Page 54 of The Last Kiss Goodbye

The taxi drew up to the kerb and the driver nodded towards the open gates and the neat semicircular drive.

‘You want me to take you inside?’ he asked.

‘No, that’s fine,’ said Abby, leaning forward to hand him three ten-pound notes. ‘We’ll walk from here.’

She waited as Suze uncoiled herself from the car, wobbling on her five-inch heels.

‘Walk?’ she hissed. ‘I can barely stand.’

Abby slammed the taxi door and grabbed her arm.

‘Lean on me until we get to the front door, and I’ll remind you next time to wear trainers.’

They paused and looked up at Elliot’s impressive home, a large detached white Victorian stucco in Barnes. Stretching in either direction along the road was a line of top-end cars: BMWs, Range Rovers, Mercedes.

‘What sort of people are going to be at this party?’ asked Suze as they reached the door. ‘I thought it’d be Elliot’s journalist friends, but the journos I know can barely afford to run a Fiat.’

‘I’m guessing Elliot runs in fairly high-society circles.’

‘Should we just go to the pub?’ she asked, looking away from the house.

It was rare that Suze was intimidated, and it made Abby giggle.

‘I thought you wanted to come. “I wonder if Elliot’s got any rich mates”, remember.’

‘That was before I felt like the Little Match Girl standing in the street.’

Abby had to admit that she felt quite anxious too.

‘It’s rude not to turn up, but I think we just might have to get very, very drunk. We only have to stay an hour, then we can go to the Olympic for some food.’

‘By the way, you look amazing tonight,’ grinned Suze, looking at the tight little black dress that Abby was wearing. ‘Are you sure you don’t fancy him? I saw his picture in the paper the other day and he looks like Rupert Penry-Jones.’

‘Suze, we’ve been through this,’ replied Abby.

‘Then what are we waiting for,’ smiled Suze, knocking on the door as if it was the home of an old friend.

‘Good evening, ladies,’ said Elliot warmly. He was dressed in indigo jeans and a navy cashmere jumper, sleeves pushed up: casual, relaxed, but you still had the feeling that he could run off to interview royalty at the drop of a hat. He looked like a man completely used to such grand surroundings. He stepped forward to kiss Abby’s cheek.

‘You look great,’ he said into her ear.

Abby stepped away from him, smoothing down the black dress self-consciously.

‘Thanks for inviting us,’ said Suze above the noise. ‘What’s the occasion?’

‘Summer,’ smiled Elliot.

They followed him through the double-height hallway dominated by a wide staircase and a glittering chandelier. Abby was surprised; for some reason, she had imagined Elliot would live in an ultra-modern bachelor pad, all chrome and leather and exposed brickwork, but the house was tastefully decorated in what she assumed was period-correct style, with deep carpets, ornate furniture and oil paintings on the walls.

Abby had lived in London, the so-called global centre of international wealth and commerce, for over a decade, but she had never seen anything like this. She’d heard local couples boasting that their Wimbledon homes were worth well over a million, a sum that would have seemed a dizzying amount when she was growing up on Skye, particularly as they were just south-west London terraces decked out in IKEA and B&Q. So she couldn’t begin to imagine the value of Elliot Hall’s home.

Suze caught her eye, grinning and mouthing ‘nice’ behind Elliot’s back. He led them through into a large sitting room where around a hundred people were standing holding glasses and chatting over the sound of a young man playing a grand piano at the far end of the room.

‘That’s my nephew Michael,’ said Elliot, following Abby’s gaze. ‘Just started at the Royal College of Music. He’ll play all night for a bottle of wine.’

‘So who’s single?’ asked Suze.

‘Suze!’ scolded Abby.