Virtue by Serena Mackesy Read Free Book Online Page A

grab the periscope. Nigel is loping off up the embankment, and, to my amazement, the gents and ladies of the press are scattering, some following him, some getting back into their cars, some hailing taxis, some heading in the direction of the tube. Well, I’ll be blowed.
    ‘You have to marry that man,’ says Harriet, ‘and have his kids.’
    Which makes me smile. Because I’m still living out my adolescence and have no intention of marrying anyone until I’ve tested a lot more of the available options. But you never know: maybe he’ll come back and at least give me some chance to practise.
    My mobile rings. I check the display before I pick up. You never know, after all. But it’s Mel. Phew. ‘Hi, honey.’
    ‘Where are you?’ she asks.
    ‘At home.’
    ‘Oh. Did you know your phone’s switched off? I’ve tried about five times and it always goes to answerphone.’
    ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘We’ve switched the volume down.’
    ‘I’m not surprised.’ Mel is neither fazed nor curious. That’s the great thing about old friends. Mel met me when I was still in my chrysalis phase, helped us move into the tower, went through the tenth anniversary commemoration celebrations with us; she hardly needs telling about what’s going on.
    ‘That’s why I was ringing,’ she continues. ‘Are you two okay?’
    ‘Oh, I’m fine,’ I say. ‘Lovely’s in a bit of a state.’
    Harriet snatches the phone from my hand. ‘I am not in a state,’ she announces. Oh yeah, I think, that’s why I’ve been sitting on the sofa hugging you half the night and watching you smoke your head off the rest of it.
    Harriet listens while Mel talks. ‘No,’ she replies, ‘I’m just furious.’
    Another silence. ‘Well, of course it’s a shock …’ she says a bit less certainly. That’s one of Mel’s talents. Being one of those people with a regular job, paid holidays, time to read, she’s done so much self-actualisation she never has compunction about asking the direct question that needs to be asked. ‘No, well, what do you think?’ asks Harriet. Then, ‘Yeah. They were camped outside the gates first thing this morning, but they’ve gone now. For the moment, anyway.’ She listens again. ‘Well, I’d love to, darling, but we’ve got to work tonight.’ Another pause. ‘No. Roy will totally lose it if we both don’t turn up at five hours’ notice.’
    Harriet laughs. First actual laugh all morning. ‘You have no idea how much I’d like to do that,’ she says. ‘And I’ll tell you what. When I do, I’ll shove the ping-pong bat right up there after it. But not when we’re both totally skint and we’re getting better tips than we ever have in our lives.’
    She looks at her watch. ‘Sure. Are you sure? Why aren’t you at work? Well, okay, then. That would be nice.’
    Laughs again. ‘Totally shitfaced. But I can’t really afford to, not if we’re on duty tonight. Tea any good?’
    While this is going on, I’m keeping an ear on the conversation and an eye on my mother’s fax. Boy, my mother doesn’t bother to waste words. Under the address, the string of letters after her name and the five phone numbers, in her scrupulous handwriting, each t crossed firmly with a tiny bar that never strays into another letter, all curlicues and flourishes cut down for waste of time, Grace has written:
    As you do not see fit to answer your emails, and as I am unable to access you by telephone, I am sending you this to inform you that you are expected at the Blackburn Lecture, on Sunday week at 18.45 prompt, Arlosh Hall, University College. Please confirm this with me at your earliest convenience .
    Blimey. Nigel softened that one up a bit.
    I’d forgotten, actually, that The Dragon was back in the country next weekend. Thank God, at least she doesn’t seem to want to have one of our dinners. Lindsey calls them Trials by Food, and she’s not far wrong.
    Harriet hangs up. ‘Mel’s coming over, and Dom,’ she announces.