Love Lies

39. Fern

I must have fallen asleep in Scott’s arms; when I wake up it is dark outside. I reach for him but his side of the bed is cool. I feel dreamy and I don’t think it’s jetlag. I glance at the bedside clock; six thirty LA time. I have no idea how long I’ve been asleep because my watch says it is early morning tomorrow in the UK. I adjust the dials. It’s 6.30 p.m. in my life now. As I stretch I notice a scarlet gerbera and a note on the pillow. Gorgeous! Aesthetically, I do like a red rose but it’s suffered through over-use and I think I’d have squirmed to find one on my pillow. A gerbera is much more original and startling.

Scott’s note instructs me to have a deep, relaxing bath and says dinner will be served at 8 p.m. He’s drawn a pic of a winking face so I know he’s being a little tongue in cheek; I shouldn’t expect a butler and the best silver – thank goodness. There’s enough new stuff to get to grips with without having to worry about formal table manners.

After stumbling into a wardrobe and a dressing-room I finally find the en-suite. The bathroom is as fabulous as I could have imagined. Oddly, this time I don’t squeal Oh. My. God. I’d have been surprised if it was anything less than stunning. It’s amazing how quickly you can get used to luxury. There’s a round sunken bath in the middle of the room. It’s big enough for an entire football team. There are two sinks, more mirrors than ideal and state-

When I emerge from the bath I find that someone or many someones have been into our bedroom and freshened it up. It’s like living in a hotel; the bed has been made and turned down, candles lit, curtains drawn and mellow, slow-tempo music (which I don’t recognize but do like) is playing out of the stereo at a gentle volume. There are no chocolates on the pillow but I can’t grumble as, instead, there’s the most beautiful lilac silk, tasselled mini dress. I check the label: Bottega Veneta, I haven’t even heard of the brand but its fabric sings dollar signs. I put it on. Like everything else that’s been bought for me it’s a perfect fit. I check my reflection. I might have benefited from bigger boobs, but hey, I look great – not much like me, but great, so who’s complaining? Next, I sit at the dressing-table so I can do my makeup.

It’s like walking into Harvey Nics at Christmas. I ought to be clear, Christmas is actually the only time I ever go into Harvey Nics. But when I do, I go with Jess and we spend about five hours in there, culminating in a glass of champagne at the bar after I’ve purchased a tin of biscuits from the fifth floor. Believe me, while I only actually emerge with one gift (and that’s for my aunt, who has no appreciation of what it means to own a box of biscuits from Harvey Nics), this is time well spent. I firmly believe the spirit of Christmas is hiding somewhere in that store. I adore my five hours of wafting around being sprayed with perfumes, tasting stollen cake, oh-ing and ah-ing over striking stationery, stunning clothes and testing my dressing-table, bought especially for me. I stare at the orgy of gorgeousness and try to breathe deeply.

It’s a bit intimidating actually.

It’s taken me seventeen years to discover which makeup I truly suit (after many, many disasters where I ended up looking like a drag queen). I’m pretty confident with my Rimmel Kohl Kajal eye pencil, suitably smudgeable, allowing me to create sexy, smoky eyes, and Rimmel’s lasting finish intense-wear lipstick; I like the pretty sugar plum colour. Having to start again with all these new posh brands and new colours is a bit of a nightmare. Suddenly, I feel the need to ring Jess. It’s crazy, but other than the one call to my parents and one brief call with Ben, I haven’t actually spoken to any of my friends or family since Scott proposed. I’ve called and left messages; we’ve swapped a couple of texts, of course, but no actual chat. I can sense the disapproval across the ocean. It’s awkward; everyone liked Adam a great deal and Scott and I have become an item so quickly that no one has got used to the idea yet. I suppose it is quite something to digest.

If only Jess knew Scott the way I do then she’d be happy for me; I know she would. The problem is love at first sight is something you can only truly believe in if you’ve experienced it for yourself.

I could ring her right now and say, ‘You won’t believe the selection of makeup that’s on my dressing table!’ It’s our habit to start conversations as though we’ve been chatting only minutes ago. Until this previous week we’ve enjoyed a fourteen-year-long uninterrupted dialogue. I could choose to ignore the last week. Least said soonest mended. I check my watch. Hell, it’s five to eight.

Obviously, if I had more time, there’s nothing I’d like more than to call Jess but I’ve got a pop star fiancé to shag. I grab the Dior mascara wand and quickly apply. It’s good stuff, I think I can get away with that and nothing more.