She tuned out the rest of the conversation going on above her head. It reeked of the stale cigar smoke and ego-bolstering of an old boys’ club. She was vaguely disappointed in Richard. Pandering to the conventions of the Boodles set was almost worse than acting like an ill-mannered, temperamental diva. At least the latter side of his personality seemed honest. In this industry, she could have a certain amount of respect for someone who didn’t paste a fake cover over an obnoxious book, even if she wished she could swap that book for a lighter read.
Richard finally finished his schmoozing, and Westfield kissed her hand before he disappeared into the crowd. She wrinkled her nose. There had been a definite suggestion of tongue against her knuckle.
“You want to be careful,” she said. “One more pump of hot air and his self-importance would have exploded all over the room. Imagine the size of your damages bill then.”
“It’s called regrettable but necessary networking.” Richard took another long-suffering glance at his watch. “I’m sure you occasionally have to employ some of it yourself.”
“No. I generally just employ good manners, no matter whom I’m speaking to.”
“I can’t say I’d noticed.”
“I’m polite, not a saint.” Lainie returned the smile and wave of a former castmate, and hoped he wouldn’t come over. It had been a very long run of a very bad play. “Do you really want a stodgy bureaucratic role?” she asked with genuine curiosity. “I would have thought you would have enough to do.”
“I have no pressing desire to wrangle committee meetings and have my portrait painted for the presidency wall. But I want to see a certain amount of change instituted in arts funding and education, and this is the first step toward achieving that.”
Oh, God. He was going to end up as their Minister of Culture someday.
She hesitated. “Do you really think you’re the political type?” she ventured, trying to think of a way to put it tactfully.
“Meaning?” The enquiry was frosty.
Screw it. “Meaning you have the diplomatic abilities of a tea bag, and a tendency to go off like a rocket at the slightest provocation.”
“I’m aware I’ll have to work on controlling my temper,” he said even more stiffly.
“And the playpen behaviour?”
He looked seriously annoyed now. “Such as?”
“Such as chucking expensive china at irate chefs. If the food was that bad, why didn’t you just ask for a new plate?”
He made a sound of intense irritation in his throat. “I may have a quick fuse, but I do have some idea of how to conduct myself in a public place. I have never thrown a plate or any other object at anyone. The closest I’ve come is hurling a truly appalling script at the wall, and I don’t recall any material damage to either. Unfortunately, in the case of the script.”
“Then what happened at the Ivy?”
“Randolph Gearing has held a grudge since I gave his first restaurant in Primrose Hill a bad review. It was a throwaway remark on the radio, and he needs to learn how to accept criticism. Nor was it my choice to dine at the Ivy the other night. My companion thought it was the place to be seen,” he added with a slight sneer. “Gearing picked a fight, he threw a plate and I merely responded. With words, not actions, violent or otherwise.”
“I see.” Lainie studied him. “I hate to imagine the task of the police if somebody eventually snaps and has better aim with a platter. Your list of enemies must be reaching to the floor by now. Have you tried counting to ten?”
“I wouldn’t have to lose my temper if people weren’t such morons.”
“I would suggest going with a different quote when you open your campaign speech.”
Richard suddenly swore under his breath, and Lainie saw Lynette weaving toward them through the crowd. She was also wearing a little black dress, but it was decidedly littler than Lainie’s. And her shoes were fabulous. Lainie eyed them covetously. Evidently, even a commission from Richard’s salary was more profitable than her own earnings.
“A photographer from Tatler is circling.” The theatrical agent looked them up and down critically, exactly as if she were a parent grooming her children for their school pictures. She looked about three seconds away from licking her thumb and smoothing back Richard’s errant curl. “In a moment, I want you to put your arm around Lainie, Richard, and say something into her ear. Lainie, you look up at him and laugh. Then kiss her. A peck. Playful. Affectionate.”
“This is not a sitcom,” Lainie snapped. “I am not going to mindlessly giggle and pucker up on cue. We agreed to attend events and hold hands. Done and done.”
“No,” Lynette said with barely leashed temper. Maybe Richard was rubbing off on her. “You agreed to foster a certain impression.” She looked around at a few interested faces and lowered her voice. “Which is not being fulfilled by the two of you standing three feet apart, glowering at one another. Only the most diehard romantic and the clinically brain-dead would be seeing hearts and flowers.”
A camera flash went off nearby and Lainie spotted the photographer turning in their direction.