Free Alice Brown's Lessons in the Curious Art of Dating by Eleanor Prescott Page A

and not own a pair of heels?! You ought to be ashamed of yourself!’
    Alice did feel a small twinge of shame. But you couldn’t ride a bike in heels, or run for the bus, or take the short cut across the grass in the park. Heels were for ladies; real ladies who wore tights the same colour as their skin and didn’t cut their nails with kitchen scissors. Ladies like Bianca. Oh God, why hadn’t Audrey invited Bianca to the ball instead? Maybe it would be better all round if Alice didn’t go at all.
    ‘Saturday!’ declared Ginny decisively. ‘Whatever you’re doing, cancel it. Dan can babysit. You and I are going shopping for an outfit.’
    ‘OK,’ Alice agreed meekly.
    ‘And that means dress, shoes, accessories and handbag.’
    ‘Surely I don’t need that much!’
    ‘They’re just the basics, for God’s sake!’
    Alice had a terrifying vision of herself. There was a reason why she didn’t own any ladylike clothes and it had something to do with the fact that they made her look like a cross-dresser.
    ‘We’re going to get you a knock-’em-dead outfit,’ Ginny enthused. ‘You’re going to be the belle of the ball.’
    ‘Ah, well, I don’t really thi—’
    ‘Alice!’ Ginny interrupted sharply. ‘This kind of stuff’ssupposed to be fun! Most women list shopping as a hobby, for God’s sake! Going to the ball is your golden opportunity. You’re going to have a great time, you’re going to look fabulous, and everyone’s going to realize what a brilliant matchmaker you are.’
    ‘OK,’ Alice mumbled uncertainly.
    ‘Jesus, cheer up!’ Ginny laughed in exasperation. ‘This is
good
news!’
    Alice put down the phone. Her joy at going to the ball had evaporated. Only the sick-making ordeal of having to truss herself up, coat herself in make-up and do small talk with Audrey remained. She didn’t think she could do it – any of it. Maybe she should just tell Audrey she had an appointment, a family commitment, an evening funeral to go to . . . anything rather than go to the ball.



KATE

    If the character of rooms could be likened to people, Kate thought, then the reception area at Pedigree Pooch was an elderly gentleman scholar.
    More of a fusty gentleman’s club than a waiting area for a dog food company, Pedigree Pooch’s reception area took itself very seriously indeed. There was none of the minimalist furniture or funky artwork that the receptions of Julian Marquis PR’s clients normally sported. Instead, Kate and Julian were sunk deep within two antique leather armchairs, listening to the hypnotic tick of a grandfather clock and eyeballing dusty paintings of the revered (and all spookily similar-looking) Laird family, the original founders of Pedigree Pooch.
    Julian blew his nose noisily. He was clearly bored, and Pedigree Pooch was not a place where things happened quickly. They’d been waiting for ten minutes with nothing to divert them but yesterday’s paper and the ticking of the clock. And Julian was the kind of man who never sat still. As he stuffed his handkerchief back in his pocket he rolled his eyes at Kate and squirmed in his squeaky leather chair.
    Suddenly the silence was shattered by a phone. Julian’s mobile was always ringing, so it took Kate a few moments to realize it was hers. She dived into her handbag, scattering pens and notebooks in her haste.
    ‘Hello?’ she whispered and smiled apologetically at the frowning receptionist.
    ‘Morning! It’s Alice from Table For Two.’
    ‘Oh, hi!’ Kate replied tightly. Already Julian’s ears were flapping.
    ‘Ah . . . I’m guessing you’ve got an audience.’
    ‘Correct.’ Kate tried to sound businesslike to throw Julian off the scent. She saw him pick up the newspaper and pretend to read. He was a terrible actor. ‘But please: go ahead.’
    ‘Well . . . I’ve got a potential date for you!’
    Kate held her breath in excitement.
    ‘He’s called Sebastian and he ticks a lot of your boxes.’
    ‘Has he . . . ?’ Kate