Free What My Best Friend Did by Lucy Dawson Page A

can anyone need? It’s like MI5 in this place.”
    But before she could answer me, there was a loud, “Ladies and gentlemen,” from the front of the room, and a man I vaguely recognized holding a microphone said, “Welcome on behalf of the Bengal Tiger Protection Society—keeping these beautiful beasts alive for the next generation to enjoy. We’ve now reached the auction part of the proceedings.”
    “Come on!” Gretchen hissed to me. “Let’s go and take a look about while they’re all distracted!”
    She grabbed my arm, and rather reluctantly, I began to follow. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to explore; when I was little and we were dragged around drafty castles and National Trust houses, what fascinated me more than anything were the doors marked PRIVATE, behind which I imagined secret passages stretching away. I used to long to slip through them and see what was going on behind the scenes, but, much like now, I really didn’t want to get into trouble either.
    As we reached the doorway, however, the emcee said, “Our first lot is a signed pair of Christian Louboutins. You may never want to wear these out in the rain, ladies! A slightly early Christmas present for yourself perhaps?”
    Gretchen stopped in her tracks, spun around and said, “Hang on a minute,” putting her arm out to stop me.
    “Who will start the bidding at five hundred pounds?” the emcee asked warmly.
    I shook my head. It was a pair of shoes, for crying out loud, and wouldn’t it be easier to save the tigers, wherever they were, just by donating directly?
    “Thank you, madam, five hundred pounds I am bid,” he said, quick as a flash, pointing in my direction. My mouth fell open—I’d not shaken my head to bloody bid! Then I realized he was talking to Gretchen, who was standing next to me, excitedly biting her lip and jiggling lightly on the spot with one hand in the air. Five hundred quid! Was she mad?
    It seemed she wasn’t the only one, however. Several women wanted to get their paws on those red soles, and the amount quickly rose to fifteen hundred. I had sobered up completely and couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Tigers were a worthwhile beneficiary but …
    Then it all leaped into fast-forward. The emcee, delighted at such a frenzy on the first lot of the evening, daringly raised the bar to two thousand pounds—and Gretchen nodded. I reached out and put a hand on her arm. “Do you even know if they’re your size?”
    “Who cares?” she said. “I’ll just buy new feet.”
    Another woman raised the amount to £2100. Gretchen frowned and impulsively called out “Five thousand pounds!” A low murmur of appreciation swept around the room as people turned to look at us and I nearly dropped my drink. The camera equipment I could get with that!
    The emcee beamed at her. “Wonderful! Do I have five thousand one hundred pounds?” The room hushed in anticipation. No one spoke. “Then, going once, twice, three times and sold to the enchanting lady at the back of the room!”
    Gretchen laughed excitedly. “Oh what fun!” she said. “This is even better than Daniel Craig!”
    In the taxi home, to mine and then Gretchen’s—that she’d made wait while she finished a cigarette—she stroked her new shoes and said, “I just love them.”
    I shook my head in the dark. “I still can’t believe you did that.”
    She leaned her head back on the seat. “I know—I should have listened to you. Still, it’s only money. It ended up being a great night, didn’t it?”
    “Absolutely!” It actually really had been. I was buzzing—just like LA again.
    She suddenly became serious and said, “Al, I’ve got a confession to make. Promise you won’t hate me?”
    “I promise,” I said, intrigued.
    “I sort of asked you out tonight because I thought if I made it look like I was helping you, you might get me in with some of your fashion-mag contacts. You have no idea how hard it is to get them to even consider you for a