The Ex-Boyfriend's Handbook Part 42

Natasha looks up sharply. 'Threatening? How so?'

I back away slightly. 'In that you make threats. Remember that guy who had the Ferrari?'

'Steve?'

'Yeah. You told him you'd pour paint stripper all over it if he didn't move in with you. And what about the one whose wife you challenged to a fight?'

'Peter?'

'He was a nice guy. Why didn't you see him again?'

Natasha blushes. 'What, apart from the injunction?'

'And then there was Martin. With the stutter.'

'He didn't have a stutter.'

'He does now.'

Natasha looks indignant. 'Yes, well, that was blown out of all proportion.'

'Again, the courts didn't seem to think so.'

'So tell me, Edward. Where do you think I'm going wrong?'

Gulp. I do a quick check for sharp objects within Natasha's reach. 'Maybe...maybe you're just setting your sights on the wrong types of men. They're married; possibly not completely happily in most cases but they value it, so when they've had their fun, and push comes to shove...'

Natasha stares at her untouched coffee for a few moments. 'Perhaps you're right, Edward. But what are the right types of men?'

'Well, them not having wives would possibly be a good start,' I suggest.

'Maybe.' She looks up at me and smiles hopefully. 'You're bound to know at least one single, good-looking guy, perhaps as a date for me? What about this friend of yours-Dan, isn't it? Why don't you bring him along tonight?'

At first this strikes me as ridiculous, firstly that Natasha is asking whether I know anyone I can set her up with, and secondly that she and Dan might get on, let alone get it on. Plus, the last thing I want is for Dan to try and have a 'crack' at Sam, especially in front of me. But as I think about it, I begin to realize that it's a brilliant idea. I'll earn some serious Brownie points with Natasha, she's bound to flirt outrageously with Dan all evening, which in turn will be the perfect diversionary tactic to keep him away from Sam.

'I'll see what I can do.'

7.45 p.m.

I'm in the Mini with Dan, who of course has leapt at the chance for a free night out, and we're on our way to pick up Sam for tonight's party at Natasha's. I'm dressed in Paul Smith again, but with a tie this time, and lightly doused in Guerlain's 'Vetiver', which may sound like a disease, but is actually the cla.s.siest aftershave known to man. And woman, apparently.

As I speed along the seafront, I can't help but smile to myself. As much as I hate to admit it, I do feel better driving this car than my old Volvo. Nought to sixty takes just nine point two seconds, as opposed to my old heap, which had a job even reaching sixty, let alone doing it in anything you'd want to measure with a stopwatch. I can park in s.p.a.ces that don't have to be bus-length. I can overtake. I like the way it feels behind the wheel, and I like that I feel that I belong here too.

Dan catches sight of my inane grin. 'Told you,' he says. 'Cool car, eh?'

I glance across at him, before effortlessly accelerating past a bus. 'I am a Mini driver, and I'm proud.'

'Mate,' he says, 'if you were Minnie Driver, we wouldn't be talking now.'

When I ring on Sam's doorbell, I hear Oliver bark a few times, so I'm ready when he runs out and tries to jump up on me, but when Sam appears I'm certainly not prepared for her. She's wearing a cla.s.sic little black dress, with shoes and handbag to match, a simple gold necklace, and diamond earrings that sparkle almost as much as her eyes. It's the first time I've seen her in anything other than a tracksuit or jeans, and as enjoyable as that has been, the sight of her this evening almost blows me away.

'Something wrong?' she asks, before pulling her coat on. 'Too over the top? Too little?'

'Yeah,' calls Dan from the car, where he's contorted awkwardly in the back seat. 'Like a woman can ever wear too little.'

'No. Not at all,' I say, ignoring him. 'You look, well, amazing, if I can say so.'

Sam blushes, and then rubs her fingers up and down the lapel of my suit. 'You scrub up pretty well yourself.'

I open the car door for her, and she says h.e.l.lo to Dan, who responds with a smile, his teeth s.h.i.+ning out from the dark interior.

's.h.i.+ft forward a bit, mate,' he says, as we head back through Brighton and up towards d.y.k.e Road. 'There's not a lot of room in here.'

'Stop complaining. This was the car you advised me to buy, remember?'

By the time we get to Natasha's, her drive is full of expensive cars, at least a couple of them hers, but I manage to squeeze the Mini in between a couple of Porsches. As we get out of the car, we can hear music coming from the back of the house, a huge mock-Tudor mansion that I'm guessing wouldn't leave much change out of a couple of million. Sam stares open-mouthed at the place, whereas Dan, on the other hand, is a little more vocal.

'b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l. Who did she sleep with to get this?'

Sam gives him an admonis.h.i.+ng look. 'That's very s.e.xist, Daniel. Why do you have to a.s.sume that she couldn't have earned it herself?'

I have to take Dan's side on this. 'Sorry, Sam. Natasha was married to a dot-com millionaire. When they split up, she got to keep the house.'

'Wow,' says Sam. 'What did he get to keep?'

'His t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es, I believe.'

The party is being held in a marquee that's probably as big as my entire flat, but takes up less than half of Natasha's back garden. We walk inside, helping ourselves to a gla.s.s of champagne from a pa.s.sing waitress. Dan, true to form, takes two, winking at the girl as he does so.

After a few minutes, I feel a tap on my shoulder, and turn round to see Natasha wearing a gold, strapless evening dress. She air kisses me, and when she sees Sam, Natasha raises both her eyebrows.

'This is Sam,' I say. 'My, er...'

'Edward's date for the evening,' says Sam. 'Pleased to meet you, Natasha.'

'And this-' I say, turning to Dan, who's staring unashamedly at Natasha's cleavage.

'Must be Dan,' interrupts Natasha. 'It's very nice to meet you.'

Dan takes Natasha's outstretched hand and kisses it. 'The pleasure's all mine.'

I nudge Sam. 'That's true, according to all the women he's slept with.'

Natasha stares suggestively back at Dan. 'I find that hard to believe,' she says.

As the two of them size each other up, Sam and I almost have to recoil from the sparks. Dan switches effortlessly into charm mode, handing Natasha one of his gla.s.ses of champagne.

'Thanks for inviting me to your birthday party,' he says. 'Your thirtieth, isn't it?'

I'm amazed at the cheesiness of Dan's comment, and wait expectantly for Natasha to shoot him down. Instead, she laps it up.

'Edward,' she says. 'Why didn't you tell me you had such nice-looking friends?'

As she and Dan continue to flirt, I lean towards Sam, and whisper in my best David Attenborough impression.

'Observe, the mating ritual of the male and female of the species. Although I'm not sure exactly which species...'

It's clear that our presence in this foursome is two too many, so Sam and I excuse ourselves. Never one to do anything by halves, Natasha has hired a string quartet for the evening, and as they launch into a rousing rendition of 'Let's Twist Again', Sam grabs me by the hand.

'Can you twist, Edward?'

'I don't know. I don't think so.'

'Have you ever tried?'

'Er...no.'

'Well, how do you know you can't do something if you've never even tried it?'

Sam pulls me onto the dance floor, where a number of couples are trying gamely to follow the lead of the band, although their gyrations seem more suited to 'The Birdie Song'. Sam stands in front of me and tells me to follow her, but just as we're about to try, the music mercifully changes to something much slower.

'Oh well.' I start to walk off the floor, but Sam stops me.

'Where do you think you're going?'

'But the music...'

'Never mind,' she says, holding me close and leading me around the dance floor.

I have one hand on her shoulder, and the other on the small of her back, and can feel the sensual movement of her toned body beneath her thin silk dress. I can smell her perfume, the soft scent of her hair, and for a moment, just for a moment, wonder when was the last time I danced with Jane like this. I certainly can't recall when dancing with Jane made me feel this way. And worryingly, I can't actually remember the last time Jane and I danced.

As we move to the music, and I become more and more conscious of the soft firmness of her body pressed against mine, I feel a not-so-soft firmness of my own beginning to stir. Quick, I tell myself, think of something else. Normally whenever I've needed, shall we say, delaying tactics when I've been in bed with Jane, I've picked a football side at random and tried to remember all the players' names, but my mistake this evening is to pick the England World Cup squad from 1966: in goal, Gordon Banks, which I seem to remember is rhyming slang for something else. In defence-oh no-Alan Ball. Aargh!

Fortunately, just as I get to midfielder n.o.bby Stiles, and realize I couldn't possibly have made a worse choice of team, the music stops, to be replaced with the unmistakable sound of a champagne gla.s.s being tapped. Natasha steps up onto the podium in front of the band, and clears her throat.

'Well, I want to thank you all for coming,' she says, to a general murmur of appreciation. 'As some of you may know, tonight is a special night for me for two reasons. Firstly, because it's my fortieth birthday.' She pauses, obviously expecting to hear some mutterings of disbelief. When none come, she coughs awkwardly.

'Secondly, because it's also the twentieth anniversary of the day I started my company, which, at the risk of blowing my own trumpet...'

'That's not all she's been blowing,' I whisper to Sam.

'...has been doing rather well recently. In fact, business is booming. And that's why I have a rather important announcement to make. Someone special I want to introduce you to.'

As Natasha scans the crowd, I'm a.s.suming she's looking for Terry. I haven't seen him at all this evening, but now I'm a.s.suming that he's obviously left his wife holding the baby, so to speak, and come along. What on earth is she going to do-propose to him in front of everyone, or some other nonsense?

I'm fed up with this, and make my excuses to Sam, before heading off to find the toilet. But just as I'm walking back into the house, Natasha's voice, as it has done on so many occasions in the past, stops me in my tracks.

'Edward? There you are.'

I wave sheepishly, and just about manage to stop myself from cowering in the corner, as everyone turns to look at me.

'Just going to the toilet, boss,' I say, which gets a small laugh from the crowd.

Natasha grins. 'Well, cross your legs for a few minutes and come up here, will you?'

Trying to hide my embarra.s.sment, I make my way towards where she's standing, and climb up on the podium next to her, struggling not to flinch when she puts her arm around me.

'As I was saying,' continues Natasha. 'The reason we're doing so well is all down to one person. My right-hand man. Edward.'

I blush. This isn't happening. I just want to curl up and die. Is she going to propose to me?

'Which is why,' she continues, 'I'd like to make him my partner.'

I stare at Natasha in shock, thinking for a moment that she is proposing to me, until I realize that, actually, this is one long-term relations.h.i.+p that I'm happy to take to the next level.

Natasha raises her champagne gla.s.s. 'So I'd like to make a toast. To what's going to be my last ever birthday. And to my new business partner, Edward.'

'To Edward,' comes the response, and a hundred gla.s.ses of champagne are raised in my direction.

As I look around the marquee, people I've never even seen before are applauding me. Dan is standing there open-mouthed. Sam is grinning wildly and clapping as loudly as she can. I mumble my thanks to Natasha, climb back down off the podium, and head back towards the two of them.

As Dan shakes me enthusiastically by the hand, Sam grabs me in a big hug.

'Partner, eh?' she says. 'I guess this means I'll be putting up my rate.'

'Yeah, well done,' says Dan. 'Partner in a two-person company. And it's only taken you, what, nine years?'

'Exactly,' I say. 'Who's the career person now, eh?'

As we head into the garden for some fresh air, Dan puts an arm around my shoulders.

'Lets just hope it's equal partners, eh?' he says, gazing admiringly back up at the house.

Sam looks at him strangely. 'Are there any other kind?'

12.02 a.m.

By midnight, we've danced, eaten, and danced some more. A few of the guests have started to make their way home, and Sam is getting tired, as am I. We have been up since before seven o'clock, I remind her.

'And have to be tomorrow,' she says. 'Our last session, don't forget.'

I look around for Natasha so we can say goodbye, but she's nowhere to be seen. Worryingly, nor is Dan.

'He's a big boy. He can look after himself,' I tell Sam, which is code for 'he's probably pulled, so that's the last we'll see of him'. 'But I ought to try and find Natasha. Just to say thanks.'

We can't seem to spot her anywhere, until one of the waiters tells us she was last seen heading towards the swimming pool, so Sam and I walk through the house, following the whiff of chlorine down into the bas.e.m.e.nt. It's one of those impossible-to-do-lengths-in kidney-shaped pools, with a statue of Michelangelo's David between a pair of marble pillars at one end, and a large mosaic of two intertwined dolphins on the bottom.

'Mmm,' whispers Sam. 'Tasteful.'