Page 162 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
“Why?” He smirks, nods his chin. “Who you planning on spending the night with?”
I cock my head. “The woman I’m seeing about a pussy.”
He laughs. “Fair play. I’ll sort you out.”
He goes back on the phone and I go back inside the restaurant.
“Put your card down,” Connie tells me.
I throw my Coutts card down on the bill—do a double take.
“Hang on,” I point at Connie. “That’s not fair, I didn’t order drink!”
He shrugs. “Not my fault you’re a Sober Sally now, is it?”
“That’s an eight hundred pound bill, Con!”
Connie laughs, frowns, points at Albie and then to me. “Are you shitting me? Are you seriously complaining about a bill? Are you or are you not currently the richest kid in the world?”
I roll my eyes. “Net worth and what I currently have in my bank are two different things!”
He waves his hand through the air, sips more of his—what I’m guessing is a £40–gin.
George comes back inside, gives me a look.
No one needs to know who I’m spending the night with—not even you—but you probably do already know. Phoebe,obviously. And yeah, you know what? It is sleazy, hotel rooms under different names and all that shit we swore we’d never do but the longer she stays with Digby, the longer I’ll be waiting, with a room key.
Anyway, Connie picks up the bill (tosser) and after dinner, I go with the twins while Con makes his own way home. George managed to get me a suite at House, basically smuggles me in so no one sees me. When I get in, I sit on the bed, think about what I’m doing for all of two seconds before I ring Phoebe and tell her where I am.
Chapter Forty
Lady Phoebe
You didn’t think Arthur would forget his birthday, did you?
September 17th.
His 22nd birthday.
God, we’re getting old, aren’t we?
Oxford, of course. This year’s theme is just basic black tie because, between us, he didn’t want to have a party. The press made him throw one. Said because he missed the last two, that he must throw one this year. For weeks, they’ve been discussing what theme it would be, who would attend…almost as though they’d forgotten why he missed his last two birthdays.
The papers are funny, though. One minute, they’re in full support of his sobriety. The next, they’re photographing him with Connie and saying how they must be doing drugs together because why else would they hang out? As if they haven’t been friends for their entire lives.
Whatever.
We don’t read nor listen to them anyway.
Seems like they did get the better of Arthur on this occasion, though, which is a shame. But then, I wonder if his family also played a part in this? Something big for everyone to talk about for a few weeks. Maybe.
“Do you think they’ll be alcohol?” Digby asks as we walk up the driveway.
I give him a bit of a dirty look. “He’s sober, Digby. What do you think?”
He looks away from me as we get patted down by security and check our names on the guest list.
“Yeah, I know but—”
