Women of a Dangerous Age. Fanny Blake
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wine opposite him. He looked up, spotted her and raised a hand. Measuring in at just over six feet (with a heel on his shoe), he was still a handsome man, distinguished-looking some might say, with deep-set eyes, a vertical furrow running up from the bridge of his slightly skewed nose (rugby-playing break), smooth skin that, when he was feeling particularly smug, reminded Lou of a frying sausage about to split its skin. Imagining the speed with which this bonhomie would be transformed into something far less pleasant as soon as he heard her news, made her want to turn and go home. Then she remembered Nic and her resolve stiffened.
‘Excuse me?’ A young woman touched her arm. ‘Excuse me, but aren’t you Lou Sherwood?’
‘Mmm?’ Half turning, Lou took a closer look. Shiny fifties-styled hair, heavily lashed brown eyes intent on her, lipsticked lips, neat black suit, glass of champagne in hand. A distant bell of recognition clanged somewhere in the back of Lou’s mind but she couldn’t place her.
‘It’s Tess. Tess Granger. It’s been years. How are you?’
Tess Granger? Lou racked what she laughingly called her brain for something that would give her a clue to the younger woman’s identity.
‘Tess, of course.’ She was still trying to identify her while she bluffed. ‘What are you doing now?
‘After you left, I was made assistant to Belle Flanders. If it weren’t for you, I’d never have got this far.’
Aha! So they’d worked together over ten years ago at Chic to Chic. Belle had been one of the hungry young things snapping at Lou’s fashionable heels, but who the hell was Tess? She must have been there when she’d left, forced to give up her exhausting career partially thanks to redundancy but also by the equally exhausting demands made on her by Nic who was setting out on her teenage years with alarming abandon, and the two boys – so much easier. Nic was running wild, refusing to curb her will to any au pair. That and the redundancy had come at a time when Lou had begun to wonder what she was doing in the magazine world. She had become tired of the travelling and the endless demands made on her time. Her face didn’t fit any more, but she’d had enough. She’d even thought she might start her own dress shop then but Hooker had insisted the children needed their mother at home. He didn’t trust the sequence of au pairs looking after them not to fill their heads with rubbish and foreign swear words. He said only a parent could be trusted to teach their children what they needed to know. But Lou sometimes wondered whether she’d managed to teach them anything at all. However, she had begun to notice the way he had been looking at the young women they’d employed in the name of childcare, and caved in, partly for that reason and partly because she was too exhausted to resist.
‘I’m so glad it’s all worked out for you.’ Her powers of recall had totally deserted her.
‘It certainly has! I left six months after you and went to the States. Now I’m back as the new editor of Stylish. We’re celebrating.’ She gestured towards a young man and a couple who were talking and laughing at a table by the window. ‘Where are you now?’
Stylish? The glossy young rival to Vogue and this young woman was the editor. Suddenly Lou felt about a hundred years old. She looked down at – oh, no – her fleece, the convenient style bypass for the middle-aged woman. Shit! She deliberately hadn’t followed her resolve to stick to statement dressing that would advertise her business, because she hadn’t wanted Hooker to think she was making a special effort just for him. She hadn’t given a thought to the fact that she might bump into someone she knew. If only she’d changed into the pomegranate velvet coat she finished just before she went away. It had taken ages to make but the cut was so flattering, it had been worth every minute.
Hideously aware that the make-up she’d put on that morning was no longer a refuge for her almost certainly shiny nose, and praying her lipstick hadn’t leaked into the tiny vertical wrinkles that had recently been making a bid for domination around her mouth, she thanked God that her recent haircut had temporarily tamed things so at least in that department she looked acceptable. Perhaps Tess wouldn’t notice the rest.
Of course she would. Just move on, swiftly.
‘That’s fantastic news. I’m so sorry I can’t stop to chat, but I’m late meeting someone.’
‘Well, great to see you. We should catch up. Lunch or something.’ She held out a small embossed card.
Knowing Tess had absolutely no intention of following up this suggestion, Lou took the card, at the same time registering how useful the other woman might be to her. But it wasn’t too late to say something. ‘In fact, I’m setting up a new business that might interest you.’
Tess cocked an eyebrow. ‘Really? Then we should definitely stay in touch. Call me.’ But she sounded as if anything initiated by Lou would be of little interest to her.
‘Thanks. I will.’
They both turned back towards their respective engagements, Lou aware that Hooker was watching her, his glass now almost empty. He gestured a request for a replacement since she was by the bar. Irritated by the way he assumed she would do his bidding and even more by the fact that she was doing it, she shouldered her way through and ordered a pint of Adnams, Hooker’s long-time preferred real ale, and a large vodka and tonic for herself as the need for a shot of Dutch courage more powerful than the waiting glass of wine overcame her.
Hooker half stood as she approached, hobbled by the chair seat digging into the backs of his knees. By the time she’d put down the drinks, divested herself of her coat and sat down, his welcoming smile had changed into a grimace of pain. He sat down with evident relief. Unlike so many men his age, he still looked good in jeans – not bagging round the arse and knees or disappearing under a beer gut – teamed that day with a deep blue shirt. This was a man whose looks still counted – to him at least. Which was more than they did to Lou any longer. She controlled the urge to point out the two rogue eyebrow hairs that curled over the frames of his specs. No. No longer her concern.
‘The holiday’s obviously done you good,’ he commented. Now she’d arrived, he could relax.
They clinked glasses, more out of habit than good cheer.
‘How was it? Christmas, I mean,’ she asked.
‘Quiet. I took Nic and Tom to dinner at the Mermaid’s Heart, that new fusion restaurant in Shoreditch. I thought being at home might make things a bit difficult, with you not being there and Jamie and Rose in Canada. Besides, can you imagine if I’d tried my hand at a turkey … ashes is the only word that leaps to mind.’
Surprised by this unusual sensitivity towards their children, she laughed nonetheless.
‘Where were you?’ he asked. So he was interested after all.
‘At a tented camp, sitting around a blazing fire under the stars. Not a turkey or a Christmas tree in sight.’ To be teleported there right now would be a prayer answered.
‘Camping?! That’s not like you. The Lou I know likes her creature comforts: good food and wine, sprung mattresses, hot water on tap, light to read by.’
‘Oh, we had all that. I didn’t know tents like those existed, or I’d have gone long ago. And there wasn’t a boy scout to be seen.’ She was about to wax lyrical about the luxury they’d enjoyed – the comfortable beds, the electric light, the home-cooked meals, the showers – when she noticed that he’d adopted that look she knew so well. Indulge her for a while and then, with a bit of luck, she’ll shut up and we can get onto the main agenda so I can get off to do the next thing on mine. Well, if that’s the way you want to play it, bring it on, she thought, draining her vodka. Feeling suitably fortified, she summoned up all her sangfroid and leaned forward. Then I’ll begin.
‘Actually, I called you for a reason.’
Hooker looked gratifyingly alarmed by her earnest expression, then snuck a look at his watch. ‘Come on, then. Spit it out. Whatever it is, can’t be that bad.’
‘There’s no easy way of putting this. I’ve got some news for you that you may