Page 161 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
“Ah,” Connie nods. “That’s why he’s so wound up—poor fucker ain’t getting laid by the fittest girl in Britain.”
Albie sniggers beside me. “I wouldn’t go there if I were you, mate.”
George turns around slowly, cocks his head. “Do you wanna say that again?”
Connie laughs. “Would you rather me call her a munter?”
George clips him round the back of the head and then the waiter comes over and we order.
“Anyway,” George claps when the waiter walks off. “On the subject of getting laid…” he looks at me.
“Yeah?”
“Are you?”
I pick up my water glass. “What’s it got to do with you?”
“Oh, he so fucking is!” Connie chimes in and I give him a kick under the table. If he mentions Phoebe popping round every night and leaving every morning, I’ll batter him. God knows who is listening to our conversation. Another cheating scandal in the papers is the last thing my family needs.
“Don’t know by who, though,” Connie finishes carefully. “But he’s been in a right perky mood lately—anyway, you seeing anyone Albs?” Connie smiles over at him.
“Is he fuck,” George snorts.
I look to Albie for his answer but he just shrugs. “Yes and no.”
I look to Con then back to Albie. “And what does that mean?”
“It means I see people everyday.”
Connie groans. “Why do you have to be so fucking cryptic, mate? Thought we left Inspector Calls at school.”
“He’s a gentleman,” George laughs. “No kissing and telling with this one.”
“I’m not sure there’s anything to tell,” Connie rolls his eyes. “I mean, how do you do it? Get them to sign an NDA or something before they jump in bed with you?”
Albie laughs, shakes his head. “No. I just don’t go around sleeping with anything that breathes.”
I pull a face at George, we both take large sips from our drinks.
“Piss off,” Connie raises his voice. “If you really want to know, I’ve found myself a very secret, very special—”
“Primrose,” the three of us say at the same time.
“Oh, what!” He blows a raspberry, shakes his head. “See! I can’t even take a shit without everyone knowing.”
Our food comes and after we’ve eaten, George goes out to take a call. I follow him.
“One minute,” he nods at me, walks a bit further away and then wraps up the call.
“Who was that?” I ask even though I never ask because it’s never my business.
“The man I’m seeing about a dog—what do you want?” He smiles.
I shake my head, glance back at the restaurant. “Just wanted to ask if you could get me a room tonight?”
He frowns. “At the hotel or House?”
Shrug. “Anywhere private—House, preferably.”
