LITMIR.BIZ

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Sam, it’s the story of my life. Well “love life” to be precise. Tom and I are over before we really began,’ I say, keeping my voice low so as not to be overheard.

      ‘What do you mean, over?’

      ‘Over! As in split up.’

      ‘Whaat? I don’t believe it. Just like that?’ Sam makes wide eyes.

      ‘Yep, just like that.’

      Sam lets out a long whistle. I’ve told her everything. The NDA. Tom thinking I’d love the surprise of being in a reality show. Hannah and her colour chart. Zara snaffling two high-end designer bags for herself. Right down to her having the hots for Tom and practically chewing her own collar right through to escape Carrington’s, just so she can sink her perfect veneers into him in Paris – the city of love, after all.

      ‘So, let me get this straight – he suggested you call it a day and you agreed?’ Sam says, raising an eyebrow as she scoops off a marshmallow and pops it into her mouth.

      ‘That’s right. Two can play at his game.’

      ‘But hang on … you didn’t actually want to split up?’

      ‘Of course not,’ I say, feebly.

      ‘Hmm, and how do feel now?’ she asks.

      ‘Like I wish I’d never said the things I did.’

      ‘So what are you going to do?’

      ‘I don’t know. Talk to him, I guess?’

      ‘Good, because one of you has to be sensible. You can’t just split up over nothing.’

      ‘It’s not nothing.’

      ‘OK, he kept a secret, and not for the first time, granted – but still, it would be such a shame. You two are good together.’ I manage a wry smile. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine. You can sort this out. I promise.’ Sam points to a generous slice of Battenberg on the top shelf of the cake stand and raises her eyebrows encouragingly. I waver before shaking my head.

      ‘No, thank you. I’m stuffed.’ I’ve already eaten my way though a red velvet cupcake and a delicious Christmas stollen slice smothered in dusty white icing sugar with an edible sprig of holly on top. I clutch my stomach.

      ‘Why don’t you just call him now and see if you can sort it out?’ Sam tilts her head to one side. I hesitate.

      ‘Because, I, well … ’

      ‘You want him to contact you?’ she finishes for me, and I nod. ‘From what you’ve told me, you could have a wait – you know how “gentlemanly” he can be?’ Sam does speech marks in the air and smiles. ‘That year he spent at the exclusive polo school in Argentina certainly wasn’t wasted. They turn out royalty too, you know.’ She raises an eyebrow. ‘So, my guess is he’ll respect your decision, even if he didn’t really want to split up and it was just all in the heat of the moment. If he’s gone away thinking it’s what you want, then … ’

      ‘But what if Zara does go to Paris? You’ve seen how stunning she is. She makes Rosie Huntington-Whiteley look dowdy, for God’s sake.’

      ‘Georgie, have a bit more faith. You’re gorgeous too. Plus Tom isn’t like that. He’s not going to jump straight into bed with Zara. She may well fancy him, but that doesn’t mean the feeling is mutual. Besides, he’ll probably be back soon, won’t he? And then you two can talk properly?’

      ‘I don’t know.’

      ‘Didn’t you ask?’

      ‘No, I just wanted to get out of his office as fast as I could,’ I say, mulling over what she’s said.

      ‘Never mind. Eddie will know. Look, if it’s really going to play on your mind, then let’s stalk her.’ Sam smiles mischievously as she licks cake crumbs from her fingertips.

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘Google her, of course. Knowledge is power and all that,’ she laughs. ‘Hold on.’

      ‘Where are you going?’

      ‘You’ll see.’

      Five minutes later, Sam returns with her iPad under her arm and sits down next to me.

      ‘Right. Let’s see what we can dish up on the handbag snatcher,’ Sam sniffs, before flipping open the case and tapping the screen.

       zara cooper

      ‘I’ll start with that. Not sure if it’s her real name, but there’s bound to be something,’ Sam says authoritatively and, a few seconds later, a list of entries appears on the screen. ‘Ahh, here we go.’ She clicks on a link titled Zaramakesasplash and we both start reading.

       Stunning TV heiress had the sailors all of a lather when she treated them to a sneak preview of her super sexy new swimwear range …

      ‘Hmmm.’ Sam stretches the screen to enlarge a picture of Zara in a cherry-red tasselled monokini that nicely accentuates her spectacular handspan waist and silicone missile boobs.

      ‘She has her own swimwear range.’ The words come out of my mouth but it’s as if somebody else is saying them. My heart sinks. I can’t compete with a swimwear model – the last time I dragged my boring black Speedo out of the cupboard it was covered in mildew.

      ‘Well, I’ve never heard of it,’ Sam snorts, and she should know: her vast array of bikinis, tankinis, wraps and Havaianas have their own sunshine-yellow-painted beachwear wardrobe installed in her summer season dressing room. Sam has two dressing rooms in her beachfront villa, one for Spring/Summer wear and the other for Autumn/Winter. ‘Let’s carry on. I saw that episode last season and she ends up skidding on a wet patch on the deck before practically cramming her face into the belly of a rotund man who was busy downing a very frothy lager. Hence the “lather” line. He spilt the whole pint over her.’

      Sam scrolls through the entries before hesitating. Her finger hovers.

      ‘What is it?’ I ask on seeing her face.

      ‘Err, nothing,’ she mutters.

      ‘Click it then.’

      ‘Are you sure?’

      ‘Yes. Just click it please.’ And she does.

      Saliva drains from my mouth. There, on the screen right in front of me, is a picture of Zara standing outside a nightclub, with her arms wrapped around Tom. Her lips are pressed on his. And the caption underneath says …

       Childhood sweethearts destined for happy-ever-after …

      Tears sting in my eyes. A sickening heat prickles down my legs and arms leaving my hands feeling numb.

      ‘That’s enough.’ Sam snaps the cover back on her iPad and swivels her face towards mine. ‘Hey, don’t cry,’ she says gently, keeping her voice low and soothing. ‘Why are you so upset? You said yourself that you’d only been on a few dates. It’s not like you were sleeping together or anything, is it? You’ll move on; you’re only young and there are loads of fit men around. Tell you what, we’ll go down to that bar by the marina one evening – there’s bound to be a few good catches in there. Might even bag you a guy with a super-yacht, how thrilling would that be?’ Sam nudges me with her elbow and I know she’s just trying to cheer me up so I don’t worry about being single again. After Brett, it took me nearly two years to get together with Tom. OK, I had the odd evening out with a few guys and then the one-night stand with James during that time too, but it’s not the same as a proper boyfriend. I chew the inside of my cheek. Sam places the iPad on the table. Silence follows. And then she realises.

      ‘Oh God, you were sleeping together, weren’t you? Oh honey, come here.’ Sam swings her arms around my shoulders and gives me an enormous hug, enveloping me in a heady mixture of Halston Woman perfume and

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