A Brand New Me by Shari Low

Author:Shari Low [Low, Shari]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-00-733502-2
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2008-11-08T05:00:00+00:00

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AND SPIRITUAL GURU, HAS ALL THE ANSWERS AND

SOON SHE’LL BE SHARING THEM WITH YOU.

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22

The Aquarius Date

‘Will you stop checking out the room like that? You’re starting to make us look suspicious.’

Millie sucked on her straw, making a noise like a lawn-mower as she drained the last of her strawberry daiquiri, all the while ignoring my advice and scanning the room like a periscope.

‘I can’t help it, this is exciting!’

‘I think “excruciating” is the adjective you were actually going for there.’

I squirmed in my seat, making a futile attempt to pull down my skirt so that it was at least within touching distance of my knees.

‘Are you sure about this outfit?’ I asked the suction queen. ‘It just feels a bit…over-dressed.’

‘Leni, trust me, I read his application and you can get such a good feel for a guy from what he puts in a letter. He’s a lawyer, he’s thirty-four, he lives in Chelsea and he’s taking you to the theatre. He’s not going to turn up in a purple shell-suit wearing the entire contents of the Argos jewellery counter. You look perfect, so relax.’

Deep breath. Deep breath. She was right. When I’d spoken to Colin on the phone, the first thing that had struck me was his perfect diction and his long pauses between sentences. It immediately reminded me of those courtroom television shows where the prosecutor is addressing the jury and spelling out just why the machete-wielding serial killer has to get the death penalty.

Despite my resolve to be fearless about the whole trussed-up-like-a-chicken-and-meeting-strangers thing, the butterflies were back in my stomach and there was a good chance that if I tried to stand up I’d end up sprawled on the carpet, as my knees felt like they had the consistency of blancmange.

I’d brought Millie along for a pre-date drink as she’d helped me select Colin over donuts (mine) and peppermint tea (hers) a couple of days before, and was intrigued to see if she’d chosen wisely. She was dressed perfectly for the occasion…if the occasion involved taking to the stage to sing to our boys in the services as they departed for World War II. Her Dita Von Teese look had morphed for the evening into Ava Gardner: shocking-red lips and jet-black hair provided dramatic slashes of contrasting colour against her chalk-white skin, and she was wearing an impossibly tight dress that reached to her calves, cinched at the waist by a belt that encircled her torso, black seamed stockings and black patent leather platforms with a five-inch heel. Incredibly gorgeous she might be, but it had taken us five minutes to cross a hundred yards because her outfit limited her to steps of six inches at a time.

A sudden gasp escaped me, sending the periscope into frantic scan mode.

‘Is he here, is he here, where is he?’ she garbled excitedly.

‘Nooooo, but I just caught a glimpse of your shoes–are they real Louboutins?’

She burst out laughing.

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