Playing by the Rules: The feel-good heart-warming and uplifting romance perfect for Valentine’s Day

‘I’m sorry,’ said Anya. ‘I was only making a joke.’ Anya looked at the waitress who’d been waiting patiently for us to order. ‘I’m hungry,’ she said turning to me. ‘I could eat. Could you eat?’

‘I suppose I should have something to soak up the booze,’ I said sipping my mojito.

The waitress was poised with a pen above her notepad. Anya, reaching for the girl’s writing arm, clasped hold of it.

‘Tell the chef I vont a rare steak, steamed rice and seasoned vegetables and please bring me an empty side plate vith it.’ Anya turned to me and raised an eyebrow. Anya always did this. She never ordered anything from the actual menu. She was such a diva she could order anything anywhere and the restaurant felt obliged to comply. They all knew Anya Stankovic: supermodel, once connected to Matthew McConaughey, dated the drummer from Maroon Five and poster girl for Clinique.

‘I’ll have the same,’ I said looking at the waitress who was close to tears. She was obviously as terrified of the head chef as she was of Anya. ‘But without the empty side plate.’

‘Er, yes, straight away,’ the poor girl said. Anya removed her long fingers from the girl’s arm and let her go.

‘So,’ said Anya, who knew that my faraway look from a second ago was all to do with Hugo and not my failed singing career. She made it her business never to mention Hugo because she knew it was raw, even ten years later. ‘Tell me about your Clark Kent boss. Are you sure there is no chance you and he might …?’

‘No, no way. I shouldn’t let myself fancy him because I have an agenda – I have to last a year and not ruin everything by falling in love with the boss. I’ll have to do my damnedest to make sure I suppress my libido where he’s concerned, though,’ I said. ‘Anyway, I’ve stayed out of love for ages so far; I’m sure I’ve got this.’

‘Vell,’ said Anya. ‘You might not be in love, but I am.’

I took a sharp intake of breath. Again, like the polar opposite to me, Anya never did love. While I’d had my heart broken big time, Anya would have her way with a man and ditch him at the nearest kerb, where he’d fall and graze not only his chin but his pride, too. Now that I was the one who wanted to avoid commitment here was Anya looking dreamy-eyed.

‘Who the hell is this man?’ I asked. ‘It is a man, right?’

‘Of course it’s a man. A very big man.’

‘Lucky you.’

‘Not big like that,’ she said batting her hand in the air. ‘Big as in important, accomplished, vell-to-do.’

‘Who is he? Come on, spill. Maybe I can live vicariously through you.’

‘No. I shouldn’t have said anything,’ Anya said, hurriedly, and for the first time in my life I thought I saw her blush.

‘Well you brought it up, Anya. You obviously want to talk about it. I mean, for goodness’ sake, you’ve never said you were in love, no matter how involved you were with someone.’

‘Look, it’s early days. I don’t vont to jinx it. Do you mind?’

Our food arrived at that very moment. The waitress was fussing around us. All the while my mind was working overtime, Anya just looked calmly at her plate. She usually told me everything and I wondered why she didn’t this time. In my head the only reason I could imagine Anya not wanting to say who this mystery man was, was because he must be married. What was she playing at? No matter who we dated, we never went for married men. It just wasn’t our thing.

Had Anya changed so much in this last year? A year when she’d been away from home for the most part for work. I’d missed her a lot but she’d kept me up to date with texts and long chats from her bath. While away, Anya had even been offered a part in a Hollywood film, which she was still considering. Anya had it all. Why would she want a married man? If he was married then it could only be love – the real thing. But I wished she could just tell me who it was and put me out of my misery.

She wasn’t budging and changed the subject as soon as the waitress left the table. She began telling me about the present she’d brought back from her travels for me. She never failed to buy me a souvenir, no matter how trivial or overly expensive. This time she kept insisting that my present was a surprise.

In the usual Anya way, she started cutting up her food and putting a small portion of everything onto the empty side plate. She pushed the larger plate away and began to eat the amount she’d set aside on the side plate.

‘Vot?’ she said to me with those staring, feline eyes of hers. ‘I’m twenty-eight and a model. How else can I keep my teenage vaistline if I don’t compromise?’ She put a tiny morsel of steak into her mouth and began to chew for about a minute before swallowing.

‘It’s not the food, Anya,’ I told her. ‘It’s the other thing. I’m dying to know who this man is.’

She waved me away with her fork.

‘Dying? Vye do you have to be so melodramatic, Madge?’ She cut the tip off an asparagus tip and chased it with her fork.

‘Look, before you go painting me as the drama queen around here,’ I said trying to suppress my annoyance. ‘Please just tell me you’re not breaking up a marriage.’

Anya gently put down her cutlery.

‘Madge, I am not anyone’s mistress. Now eat up and let’s go and see the present I brought back for you before I change my mind.’

We finished our meal in silence. Anya paid and we caught a taxi to her house in Hampstead. The taxi’s wheels crunched along the gravelled drive and dropped us in front of Anya’s impressively large, six-bedroom house and she led me towards her double garage. Anya’s house had been renovated by a top architect and the interior was designed by the same person who designed Gwyneth Paltrow’s UK residence.

I had no idea why she’d held on to such a large place in London. She’d originally bought it for her parents and they’d refused to live in it since a big falling out with their daughter several years ago. Anya had appeared semi-naked in what I thought was a very tasteful spread in a top Italian fashion publication. You could hardly make out her nipples but her mother, who came across as if she had dinner with the Pope once a week, practically disowned her daughter when Anya was nineteen. Anya’s mother refused to talk to her until she took up a respectable career. It broke my heart as it had Anya’s, though she never let it show. Since then Anya had become an honorary member of my family, and Mother adored her.

Anya clicked the remote on her key fob and the garage doors began to open. Inside was her sporty Audi something or other and beside it a new and shiny, red Ferrari 458 convertible.

‘You’ve got a new car,’ I exclaimed.

‘Correction. You have a new car. I had it shipped back for you.’

I rushed over and started stroking the paintwork.

‘This is too much, Anya. You can’t go on spending all this money on me. It’s ridiculous.’

‘I didn’t spend a penny. Vell, only shipping costs. I drove it in an advertisement and the company said I should keep it. Who am I to argue? Especially ven I have a best friend whose dying ambition is to drive a red flashy sports car.’

I clasped my hands together with glee and started hopping up and down. I wriggled my fingers at Anya to bring her in for a hug. Anya, never good at showing affection, stood like an ironing board as I wrapped my arms around her thin frame and tried to swing her around.

‘I have the key.’ Her voice was muffled through my hair as I continued to hug her to me. ‘But it’s inside.’

I pulled away and looked deeply into Anya’s eyes.

‘It’s a fantastic present, darling. But I am worried about you. I hope you can talk to me about this man one day. You know? If you need to. I’m happy you’re in love and I want it to work out. Honestly I do.’

Her green eyes looked as though they might start to become glassy so I turned towards the house and linked her arm because I knew she wouldn’t want me to see her getting emotional.

‘Let’s go in,’ I said. ‘These are my last few days of freedom until my job starts on Monday morning. I’m sure you’ve got lots to tell me about your trip.’

Anya’s thin smile returned. She patted my hand. That would have to do as her gesture of gratitude for not probing her any further about the mystery man.

Chapter 5 (#ulink_048c3aca-7363-5e2c-8bce-fd644b8b6fdc)

At nine o’clock on Monday morning I was outside the two-storey office building of A Shearman Leather Designs. I’d seen Cassandra, the sullen receptionist, unlock the door and step inside as I approached so I’d run to catch her up. Her response was to ignore my friendly, ‘Hi there,’ from a few doors down and to close the door in my face when I caught her up.

‘Wait, it’s me, Magenta. I work here now,’ I said, pushing open the heavy door with its frosted glass panels.

Cassandra turned and looked me up and down the way she had done a few days previously and strode across the marble hallway into reception. I followed, all smiles. She grunted and pulled the silk scarf from her neck and dumped it and her handbag onto the reception desk.

‘Er, Anthony told me nine o’clock,’ I blathered on regardless. ‘He did tell you he’d hired me?’

‘I gathered as much. I suppose he did the best he could.’ She looked down at my Jimmy Choos. I’d wondered if I’d gone for too high a heel when I got dressed earlier but the Emilia Wickstead day dress I’d bought the week before in her Sloane Street boutique just cried out for height. Maybe I’d overdone it. I towered over the stocky Cassandra and her neat, red bob.