Pillow Talk by Freya North Read Free Book Online Page B

‘and – dear God – she's wearing her slippers.’
Though she stood while everyone remained seated, she felt small and mortified. Two of Rob's male colleagues glanced down at Petra's feet in fascination, a couple of his female colleagues analysed them with pity, whilst circling their own beautiful footwear.
‘Blisters!’ Petra shrugged, making a lively joke of it.
‘They're cute,’ one of the girls said lamely.
‘Watch out that none of these louts tread on your tootsies,’ slurred the other.
‘How are you, babe?’ Rob asked, pulling Petra towards him for a boozy kiss, his hand lingering over her buttocks.
‘Fine, fine,’ Petra said, aware that one of the other men was entranced by Rob's hand on her bottom. There were no spare chairs.
‘You get the next round, darling,’ Rob said, ‘and you can perch on my knee.’
‘ You get the drinks in, Rob, you wanker,’ said the woman who had defined Petra's slippers as cute. ‘Here, your bum is quite small, cop a pew with me.’ And she shuffled to the edge of her chair, making room for Petra.
‘Thanks,’ said Petra. ‘I'm Petra.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘I'm Laura. I work with Rob. We all do – we're toasting ourselves because the Japs love us.’
‘Cheers,’ said Petra, though she had no glass to raise.
‘Get the girl a drink!’ Laura told Rob who flung his hands up in defeat and made his way to the bar.
‘Oh dear,’ Petra said, trying to look fondly after him, ‘he looks slightly the worse for wear.’
‘All the blokes do, they are all worse for wear,’ the other girl leant across and said, ‘whereas we girls are just pleasantly pissed.’
Petra wondered whether to toast this fact, but not having a drink enabled her to just nod and grin while the other women drained their champagne flutes. She didn't much care for champagne, or wine bars. She preferred vodka and tonic in friendly pubs. This place was heaving yet echoey and she wasn't sure whether she liked the milieu, a noisy rabble of suited men and highly well-heeled women bragging and flirting; money mingling with cigarette smoke and arrogant laughter. She felt intimidated and that irritated her. However, when Rob returned with a bottle of champagne but also a vodka and tonic for Petra, she reprimanded herself not to be so provincial and judgemental.
She sipped her vodka and grinned awkwardly while Rob and his colleagues talked about stuff she didn't understand and people she didn't know. She found herself making mental notes: pay bills, speak to her bank, ring her father – her mother too. It had been ages since she'd spoken to either, let alone seen them. She'd try and arrange to visit one on Saturday, the other on Sunday. She'd take Rob along. Over the last ten months, her mother had met him only a couple of times and her father just the once. She glanced over at Rob, a slight sheen to his face from euphoria and the effort of the day, his voice loud and fast from alcohol and high spirits. He looked nice in a suit, she thought, and wasn't it good to see him in his element, holding court amongst colleagues, reeling off extravagant anecdotes and technical data from the working day just gone. Just then, Petra felt a wave of resentment towards Eric and Kitty and Gina who were not particularly subtle about their doubts over Rob. Particularly Eric. And Kitty. Gina slightly less so.
And yet look how Rob's lot include me, Petra thought to herself – Laura and the other girl asking all about our relationship, that bloke with the wet patch on his shirt asking me about diamond merchants, that other one buying me another vodka and tonic. If Rob hadn't been stressed out and moody that day he visited the studio, perhaps my lot would be more accommodating. And I probably haven't helped – taking into the studio my daft insecurities and niggles. They're very quick to criticize, my Studio Three. I bet they wouldn't say my slippers are cute.
Petra tried desperately to stifle a yawn.
‘Are we keeping you