Penny Vincenzi - The Best Of Times

That was the only thing that worried her: how could he be so suddenly and so totally taken with her, Merlin Gerard, so gorgeous, so sexy, so… so sophisticated. Merlin, who was used to girls like Ticky, as gorgeous and sexy and sophisticated as he was; how could he want to be involved with her?

After a few days, a few nights, when she was beginning to feel more confident, she managed to ask him that; he smiled and kissed her and sat up on the pillows.

“I find you totally gorgeous and sexy, Georgia. I always did. You’re so special. So unique. So not like anyone else. The first moment I saw you, I felt a catch in my heart…”

“Merlin!” That really did sound a bit rehearsed.

“No, I did. But…”

“Well, but you had Ticky then.”

“Yes, of course. And now I’ve got you. My own beautiful brown bird. Would you like to sing for me once more? Before we go to sleep?”

Crushing the distaste for this, telling herself he was just… wonderfully poetic, that was all… she smiled at him ecstatically and climbed onto him, her legs straddling him.

“I love your energy,” he said. “It’s so amazing.” They fell asleep with his head on her breast.

In the morning they met Jazz on his early rounds, as he put it: checking the terminally leaking taps, the blocked lavatories in the house.

“Ah,” he said, “very nice. Thought that might be how it was, Merlin, you old bugger. How come you get to pull all the best ones? Georgia, my lovely, any trouble with him, you come straight to me, OK?”

She laughed and said OK; she loved Jazz.

And now, nearly three weeks later, she could hardly imagine life being any different. It was totally, totally wonderful; she was the luckiest, happiest girl in the world.

Emma hadn’t got the job in Glasgow; she went to see Alex, almost in tears.

“That’s the second. I’m beginning to feel victimised.”

“My dear Emma, you wait till you’re trying to get a consultancy. That really does feel like victimisation. Nine jobs I went for before I got this one; it was ghastly. You get there and you see the same old faces each time, with a few variations, and it’s always the bloke you least like who gets it, gets called into the boardroom while you all sit waiting like a load of cretins, and then you all shake hands and say you never really wanted it anyway, and crawl back to your hospital with your tail between your legs. I had a special interview shirt; it got quite threadbare towards the end.”

“Yes, well, thanks for all that. I can’t wait,” said Emma. “Meanwhile, it’s tail-between-the-legs time for me. Can I stay, Alex?”

“Of course you can. Nothing could please me more. Sorry… not what you want to hear.”

“It sort of is. Thank you. There are lots more jobs I can apply for in the pipeline, but…”

“Emma, the thing about obstetrics is that it’s a very popular discipline. There’s always going to be lots of jobs, but also lots of people applying for them. You’ll get one in the end, promise. Meanwhile, you’re a fantastic member of the team here. You can stay as long as you like.”

At least she still had a job… even if she didn’t have anything else.

“Barney! Hi, darling! How are you?”

“Fine. Yes. Thanks. And you?”

“Oh, pretty good. I called to invite you to my leaving do.”

“Your leaving do! That’s a bit sudden, isn’t it?”

“Not really. It’s just that it’s so long since we talked. I’ve done my time. Start at Darwood’s in a fortnight. At the French desk there. Taking a bit of a break first.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We-Micky and I-are off to Barbados for ten days…”

“Micky?”

“Yes, I’m engaged. Again. To Micky Burne Proctor. Getting married in the summer. Slightly déjà vu, but at least I’ll be in a different dress. I thought that really would be unlucky, wearing the same. Or could be. But… otherwise, same venue, same church, same time of day even. I think. Mummy and I are working on that one. Anyway, Friday evening, sixish, Terminus. Hope you can come.”

Well. She didn’t let the grass grow under her feet. You had to hand it to her, Barney thought with a sense of grudging admiration: she’d survive an earthquake and hurricane combined, Tamara would. And come up looking immaculate. And sexy. Micky Burne Proctor, eh? In the Sunday Times rich list the previous year. Hedge-fund boy. Better prospect than Toby.

He couldn’t think why she’d want him at her leaving do. But… might be fun. He hadn’t had much of that lately. He wondered if Toby knew. Or cared.

“Order, order. Georgia, you first.”

“Right. Well the play-offs are going brilliantly. We’ve already got three winners from three pubs. One’s really fantastic. Called Literate. I don’t think they’ll be unsigned for much longer. Oh, and a sweet folk band as well. Lots of stalls are coming on board… face painting, weaving, a little roundabout, a bouncy castle. Everything we discussed, really. Some guy’s got a hat stall… says they went really well at Glastonbury”

“What sort of hats?” said Abi.

“Every sort. Baseball hats, sort of trilbies, berets, reggae hats, sun hats for kids. Oh, and some really nice girl’s got a sort of beauty stall, does, like, makeovers and massages and all stuff like that. What do you think?”

“Mmm.” Abi considered this. “No, don’t think so. Doesn’t go with the family feel. But quite like hats. Welly stall?”

“Oh, yes, got one of those. Merlin says it’s essential, don’t you, Merlin?”

“Yup.”

“Oh, I do hope it doesn’t rain,” said Emma.

“It will,” said Abi. “Best to accept it. After that anything’s a bonus. We might even get some good gear out of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Some guy I met, friend of William’s, he had a festival on his land. It rained so hard, two-day festival it was, people were just getting into their cars at the end, stepping out of their filthy, muddy clothes and just leaving them. This guy said lots of it was really good stuff: Fat Face, Abercrombie, all that. His wife washed it about thee times and then they wore it. And their kids, loads of Boden.”

“Cool. Best pray for rain then.”

“Who’s responsible for litter?” asked Merlin.

“Me, I s’pose,” said Abi. “Comes under the heading of site management.”

“Make sure you’ve got loads and loads of bins and bags. Twice as much as you think.”

“Yes, please do,” said William. He had a sudden vision of endless acres of litter and what his father might say or do.

“OK, OK.”

“You need people specially briefed to pick it up too,” said Merlin. “It’s really important. And loos… Abi, is that you?”

“Yeah, I’m toilet queen.”

“Can we not have those awful urinals in rows where you face the other blokes and try not to look at them, and you all pee into a pit in the middle?”

“Sounds fun. I’ll do my best. How are the bookings looking, Georgia?”

“Oh, nothing much yet. But the Web site’s only been up and running a couple of weeks. Lots of hits, though.”

“Great. Any reactions to the name?”

“Nope. Well, only from my mum. She thinks it’s great. She had an LP called In Good Company in the seventies.”

“Great. Exactly the image we’re after. Mum’s favourites. Oh, dear. Maybe we should change it.”

“We shouldn’t,” said Merlin firmly. “It’s a great name.”

“Yeah, well, you would say that,” said Georgia. “You thought of it.”

“Shut up. Any other objections?”

There weren’t.

“OK. Well, I’ve got everything booked site-wise,” said Abi.