‘Good. Now your contact in Malta is Niko Garzia. I worked with him a couple of years ago when he joined our department on secondment from Malta University in Valletta. I’ll ask him to meet your plane. And, Liv?’
‘Mmm?’
‘I truly am sorry that you and Nathan couldn’t work things out. As a couple, you were a perfect match.’
‘So, you fly off to Malta next week? Lucky you!’ said Hollie, crossing her ankles to make herself comfortable on the overstuffed sofa in Harvey’s wine bar, their regular post-work haunt.
‘You think?’ Olivia counted out her so-called ‘luck’ on her fingers. ‘I’ve been publicly humiliated by a rat-faced process server announcing to the whole world that my marriage has crumbled, I’ve been expelled from my office for the next ten months, and then, probably worst of all, I’ve been arm-wrestled by my oldest friend into becoming her new research assistant. You call that “lucky”?’
Olivia saw a flicker of remorse glide across Hollie’s features when she tossed her copper waves from her eyes and she instantly regretted her outburst. Hollie was her best friend, a fellow warrior on the battlefield of legal causes and volunteer at the local soup kitchen, and someone she knew shared her pain as well as her love of cocktails.
‘Sorry, Hol, my nerves are like a jangling tambourine at the moment. Look, there’s Matteo. I’ll get the drinks and you can fill him in on the next exciting instalment in my crappy life story.’
With colour pulsing at her cheeks, Olivia grabbed her handbag and ploughed her way towards the highly polished oak and brass bar, her stiletto heels click-clacking on the marble-veined floor. As she waited, purse in hand, for the impeccably groomed bartender to perform the famous scene from Cocktail, she glanced at her chipped nail varnish. Her manicure had lasted only two days this time. She must try that new Korean place in the basement of the fast food shop next to the bank – the one Hollie had recommended despite her anxieties that it was a front for human trafficking.
Harvey’s attracted a myriad of local professionals. It was the watering hole of choice for the burnt-out office worker to douse their anxiety with as much liquor as it took to eradicate the pent-up pressure. At six o’clock the noise level was set at ‘low hum’ but as the scotch and prosecco hit the spot Olivia knew the volume would quickly ratchet up to ‘screech’ – competitive bragging became increasingly outrageous as alcohol oiled both vocal cords and egos. By chewing over that day’s events at the coalface of British business, boasting about their expanding list of wealthy Russian clients, the value of their holiday homes in Cornwall, or their last all-expenses-paid foreign business trip, the bar’s patrons were able to delay their return to empty homes where not even a cat waited to welcome them – their lifestyle was too cruel for a pet.
Well, that was true of herself and Hollie; Matteo didn’t know what stress was. And if he did, he would probably regale them with the unwelcome advice that it caused wrinkles and a bad complexion and that it should be avoided at all costs. He would laugh and inform them that wine merchants had an inbuilt defence mechanism to stress hormones – or was it just easy access to the antidote?
As she watched the barman pour their cocktails into gold-rimmed glasses with a theatrical flourish, she felt disconnected from the ambient throng, as though she was on board a drone hovering against the ceiling observing the theatre unfolding below. But the dislocation was fleeting. She plastered a smile onto her lips in thanks to the barman before shuffling back to their table with three glasses balanced between her fingers.
What would Matteo’s take be on her unplanned sabbatical? she wondered, glancing across to the alcove where two of her best friends waited for their drinks to arrive. Her heavy heart lightened at the sight of their heads bent together in conversation, ebony mingled with shards of ginger.
‘Hi, Liv!’ Matteo relieved her of two of the glasses before air-kissing her cheeks. The aroma of Chanel’s ‘Pour Monsieur’ floated like a soothing balm in the air between them as he took an experimental sip and smacked his lips. ‘Ahhhh, Chianti is heaven in a glass! You do know those Piña Coladas don’t count as one of your “five-a-day”, don’t you?’
He smoothed a palm over his hair, perched his gym-toned buttocks back onto the sofa and crossed his ankle over his knee. ‘So, how many hours has “London’s Top Divorce Lawyer” put in this week, then? Seventy? Eighty?’
‘Very funny, Matt. You know I’ve been frantically trying to tidy up my clients’ files.’
‘So, you favour the grey look for that kind of strenuous work, do you?’
‘Hey, this is Karen Millen I’ll have you know!’
‘No, Liv, I meant your skin tone. You look like you haven’t ventured out into the natural light for weeks. When are you going to slow down and ditch the workaholic tedium? Why not delegate some of your workload to Miles? You pay too high a price for your career success. You too, Hols.’
Olivia knew Hollie was just as time-squeezed as every one of the patrons in Harvey’s, if not more so, with multiple demands on her time, but whenever Matteo asked her why she crammed her life with such a plethora of pursuits her retort was a well-rehearsed – ‘Sanity in diversity, Matt darling!’
‘Well, we can’t all work in the crushed grape business, can we?’ Hollie snapped, defensive of her troubled friend.
‘Rather an alcoholic than a workaholic! Anyway, Liv, Hollie has filled me in on your mission. And whilst I think it’s an excellent idea to go travelling, I’m not convinced by the whole “love makes the world go round” premise.’
Olivia watched him twist his lips into a grimace and she wondered whether he had used cosmetics to enhance their perfect shape? There was not a shadow of a doubt in her addled mind that his Mediterranean-toned skin had been assisted to produce such a healthy glow, but looking good had always been a priority for Matteo, like many of those of Italian descent.
‘Why not ditch the project, and the trip to Malta, and come to Tuscany with me next month? I’m staying with Dad and Uncle Gino in Florence, then touring the local vineyards to sample some of the best wines Italy has to offer. I could introduce you to one of my cousins?’ His mahogany eyes twinkled as he sipped his glass of Chianti and waited for Olivia’s reaction with interest.
‘Matt …’ began Hollie, shooting a warning glare in his direction, but Matteo was clearly on a roll and had no intention of listening.
‘Why do this “work” project when you’re supposed to be on holiday? Isn’t the whole point of a “holiday” to kick back and chill? God knows the two of you could do with a slice of relaxation. You girls are so tightly screwed that you’d need a power tool to unwind. And why is it so important to find out “what love’s got to do with it”? Isn’t that a tad insensitive of our Rachel when … well … in your current position?’ Matteo squeezed Olivia’s hand, his expression reflecting his absolute sincerity. She rolled her eyes at him – Matteo knew that practised gaze could smoulder granite. ‘Never mind, Liv, now you can be more like me. Look at all the gorgeous girls I’ve dated. If I’d been married just think what I would have missed out on!’
A splutter of derision erupted from Hollie’s mouth.
‘Isn’t it more a case of you can’t keep a girlfriend for any longer than four dates!’ She smirked, wiping away a dribble of prosecco from her frosted lips with the back of her hand.
‘Hey, Holls, that is so not true! And highly defamatory, I might add. Liv darling, can I sue her for slander? Do you still do “no win, no fee”? Anyway, too much