A Vintage Affair: A page-turning romance full of mystery and secrets from the bestselling author

‘So what did you think?’ Emma asked me over the phone the morning after her party.

I fiddled with my Rotadex. ‘What did I think of what?’

‘Of Guy, of course! Don’t you think he’s gorgeous?’

‘Oh … yes. He is … gorgeous.’

‘Beautiful blue eyes – especially with his dark hair. It’s a devastating combination.’

I glanced out of the window into New Bond Street. ‘Devastating.’

‘And he’s a good conversationalist. Don’t you agree?’

I could hear the hum of the traffic. ‘I … do.’

‘Plus he’s got such a nice sense of humour.’

‘Hmm.’

‘He’s so nice and normal compared to the other men I’ve dated.’

‘That’s certainly true.’

‘He’s a good person. Best of all,’ she concluded, ‘he’s keen!’

I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that Guy had phoned me an hour earlier to ask me out to dinner.

I hadn’t known what to do. Guy had tracked me down easily enough through Sotheby’s switchboard. I was elated, then horrified. I’d thanked him but said that I wouldn’t be able to come. He’d phoned me another three times just that day but I’d been unable to speak to him as I was frantically preparing for an auction of Twentieth-Century Fashion and Accessories. The fourth time Guy had phoned I’d spoken to him briefly, being careful to lower my voice in the open-plan office. ‘You’re very persistent, Guy.’

‘I am, but that’s because I … like you, Phoebe, and I think – if I don’t flatter myself – that you like me.’ I’d tied the lot number to a Pierre Cardin flecked green wool trouser suit from the mid seventies. ‘Why don’t you say yes?’ he pleaded.

‘Well … because … it’s a bit tricky, isn’t it?’

There was an awkward silence. ‘Look, Phoebe … Emma and I are just friends.’

‘Really?’ I inspected what looked suspiciously like a moth-hole on one leg. ‘You seem to have seen quite a bit of her.’

‘Well … that’s largely because Emma rings me and gets tickets for things, like the Goya opening. We’ve hung out together and had a few laughs, but I’ve never given her the impression that I’m …’ His voice trailed away.

‘But it was clear that you’d been to her flat before. You knew exactly where she kept her dustpan and brush,’ I whispered accusingly.

‘Yes – because last week she asked me to mend a leak under her sink and I had to take everything out of the cupboard.’

‘Oh.’ Relief swept through me. ‘I see. But …’

Guy emitted a sigh. ‘Look, Phoebe, I like Emma – she’s very talented and she’s fun.’

‘Oh, she is – she’s lovely.’

‘I find her a bit intense, though,’ he went on. ‘If not slightly bonkers,’ he confided with a nervous laugh. ‘But she and I aren’t … dating. She can’t really think that.’ I didn’t reply. ‘So will you please have dinner with me?’ I felt my resolve weaken. ‘How about next Tuesday?’ I heard him say. ‘At the Wolseley? I’ll book a table for seven thirty. Will you come, Phoebe?’

If I’d had any idea then where it would lead, I’d have said, ‘No. I won’t. Absolutely not. Never.’

‘Yes,’ I heard myself say …

I considered not telling Emma, but couldn’t bring myself to keep it from her, not least because it would be awful if she somehow found out. So I told her on the Saturday when we met at Amici’s, our favourite coffee shop in Marylebone High Street.

‘Guy’s asked you out?’ she repeated faintly. Her pupils seemed to retract with disappointment. ‘Oh.’ Her hand had trembled as she lowered her cup.

‘I haven’t … encouraged him,’ I explained gently. ‘I didn’t … flirt with him at your dinner party, and if you’d rather I didn’t go, then I won’t, but I couldn’t not tell you. Em?’ I reached for her hand, noticing how red her fingertips were from all the stitching and gluing and straw-stretching that she did. ‘Emma – are you okay?’ She stirred her cappuccino then stared out of the window. ‘Because I wouldn’t see him, even once, if you didn’t want me to.’

Emma didn’t reply at first. Her large green eyes strayed to a young couple walking hand in hand on the other side of the street. ‘It’s okay,’ she said after a moment. ‘After all … I hadn’t known him that long, as you pointed out – although he didn’t discourage me from thinking …’ Her eyes suddenly filled. ‘And those roses he brought me. I thought …’ She pressed a paper napkin to her eyes. It had ‘Amici’s’ printed on it. ‘Well,’ she croaked. ‘It doesn’t look as though I’ll be going to Tosca with him after all. Maybe you could take him, Phoebe. He said he was looking forward to it …’

I sighed with frustration. ‘Look, Em, I’m going to say no. If it’s going to make you miserable, then I’m not interested.’

‘No,’ Emma murmured after a moment. She shook her head. ‘You should go – if you like him, which I assume you do, otherwise we’d hardly be having this conversation. Anyway …’ She picked up her bag. ‘I’d better be off. I’ve got a bonnet to be getting on with – for Princess Eugenie, no less.’ She gave me a cheery wave. ‘I’ll speak to you soon.’

But she didn’t return my calls for six weeks …

‘I wish you’d ring Guy,’ I heard Mum say. ‘I think you meant a lot to him. In fact, Phoebe, there’s something I need to tell you …’

I looked at her. ‘What?’

‘Well … Guy phoned me last week.’ I felt a falling sensation, as though I were sliding down a steep incline. ‘He said he’d like to see you, just to talk to you – now don’t shake your head, darling. He feels you’ve been “unfair” – that was the word he used, though he wouldn’t say why. But I suspect you have been unfair, darling – unfair and, quite frankly, idiotic.’ Mum took a comb out of her bag. ‘It’s not as though it’s easy, finding a nice man. I think you’re lucky that he still holds a candle for you after the way you threw him over.’

‘I want nothing to do with him,’ I insisted. ‘I just don’t … feel the same about him.’ Guy knew why.

Mum ran the comb through her wavy blonde hair. ‘I just hope you won’t come to regret it. And I hope you won’t also come to regret leaving Sotheby’s. I still think it’s a shame. You had prestige there, and stability – the excitement of conducting auctions.’

‘The stress of it, you mean.’

‘You had the company of your colleagues,’ she added, ignoring me.

‘And now I’ll have the company of my customers – and of my part-time assistant, when I can find myself one.’ This was something I needed to pursue – there was a fashion auction coming up at Christie’s that I wanted to go to.

‘You had a regular income,’ Mum went on, swapping her comb for a powder compact. ‘And now here you are, opening this … shop.’ She managed to make the word sound like ‘bordello’. ‘What if it doesn’t work out? You’ve borrowed a small fortune, darling …’

‘Thanks for reminding me.’

She dabbed powder on her nose. ‘And it’s going to be such hard work.’

‘Hard work will suit me just fine,’ I said evenly. Because then I’d have less time to think.

‘Anyway, I’ve said my piece,’ she concluded unctuously. She snapped shut her compact and returned it to her bag.

‘And how’s work going?’

Mum grimaced. ‘Not well. There’ve been problems with that huge house on Ladbroke Grove – John’s going insane, which makes it hard for me.’ Mum works as PA to a successful architect, John Cranfield, a job she’s been doing for twenty-two years. ‘It’s not easy,’ she said, ‘but then I’m very lucky to have a job at my age.’ She peered at herself in the mirror. ‘Just look at my face,’ she moaned.