‘Just be yourself,’ said Jasper wearily. ‘Half of them will only talk about themselves anyway. If they remember to ask your name, you’re on to a winner.’
‘You like people like that?’
‘Like them? I am one. I’m completely selfish. Haven’t you noticed?’
‘I think that’s just a protective shell. I don’t think you’re completely selfish at all.’
‘You’re very sweet,’ he said after a short pause. ‘You can’t deny that I’m a total egotist, though.’
‘You’re a driven, successful man driving himself to further success,’ I said.
‘Who’s your
optician? Can they rose-tint my spectacles for me too?’
‘Stop it, Jasper. You are who you are and I love you.’
He took my hand and stroked it.
‘I love you too,’ he said. ‘Christ, those nails need a trim. Go and get them seen to.’
He tapped my knuckles and sent me on my way.
An hour later, with matching coppery finger- and toenails and eyebrows that made me looked startled, I joined Jasper in the car.
‘Sleek,’ he said admiringly. ‘Streamlined.’
‘I feel like a doll.’
‘You are. You’re my doll. I’m going to pull your strings and make you dance to my tune.’
‘You know, sometimes, Jasper, you sound a little bit more sinister than I think you realise.’
‘No, I don’t,’ he said, with a smile of relish, leaning over to kiss me. ‘I really am the creepy bastard you take me for. Now, London is waiting for us. Better not hang around.’
* * *
London didn’t look that bothered to see us, going about its traffic-heavy business as usual. Once the valet had taken the car down to be parked and we were in the lobby, though, things were different. It was ‘Sir’ this and ‘Madame’ that. I wanted to laugh and tell the porter not to be so daft – it was only me!
But Jasper was in his element, completely unruffled by the opulent surroundings. Well, he did live in a beautiful manor house and jet all over the place making movies, so why would he be ruffled? It was another indicator of the stark divide between our life experiences.
We went straight to the hair salon. I could hear his voice, loud and confident, chatting to the other stylist while I had my hair twisted and pinned into something approaching glamorous elegance. At least this high-end coiffeur seemed to understand that not every customer wanted to chat about holidays, and she let me sit quietly while she worked her magic.
The make-up artist was the same, transforming me with eyelash curlers and primer while Jasper watched over my shoulder and made suggestions.
‘I don’t know about glitter,’ he said, vetoing an eyeshadow. ‘I don’t think she’s a glitter girl. More a sort of subtle sheen, yes, like that one.’
I wondered what the hell the make-up person thought of this. Did they draw any inferences about our relationship? Or did they assume that Jasper, as a film director, was used to dictating the look of his ‘characters’ and extended it to his partners?
I brought up this point as I accompanied him into the lift, styled and painted to within an inch of my life, feeling how tightly my hair was scraped into its fashionable style.
‘What did she make of all that, I wonder?’
‘What did who make of all what?’ Jasper had clearly moved on, adjusting his collar in the lift’s mirrored walls, smoothing his fingertips over his trimmed beard.
‘The make-up woman; of you, telling her what colours to paint me.’
He wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder and looking at us in the mirror.