Simply Divine by Wendy Holden Read Free Book Online Page B

way to go to beat the Big Breakfast offer.'
    'I can't quite believe what I've just heard, but I think that was the Today programme,' said Jane, putting down
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    her receiver in horror. Surely people weren't taking Champagne seriously? 'It's a nightmare,' she moaned to Valentine. 'That column's going to run and run now. What have I got myself into? All these papers calling her the It Girl. Which makes me the Shit Girl, I suppose. The nearest I get to a trust fund is Sainsbury's loyalty points.'
    'Keep your chins up,' said Josh, overhearing as usual and giving Jane the broadest of grins. 'You'll grow to love her in the end. You'll be twin souls soon. Sisters under the skin.'
    But why, thought Jane miserably, do I have so much more skin than she does?
    Tracking Champagne down for the second Champagne Moments column proved even more exasperating than the first. Her mobile was switched off and her home answer-phone was full. Simon at Tuff PR was just full of himself
    'Look, Champagne's very busy,' he barked. 'She worked very hard promoting a new club last night. She's at home. I don't think she's even up yet.'
    Jane saw red. 'I'm going round there,' she announced. Phoning was obviously useless. It might be good to talk, but only if the other person picked up the receiver. 'What's the address?'
    Trust Champagne to live in one of the most exclusive squares in London, Jane grumbled to herself as, half an hour later, she piloted her battered red 2CV into a row of porticoed palaces, their white stucco gleaming in the afternoon sun. The vehicles parked outside resembled an al fresco luxury car showroom. A futuristic, white open-top sports model lounged decadently alongside a vermilion Corniche more brilliantly scarlet than Vivien Leigh with a double first. My love is like a red, red Rolls, thought Jane
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    enviously, conscious of the dent in the side of her own door and the flotsam and jetsam of rubbish on the floor.
    Appropriately enough for one of her probable bra size, Champagne lived at number 38. Standing like a shrunken Alice in Wonderland before the colossally oversized black-painted door, Jane dithered between bell pushes marked 'Visitors' and 'Tradesmen'. Which, she wondered, was she? Trade, certainly. Or perhaps both. She pushed first one and then the other, but there was no reply from either. Eventually, she pushed the huge door itself with her fingertips. Unexpectedly, it swung open.
    Jane entered a vast, white-painted hall where a curving wrought-iron staircase mamboed its way up to a huge Edwardian skylight. A white door stood slightly ajar to the right. All was silent. Even the traffic outside was stilled, lost in the high-ceilinged space, the all-absorbing quiet of wealth. It was, Jane thought jealously, a far cry from Clapham, where Nick's windows practically cracked if Tom dropped a peanut upstairs. She did not, however, want to think about Tom just now. Especially, she did not want to dwell on the niggling feeling of betrayal after seeing him with the blonde girl.
    Without warning, the quiet erupted into ear-splitting noise. It reverberated off the floors, resounded off the pillars, flashed back sharply from the huge chandelier that hung in the centre of the ceiling. It turned out to be a small, grey poodle with spiteful little black eyes, which had shot out of the door on the right and was now engaged in skidding round Jane in circles on the marble. It was a ghastly creature. Its high-pitched, hysterical bark was, Jane thought, the most irritating sound she had ever heard.
    'Gucci, what the fuck's the matter?' Jane instantly
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    revised her opinion. The second most irritating sound she had ever heard.
    'Champagne?' called Jane.
    'Who's that?' bawled Champagne.
    'It's Jane. From Gorgeous. I'm here about the column.' Silence followed. Jane pushed the glossy white door further open.
    'Hang on,' yelled Champagne. 'I'm coming.' From the giggles that followed, Jane deduced Champagne was not alone. Nor was her last remark