Cause Celeb

Cause Celeb by Helen Fielding Read Free Book Online

Book: Cause Celeb by Helen Fielding Read Free Book Online
Authors: Helen Fielding
see his dark chest hair.
    â€œBut what you do is far more worthwhile,” I encouraged. “People see you as an authoritative, intelligent figure.”
    He wrinkled his nose fondly and squeezed my knee under the table.
    The waiter was clearing up the crumbs with a minivacuum, and I realized that he had scooped up the earring I had taken off. I was too shy to say anything to him so I whispered what had happened to Oliver and he roared with laughter and masterfully sorted it all out.
    When the bill came I got out my checkbook and offered to pay half, and Oliver leaned forward, tweaked my nose and got out his gold American Express card. He then performed a tour of the restaurant, saying good-bye to all the famous people, with me on his arm.
    When we got to my door Oliver stopped the car, turned off the ignition, loosened his seat belt. “So. Are you going to ask me in for a coffee?” he said.
    I was nervous and dry-mouthed again as I climbed the stairs with Oliver following. I was proud of my new flat. I thought it rather Parisian. But once inside he burst out laughing. I laughed along gaily trying to join in the joke but it went on too long for me to sustain. “What’s so funny?” I said eventually.
    â€œIt’s so small and twee,” he said. “Sweet.” He wandered into the kitchenette. “This gets better and better,” he said. “You have mottoes on your wall.” He was looking at a picture my mother had given me which said, “Dull Women Have Immaculate Houses.”
    â€œHmmm. I see what you’re trying to justify.” He was in the living room now. “God. You’d drive me mad with all this mess.”
    â€œWhat mess?” I said, genuinely puzzled.
    â€œYour cassettes are all out of their boxes and your books are all over the place and what’s this?” he said, picking up a hair elastic that was wrapped round itself. “It looks like a ringworm.”
    I was crushed. I had been brought up to think that people who had a place for everything, and no buttons and pencils in dishes, were a bit odd. “I’ll make the coffee,” I said. I felt oddly depressed when I went into the kitchen. It was all the unaccustomed booze, which didn’t seem to have affected Oliver at all. He followed me into the kitchen and, as I was plugging the cord into the kettle, came up behind me and put his arms round my waist. I forgot everything I had been thinking, turned round to face him and we kissed properly. It was ecstasy to be able to touch him, when I had so much longed to touch him for so long. After a while his hand moved to my waist, down my thigh and started to lift up my skirt. I didn’t want him to undress me because I was wearing tights with a stout reinforced top, and white knickers which had been in the wash with a blue sock, so I took his hand away and put it on my breast, for want of somewhere better to put it. We kissed some more but I was slightly unbalanced and thought I might lurch over. Oliver brushed his mouth against my cheek and whispered, “Can I stay with you tonight?”
    â€œI’m not sure.” I was suddenly nervous.
    He started kissing me again. “Come on, don’t be silly.”
    Then I was worried that I seemed immature, so I said, “Mmm, I’ll go and get ready,” which I considered would be a very adult thing to do and had the added advantage of giving me a chance to do my legs and get rid of the blue knickers. I shot into the bathroom and grabbed off my clothes, shoving them in the airing cupboard, to be tidy. I couldn’t use hair-removing cream—no time, vile smell. I thought I had a razor, frantically emptied everything out ofthe cupboard under the sink, couldn’t find it. I heard Oliver going through to the living room and knew a full leg shave was out of the question. I ran my hand down my shin, it wasn’t too bad if you ran the hand down not up. I washed. I put

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