extra on the shoot.

‘Nice car. Whose is it?’ he asked, climbing in the tan leather passenger seat.

Tom smiled with undisguised pride.

‘It’s mine. Well, it will be in four years.’

‘Four years? Tough luck, mate. Now’s the time you need a bitch magnet like this one.’

‘You’re telling me,’ sighed Tom. ‘Still, I’m taking it for a run round the estate – want to come?’

Jamie smiled, nodding enthusiastically. ‘Fire her up!’

Tom caught Emma’s look of surprise as the thrumming engine turned over and they roared off down the drive. She was probably worrying if he was insured, but what the fuck – the car was his. If he wanted his little James Bond moment then he was sure as hell going to have it. The gravel drive coughed up little puffs of smoke as the car hit forty, fifty, then sixty miles an hour. He squeezed his foot down harder on the pedal, his anger and frustration at Johnny, at Cassandra, at everyone, turning to aggression.

‘You mentalist!’ shouted Jamie as they screamed round the lake at ninety. ‘You got that right,’ said Tom, then put his head out the window and whooped.

Twenty spine-tingling minutes later they were back in front of Winterfold. His mother was standing on the front step with a concerned expression.

‘Uh-oh. I think someone’s grounded,’ teased Jamie when they had pulled to a stop.

‘Grounded?’ replied Tom wounded. ‘I’m 20-fucking-6 not 12.’

‘Johnny said you were living back at home,’ he laughed.

‘It’s purely temporary,’ huffed Tom.

‘In that case, why don’t you come out to Ibiza in the summer?’

Tom looked at Jamie, oozing wealth with his ruddy good looks, upper crust accent and chunky signet ring on his little finger, and felt bitter.

‘I usually try and go but I can’t afford it this year,’ shrugged Tom. ‘I haven’t got a job and my mum is giving me grief for having to bail me out. Look at her now. She’s practically breathing fire.’

‘But would you like to go?’

‘Of course,’ said Tom getting out of the car. He pulled a cigarette packet out of his pocket and lit up straight away. Jamie slammed the passenger door and walked round to him.

‘Me and some mates are going over, you should come. We’re gonna run a bar and a club night out there. Nothing too big but we want to get the right crowd so we expand next year. We need someone to come in and run the bar. It’s just a little place but it’s got a great location in Ibiza Town.’