Simply Divine by Wendy Holden Read Free Book Online Page A

The sudden need to find a man for Tally had helped put Nick into perspective, albeit the perspective given by several large glasses of dubious house white. There was no doubt that, at his worst, Nick was rude, unsupportive, mean and selfish. But she wouldn't be without him, Jane assured herself. She loved him. She lived with him. Occasionally they even had sex.
    Poor old Tally, was Jane's last waking thought before passing out on the sofa. The only man who made the earth move as far as she was concerned was Mr Peters with his shovel.
    'It's fantastic,' trilled Josh as Jane entered the Gorgeous offices one morning a week later. 'Blanket coverage,' he yelped, gesturing at the newspapers which lay scattered about the desktops. The new issue of Gorgeous had obviously hit the publicity jackpot.
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    'They've all picked up on her column.'
    Jane grabbed a pile of papers. It was true. Only the Morning Star, it appeared, had resisted the temptation to carry a picture of Champagne D'Vyne on its front page.
    'Eat your heart out, Tara,' crowed Josh. 'The party's over.'
    Jane gazed in fascination at a vast picture of the multiple-Gulfstream owning Hon. Rollo Harbottle in the Sun. To say he was far from handsome was an understatement. Rollo looked as if his features had been thrown on from a distance by a group of near-sighted darts players. Teeth like tombstones and a receding hairline hardly improved matters; it was a face, in short, that only a bank manager could love. Most gruesome of all, it was gazing with lascivious appreciation at Champagne's barely-there knickers, clearly almost not visible beneath the near-transparent material of her dress. Talk about heir and a G-string, thought Jane. According to the caption, the Hon. Rollo Harbottle was poised to inherit a vitreous enamel fortune.
    'He looks horribly pleased with himself,' observed Valentine. 'Flushed with success, in fact. But he has done quite well, I suppose. Considering he looks like something you'd find on a fishmonger's slab.' He gazed at the photograph in awe. 'I've never seen an overbite like it,' he said, shaking his head. 'They should preserve it for dental science after he's dead.'
    'Well, she's obviously not with him because of his looks,' said Jane.
    'Yes, the vitreous enamel fortune probably has something to do with it,' Valentine agreed. 'What you might call a chain reaction. He probably bowled her over.' 'And we   mustn't forget his   title,'   grinned Jane.
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    'Champagne's obviously a sucker for the class cistern. I wonder whether he's taken her to the family seat yet.'
    Josh, ignoring them, was flicking busily through the centre sections of the newspapers. 'Look at all these inside spreads,' he crowed.
    It was true. The Daily Mail had run a line-up of every man Champagne had ever been out with and had calculated their net worth in a facetious paragraph beneath. The Hon. Rollo Harbotde, Jane noted, was the richest. Second was Giles Trumpington-Kwyck-Save, an equally ill-favoured supermarket heir Champagne had apparently dumped a couple of weeks before.
    'That's market forces for you,' observed Valentine. 'Wonder how long it'll be before Harbottle's been passed on to the next gold-digging party girl. I'd give him a week.'
    'Oh, I don't know. After all, do you love anyone enough to give them your last Rollo?' snorted Jane.
    Even some of the quality broadsheets had made features of the story. The Daily Telegraph had lined up a collection of the most eligible bachelors in Britain for Champagne's consideration and headlined the piece 'Sparkling Possibilities'. The Guardian, meanwhile, had run a pious piece by some former millionaire's wife headlined 'Why I Prefer Poor Men'. Josh fell about laughing when he saw it.
    All morning the phones rang with requests about Gorgeouss new star columnist. 'Richard and Judy want her,' reported Valentine, putting the phone down after one conversation.
    'So does Chris Evans,' smirked Josh. 'But I've told him TFI's got a long