Sasha snorted. ‘Barely.’
‘Look. Don’t shoot the messenger. I don’t think they were thinking much. More like a contribution to bills really.’
This was the last thing Sasha needed.
‘Frankly, I’m offended,’ she said. ‘It’s fine for me to bunk down when they want tickets to parties and free drinks and boys on tap, but as soon as Jenny gets a boyfriend I’m in the way.’
Caroline looked awkward. ‘Listen, between you and me, I think Jenny will be moving out soon anyway, so I’ll probably take her room and you could have this one.’
Sasha looked around and sighed. It wasn’t the room; it was a lovely room in a great house on one of Chelsea’s prettiest back streets. In fact, the prospect of landing a room here was the only reason she put up with sleeping with her face pushed up against a muddy tyre. The only reason, if she was honest, she put up with nights out with Caroline and her giggly friends when she could be socialising with the girls from the agency. But her mother was right: how was she going to pay the rent when she wasn’t earning a penny?
‘This house is a bargain for Chelsea,’ said Caroline.
Sasha caught a flicker of something on her friend’s face. Sympathy? God, was it pity? It was fine for Caroline, with her rich parents who had pulled strings to get her a job in publishing. It was a classic holding job for a pretty socialite, something to keep her busy until she inevitably met someone rich enough to marry. That was where she and Caroline differed. Caroline would be happy to settle for a husband called Jonty and the odd long weekend in Klosters. Sasha wanted the world and she wasn’t going to settle for anything less. Su
ddenly she was filled with purpose: she knew what she had to do.
She pulled on a clingy Ozbek tunic that stopped at the top of her thighs. She didn’t bother with a skirt; instead she pulled on silver tights and her black patent heels, adding smoky eyes and pale beige lips. The look was bold and striking, like Daryl Hannah in Bladerunner.
‘Wow! Sexy,’ said Caroline.
‘That’s the idea,’ she said. ‘Come on, I’ve got somewhere to take you.’
They walked on to King’s Road and flagged a taxi. Sasha leant in to the driver and told him the address.
‘I thought the party was in Notting Hill?’ said Caroline.
‘There’s been a change of plan.’
‘Ooh, I like surprises,’ said Caroline. ‘Will there be boys there?’
‘That, also, is the idea.’ Sasha smiled.
They pulled up outside The Embassy Club, the place Sasha had overheard the secretaries at D&D gossiping about. The queue for the agency’s Christmas party was long and boisterous, but Sasha wasn’t fazed, striding up to the doorman and giving him the benefit of her widest smile.
‘He’s got our tickets,’ said Sasha, waving towards the queue vaguely.‘But it’s cold out here.’ She smiled, touching his chest suggestively. He unhooked the velvet rope and waved her through.
‘Have we just gatecrashed someone’s office party?’ whispered Caroline.
‘Oh no,’ smiled Sasha, taking in the leery gazes of half a dozen men in expensive suits. ‘They definitely want us here.’
Sasha had been to dozens of Christmas parties in the past few weeks and had noticed that gatherings in the festive period had a particular energy, almost as if people had been freed from their usual roles and were allowed, for one night at least, to go wild. The D&D party was no different, with dozens of young women in short dresses and too much make-up eyeing up powerful-looking men with slick haircuts. The atmosphere was buoyed by alcohol, drugs and – particularly – the undercurrent of sex.
‘I’ve got a good feeling about tonight,’ said Sasha as Caroline headed off to the bar.
They have to be in here somewhere, she thought, scanning the crowd carefully. She glanced at her watch anxiously; she could imagine that a ball-breaker like the Benson account director would still be in the office, getting ahead of her male counterparts by clocking up overtime.
‘Hey, great dress,’ said a voice behind her.
Sasha turned to see a woman with sleek blond hair smoking a cigarette.
‘Actually it’s a top,’ she said cautiously.
She looked at the blonde more closely. Now she could see that the woman was stylish and actually quite striking, with almond-shaped eyes and high cheekbones. Handsome rather than beautiful, but still, she had the look of an ex-model.
‘Do you work in fashion?’ she asked.
‘Sort of.’ The woman smiled. ‘Do you?’