Learning Curves Page 4

  “You mean he lets you talk for longer than anyone else will put up with,” Jen said amiably. “Look, I’m sure your Sacred Feminine idea is a really great one, but I’m kind of tied up with this little MBA thing I’ve got going on. So you might have to leave me out, I’m afraid.”

  “Fine,” Harriet said dismissively. “Oh, and did I mention that I’ve booked a table for the Tsunami appeal charity dinner? You are going to come, aren’t you?”

  “No, you didn’t mention it,” Jen said firmly. She’d been to charity dinners before and had no intention of going to another. They were full of people who thought that paying eighty pounds for a ticket made them the world’s expert on the charity concerned, and anyway, there was never anyone there under the age of fifty.

  “I’m sure I did, darling. It’s on Friday. The tickets were very expensive.”

  “Well, you should have mentioned it, then. I’m going out on Friday, with Angel . . .”

  And I think I’m a little bit old to be spending my Friday night out with my mother, she wanted to add, but thought better of it.

  Harriet sighed dramatically. “I thought this was important to you, Jennifer. Honestly, I get you a ticket to a Tsunami dinner, knowing that Bell Consulting has a table, and you can’t be bothered to—”

  “Dad’s going to be there?” Jen interrupted, her tone suddenly more serious.

  “Not your father, no. I can’t see him deigning to attend something that’s for a good cause. But some of his consultants are going. I know the organizers, you see. And they kindly gave me a little peek at the guest list. But if your social life takes precedence, then I completely understand.”

  “I think I’m going to be seeing enough of Bell this week, don’t you?” Jen said hesitantly. She could already hear a little voice in her head telling her that maybe she shouldn’t rule it out altogether.

  “And I thought you actually cared about those poor people who’s lives have been destroyed,” Harriet said, her voice catching slightly. “Do you not think that a dinner, with free-flowing wine and champagne, might not be a good opportunity to catch people off guard? To listen to conversations that they may not have walking down a corridor?”

  Jen sighed. How did her mother do it every single time, she wondered? How did she make it almost impossible to say no?

  “What time does it start?” she asked resignedly.

  “Seven thirty P.M. or eight P.M. Oh, it’ll be so much fun.”

  Somehow I doubt it, Jen thought as she put down the phone.

  3

  Jen looked at herself disconcertedly in the mirror. It was a Friday night, and she should be going out dancing. But instead of hitting the town, she was being forced to put on a ridiculous dress and go to a dinner with her mother, Paul bloody Song, and a bunch of Green Futures cronies. She groaned. When she’d split up with Gavin and moved back to London, this wasn’t quite how she’d imagined her life turning out.

  Jen turned round to look at her back view. She was wearing a dress that she’d had for nearly eight years— she didn’t usually have much call for a cocktail dress, and there was no way she was going to spend her hard-earned cash on something she’d probably never wear again—and where it had previously flattered her curves, it now seemed to cling to them in all the wrong places. Had she got bigger, Jen wondered, or did the dry cleaner shrink it?

  Not wanting to face the more likely answer, Jen quickly dug out an old pashmina and wrapped it around herself, then put on the highest shoes she could find. It wasn’t great, but it would do. It wasn’t like this was really “going out” after all; this was a duty dinner. It didn’t really matter what she looked like.

  Grabbing her bag, she went out into the street and flagged down a taxi.

  “What a pretty dress!” Harriet smiled beatifically at Jen and immediately turned to Paul. “Isn’t it a pretty dress?”

  “You look enchanting,” Paul agreed, and Jen forced herself to smile. It was a horrible dress, but she was pretty much beyond caring. The dinner was being held at the Lanesborough Hotel on Hyde Park Corner and half of well-heeled London seemed to be here—at least the ones with gray hair, Jen noticed. She could smell pressed powder and sweet perfume everywhere.

  Trying to forget the fact that right now she should be out somewhere in a proper bar with young people, she looked around the room. It was for a good cause, she told herself, even though she knew that Gavin would laugh his head off if he saw her now. “Yeah, dressing up in a little black dress is really going to help the planet,” he’d say sarcastically. “Bunch of old gits filling their faces? Pur-lease . . .”

  And he’d be right, Jen thought to herself with a sigh. Still, she was here now; she may as well make the most of it.

  She saw a waiter walking around with trays of champagne and took one gratefully.

  “Jen!”

  She grinned. It was Tim, the finance manager at Green Futures. “Hi, Tim, how’s things?”

  He smiled awkwardly. His trousers had obviously been bought a few years before too, and his stomach was straining over the top of them, matching his neck, which was spilling out of his dress shirt. It made Jen worry about her own tightly fitting dress and she pulled her pashmina around her.

  “Oh, you know, can’t complain,” he said affably. “Didn’t know you were coming tonight. Then again, I haven’t seen you around lately. You been off sick?”

  Jen shrugged awkwardly. Evidently Harriet hadn’t told anyone where Jen had been, which was good, but it also meant that she had to think up some other excuse for having disappeared. “No, just been, you know, doing stuff,” she said vaguely. “And I didn’t know I was coming here until Monday, but you know what Mum’s like.”

  Tim grinned. “Do I ever. Been trying to pin her down for two weeks now to talk about our accounts and she’s mad busy, can’t find the time. But mention a charity ball and suddenly she’s got all the time in the world . . .”

  They both looked over at Harriet, who was holding forth, captivating a group of people with stories. She caught Jen’s eye and motioned for her to come over, but Jen shook her head and waved instead.

  “Not joining her ladyship?” Tim asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Jen took a gulp of champagne. “Sometimes she seems to think I’m about twelve,” she said with a little smile. “If I go over there I’m worried she might start telling everyone how well I did in my A Levels or something. . . .”

  Tim called over a waiter who was proffering little sausages and blinis, and grabbed a couple of each, wolfing them down in two seconds.

  “Wish you hadn’t come to work for her, then?” he asked conversationally.

  Jen thought for a moment. “Dunno, really. I knew it wouldn’t be ideal, but it was nice to have somewhere to go.”

  Tim nodded. “Well, if you do get a moment with her, let her know that she’s got some cash flow issues, will you? I’ve tried e-mailing, but I think she sees my name and deletes them straightaway.”

  Jen grinned. “I’m sure it’s not that bad, is it?”

  Tim raised his eyebrows. “Your mother,” he said, pausing to take a swig of champagne, “is the world’s best networker, the world’s best saleswoman, and a bloody great storyteller. But when it comes to figures . . . Well, anyway, you just tell her she needs to sit down with me so I can walk her through it, will you?”

  Jen nodded, frowning slightly, as Tim wandered off in search of more food, then started as a gong sounded and everyone was asked to take their seats. She nipped over to the seating plan and her heart sank slightly when she saw that she was sitting between Paul Song and Geoffrey, one of the Green Futures consultants, who was known as “Beardy Weirdy” by everyone in the office.

  “That’s a very nice dress,” Geoffrey said brightly as she sat down. “My mother’s got one just the same.”

  Jen smiled thinly. Somehow, she thought to herself, this was going to be a very long night.

  “So then I asked them whether they’d considered recruitment in the
region. And do you know what they said?”

  Jen noticed Geoffrey had stopped talking and realized that he must have asked her a question. She smiled, hoping that he’d carry on talking. This dinner had been an absolute joke and she was angry at herself for being suckered in to it. She wasn’t going to find anything out about Bell, or Axiom, or anything else of any interest. Plus she felt like a frump in her dress, and was feeling bad that vanity had become so important to her. It shouldn’t matter what she looked like, she knew that. But somehow, it just did.

  “Well, do you?”

  Shit. What was the question, Jen wondered desperately. She searched through her head, trying to recall what on earth Geoffrey had been droning on about for the past two hours, or however long it had taken them to get through three long courses.

  “I bet you’re going to tell me,” she said eventually and was relieved to see a satisfied smile appear on his face.

  “They said no!” he said triumphantly. “And just like that, they realized where they’d been going wrong. They couldn’t thank me enough after that, of course, but I said to them ‘don’t thank me, thank yourselves for having the foresight for—’ ”

  “You know, I’m just going to . . . get a drink,” Jen interrupted with a little smile. “Can I . . . um . . . get you anything?”

  Geoffrey shook his head. “Don’t want to drink too much on a school night!” he said conspiratorially.

  “It’s Friday,” Jen pointed out.

  “Even so . . .”

  Jen shrugged and wandered over to the bar, relieved to escape from his incessant talking. He wasn’t a bad person, she knew that. And actually, she kind of liked him in a deep down sort of way. So long as he wasn’t in the same room as her for too long.

  “Vodka tonic, please,” she said as a barman rounded on her. Then, drink in hand, she perched on a seat and turned around to look at the rest of the diners. There were about twenty tables, each with twelve people on it, which made . . . Jen frowned as she did a quick calculation . . . 240 people. And at least one table was made up of Bell Consultants. But which one?

  She stared ahead, wondering for the millionth time that evening what she would be doing if she were out with Angel. Or anyone else she actually chose to spend her time with.

  “So then she says that she doesn’t want to see him anymore because she’s been sleeping with his best friend for a year.”

  “No!”

  Two men had approached the bar and were talking in animated voices. Jen looked at them briefly, then turned back to her drink.

  “Yes. And he’s standing there in his underpants, and he’s looking at her, and . . . oh, ’scuse me . . .”

  Jen heard a mobile phone ring, and the guy who had been speaking answered it and pressed it to his ear.

  “Mr. Bell. Yes, I’m there now. No, not really. We’re just . . . you know, networking . . . Right you are. Yup. Yup. Okay, then. ’Bye.”

  Jen froze and gripped her drink. They must be the Bell consultants. And they were right next to her! She allowed her hair to fall in front of her face, and tried to edge a little bit closer while staring resolutely ahead.

  “Okay, so then, he goes round to see the friend,” the man continued, putting his mobile back in his pocket.

  “He goes round to see the friend? Seriously?”

  “I’m serious. He decides to have it out with him.”

  “And his wife is there?”

  “Yes. But not with the friend. She’s with the friend’s wife. Her girlfriend.”

  “No!”

  Jen rolled her eyes. So much for finding out anything useful, she thought, telling herself that she had no interest whatsoever in the man in his underpants.

  “I’m telling you. So he rocks up in his Mercedes. Locks the car. The front door of his friend’s house opens, and he jumps. I mean, the guy is all nerves. Anyway, he drops his car keys. He bends down to pick them up, but they’ve fallen down into the drain.”

  “They’ve fallen down into the drain?”

  “The God’s honest truth.”

  “And he’s still in his underpants?”

  “Seriously. Look, I need a slash. You get the drinks in and I’ll be back in a sec.”

  “I’ll come with you. I wanted to ask you about that Axiom thing, by the way.”

  Jen’s eyes darted toward the men, then back to her drink. Axiom? This she had to hear.

  “Oh that. Yeah, bloody nightmare. Where’s the men’s?”

  He directed his question at the barman, who pointed to the other side of the room. As they walked off, Jen looked around furtively, slipped off her stool, and followed them out of the ballroom and down a corridor. She watched them go into the men’s room, then she opened the door slightly, trying to hear what they were saying.

  “So anyway, he’s lost his car keys . . .”

  She rolled her eyes. What about Axiom, she wanted to ask. Sod the guy in his underpants.

  “. . . and he looks up and there in front of him is . . .”

  “Hello.”

  Jen looked around, startled. There was someone right behind her, evidently trying to get into the men’s room, and she was blocking his way. He was looking at her curiously and she wondered how long he’d been there.

  “Hello!” she said falteringly. She knew she should move, but with him right next to her, it wasn’t that easy—she couldn’t go forward into the men’s room, and now she couldn’t go back either.

  “Is this the . . . er . . . welcoming party?” he asked with a little smile. Jen reddened. This didn’t look very good, she realized. She was standing right in the doorway to the gents and, to add insult to injury, her head had been pressed right up against the door.

  She turned around to face him and cringed. Naturally, he was gorgeous. Had she been doing something that wasn’t embarrassing, and wearing a dress that fit her properly, it probably would have been one of the old codgers who found her.

  “Sorry. I was just . . . um . . . looking for someone,” she said quickly, wrapping her pashmina more closely around herself and nearly spilling her drink all over him in the process.

  “Can I help?”

  “No!” Jen said, too quickly. “I mean, thank you. But no.”

  He was still looking at her curiously, and she figured that she’d better move to let him through. Otherwise he really would think she was weird.

  “Sorry,” she said again, moving too quickly and ending up with her face buried in his armpit. She stepped back again and as she did so, her face nearly brushed his, making her go even redder than before.

  His eyes met hers and twinkled slightly. And just when she thought things couldn’t get any worse, she saw Geoffrey coming down the corridor, his brown squishy shoes looking so utterly wrong with his dinner jacket and black trousers that it was almost comical.

  “Hello, Jennifer,” he said, seemingly oblivious to the oddness of finding her in the doorway to the men’s room, tangled up with a stranger. “I was just looking for you at the bar, as it goes.” Jen felt her heart sink as the stranger deftly moved away, freeing her up to pass.

  “Well, it looks like you’ve found your someone,” he said, and, with a little smile, he disappeared into the men’s, Jen’s eyes following after him. She turned to Geoffrey, who was smiling inanely.

  “Looking for me?” he said brightly. “Well, there’s a little mixup! I’ll tell you what, let’s go back to the table, shall we? Unless of course you want to stand around the men’s room!”

  He laughed at his joke and Jen smiled reluctantly. “Of course not,” she said halfheartedly. “Why on earth would I?”

  Jen returned to the table, accompanied by Geoffrey, and slumped on her chair. This had to go down as the worst night ever, she thought despondently, staring at her vodka tonic and taking a sip. She’d totally screwed up, missing out on the Axiom conversation, embarrassing herself in front of the only good-looking man in the entire room, and was now back where she started, next to Geoffrey.

&nb
sp; “You okay?”

  She looked up to see Paul gazing concernedly at her. That’s all I need, she thought with a sigh. Someone to tell me I should move a mirror in my flat and everything will suddenly be okay.

  “I’m fine,” she said politely. “Just, you know, a bit tired.”

  “Maybe you need someone to talk to,” he said.

  She looked at him suspiciously. “Thanks, but I’m fine, really. I should have been out with my friends tonight, as it happens.”

  Paul nodded sympathetically. “But it is good that you support your mother, no?”

  “I suppose.” Jen shrugged despondently.

  Paul frowned, and for a moment Jen thought that he was going to argue with her, tell her that she wasn’t supportive enough, but then she saw him put his hand in his pocket and take out a pager. He smiled apologetically, bowed his head, and stood up.

  “Please excuse me,” he said, and Jen smiled back.

  “Sure,” she said vaguely. “Whatever . . .”

  Geoffrey tried to catch her eye, and Jen looked away quickly, scanning the room to see if she could see the Bell consultants anywhere. Or the guy from the news. If she was completely honest, she was probably more interested in finding him than the Bell consultants, but she’d never have admitted that.

  Anyway, it didn’t matter because neither of them were there. Her eyes rested on each table, but they were nowhere to be seen.

  As she turned back around, though, she suddenly saw him. Mr. gorgeous was heading for the exit, and she found herself fighting the urge to follow him.

  Not the best idea, she told herself seriously, her eyes unable to leave his back. He already thinks I’m a freak who hangs out around men’s rooms.

  She forced herself to turn back to the table. Geoffrey smiled at her. “Jen, I was just telling Hannah here about a new type of recycled paper that a company we’re working with has developed. Did you know that there are fifteen different ways of manipulating the dye in order to . . .”