Love...Among The Stars: Book 4 in the Love...Series (Love Series) Read Free Page B

suitcase neatly next to the wall and turns to give me another smile, this one tinged with a healthy degree of expectancy.
    This is the moment I've been dreading. Will I make Muresh's day? Or will I have to see his face crumple in a barely concealed mixture of disappointment and loathing?
    Let's see what I've got in my purse, shall we?
    Hmmmm .
    So, which do you think would be worse? Giving Muresh the £2.36 I have in very small change, or a book of 12 first class stamps - with two and a half stamps left in it (Jamie is always too rough with those things). How about the picture of the three of us taken on the Gold Coast two days before we left, or my library card - which was out of date seven years ago?
    I panic, and give him the change and the book of stamps, figuring that they have enough face value to bring his tip above the £3 mark.
    For a fleeting second, Muresh looks like someone has just taken a shit in both his hand and his mouth, before he covers up his disgust magnificently.
    'Thank you so much,' he tells me, through a barricade of shiny white teeth. Translated: 'Wow, thank you very much. I bet two quid in coppers and some stamps was a real stretch for you, what with that job as a successful writer. I had JK Rowling in here the other day and she only stumped up £1.73 and a chocolate frog.'
    Muresh decides to throw a return insult back in my direction by picking the book of stamps out of his hand with two pinched fingers and handing them back to me.
    'Thanks?' I offer, which is not the usual response you make after having a tip rejected, but in these dire circumstances, there is little else I can do.
    My towering shame is given relief when Muresh backs his way out of the room, shutting the door as he goes. I hear him stamp off down the corridor, no doubt to go tell every other member of the Dorchester staff that the woman in room 216 is a right bitch, so feel free to spit in her breakfast and forget to leave fresh towels.
    For the first time that day, since I discovered I was a banana, I am left gratifyingly alone. A swift look at my watch tells me it's coming up to 6pm, so I'd better get a wiggle on. According to the text Jamie sent me in the car on the way up, another chauffeur driven car will be here in an hour to pick us up for tonight's shenanigans, which gives me fifteen minutes to shower, ten minutes to get dressed, twenty minutes to agonise over whether I should wear the bolero jacket or not, and just quarter of an hour to reapply foundation to all the bits I need to, and put on the rest of my make-up.
    Aaargh !
    It'll be close, but I think I can just about make it happen - if I'm very lucky and pray to the dressing up fairies hard enough.
     
    The shower is wonderful, and I sacrifice five minutes dressing time for continued use of the massage function. This results in a rather hurried donning of underwear, tights and evening gown, but I get away with just one small ladder on my right thigh and a couple of bent teeth on the dress's zipper.
    Bolero related agony is far worse than I thought it would be, given that I look super cute with it both on and off. In the end, practicality wins the day, and I decide to wear it, given the fact it's February and three degrees outside.
    So now it's just the matter of the foundation and make-up.
    Still, I managed to do it pretty fast this morning, so all I have to do is be confident, controlled and liberal with application, and I should be fi -
    Where's the fucking foundation?
    I rummage around my expansive make-up bag, but no foundation is to be found. I then frantically up-end the bag into the sink, but still no foundation is to be seen.
    The next thing up-ended is my handbag onto the chair... then my suitcase onto the bed... but still no luck.
    A grisly, awful realisation hits me.
    You left it in the bathroom at home, you silly bitch.
    I can picture the large tube of skin salvation right where I left it - stood next to the toothpaste and sun cream in my bathroom cabinet,