‘Well, he is all by himself,’ she said.
‘Ooh!’ said Sofia, clapping her hands. ‘God, I wish I wasn’t so damned massive.’
‘Because you’re going to leave Federico and all your children for a man who writes stupid books?’
‘No!’ said Sofia. ‘He’s on television as well.’
‘Want to come over?’ Carmen texted.
‘Where do you live? Is it up a mountain and you share it with nine ginger-haired heroin addicts who are going to beat me up for having an English accent?’
‘Fine, don’t.’
‘No, okay, give me the address.’
‘Too late. You missed your chance.’
‘Do you know what’s on the room service menu?’
‘Nope.’
‘NOTHING! THERE ISN’T ANY ROOM SERVICE! THIS IS TORTURE! PLEASE SAVE ME!’
‘Is he coming?’ said Sofia. ‘Only I’ll crack out the smoked salmon and blinis and Champagne … ’
Carmen sat up.
‘Seriously?’
‘Yeah, it’s for Christmas but you bringing a very hot man home is Christmas by anyone’s standards, so why not? I have caviar too.’
‘You do not.’
‘Client gift. Unless you ate it as well last night.’
‘Oh my God. he’s going to love it here. Ridiculously overpriced fishy weirdo food is exactly what he likes.’
Carmen looked at her phone thoughtfully. Actual Champagne? Twice in a week? She smiled at her sister.
‘This is how you get all these great jobs and stuff, isn’t it? Just bulldoze people into it.’
‘If I have to,’ said Sofia, levering herself up. ‘Right, get the good glasses. And don’t drop any.’
He did, Carmen thought, look very, very well, the snowflakes settling on his dark locks, which she realised for the first time were rather too long. Maybe he thought it gave him a distracted, scholarly air, she thought.
He was still wearing the new jacket and the tweedy waistcoat, and it suited him. And he was carrying a bottle of Champagne. Smoothie.
Of course Sofia had instantly ordered her into a dress and to put on some make-up. She had refused the dress – how obvious could you be? – but had relented to some eyeliner and lipstick.
It’s not a date, she kept telling herself. This isn’t a date. It’s just a set of circumstances.
On the other hand, it was a lot closer to a date than she had had in a long time.
Sofia, somehow miraculously restored by the prospect of fancy company, hoofed upstairs, but of course the guest bedroom was already in perfect condition. Carmen followed her in – she hadn’t even beeninhere on the whistle-stop tour of the house. It was a gorgeous room overlooking the garden, with an immaculate hotel-style en suite with underfloor heating, a brass bed with white linen and an old-fashioned patchwork quilt. A few recent hardback novels had been placed on the bedside table, several of which Carmen wanted to read and none of which she could afford. She snaffled two on the way out while Sofia refreshed a water carafe and put on the small bedside lamps.
‘What?’ said Carmen. ‘Seriously, why am I not sleeping here?’
‘Well, we thought you’d like your privacy – our room is right next door.’
