Holly regarded her with interest. “A surgery? Oh — so you’re a doctor, as well as an MP?” Evidently Camilla Shawcross had more abilities than Superwoman.
“A doctor? Oh, my goodness, no!” she said, and let out a peal of laughter. “What a ridiculous notion.”
“A surgery is a clinic held with an MP’s constituents to discuss issues of concern,” Alex explained. “It normally takes place on Saturday, since Parliament sits during the week.”
“Oh.” Hot with embarrassment, Holly pasted an intelligent look on her face and nodded. Inwardly, she seethed. Camilla had an uncanny ability to make her feel incredibly stupid — particularly in front of Alex Barrington.
“I’ll say goodnight, then,” Camilla announced. “It was lovely to meet you, Lady Blandford.” She gave Holly a brief nod. “Goodnight, Ms James.”
“Shall I walk you to your car?” Alex asked.
“No, it’s not necessary.” She added huskily, “After all, we’ll see each other again, soon enough.” She brushed her lips against Alex’s cheek, gave him an intimate smile, and left.
Holly stood up, intent on making her own excuses. Suddenly she wanted nothing so much as to flee back to the safety of her room with its posters of horses and boy bands. She felt out of her depth and invisible whenever Camilla Shawcross was around.
“Would you like a canapé?” Holly’s mother asked as she approached them with another tray. “I have some delicious prawns on offer.”
“Thank you.” Alex nodded politely and took one. “Holly?”
She shook her head. “No. I’m good.”
“Well! I can see you two are getting on like a house on fire.” Cherie smiled at Alex. “I don’t know if you remember, but Holly used to tuck her little pug up in the pram and push him round your garden when she was little. She told me she wanted to marry you when she grew up,” she confided, “and have lots of babies—”
“Mum,” Holly cut in, scarlet with embarrassment, “I was five. I also ate Marmite-and-jam sandwiches and wore the same dress every day, neither of which I do any longer. Let me help you with that tray, shall I?”
She followed her mother into the kitchen and hissed, “Please don’t talk about babies and marriage in front of Alex! It’s mortifying. You’re as subtle as…as Ted Nugent.”
“There’s nothing like a gentle nudge where men are concerned,” Cherie said firmly. “Besides, he’s a vast improvement over that dreadful musician you were seeing.”
“You’ll be happy to know that Mick and I broke up. He and his amplifiers have departed from my life — permanently.”
“Well, I’m not sorry to hear it. You can do so much better, darling. Here, take this out and circulate.”
So saying, her mother thrust a tray with cheese and pineapple cubes skewered onto a grapefruit into Holly’s hands.
“What on earth is that naff thing?” Holly asked as she eyed the tray with distaste.
“It’s a cocktail hedgehog. Offer it to Henry first.” And she nudged Holly out of the door.
Well, Holly reasoned as she circulated with the cocktail hedgehog, Alex hadn’t said anything to indicate he’d seen the BritTEEN interview. Surely he would have confronted her by now.
Ergo, she reasoned as Mrs Henley finally appeared to call everyone in to dinner a few minutes later, there was really no need to tell him about it yet, was there?
No need at all.
At dinner, Holly found herself seated between Alex and Lady Blandford.
This isn’t so bad, she decided, and began, by degrees, to relax a bit. After all, Camilla Shawcross was gone, she had Alex all to herself at dinner, and she hadn’t heard a word back from Sasha.
Which meant, Holly hoped, that her off-the-record interview disaster with Alex wasn’t, perhaps, such a disaster after all? If it was, Sasha would surely have called her back by now.
Alex reached inside his jacket pocket and leaned over. “Don’t tell anyone, Ms James, but I’m having a quick look at my messages before the soup arrives.”
Holly, smoothing the napkin on her lap, froze. “Messages?”
“Yes. I’m expecting an email, rather an important one.” He began tapping the screen.
“No!” she squeaked, panicked. “You can’t do that!”
“I can’t do what?”
“You can’t look at your messages!”
He looked at her oddly. “Why on earth not?”
“Because…it’s rude, that’s why. Incredibly rude!”
“It’ll only take me a second, I promise.”
Oh, crikey, Holly thought as her panic escalated, if Alex played her voice message now, he’d know that his off-the-record comments had been published in BritTEEN. He’d be livid. He’d tell everyone at the table what she’d done, and they’d all think she was a proper berk—
“I can’t get a signal,” he grumbled after a moment.
“Oh, yes, you’ll find that, living out here in the country, WiFi can be as unreliable as the Lib Dems,” Alastair remarked. A ripple of laughter went round the table.
“Let me try,” Holly urged, and held out her hand for the phone.
Alex frowned. “Perhaps if I just hold it up a bit, I might get one or two bars…”
In an agony of despair, Holly eyed his mobile. “That’s the new myPhone, isn’t it?” she asked, and lunged for it. “Look at what a lovely, big screen it has! Let me have a look, please!”
But he held it fast. “Ms James, I’d really rather you didn’t touch my phone—”
“Don’t worry. I only want to look at it.”
She reached out and attempted to wrestle it away from him, but he held fast. “Just — let me — see — the bloody — thing!” she hissed.
Unfortunately, as Holly grappled with Alex to wrest control of his mobile, it flew out of their hands and sailed aloft, landing with a dull splash in the tureen of vichyssoise that Mrs Henley had just set out on the table.
There was a moment of horrified silence.
“My vichyssoise!” Mrs Henley gasped.
“My phone!” Alex exclaimed, and half rose from his seat. “You’ve ruined it!”
“I’m certain it’s fine,” Holly assured him, although secretly she had her doubts. She leaned forward and fished the mobile, dripping with creamy leek, potato, and chicken stock, out of the tureen and held it up gingerly. “See? It’s perfectly okay. A little vichyssoise never hurt anything.”
Alex snatched it away from her. “Bloody hell,” he snapped as he sat back down, “you’re mad. Bonkers. If you’ve ruined my phone, you’re buying me another.”
“Oh, don’t worry, it’ll be fine. Just wipe it off and pop it in a zip-top bag with a bit of rice for a few hours. It’ll be right as rain by tomorrow. Hopefully.”
He glared at her. “In the meantime, no thanks to you, I have no mobile phone, and no one can reach me, nor can I reach anyone else.”