Girls Night Out 3 E-Book Bundle

‘Come on,’ he says, and takes me by the hand. I slowly get out of the cab. There’s a big jacket around my shoulders. It must be Robert’s. He pays the driver through the front window and takes me by the hand. I am so sleepy, I can’t open my eyes. My brain feels like it’s made of warm honey. I follow Robert up the stairs and wait for him to open the front door, and then he takes my hand again and leads me inside and up the stairs towards my room.

‘What big hands you have, grandmamma,’ I say, half to myself.

‘Shh,’ says Robert.

‘Shh,’ I repeat.

We stop on the landing outside my bedroom door and I lean over to take my heels off. It’s difficult with my eyes nearly closed. Robert crouches down and helps me, and I fall against him slightly.

Then we’re in my room, and I can’t even be bothered to take off my make-up or get undressed. So I let go of Robert’s hand, shuffle across the room and flop down on top of my bed. I sense him leaning over me and for a frightening second, think he’s going to kiss me, but then he just pulls half of the duvet over me and tucks it over my clothes.

‘Night night,’ I whisper, letting my brain relax completely into warm sleepiness.

‘Night night,’ whispers Robert, closing the door. I hear his footsteps going down the corridor, and then his phone ringing.

‘Ah, Miss Felicity,’ I hear him saying. ‘Now what is a girl like you doing awake at a time like this?’

And then I’m asleep.

Chapter Twenty (#ulink_a1b4afb5-6704-5daa-ac81-5a3becb1a1be)

You won’t believe what happened at the airport this morning. We got to Gatwick at an ungodly o’clock, for the 7.05 am flight to Montpellier. It was just the four of us – Luke and Sophie, Robert and me. Luke and Sophie were zombies after a late night with too much wine. But Robert and I watched 30 Rock, ate takeaway Thai and went to sleep early, so the 4.45 am wake-up call wasn’t difficult at all. (We were ever-so-slightly smug about it.)

So there we were, in early-morning airport hell, slumped against each other with bad coffees and unopened papers, when a shrill voice screamed ‘Robbie!’

We all turned at once. The voice belonged to Antonia, the impossibly beautiful Italian girl I saw Robert breaking up with that night at The Engineer.

‘Antonia!’ he said in surprise.

He walked over to her and kissed her on both cheeks. She was wearing – and I’m sorry, but this is worth relating, because no one should look this good at 6 am – white jeans that made her legs look endless, a white skinny knit top and a white furry gilet, with huge white-rimmed sunglasses pushing her long shiny hair back. Add tanned skin and a little Louis Vuitton bag in the crook of one arm, and the overall look was unquestionably Eurotrash, but on someone so beautiful, it worked. Sophie and I exchanged glances and scowled: we looked like scruffs.

‘Who the fuck is that?’ said Luke.

‘Robert’s ex,’ I said.

‘Fucking hell,’ he said.

‘Do you want a smack?’ said Sophie, and he started to laugh and grabbed her hand to kiss it.

Robert and Antonia were too far away for us to hear anything, but after a minute or two of smiley-chats, the conversation clearly became more intense. Antonia seemed to be giving a little speech. She took her sunglasses off her head and put them on her face, then alternated between crossing her arms and using them to gesticulate wildly.

No one was even pretending to doze. We were too mesmerised by Robert and Antonia.

‘Such a glamorous couple,’ I murmured.

‘I thought you didn’t fancy him?’ said Sophie.

Then Robert started talking, and Antonia listened intently. Over the course of a minute, she took off her sunglasses, smoothed out her hair and even smiled. Then – surprise of surprises – they hugged.

And a minute later, after another hug and a kiss on the cheek, Robert turned and walked back to us.

‘Are we ready?’ he said, as though nothing happened.

‘What the fuck was that?’ said Luke.

‘That,’ he said, picking up his overnight bag, ‘was Antonia.’

‘I meant, what happened?’ said Luke.

‘Nothing,’ he replied, walking off towards the gate. ‘Our flight is boarding. Come on.’

The rest of the journey has passed without incident. We all fell asleep on the plane and woke up in sunny Montpellier, and if there is a better way to re-start a Saturday in November than speeding through the French countryside towards Autignac in a hire car that goes at – max – 60 km an hour, then I don’t know it.

I’m dying to know what Robert and Antonia were talking about. Is that nosy of me?

It’s only 10 am, and the whole weekend is stretching out in front of us in all its French deliciousness. Work troubles? What work troubles?

Dave (Dave!) lands at midday, so my excitement is just about under control right now. Is it immature to have a crush like this? Fuck it, I’ve got one.

I haven’t seen him since the speed dating/housewarming night two weeks ago, but his group emails – short, sarcastic, amusing – have made my crush even more, uh, crushing. I’ve Facebook stalked him, Googled him, and most of all, interrogated Robert about him. And he really does seem perfect. Sporty, does some charity stuff, works in finance, loves music festivals, took his mother to a holiday safari in Kenya for her 60th. You know: perfect.

Luke’s sister Bella, and her boyfriend Ollie, JimmyJames and Sophie’s best friend Vix are also on the later flight.

‘We’re here!’ crows Sophie, as we turn off the motorway and along a little road surrounded by vineyards. Autignac is a very small village in the Languedoc region. My parents retired here three years ago, but they’re away this weekend.

Their house is lovely: quite narrow, with peeling green shuttered windows and a big courtyard where they eat every day and night, unless it’s raining. My parents spent an age renovating the rather poky interior. It now has a big eat-in kitchen and a sofa-strewn living area, which opens up onto the large courtyard with a long wooden dining table. Stairs in the front hall lead up to two more floors with various bedrooms and a study. It’s still odd seeing all the family furniture from our old house in Surrey here; familiar and strange all at once.

There’s a note on the kitchen table.

Hello, my little darlings. Milk in the fridge! Ham, olives, cheese, crisps etc help yourself. Call us if any problems. LOL Maman et Papa.

‘I must tell Mum that LOL doesn’t stand for lots of love,’ I say thoughtfully.

‘I’m going to bed for a few hours,’ says Luke. ‘Sophie, I need you to help me sleep.’

Sophie raises an eyebrow at him, and follows him out of the kitchen with a little grin on her face.

I turn to Robert. ‘Ew.’

‘I know,’ he says.

‘Nearly time for Daaaaaaave,’ I singsong, bounding into the kitchen joyfully.

‘Why are you leaping like that?

‘It’s my nimble-footed mountain goat leap!’ I call back. ‘I was watching a David Attenborough documentary the other night, and these little goats were leaping and I thought, that looks like fun.’

‘And it does,’ he agrees. He attempts a manly leap and crashes into the wall.