Emma Sayle - Behind the Mask - Enter a World Where Women Make - and Break - the Rules

‘Hi, Ems!’ she says, and gives me a kiss on each cheek. Before sitting down, she glances about the room, scouting out any attractive specimen who might be worthy of her attentions.

Miss D never misses a Killing Kittens’ party. She’s totally hooked. Her only stipulation is quantity – the more the better. ‘I can’t help it,’ she’ll say with a shrug, looking innocent. ‘It’s just that I’m a sexaholic.’

Miss D and I have known each other for years because our mothers were friends and fell pregnant at the same time. We were born just weeks apart, with me making my entry into the world first. Our friendship didn’t have the best of starts: whenever we met, we fought. Later we went to different schools and Miss D became one of those girls with a high-octane social life and an expensive wardrobe, all paid for by her rich parents, who owned a townhouse off the King’s Road in London as well as a sprawling country estate. She spent her time hanging out in Chelsea, dating boys from Eton and transforming herself into a real-life Sindy doll. Miss D adored Sindy, and by the time she was 13 she had manicured nails, a glossy pout, coloured hair and designer clothes. By contrast I was a complete tomboy and liked nothing better than playing with friends in our back garden. I adored hanging outdoors with my father. If he went fishing, I would try to fish, and if he was climbing a mountain, so would I. As a result, I was permanently clad in trainers and jeans and was pretty much continually filthy, much to Miss D’s horror. Not that her disapproval put me off or dampened my spirits – in fact, it probably made me even more of a sporty and adventurous type. Then disaster struck for Miss D – her parents lost all their money and were declared bankrupt. Fortunately, her grandmother paid for her schooling, so she stayed at her boarding school, but her cool friends dropped her like the proverbial hot potato and her hoity-toity arrogance was completely deflated. One day, when she and her mother were visiting us, Miss D and I were sent off to amuse ourselves together. Instead, we listened at the door and heard her mother breaking down and sobbing like a baby as she confessed all about their woes. Miss D reached for my muddy hand and in that instance all was forgiven. I gave her a hug and we’ve been bosom buddies ever since.

A decade on, Miss D assures me money isn’t everything when it comes to romance, but I have to remind her to stop waiting for her rich prince to gallop out of nowhere and rescue her. Luckily for her, an inheritance from her grandmother has provided her with enough to live on while she tracks down her prize, as she’s incapable of holding down a job for long.

When we’re sorted for drinks – Miss D with a glass of chilled rosé and me with my Bull Shot – she takes another sneaky glance around the room and says, ‘So, how’s your man, Ems? Is everything going well with the mysterious Mr Black?’

‘Well …’ I take a sip of my warm, spicy drink, playing for time. I don’t really want to talk too much about him, not yet. ‘It’s very early days, so I can’t say much except that we’re enjoying each other’s company.’ I smile cheekily at her.

‘Spill!’ She grabs the wine bottle and tops up her glass. ‘Will he be at the party tonight?’

I shake my head. ‘Of course not! You know I need to keep my eyes on the ball when I’m working, young lady. And besides, it’s a full-time job having to keep my eye on you once you get going. You don’t have a stop sign, remember?’

‘You’re so lucky,’ sighs Miss D. ‘An older, single, eligible man. That’s exactly what I’m looking for.’ She takes a sip of her wine and then says hopefully, ‘Does he have any friends? Really rich ones?’

‘Stop with the rich, piranha woman!’ I say, laughing but exasperated.

Miss D looks confused. ‘Piranha woman?’

‘Yes, you’re a flesh-eating creature particularly attracted to anything with a bulging wallet,’ I tease. ‘Your type is lethal. The men get distracted by your pretty colours and don’t see your razor-sharp teeth until it’s too late.’

Miss D takes it in good spirit and laughs. ‘You know me too damn well, Ems!’ She smiles wickedly back. ‘By the way, I’ve got something to show you before we head to the party.’ She looks suddenly coy.

‘What?’

‘I’ve brought something special for tonight. Just warning you in case you discover me in a room upstairs later!’ There’s a very naughty light in her eyes.

‘Come on then, what is it?’

She leans in and says excitedly, ‘I’ve brought a grown-up toy to play with tonight!’ And she reaches eagerly for her bag.

‘Miss D, no! Not here in Claridge’s!’ I screech, trying not to laugh. ‘Keep it in your bag till later, for goodness’ sake! And talking of the party, we’d better think about making tracks. I promised Kitty I’d be early tonight. Pass me a glass of rosé, I’ll help you finish that bottle.’

When we’ve made a decent enough inroad into the wine, I head to the ladies, smooth my hair, moisten my lips and fling on my dress. Now we’re both ready for action, Miss D and I step outside where the doorman hails us a taxi, which takes us through the busy London streets, slipping around corners and gliding through the heavy traffic. There are people everywhere.

My BlackBerry beeps with a BBM from Trolley Dolly. She’s a good friend of mine, a single divorce lawyer who’s not to be messed with. At work, she’s got a mind like a steel trap, and in her spare time, she oozes glamour and is the life and soul of the party, winning everyone over with her personality and her natural lack of social inhibition. She adores my parties and is certainly more tiger than kitten when it comes to sex. I’ve nicknamed her Trolley Dolly, as she never looks dishevelled, not even after a long-haul night at my parties. I read her message.

Hey. My car is still not ready so taking the bus! C u in 30.

I message back: Cool.

She replies a moment later: Is it OK if I bring two guys along?????! I’ve met them in my local pub b4. They’re good guys.

I smile and text her back: Sure.

Back pings her reply: Thanks! : ) They’re with me now. H-O-T!

I wouldn’t normally allow any stranger to turn up to my soirées without being vetted, but Trolley Dolly is part of my inner circle and a trusted friend, so I know I don’t have anything to worry about. This is a one-off. She’ll choose wisely when it comes to bringing new people to the parties. I just hope the men she’s found aren’t too innocent, or they’ll be in for one hell of a shock.

We make good time through the traffic and arrive at the venue well before any guests.

‘This place looks incredible tonight, Emma,’ Miss D says as we walk through the double doors and into the palatial marble-floored hall. ‘Such a brilliant choice, it couldn’t be more perfect.’

‘I know – it’s fabulous.’ I look about, pleased. I love this place. It’s a rare eighteenth-century jewel, a Georgian townhouse that is both incredibly grand and amazingly shabby, and the effect is perfect for my parties. There is beautiful art on the walls, and the exquisite rooms seem to go on and on, but the peeling paint and battered skirting add an air of divine squalor. This is my favourite part of the evening: soaking in the splendour of my surroundings, sipping a glass of champagne in the drawing room with Miss D and relaxing in the peaceful atmosphere before the real fun begins. ‘You go and take a look around. I’ve got some work to sort out, then I’ll come and find you.’

‘Sure. See you later.’ Miss D heads off up the huge staircase.

Kitty Kat saunters over armed with a clipboard. She’s dressed in a sexy skin-tight black leather outfit and wearing a cute cat mask with pert black whiskers. Kitty Kat is in her early twenties, petite and has finely chiselled features and luscious lips. Her porcelain prettiness draws plenty of attention, even though she never seeks it. Tonight she looks hot .