Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 157491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
“Do you have clothes here?” Tamsin asks, looking down at my rain-soaked black skinny jeans and blouse.
I shake my head and give in to a frigid shiver. “I haven’t lived here for years.”
“At least no one can tell you’re soaking wet,” she adds with a shrug.
“I might get pneumonia, but at least I’ll die looking stylish?”
“I bet there’s a chaise lounge somewhere with your name on it.” I send her a bemused look when she turns theatrical, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead. “You’ll look divine as you succumb to your bout of ague.”
“That makes me feel so much better.”
“You’ll be fine. I’ll bring you an onion poultice.”
“I’ll stick to aspirin, thanks.”
“The old days can’t have been all bad, not when depression was treated by medically sanctioned orgasms.”
“How do you know that?”
Tamsin smiles back, one of those huge closed-mouth affairs you usually see in school photographs. “I read books.”
“I read!”
“Magazines don’t count, Izzy.”
“I like the fashion sections,” I demur. “We can’t all recite strange facts and useless information.”
“It’s not all useless. I told you a boat on the Thames in March wasn’t the best idea.”
“It wasn’t a boat. It was a pleasure craft.”
“Was it, though?”
“Okay,” I admit, “it was a terrible idea.” Because the sky had turned pewter, and the heavens had rained down. We’d all gotten wet, but I’d taken the worst soaking when an awning filled with water had tipped over me. I’d jumped at the first trickle and managed to avoid the water gushing over my head but nowhere else. It had sobered me up, unlike the rest of the bunch. “At least it’s warm and dry here,” I say, pushing on a giant-sized door. “Even if the music is terrible.”
I lead Tamsin and my party stragglers (those not sensible enough to have gone home) into the ballroom. It’s much louder in here as drunken revelers shuffle around the intricately tiled floor—the ancient Aubusson carpets rolled back and stored away for the night—to the sounds of a band who may or may not actually be Radiohead.
“Quite an eclectic mix,” Tamsin calls over the sounds of indie rock, observing men in evening suits mixing with those in grungy jeans and Adidas. Half of the women wear cocktail dresses, the others half dressed in garments more under than outerwear.
“My brother always throws a good party,” I call back, eyeing the server with a tray of blinis topped with smoked salmon and caviar. Alexander, or Sandy as he’s known in family circles, had suggested we hold a joint party, just like when we were kids. But as I’d pointed out to him, our parents were dead, so finding two people to get drunk and yell at each other might be a little difficult. “He’s got the good champagne out.” I point at a bar set up in the far corner where a cute redhead is twisting the neck of a bottle of Cristal in his meaty hand. It looks like someone has raided the cellars. I wonder if Sandy knows. “I’m just going to see if I can find him.”
“To tell him we’re crashing his birthday party?”
“Something like that,” I reply with a grimace before turning back the way we came.
The vast reception hall is full of stuffed shirts and braying, horsey girls, making me remember why I didn’t want to have a joint party. The monied class is so pretentious. I bet half of these people don’t even know Sandy and are here just to say they hung out with a duke.
Pushing through the crowd, I turn left, then left again. My pointy heels clip-clop like the proverbial billy goat as I make my way down to the basement kitchen. Not that I think Sandy will be hanging out with the caterers but because nature calls. Actually, nature seems to be tap-dancing on my bladder while yelling through a megaphone FIND THE NEAREST CONVENIENCE! But along with not burping in public, a lady apparently shouldn’t announce her bodily urges. I turn the corner, the wooden banister smooth under my hand as I head for the nearest powder room. No one knows it’s here, so there won’t be anyone…
“Yes! Yes! Right there. Oh, Jonny! Oh God, I’m coming—”
And I am going as I pivot on my heel.
I’ve needed to go for about forty-five minutes, but after seeing the condition of the bathrooms on the boat, I decided I’d rather explode. It’s beginning to look like that might be a distinct possibility.
Think dry thoughts, I silently intone as I gingerly hop back up the stairs, taking care not to make my strides any larger than necessary. At the top of the flight of stairs, the hall is packed. Oh my God. Get out of my way, people, or this isn’t going to end well for any of us.
“Hey, Izzy!” One of Sandy’s old university friends calls out to me as I push my way through the throng. “How are you?” Bursting! Can’t you tell by the pained look on my face? “I haven’t seen you in an age,” he adds in that ridiculously plummy accent of his.