Love...Among The Stars: Book 4 in the Love...Series (Love Series) by Nick Spalding Read Free Book Online

me anything other than a woman in her late thirties with what looks like a severe case of jaundice.
    She does look dynamite in the dark blue gown and bolero though. Even her knobbly knees are behaving themselves, hidden as they are behind the pair of opaque tights she was lucky enough to pick up in Next last weekend.
    Maybe, just maybe , these elements will detract from the colour of my skin enough for people not to notice it.
    Hah! Who am I kidding?
    With one last despairing sigh, I attempt to rearrange my face into something resembling the appearance of a good mood. 'Come on then, husband of mine. Let's go hob with the nobs.'
    Jamie takes my arm and we leave the safe confines of the Dorchester hotel room, our yellow and grey faces now on display for the world to see.
     
    The first person out of the seven billion on this planet to notice my little issue is Kyle the chauffeur.
    'Good evening, Mr and Mrs Newman. You both look lovel - you both look very nice. Looking forward to the party?'
    He's good, but he's not that good. The shift from 'lovely' to 'very nice' is a self evident downgrade, one that not even a practiced chauffeur can hide. 'Yes, we are!' Jamie says a little too brightly.
    Kyle's eyes linger on my face just a bit longer than they need to. 'Let me get the door for you, Mrs Newman,' he eventually says.
    'Thanks,' I say drily and get into the car with some relief. In here, for the next twenty minutes at least, no-one will be able to see what I look like. Except Kyle in his rear view mirror of course, which he starts to glance into as soon as we've left the kerb outside The Dorchester. The look on his face is one of mild befuddlement.
    I take Jamie's hand. 'I don't think I can do this. I look ridiculous.'
    'No you don't. You look fine.'
    He's lying, but the soothing tone of his voice takes the edge off a bit.
    By the time we reach Watermill Publishing's Soho offices, I'm relatively calm, having spent the interim period sat in the back of the car, whispering motivational phrases under my breath to psyche myself up. Most of these consist of a load of old blather from those stupid posters - like it not mattering what's on the surface, it's the person inside that counts; or, if you act like you're confident, then you'll be confident.
    Unfortunately I can't think of one that goes: it doesn't matter how much of a yellow clown face you have, you still have a heart of gold, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. But then we arrive, so there's no more time to mentally prepare myself anyway.
    Kyle gets my car door again, assiduously not looking at my face as he does so.
    The second person to spot my problem is the girl at the reception desk of Watermill Publishing. I walk towards her across the glass and marble floored atrium, just waiting for her to look up and notice us coming.
    When she does I am treated to an expression that I'll have to get used to over the next few hours. There's a brief look of polite recognition, followed by a creasing of the forehead in confusion, rapidly followed by wide-eyed surprise when she realises that the person she's talking to is quite clearly a looney . Finally, we get a smattering of guilt, as she realises that I probably have something wrong with me and she shouldn't be judging too harshly.
    'Good evening, Mr and Mrs Newman,' the girl says, clearly having been told we were coming. 'The party is being held in our conference lounge on the seventh floor. I'll sign you in. If you'd just like to take the lift over to your left, you'll be greeted when you arrive.'
    'Thank you Kate,' Jamie says, and I whip my head around to look at him. I'm not a jealous woman, but the receptionist is in her mid-twenties and annoyingly pretty. She doesn't look like Pacman either, so the fact that my husband is on first name terms with her raises the suspicion monster from its deep slumber.
    'Kate, eh?' I say to him as we cross to the lift.
    Jamie catches sight of my expression and sighs. 'She's a big fan of