Friends Like These

By Felicia Kingsley

All is fair in love and war...

Allegra Hill is smart, honest and selfless – but she has also always been the runner-up. Ever since she was at school, one person has constantly managed to beat her to every prize. Who is Allegra's nemesis? Sparkle Jones, whose life is every bit as glittery as her name.

Now twenty-six, Allegra finally feels like a winner, with a house of her own and a job at London's most prestigious estate agents. But suddenly, Sparkle Jones is back. And it all happens right as an unexpected encounter with a handsome man with emerald-green eyes seems like it could change everything. As she races between parties, intrigues and not-quite candlelit dinners, Allegra decides to stake her claim. And this time, she won't lose to anyone...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
• Release date: Feb 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9781838932930

Felicia Kingsley

Felicia Kingsley is the author of How (Not) to Marry a Duke. She was born in 1987, lives in the province of Modena and works as an architect. Learn more at www.feliciakingsley.com.

Book preview

2017. Eight years later

We all wait for a day zero, in our lives. The chance to turn the page and start a whole new path we have chosen for ourselves. I can say with no hesitation that I have found my own: a new house and a new job.

This means I can never count on you for Hill Financial, then? my dad asks me, while pushing one of my boxes on the floor. By the looks of it (and its weight) it might contain books. My parents are helping me move, even though I had told them I’d sort everything myself.

High finance isn’t my cup of tea, dad I say to justify my choices. You’ve got Stu with you, isn’t that enough?

Your brother is busy with the Tokyo and Milan branches he objects. Then, you’re my favourite.

Arthur! yells my mum to scold him while arranging my kitchenware.

Dad winks at me. Even if he’s joking, I know he really wanted me to follow in his footsteps and work in the family company, but the one with a thing for business has always been my brother. He has what it takes to manage the assets of the tycoons who rely on Hill Financial.

They don’t exactly hire anyone at Royals & Lloyds, you know. You should be proud that the most important real estate consultancy company in town took me on.

We are my mother reassures me as she makes tea for the three of us. I remember you took part in the recruiting process last year or so, but you haven’t talked about it since.

Like all big companies, when Royals & Lloyds have open positions, they start a recruiting process consisting of tests and interviews aimed at establishing rankings and fill vacancies. After cutting my teeth at a smaller real estate company, I was waiting for my chance to make the big jump. It was either Royals & Lloyd or Sotheby’s International.

Ranking eleventh when they admitted ten candidates was such a let-down. I’ve been waiting patiently with my fingers crossed, until they finally called me.

If it was so important for you, dad could have made some phone calls, right Arthur? my mum says, exchanging a knowing look with my dad. I’m pretty sure my dad has got plenty of connections, and he’d be more than happy to use them for me.

I appreciate that, but I can do without string-pulling I utter with confidence. No offence, dad.

None taken. It makes me really proud, actually he says with a smile. "What about your plans about writing for Architectural Digest? Have you put them aside?"

"Oh, no! I could never put the Digest aside. Writing about the most beautiful houses in the world, interior design and art is still my dream, but first I need experience in the field of prestigious properties. At Royals & Lloyds, they deal with castles, penthouses and villas located in private islands. It is a perfect way to start."

Dad looks delighted to see my determination. You start tomorrow, don’t you?

Yes and I cannot wait! I look around and realise there isn’t much left to do. You can go home now, I can do the rest by myself.

We’re happy to help you sweetie, that’s why we came here.

It’s just that I feel I owe you for letting me move in here, you know.

Mum starts laughing. Don’t be silly. You’re about to turn twenty seven and you’ve just got a real job. You need a real house to pair with that! Would you rather have kept that rathole in Highgate, sharing a bathroom and a fridge with two flatmates? It broke our heart to know that this delightful little flat was left empty. Last but not least, Lambeth is very close to Royals & Lloyds. It’s just the perfect place for you!

It’s yours though, you could have rented it! I point out.

We’re a family, aren’t we? What belongs to us belongs to you. We know you’re stubborn, please just spare us the talk about how guilty you feel dad says, agreeing with mum. What’s more, Stu lived here before. Don’t be so dramatic.

As soon as I manage to save enough, I insist on paying rent! I declare proudly.

You already have plenty of money! dad exclaims.

I’d rather pretend I don’t have a trust fund I object. And now I’m officially a career woman!

Speaking of which mum says, pulling out a box from under the table. This is for you. Consider it a lucky charm, from dad and me.

I take off the lid and see a colourful striped leather handbag with two lines of gilded studs. What’s this? I ask, lost for words.

Sweetie, I understand your attraction for flea markets and second-hand shops, but everything you buy lasts no longer than a month. What about that jumper that caused you a rash? Those shirts with all the buttons falling off? And those ripped jeans? Well, at least you need a decent bag to go to work.

I look at her as if to say ‘you didn’t have to’, but she simply shrugs and says: Once a stylist, always a stylist.

My mum used to work for very important fashion brands, and she’s always struggled with my frugal wardrobe, which essentially consists of clothes I often got after gruelling negotiations with Brick Lane stall sellers. As a little girl, I looked at her as she created collections, selected fabrics and created combinations; at times, I even accompanied her to some fashion shows and I fantasised that my clothes as an adult would be as astounding. When I grew up, however, I realised how much that would cost me and reconsidered my priorities, choosing to use my savings for charity, animal shelters, a hedgehog sanctuary and a wildlife veterinary centre, and buy only a few clothing essentials at flea markets.

I sigh, smelling the leather of the bag. I know it’s expensive, I recognise the scent of luxury. I will use it on special occasions I promise mum to make her happy.

When my parents leave, I get back to work to finish tidying this ‘delightful little flat’: a two-floor penthouse in Parliament View overlooking the Thames and the Big Ben, decorated by Philippe Starck.

My mum has a tendency to play things down.

For starters, the double-height living room has a floor-to-ceiling window that requires a trapeze artist to be cleaned; each of the two bedrooms has its own en-suite bathroom, and the wooden eat-in island separating the open kitchen from the living room could comfortably accommodate six people. I don’t even have six people to invite to dinner!

I trudge up the spiral staircase trying not to stumble over the glass steps while carrying the boxes with the bedroom linen.

I push them on the wooden floor towards the walk-in wardrobe, and then I lean on the balustrade overlooking the living room to catch my breath.

The first thing that comes to my mind is: ‘Those sofas won’t last long with Mr Darcy’.

My cat, a funny black and white fur ball, is already rolling on its soft padding. He’s pretty old, blind in one eye and suffers from heart disease. He costs me a fortune in vet visits and treatments but, if it were up to me, I’d adopt all the stray cats of the shelter.

The concierge of the building announces that Dots is here to see me, so I head to the door to welcome her, but first I hide a couple of issues of Vogue and Cosmopolitan under my bed. I sometimes leaf through fancy magazines to daydream a bit, but if Dots happened to see them, she would start a monologue on consumerism, and I’d love to avoid that. She’s my best friend and all, but she tends to get a little too extreme sometimes.

Not bad, your new shack she comments while walking in hidden behind a pink box.

There’s plenty of space for you too, if you want.

It would have been of help when my parents threw me out.

Dots’s family isn’t as supportive as mine. After much insistence, her dad convinced her to go to law school, hoping that she would become a judge to keep the family tradition. After two years, however, she left university and signed up for a short cooking course, so now she works full-time in a bakery in Soho. Obviously, it was the end of the world for her dad, who’s barely spoken to her since.

Her mum had a slightly different view of Dots’s future as well, being such a socialite. Since we turned thirteen, we were no longer allowed to play in her bedroom; we could just spend our time in the study, doing what ‘proper young ladies’ do. Also, she can’t stand when people call her daughter ‘Dottie’ or ‘Dots’, so she only calls her by her full name, Dorothea, which my friend totally hates.

What’s in here? I ask, placing the box on the kitchen island.

Our house-warming party!

I pull the white bow and a three-tier iced cake appears in front of me.

Ta-da! Dots exclaims, rubbing her hands. Take saucers and forks!

This is a wedding cake! I observe while taking the bride cake topper and licking the whipped cream from its base.

I wanted to celebrate big time! Well, sort of. Okay, this is a backup cake.

A backup cake?

Yep. We always make two cakes for weddings, in case the official one gets damaged. Nothing happened this time, so I got this one for us. Who works at the bakery has a special discount, twenty five percent off the retail price! she proudly explains.

Mentioning that you got me a discounted backup cake isn’t exactly what I call classy! I object.

Well, getting it full-price would have been immoral.

As long as it’s good I say as I look at the three tiers covered in whipped cream and fondant. I’m just wondering how we’ll manage to eat it all.

What’s the hurry anyway? Dots says as she bends down and rummages in her backpack. "Surprise number two. Mamma Mia! and The Phantom of the Opera on Blu-ray. The magic of West End musicals straight to your door."

I tear them out of her hands and rush to one of the huge sofas, causing Mr Darcy’s protests. What are you waiting for? Just cut the cake and let’s watch these! I encourage her.

Our good intentions run out quite soon, though: at one in the morning, I can barely keep my eyes open and I’m sure I’ve lost some passages of The Phantom of the Opera.

Dots I mutter drowsily.

Mmh she replies.

I shake her lightly with my foot. Are you sleeping?

No, um, I’m awake she says, trying to hide her sleepy voice. I was just resting my eyes.

Of course! I won’t tell her she was snoring. Maybe it’s time to go to bed.

"What? I also brought West Side Story!"

We both know we’d be asleep before the end of the opening credits. Besides, tomorrow is my first day at Royals & Lloyds and I need to be awake and responsive.

Right she says while sitting up. Her jet-black bob is all messed up and she’s got bobby pins hanging all over her head. Now you’re part of the system.

What system?

The Establishment, of course, which hides the Shadow Government!

It’s just real estate consultancy, Dots.

Dots is never tired enough to start a tirade on her conspiracy theories. Not even this late at night. She drags herself from the sofa to the door stomping heavily. Exactly. You’re now on the other side of the fence.

She high-fives me and says goodbye as I trudge towards my bed holding Mr Darcy. I dive in deep sleep, slowly approaching my day zero.

Allegra Hill, I’m here to see Januar Baxter I introduce myself at the reception in the massive hall of Royals & Lloyds. The skyscraper hosting it is the typical building of the City: a shiny glass and steel pyramid standing out between 30 St Mary Axe, better known as the Gherkin, and the enveloping curves of the Pinnacle.

The route to Architectural Digest starts here.

Thirty third floor the receptionist informs me.

Squeezed in the lift packed with people, I patiently wait to reach my destination, scrutinising who gets on and off, floor after floor. Once I’m out, I follow the nameplates on the doors until I find my new boss’s office. He’s right there, on the threshold.

He’s a middle-aged man, probably closer to his fifties than forties, but he’s clearly obsessed with his looks, like all important managers. His blinding-white smile contrasts with the artificial tan of his skin.

Welcome aboard, Allegra. Call me Januar. I’ll take you for a tour of the office, then I’ll leave you with your tutor he says, guiding me along the corridors. You’ve got thirty seconds to tell me all you know about Royals & Lloyds.

Founded by Paul Royals and Albert Lloyds in 1897, it has three hundred and eighty offices around the world and ten thousand employees. The real estate value of the company’s commercial management is around five hundred billion pounds. Last year’s sales amount to twelve billion pounds I declaim in one breath.

Twelve billion seven hundred thirty million he specifies. I see you’ve been studying.

My father confirmed that your company is solid and well-established I say to butter him up a bit.

Is your father in the real estate business? he asks me absent-mindedly.

He owns a company that deals with asset management. Finance and investments in the stock market.

In London?

In London, but also in New York, Milan, Tokyo and Frankfurt. Januar isn’t impressed. Hill Financial I add.

He stops in the middle of the corridor: he’s looking at me in astonishment for the first time. Allegra Hill! You’re Arthur Hill’s daughter, then!

Do you know him?

Not personally, but he’s rather well-known in the industry. A really smart man, many of our wealthiest clients rely on him, and don’t invest if they don’t have his blessing first.

You are very well-informed.

Why didn’t you join the family company?

This is a question I’m perfectly prepared to answer.

Examining endless sequences of numbers and panicking for every stock market fluctuation isn’t my cup of tea. I feel more confident in the real estate business.

Well then, good for us. Our internal divisions are as follows: the administration offices are on the first and second floors. Going up, you will find the IT department, the legal office, marketing and communication, the statistics centre, property valuation and consultancy, public relations, real estate asset management, acquisitions, investment development, commercial property trading, and, last but not least, your new home: residential property trading. On the top floors, there are our big bosses.

While we’re going down to the thirty second floor, Januar resumes the talk about my dad. You were in the waiting list to get this job for quite a while. Why didn’t you use your father’s connections? They’d have let you in much earlier.

I thought it wouldn’t be appropriate. I preferred to wait. Here I am, anyway.

Januar looks perplexed and shakes his head.

I follow him in this glass maze hosting various offices, until he points out a girl with curly brown hair, who might be a couple of years older than me and is walking right in our direction. Allegra, this is Diane. She collects and processes sales data before handing them to the statistics centre. It will be a perfect start to get an idea of the negotiations we handle. Be her shadow for the next two weeks.

She sports an enthusiastic smile. I could use some female company, our data collectors are all men and I need some time off from their machismo.

Don’t scare her, it’s her first day says Januar before walking away.

My brother is five years older than me. I grew up with him and his football team. I can handle machismo I reply. The fact that I didn’t want my father’s help doesn’t imply I will let anyone push me around.

The boss nods at us and leaves. I’ll leave you to it. Please take good care of her.

No need to specify this, Januar! I’m a nice girl! Diane replies jokingly.

She then turns to me and her big smile is replaced by a bored frown.

Do you want to see my CV? I ask to break the ice.

She looks at the folder I’m handing out to her, unenthusiastically, and doesn’t take it. HR saw it, I suppose. They took you on, didn’t they? Why do you still carry it around?

I pretend I’m not offended by her words and change the topic of our conversation. So you collect the sales data of residential properties, right?

Right… she says, and then snorts while looking impatiently at her watch.

What can I focus on to better understand your job? I insist.

Before she can answer my question, a red-haired girl with big black eyes arrives in an inexplicable frenzy, knocking on the doorpost. They’re coming she whispers. Diane turns around quickly and walks towards the other girl with equal excitement.

Excuse me, Diane, what can I…? I say, in an attempt to call her attention. I might not be here to save the world, but I don’t want to be ignored like a piece of furniture.

She barely remembers I’m there. "On that desk, there are the latest issues of the Yearly Wealth Paper. Study them" she says, dismissing me with a hand gesture, and I don’t understand if she’s pointing out the desk or sending me to hell. I take one of the magazines and start leafing through it, frowning angrily. What I have in my hands is an internal publication of Royals & Lloyds with annual updates of the real estate market. I turn the pages inattentively, listening to the two gossips murmuring behind me.

Here they come Diane and the other girl whisper standing just outside the door.

Perhaps, there are some celebs who want to buy a mega penthouse. I want to see!

I lean out of the office hiding myself behind Diane and the redhead, to find out what’s the supernatural phenomenon which is catching everyone’s attention.

As soon as I realise what, or rather, who I’m looking at, my head starts spinning and I feel I’m about to faint. My heart is racing and all I hear is white noise.

Sparkle Jones and Quinn Cooper are walking triumphantly on the shiny black marble floor.

Sparkle Jones. At Royals & Lloyds.

Chapter 2

Power is a lot like real estate. It’s all about location, location, location.

Frank Underwood, House of Cards

I can’t tell my present from my past. The situation is exactly the same, but we’re ten years younger and we’re standing in the corridor of Allengby Secondary School: as soon as they appear, the crowd of sloppy pimply students parts to let them through.

Look, Quinn’s had her hair straightened I hear someone whisper.

Sparkle’s got a new car. A red Mercedes-Benz convertible.

Isn’t it black?

Look at her earrings! Do you think those are real diamonds?

Sparkle and Quinn both have them! is another indistinct comment I hear.

Everyone’s murmuring in the corridor, and every single comment is about Sparkle and Quinn.

The women look at them with a mix of envy and admiration, taking note of every detail of their looks; the men give them suggestive looks and mischievous smiles.

Once Sparkle and Quinn finish their fashion show everyone goes back to their offices, the corridor empties and the atmosphere goes back to normal, or so it seems.

I sink on an expensive Italian leather armchair and start leafing through a brochure without looking at a single page, while I try to process what I’ve just seen.

The images I had buried in the deepest recesses of my mind, those I had locked away and classified as ‘secondary school social life’, are now back in focus.

That file contains all the moments in which my self-esteem was affected by someone else’s popularity: when I was too shy to stand out, too good for double-crossing someone else, too naive to watch my back and far too generous with those who didn’t deserve it.

Diane ignores me, as busy as she is texting with her phone, but she’s very careful to hide it whenever someone walks past the office.

When the clock strikes lunchtime, she dashes to the corridor to meet her red-haired friend, whose name is Myla.

Diane. Having to call her bothers me quite a lot, as it’s clear that she considers me a burden, differently from what she told Januar.

What now she replies annoyed, stopping by the door.

I’ll follow you to the canteen, so that I see where it is.

We’re not going there she spits before glimpsing Sparkle among the other colleagues. Sparkle! she calls, waving her hand while walking quickly towards her.

I stand in the corridor for a short while, and then decide to follow one of the groups of people, hoping that they’re heading to the canteen.

Its name doesn’t define it properly, though, as it looks more like a restaurant. No servery, benches or disposable place mats, here.

The room is punctuated by intimate sized square tables. Three people wouldn’t fit, let alone four. I scan the self-service buffet: everything looks exactly as it should; the food is not a greyish, odourless, flavourless imitation, as in school canteens.

Even though Allengby is one of the best schools in the city, we didn’t exactly have star chefs cooking for us.

I fill my tray with mushroom sauce ravioli, Dorset crab sandwich and Pont Neuf potatoes. And a slice of chocolate cake.

I decide to let the food comfort me. This should have been the first day of my new life, and yet I’m still stuck in the old one, just in more austere clothes.

Besides, nobody seems to be interested in spending their lunchtime with me, so I eat my food all by myself.

The afternoon goes on in a similar way, everyone ignores me and I have nothing to do, so I take advantage of the coffee break to lock myself in the toilet to call Dots in despair. Dots?

I have less than ten minutes, then I have to go back to making cupcakes she informs me, almost out of breath.

I need a friendly voice.

What’s the matter? You sound very upset.

Remember the ‘day zero’ thing we discussed? Well, forget it, it’s a load of crap!

Sorry, I don’t get it.

My life is a bloody cycle that keeps repeating itself! Wanna guess who works here at Royals & Lloyds?

Don’t make me guess, I suck at it she mumbles at the other end of the line.

Sparkle Jones and Quinn Cooper.

"Sparkle and Quinn? Those Sparkle and Quinn?"

Exactly. They are the beauty queens of Royals & Lloyds and everyone hangs on their every word. The women fight to get noticed and the men compete even to buy them coffee. Oh, and they have an adoring court of fans who follow them everywhere. This is history repeating itself, nothing has changed since secondary school.

That’s ridiculous!

There’s a guy who started smoking just to light Quinn’s cigarettes! I thought this was teenager stuff, but these are adults, and they’re totally mesmerised by those who geese.

Did they recognise you? Did they talk to you? Dots asks.

They don’t even know I exist. I told you, it’s as if I were back to Allengby. I’m invisible, even my tutor ignores me. All she does is gossip with a colleague via Whatsapp, and if I talk to her, she snorts annoyed. All she sees is Sparkle I explain, sitting on the closed toilet as the queen of nothing.

I can’t believe this. says my friend, who’s as shocked as I am. What about Sparkle? What’s she like?

"Same old titian hair shouting ‘I’m not blonde, I’m not red-haired, I’ll be whatever you want’, fluffy curls and femme fatale side fringe. Her lashes cast a one-metre shadow, her clothes are tight enough to turn any head and her ill-concealed expression of disgust is still on her face. She hasn’t changed a bit."

I am still uttering the last word when I hear heels clicking on the floor and a loud giggle rising above other people’s voices.

It’s Sparkle.

I instinctively interrupt the call, curl up and even stop breathing.

The week goes on slowly, emptying me of all the energy that I had at the beginning, so much so that I welcome the weekend as a lifeline. With all my heart I hoped that I would love this new job I’ve been waiting for so long, and I certainly wasn’t prepared for a disappointment of such cosmic proportions.

I’m so not ready for the sense of malaise and discouragement that overwhelms me on Sunday at the thought of going to the office the next day. I go to a fundraiser for the dog shelter but my distress is such that I’m asked to go home, because my lack of enthusiasm discourages passers-by.

The alarm ringing on Monday morning earns all the curses I can think of, and I drag myself out of bed as if I were on death row. Would it be so bad if I called in sick in my second week? I’m not even hungry, which is quite strange, considering that I’m usually starving in the morning.

I put a pack of crackers in my bag in case I get hungry later, and I go out.

However, something is holding me back, and I mean literally: the strap of my beloved postman shoulder bag is stuck in the door handle and, as I’m trying to take it off, it breaks.

Good morning to me.

I’m out of breath, in a terrible mood and I know I’m going to be late, but on the table by the front door there’s the bag my mum gave me, so I decide to quickly fill it with the contents of the broken one.

Here’s the deal: I need to pamper myself with something new. It’s going to be a long week, so let’s shake it with some colour.

This multi-coloured bag stands out quite cheekily on my black outfit and white t-shirt; as soon as I join the crowd queuing for the lobby’s lifts, I feel everyone’s eyes on me.

The corridor fills with people in turmoil, something I’ve learned to associate with Sparkle and Quinn’s grand entrance.

However, Quinn’s not there and when Sparkle arrives, everyone starts murmuring in an unusual way. Even Diane sounds surprised.

Later on, I hear her whispering on the phone with Myla, but I can catch only some sentences: ‘I told you something had happened’, ‘I have no idea’, ‘What about Quinn?’ and ‘She hasn’t arrived yet’.

The first half of the morning elapses slowly, with people coming and going in the corridors whispering half sentences like: Have you seen her? or Know anything?

When I dare to ask Diane if something is wrong, she dismisses me with a few harsh words: None of your business. Now finish printing the market reports, I have a meeting at eleven. Then, with a sudden change in her voice: Oh, hello, Januar!

Our boss sticks his head in the office and talks to me, ignoring Diane: Allegra, will you come to my office, please?

OMG! What could have I done in barely a week to be summoned by the boss? An unlikely though not impossible thought goes through my mind: what if Sparkle had found out I work here and, for her own fun and pleasure, had asked for my head on a silver platter? She’s always been so sadistic that I wouldn’t be surprised.

I follow him without uttering a word. I’m staring at his face, but I’m totally unable to decipher his expression.

Have a seat, Allegra he says as he beckons to me to take the chair in front of his desk. Interesting first week? Have you settled in? he asks with no real interest in the answer.

I’m gradually familiarising with the environment I lie, remaining vague to hide my disappointment.

Anyway. It’s earlier than I expected, but I have to remove you from your training period with Diane.

Here we go, I knew it.

There’s a vacant position in a sales team, and one of our employees needs a partner.

Who…?

Sparkle Jones he replies before I can complete the question. She’s our top saleswoman. She’s got a natural instinct and true talent. Her previous partner, Quinn Cooper, resigned on Friday.

You mean that I have to replace Quinn and team up with... Sparkle? I struggle to utter the words, which get stuck in my throat.

Yes. Starting immediately. He is very serious.

I’m overwhelmed by a wave of nausea. This can’t be true.

As to further confirm what Januar said, the office door opens without anyone knocking.

It’s Sparkle. As she comes in, I feel as though Januar’s office had shrunk all of a sudden. I can barely breathe.

She doesn’t say hello, all she does is giving Januar a feral smile. Walking confidently, she approaches the desk without sitting. She keeps looking at him from above and asks: Have you sorted it out?

Sure. Have a seat, Sparkle.

No, thanks. So? she insists.

Allegra will be your new partner. he says, looking in my direction. Have you met already?

She turns her attention to me. Her look is so sharp that I think it could cut right through me. An expression of surprise crosses her face, but it disappears instantly.

Not yet.

What? She must have recognised me, I’m sure!

Today you’ll have the opportunity to know each other, then. Show her your office, the sales you’re working on and tell her what to do to be useful.

Sparkle gives an ice-cold smile, walks to the door, opens it and then turns back to look at me. Shall we go?

I follow her to the corridor quite reluctantly, and notice the office occupants stretching out on the desks and leaning out of the doors to sneak a peek at what’s going on. Instinctively, I walk a step behind Sparkle, looking to the right and left in search of a way out, in a sort of primordial defence mechanism.

New, aren’t you? she asks in an arrogant tone, or at least that’s how I perceive it.

I started last Monday, and I’ve been trained by Diane.

Then you threw away a week of your life she remarks. Strange as it may seem, she’s just expressed my own thoughts. I was looking for a more politically correct way to say it.

I’m afraid that’s impossible she replies.

I’d like to do something more interesting. Leafing through old issues of the ‘Yearly Wealth Paper’ is all she told me to do.

If everything goes as it should, you will soon be the one telling Diane what to do. Then, she turns to a colleague and gives him a dazzling smile. Hi, Ryan. She does the same with four or five others, who couldn’t be more delighted by her greetings. They are almost hypnotised.

This is our office she says, pointing out one of the cubicles with glass walls. ‘Cubicle’ is actually an understatement, as the place is at least as big as Januar’s office, with two large white desks with a satin finish. That’s yours, make yourself at home.

I should go get my bag and jacket, they’re still in Diane’s office.

Sparkle nods as she drops a pile of papers on my desk. Be quick!

I have a feeling I’m going from bad to worse. As I collect my stuff, Diane pays attention to me for the very first time. Where the heck are you going? she bursts out.

Januar has relocated me, there’s someone needing a partner in a sales team. Then I stop for a dramatic pause, because I know that my next words will leave her speechless. Sparkle Jones.

In response, her jaw falls open and she can’t utter a word. I don’t like the idea of working with Sparkle, but Diane’s reaction to the news gives me a pleasant feeling of achievement. I can see what she feels right on her face: it seems that, in a week, I have achieved the position she’s desired for months, if not years. I leave the office with the same indifference she’s given me over the last week.

As soon as I reach my desk, Sparkle leaps towards me and grabs my bag. Is this authentic? She candidly asks.

Shouldn’t it be? I ask, uncertain about what to answer.

It’s a 1973 Rockstud by Valentino. It costs more than two thousand pounds, if you can find one.

It’s a gift from my mother I shrug it off in an attempt to contain her enthusiasm.

I’ve never seen one so close! she says, examining the bag. Can I try it on? she asks. Then, without waiting for my answer, she hangs it on her shoulder and looks at her reflection in the window. Will you lend it to me one day? she asks as she hands it back to me.

Lend? Isn’t that something you do with... friends?

Later, when everyone is leaving their desks for the lunch break, Diane appears at the door. Hey, Sparkle! Don or Lombard?

Before the group gets together, I try to sneak away quietly to reach the canteen for my solo lunch, but Sparkle is quicker and grabs me by the elbow.

Allegra! Where are you running?

To the... canteen? I hesitate, because I don’t clearly understand why she’s asking.

I never eat at the canteen she says, shaking her head as if my words were complete nonsense. Then, after taking me by the arm, she adds: And you’re definitely having lunch with me!

Chapter 3

Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.

John Lennon

I feel trapped, but I fear that if I tried to escape her grip, Sparkle would be able to pull my arm right off.

We get ahead of Diane and Myla, who look at us in total bewilderment.

They get closer, walking one step behind us, but the Queen turns to them and utters two freezing words: Private lunch.

Sparkle wants to have lunch with me, and if this weren’t terrifying enough, Myla and Diane’s shocked and envious looks rouse a strange feeling of warmth all over my body. I must have a temperature.

"Have you