The Beard by Mark Sinclair Read Free Book Online Page B

realised what was happening and nervously glanced at the grinning chauffeur. Amy turned away in embarrassment as the driver offered Tom a wink and a smile.
    Having labelled one of his best friends a kinky sex diva, he felt compelled to keep his voice down, lest all cab drivers think she was a pervert. He looked away from the gaze of the driver, who’d disappeared into a very sordid fantasy, and back at Amy, who appeared desperate to get to their destination.
    “So… what? I just tell them?” Tom said in a loud whisper.
    Amy spun around as if irritated that this line of questioning was still forthcoming. “What?” she said rattily. Realising her temperament wasn’t the basis for a productive evening, she softened her tone. “No one is going to ask you questions like that, are they? Well, are they?”
    Tom shrugged.
    Amy sighed. “Look, like we discussed, we’ve been going out for a few months. We’re happy but we’re at that stage where we don’t know where we’re going. I haven’t made my mind up, you haven’t made your mind up, yadda yadda. That way, I can dump you if someone dishy comes along and it’ll still look plausible.”
    Tom didn’t bother articulating his reply, but rather chose to stare down his nose at his alleged friend. Playing back what she’d just said in her head, Amy turned briefly to add, “You know what I mean. Stop being a prima donna.”
    Tom pouted, momentarily camp, before turning away. He glanced at the cab driver, who shot him a look and a flash of raised eyebrows as if to say, “Women!” For once, Tom felt sufficiently part of the male race to send a nod and a roll of the eyes back in reply.
    “Palace Hotel,” said the cab driver, pulling up to and under the grand Victorian portico – a large, square structure that, in fine weather, was a piece of architectural wonder worth marvelling at, but in such rain was merely a fantastic way to stay dry. Amy bolted from the cab, driven by nerves, and made straight up the marble front steps, as the pristinely dressed doorman in a comically large top hat opened the door for her. Both Tom and the cab driver watched as she walked into the bowels of the hotel. Tom waited for her to vanish out of sight before sighing and reaching for his wallet to pay.
    “They’re all the same,” the cab driver said drily. “Sometimes, I wonder why we bother.”
    Tom handed over a note and added, “I’m wondering that myself right now, mate. Keep the change. Goodnight,” before proceeding after her through the gilded doors that lay at the entrance of this gauche festival of precious metals and stones.
    Through the doors, Amy was waiting with a glass of champagne for Tom. “There you are,” she said, as if surprised that he’d had to pay the cab driver.
    “Here I am,” he said. “Fresh from paying the fare!” He raised his eyebrows in mock horror as Amy sent him a withering glance and thrust the glass unceremoniously into his hand.
    “OK,” she drilled, militaristically, “I’ll give you the heads up when I can. However, say very little – remember that we’re at my work function.” Then, remembering their journey, she added, “And keep your voice down.”
    Tom ran his finger around his shirt collar and felt the sweat of nervous anticipation trickle down his back.
    Amy was turning from side to side as she spoke, on the lookout for incoming threats and possibilities. “Try to make it look like you’re having fun,” she added. “Be relaxed and engaging – and, whatever you do, don’t tell any stories about my childhood.”
    “Why not?” said Tom innocently.
    “BECAUSE,” Amy thundered in an aggressive whisper, “that’ll suggest you know me as a friend rather than as someone who’s only known me a few months.” She sighed and rolled her eyes. Surely these were the basics?
    Tom looked startled and wondered what else could go wrong. “OK,” he said merrily , taking a sip of his champagne and smiling cheerily at her.
    Amy