Free The Exchange by Carrie Williams Page B

chuckled. ‘Anyway, I’ve told them about you and they’re
dying
to meet you.’
    I sat down, head in my hands. I so much wanted to say no, but the Pigalle part of me just wouldn’t let me. For so long I’d dreamed of London, and of Park Lane in particular. For so long I’d been obsessed with the filthy rich and what they got up to behind closed doors. I knew it was risky – that I was like a moth to a flame and would almost certainly get burned – but it just wasn’t in me to turn down this opportunity.
    ‘Just for one night,’ I said to myself as I walked over to the clothes rail and began searching through my clothes. Then I thought:
to hell with it all
, and I grabbed my bag and left the flat. I might have been running out of funds, but Park Lane demanded something very special indeed. And Park Lane also demanded that I treat myself to a little tipple – a half-bottle of champagne – to sip while I got myself ready for the ride.
    As I strode up the road, a strange energy rippled through me, like electricity.

Chapter 9: Rachel
    I woke up hungover, head beating, mouth parched. My camera was beside the bed, on the floor, and I was fully dressed, on top of the duvet. Moaning, I rolled over and reached for my camera, switched it on and began scrolling through the images. The first few – the latest – were of a topless Konrad, posing for me, dancing, vamping it up. I loved the look in his eyes. He was teasing me, leading me on. The cheeky bossa nova tune he had danced to replayed in my mind, tauntingly:
    ‘
I ain’t wid you
    And you ain’t wid me
    And that’s why we can’t
    Touchy touchy
.’
    I lay back, still flipping through the images but wondering what would –
could
– have happened had I stayed. Had I stood a chance, or were the lyrics echoing Konrad’s own thoughts?
    But I hadn’t stayed. I’d taken fright, suddenly, afraid that things were getting out of hand. I didn’t know if Konrad was really flirting with me or just having a laugh, and part of me was afraid to find out. If he
was
flirting with me, then dare I even go there? I wanted to, but I didn’t think I was worthy. He was out of my league, and while a harmless fling might be just the thing I needed after my long bout of monogamy with Kyle, I was afraid that I might fall hard for Konrad. It was difficult to imagine not going weak at the knees every time I set eyes on him. Sometimes, I thought, it was better that certain things remain out of your reach. Some things are just too hot to handle. And in any case, Konrad was with Rochelle, even if she wasn’t around right now.
    And so I’d finished snapping and then basically fled, not even waiting for the lift in my agitation but running down several flights of stairs, clutching the handrail, knowing that I was stupidly drunk and shouldn’t be tearing around like a lunatic, especially with an expensive camera in tow.
    I didn’t remember getting home or collapsing onto the bed. But here I was, unfresh, in need of a good scrub. I got up and started to run a bath while I brewed up a coffee in the kitchenette. While it percolated, I stripped off my clothes from the previous night and swaddled myself in one of Rochelle’s robes. It wasn’t like my comfy towelling robe at home, which I hadn’t had the space to bring along. It was more of a kimono – silken, with an exotic cherry-blossom motif of pastel greens and pinks. It was cute, but not at all me.
    I took my coffee in the window, looking down onto the street. There was a strange mix of characters in evidence: prostitutes, even at this hour, but also models on their way to castings or shoots, hip young parents pushing buggies, shuffling tramps, and others less immediately classifiable. This wasn’t Soho, but neither was it Bayswater, where I lived. I struggled to think of anywhere that quite matched its vibe in London. It seemed unique and utterly compelling. I decided I’d go out exploring once I’d freshened up.
    But first a