Where Have All the Boys Gone?(64)

“Wow!” said Harry, bouncing onto one of the beds. “I could get to like this.”

Various women turned around as if preparing themselves to make supercilious expressions, but when they caught sight of the tall and rugged Harry, they clearly decided not to, and looked interested instead; even more so when Harry pulled off his sweater. Katie winced when she saw he was wearing a green checked shirt, but he certainly looked well-built underneath it.

Olivia raised an eyebrow at Katie. “How many cocktails has he had?” she asked.

“Sorry,” said Katie. “It’s the big smoke. It’s overexciting his little country brain. Harry, this is Olivia.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Olivia. “Are you olive-intolerant?”

“No.”

“Well, you can have your martini then.”

A uniformed waitress—or possibly a model playing a waitress, so beautiful was she—handed over the drinks.

“Thanks. Nice to meet you. Harry . . . Harry what?”

“Barr.”

“No, really?”

“Uh, yes.”

“Like Harry’s Bar?”

“Um . . .”

“In Venice. Bellinis, you know.”

“Oh, no. I don’t know,” said Harry, looking embarrassed. Suddenly Katie was a bit cross with Olivia for showing him up.

“Huh,” said Olivia. “So, what do you think of London so far?”

“Well, I haven’t really had a chance to . . .”

A skinny elongated blonde girl was sitting with her similarly etiolated friends in the banquette alongside them. Wobbling her drink slightly, she leaned over.

“That’s a lovely accent—where are you from?”

Harry flushed. “Uh, Sutherland.”

The girl stared straight ahead. “Cool. Is that in France?”

“Scotland.”

Several of the other girls slouching on the Turkish Delight bed were deigning to crane their necks to check out the stranger, who, Katie had to admit, did look like the only straight man in the room.

“Wow, cool! Come and tell us about Scotland! Are you the monarch of the glen?”

“I don’t think so,” said Harry, looking apologetically at the others. He was clearly torn between trying to do the most polite thing in front of two groups of ladies.

“Oh, go,” said Katie, flapping her hands. “Fresh meat! Carrion alert!”

And Harry was submerged into a giggling blonde throng. He looked terrified but anthropologically thrilled.

“OK,” said Olivia. “Full gossip please!”

Louise was already at the bottom of her martini, but a model briskly appeared and replaced it. She started to look a bit happier.

“We got laid!” she announced.

“Hang on,” said Olivia. “I heard about you. But you’re not telling me our Katie here got herself entangled in the fiery wastes of love?”

“Oh boy, did she ever.”

Katie rolled her eyes, although she’d known this would come up at some point.

“Not with?” Olivia indicated Harry.

“God, no,” said Katie immediately.

“Why not? What’s wrong with him? He’s a bit of a hunk, isn’t he?”

“NO,” said Katie. “He’s miserable, rude, and totally bossy.”

“He doesn’t look that miserable at the moment,” observed Louise. One of the harpies was showing Harry her tattoo and he was trying to look and not look at the same time.

“Well, anyway, no. It’s with this other bloke. Who is gorgeous, but a bit fucked up, I think.”

“Ooh, gorgeous and fucked up,” said Olivia. “Nature’s sexiest creation.”

“He is gorgeous,” said Louise.

“The problem is,” said Katie, “because there’s no girls up there, they’re all a bit screwed up. It’s a bit like dating at an all-boys’ school.”

“Better and better,” said Olivia.

“No, I mean, like arrested development.”

“I don’t mind it,” said Louise stoutly. “They’re all really grateful and loyal. Well, all the ones I’ve met.”

“Hang on,” said Olivia. “Are you in a town or at a petting zoo?”

“It feels a little bit of both,” said Katie.

“Hmm,” said Olivia. “Maybe that’s what the men down here think about us. Too many women spreading like topsy, and all going completely insane.”

“Interesting theory,” said Katie. “So it’s been quiet then?”

“Not a sniff!” said Olivia. “My aromatherapist reckons I’m not opening up my chakras enough.”

“Not opening your wallet enough, more likely,” said Katie.

“Plus, I’ve just taken on this huge wallpaper consultancy. Wallpaper, I ask you. Have you ever met a straight man in wallpaper . . . and don’t mention painters and decorators, I’ve had it up to here.”

Katie looked around. Cigarette smoke was reflecting off the high-set mirrors and chunky glass, giving the whole place a feel of being encased in dreamy smog, as young women floated to and fro, honed, painted, and dressed up to the nines, almost entirely for the benefit of other women.