Page 55 of The Last Kiss Goodbye

‘What?’ said her friend with a pout. ‘Why waste time?’

She turned to Elliot. ‘Look, I’m thirty-five, I’ve just come out of a shitty relationship, and my biological clock has practically stopped ticking, so what’s wrong with wanting to cut to the chase?’

Elliot laughed. ‘At least you’re honest,’ he said. ‘Remind me to introduce you to my friend Adam. Filthy rich, in property, had a pretty tragic love life that’s put him off dating. But I think he might like your direct approach.’

He waved to a handsome man standing behind a makeshift bar. ‘Marco, can you rustle up something for the ladies here?’ he called. ‘Be back in a tick, Abby,’ he added, disappearing into the crowd.

Marco was late twenties, dark and brooding, the sort of man you’d expect to see pouting from a Dolce & Gabbana advert.

‘What can I do for you, madam?’ he said, with a half-smile and a heavy accent.

Abby found herself blushing.

She had dressed up for this evening, had even tried to blow-dry her own hair, and she knew that she looked better than she had done in recent weeks. But Marco was looking at her and Suze as if they were a pair of Greek goddesses blown in on the wind.

‘Ask him to make the thing with lime, vodka and angostura bitters,’ said a voice behind them. ‘I had one ten minutes ago and I’m not sure I’ll ever want to drink anything else again.’

Marco nodded, picked up a silver cocktail shaker and spun it around in his palm.

Abby turned to see a man, late thirties, receding hair, but a friendly smile.

‘Thanks for the tip.’

‘Sorry . . . Will Duncan,’ he said, juggling his glass and a plate of canapés before thrusting his hand forward. ‘I’m a friend of Elliot’s at the Chronicle. Well, we sit next to each other – not sure that’s the same thing, but . . . anyway. Are you Abby? Elliot’s told me all about you.’

‘Good or bad?’

‘The fact that he’s mentioned you at all is tantamount to an engagement in my book, but don’t quote me on that.’

Abby chuckled, warming to him immediately.

‘Yes, Abby Gordon, hello. This is my friend Suze Donald.’

‘Who’s here, then?’

‘A who’s who of London society,’ said Will flippantly. He turned and surveyed the room. ‘There’re a few people from the Chronicle by the fireplace. The ones with the red cheeks are Elliot’s school friends from Radley mostly. Stockbrokers, lawyers, bankers . . .’ He lowered his voice. ‘Deathly dull, only ever want to talk about the state of the yen or their new Aston Martin. I’d avoid them if I were you, unless the only alternative is the wives and girlfriends. I’d give them an even wider berth, because they’ll almost certainly hate you on sight.’

‘Us? Why?’ asked Suze.

‘Young, gorgeous, invited by Elliot? Are you kidding me? They’d poison your drink if you got close enough.’

He carried on pointing.

‘The leggy ones are models, TV presenters or both; the group by the window go sailing with Elliot every summer. And over there you’ve got Lord Shah, Elliot’s dad, and a couple of his mates.’

‘How come he invites his dad

to his parties?’ asked Abby.

Will laughed. ‘To keep him sweet, I suppose. After all, he pays for all this.’

Elliot returned and slipped a casual arm across Abby’s shoulder. She felt her stomach flutter and avoided the temptation to edge closer to him.

‘There’s dancing in the Oasis,’ he announced.

‘The Oasis?’

‘The conservatory.’