The Duke's Affair

XIII

Lauren had continued to work at the club, not because she needed to or because she particularly wanted to, but because everything outside of it now seemed dreary and dull. People walking around on the street wore clothes: normal clothes! Tshirts and jeans and trainers. And they never, ever, had sex in front of passersby.

Although Lauren had what Lydia wanted, she hadn't decided whether or not to hand the guest list over. Before she did so she wanted to be absolutely sure what Lydia was up to and what her motivations were. And so she kept up the pretence of being unable to distract Vera for long enough to have access to her files.

Lauren knew that Lydia was becoming impatient; she had wanted to wrap the whole thing up as quickly as possible, break the story and pitch her book to a publisher. But Lauren wasn't ready to give her the satisfaction. And besides, Lydia would probably throw her out once she had served her purpose, and then what did she have to go back to? Certainly not Henry.

She hadn't seen him in the club once since that night. Yes, she thought, she was sure of it: he didn't care. He was too embarrassed, or too proud, to come back and face her. Lauren realised, a great sadness weighing down on her, that she had blown any real chance of having a relationship with him. That, she admitted to herself, was what she had really wanted. She had wanted to be the one to change him, the one women would whisper about, 'did you know that before he met her...' Lauren had practically heard their hushed tones wondering at how a girl from Essex had managed to tame a man like Henry Banville. A Duke, no less.

And it was this realisation that made her acknowledge that she had to stop her crazy fantasies and get real. She couldn't keep working in the club; she had to get a proper job for the sake of her career. So, unbeknownst to Lydia, Lauren enlisted with several recruitment agencies. She had called and made appointments, the only problem being that she had to juggle them with her night shifts; she hadn't been working at the club long enough to get switched to more regular hours. She tried to book the interviews in the afternoons, which gave her a little time to sleep when she got home.

After lunch, several days after she had slept with Henry, Lauren headed out to Duke of York Square, a short ten minute walk away, but long enough in this cold that without gloves her fingers were numb by the time she arrived. The meeting with the recruiter had gone as she expected. They had asked what she saw herself doing in five years' time and she hadn't had a clear answer, but had indicated that she would be happy temping or doing a secretarial type role just to keep the money coming in.

Feeling almost as low and hopeless as she had done when she went in, Lauren left the building, pulling her hat down over her ears and thrusting her hands into the pockets of her coat. She was in the middle of cursing her life and the world she lived in when someone tapped her on the shoulder. Immediately she stopped and jerked her head round to look at the offender, only to be greeted by Emily whose face was scrunched up in concern.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked.

"Well, hello to you too," said Lauren, displeased at the inference in Emily's tone.

"You're scowling," said Emily.

"I was just thinking -"

"Are you busy? Let's go for coffee. Do you have time?" Emily linked her arm into Lauren's as though they were schoolgirls, without giving Lauren a second to finish what she had been about to say. "Do say yes," said Emily, smiling.

"I -"

"Ooh," said Emily, tugging on Lauren's arm, her eyes wide with excitement, "there's something I want to talk to you about. Peter Jones. Let's go to the cafe." And she began to drag Lauren across the road towards the big department store.