Part two:
Chapter twenty, Tuesday:29thoctober2013, journey's begin
Bloody hell.
TC: “Out of town for a week, see you when I get home” Not like me, expect a sarcastic comment.
PF: “Filthy weekend with your new boy?” She’s good.
TC: “You have a dirty mind” but, so have I
PF: “Got enough underwear? The good stuff??” She does have a point.
TC: “I repeat the last message” but won’t let on.
PF: “Take care, weren’t you competing Sunday?” Blimey, she remembers.
TC: “Yes, but the boys could do with a rest” I lie, but they do like relaxing.
PF: “Liar” gotcha!
TC: “Funny girl” she is.
PF: “Meet me for lunch before you go” not a question.
Pete Fraser works in advertising, the upside is she knows everyone and everywhere and the downside is she knows everyone and everywhere. She can’t escape her job, because people is her job, we can’t go anywhere without her being recognised. It sounds cool, but it's not. Pete has a subtle exotic look, shiny poker straight black hair, I’d kill for, a tiny frame with delicate features. A little oriental, and a high-end designer budget. Her wardrobe is stuffed to the ceiling with beautiful clothing from Bond Street: handbags, shoes, dresses, and some are give-aways, ‘thank you’s’ and promotions because of her job. You want a front row ticket to the new happening gig? She can get it, with a back-stage pass and champagne reception thrown in, Soho House begged her to join with a tempting lifetime membership and zero fees...it's all I'm saying. The woman is connected.
We’re out for lunch, and we chose our anonymous sandwich bar for an organic brie and cranberry sandwich. Wearing last season’s Chanel bouclé black mini dress, buckle boots and leather biker, her collection is extensive. Some vintage inherited pieces from her Mum who was a model in the early 80’s, including an Hermes clutch, tobacco brown with a long cross-body strap and ‘H’ gold metalware, to die for. The very fact I can covet something that's not black, just demonstrates how lovely it is. From this very bag Pete pulls her phone, and concentrates hard on the screen, I’d love to have that bag, she raises her perfectly shaped eyebrows in surprise, well, it’s not black, is it? Maybe she’d let me borrow it?
“It’s James” she tells me, “he wants to meet me for a drink.” She looks so excited how could I spoil this moment for my friend, especially if I ever need an Hermes handbag for a date.
“Now?” I ask surprised, she nods still looking at the handset and fingering a response, a drink indeed. “Do it Pete, I’ll have my sandwich at the office.” I’m a little disappointed of course, but I do have things to do, and bits to collate for the trip.
“Sure?” She asks. ”He wants to tell me about a family trip thing, and he’s asked me if I’m free this weekend for a getaway.” She winks at me obviously deliriously happy.
“Go.” I order, “I’ve got to be at the airport later anyway. We hug, and say good bye.
As she walks away from me, my phone beeps.
EC: “Your brother at least calls me, and he’s on the road on tour” I could be Gandhi and Harry would be a better child than me.
TC: “OK Mum, sorry I’ve been busy” not a lie.
EC: “Dinner at the weekend then? Or are you busy with the horses?” Has she forgotten so soon?
TC: “I’m away Mum, but I’ll see you when I’m back” remember?
EC: “Quell surprise!” She’s not happy, I’ll make it up to her.
I pack up my sandwich and a take-away cup of famously good hot chocolate, grab a black cab to the office, and suddenly wish I’d opted for the tea.
Knew that was coming, didn't you?