‘Well, believe it or not,’ said Grace, ‘I’m making a film.’
‘Wow.’
‘Actually, it’s more of a documentary, and I tell you, I feel as if I’m making it up as I go along.’
‘No negativity, remember?’ said Alex. ‘I bet it’s brilliant. Hey, who’s doing the score?’
‘We’re quite a way off from that yet. Why? Know anyone?’ she said with a smile.
‘Ah, so that’s why you came here today,’ he teased.
She looked mortally offended. He nudged her arm.
‘I’d do it in a heartbeat, Grace,’ he said. ‘But something tells me I’d be a liability to any project at the moment.’
‘Well when you get out, we can talk about it over Marmite sandwiches, OK?’
They stopped at the front door.
‘I’d like that, Grace,’ he said, hugging her.
‘You know you’re going to get well, don’t you, Alex?’ she said, squeezing his hand one last time.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘I know I am.’
60
December 2009
‘God, I hate Christmas,’ said Josh. ‘The parties have all been shit this year.’
Sasha raised an eyebrow, looking around the palatial Chester Row townhouse belonging to Euro-millionaire Flavio Torres.
‘I do believe they’re calling it the credit crunch, darling. A lot of people have lost a lot of money the last few months. That’s why everyone is serving cava – it sends the right message.’
‘For God’s sake, it’s like swapping your Ferrari for one of those horrible Prius things.’
Sasha didn’t say so, but it was actually an appropriate metaphor for Josh’s career. For years he’d cashed in on his glamour-boy image on the Formula One circuit. There were always better drivers out there, but the media had conveniently overlooked the lack of podium places when he was twenty-five and as handsome as a movie star. But now he was pushing thirty-five, he simply couldn’t compete with the likes of Jenson Button, who had good looks and a Formula One World Championship. The rumour was that Josh’s contract with Alliot Bown, his team, wasn’t going to be renewed; and then what? She stole a sideways glance at him. For a second she couldn’t believe how long they’d been dating. What had started out as a quick fling had become a four-year on-off relationship. She supposed he was good-looking, but he’d become very snappy recently, resenting her work trips and the increasing attention as the business grew. But he was pretty good between the sheets.
‘OK, if you’re not feeling festive,’ she said, putting her flute on the white marble mantelpiece, ‘let’s get going.’
‘Come on, Sash. It’s Christmas.’
‘I thought you just said the party was terrible.’
‘What’s the option? Going home?’
‘I’m sorry if that sounds like such an unappealing prospect.’
‘Let’s at least have a mingle.’
‘Ten minutes.’ She sighed. ‘And if Elton’s not here, I’m going home.’
They walked around the ground floor of the house. It was a beautiful place with high ceilings, wonderfully decorated with long gilt mirrors and old oils. Sasha knew Flavio a little and she was sure it was the work of an interior designer; Flavio’s taste was slightly more exotic. The house was crowded. Josh was right that the crunch had led to some rather anaemic Christmas parties, so when someone like Flavio did it properly, the beautiful people came in droves.
‘I’ve just seen Steve Darling,’ said Josh into her ear.
‘That awful sports agent?’