Free The Long Weekend by Veronica Henry Page A

of them with relish. She could sense gossip brewing. She grinned at Claire as she rummaged in the handbag she kept behind the bar and pulled out a bag bulging with Boots special offers.
    Claire stood for a moment, the dress in one hand, Mel’s make-up in the other. She had run out of excuses.
    ‘Go on,’ said Nick. ‘Go into the bog and change. I’m not leaving without you. And don’t get any ideas about jumping out of the window.’
    Moments later Claire stared at herself helplessly in the mirror. What on earth was she supposed to do to make herself presentable? She wasn’t a vain creature, but every girl faced with an invitation such as this would want to look her best.
    She rarely wore make-up; she didn’t see the point in drawing attention to herself. She thought she was ordinary at best, and would have been surprised to discover that, in fact, she had the sort of natural beauty that crept up on people. It was only when they’d known her for a while that it occurred to them that she was utterly ravishing. She was completely unaware of the phenomenon, as people tended not to mention their discovery. Instead, she was hypercritical; she considered her features unassuming, and rarely did anything to enhance her looks. Yet her face was a perfect oval, with a high forehead from which her dark-brown hair sprang wild and untamed to her shoulders. Her eyebrows arched over blue-green eyes with a dark rim around the iris. Her skin was pale, smothered in freckles, and her mouth, with its full, pale-pink lips, curled up in a smile like a cat. She was skinny, but she hid her figure under jeans and baggy beaded tops and an old army parka. The whole effect screamed ‘don’t look at me’.
    Tonight, however, she felt the need for artifice. And although Mel’s colours were all wrong and too harsh for her, she rooted through the bag with shaky fingers, applying the contents in a haphazard fashion. Then she hurled off her uniform and slipped into the dress Nick had given her. The silk was slippery under her fingers, and as she pulled it over her head, she breathed in the perfume Nick’s mother must have had on the last time she wore it, something hauntingly floral. She battled with the zip for a few moments, and as it closed, the dress moulded itself to her, sweeping over the curve of her breasts, in at her narrow waist then out again over her hips.
    As she bundled her own clothes into the bag Nick had brought the dress in, she realised she had nothing at all to put on her feet. She couldn’t wear the shoes she’d worn to work. They were flat and black with clumpy soles. She’d just have to go barefoot, she decided.
    She fluffed up her hair, breathed in, and plucked up the courage to look in the mirror. The dress fitted perfectly. The neckline was low; the hem fell just above her knees. It emphasised her tiny waist and her not inconsiderable cleavage. Her cloud of hair fell wild down her back. Her eyes were ringed with kohl and her lashes were thick and long with mascara. Lipstick had transformed her mouth into a red pout. She felt a little fizz in her stomach. This was why people dressed up. For the thrill of being someone else. She grinned at herself, and a minx grinned back.
    She came back into the bar barefoot. Nick’s jaw dropped when he saw her.
    ‘Bloody hell,’ was all he could manage.
    Behind him, Mel gave her a triumphant thumbs-up of approval.
    ‘Come on then,’ said Claire. ‘Let’s party.’
    Because of her bare feet, they walked over the verges, retracing the journey she had made earlier, although she made no mention of it. She didn’t want to admit to her interest, like some weird stalker. As they walked, Nick filled her in on his family. He and his older brother, Felix, worked for their father in the family business.
    ‘Dad’s a wine merchant. He says the business is his legacy to us, though to be honest, Felix isn’t really interested. He’s finally going up to Cambridge to do law in October,