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

themselves’. Either that or they were too busy with their careers. And what kind of woman listed ‘going to the gym’ as a hobby? Audrey always despaired when she saw a client write this on her application form. Really! Did women really think this was what men wanted? A grunting, muscular Serena Williams with a career more high-flying than their own?
    Audrey drained her teacup and set it back on its saucer. She knew what Max wanted. She knew better than he knew himself. He’d been rather vague. ‘Kind’ was the only criterion he’d come up with. But Max should have a discreet, well-groomed partner, willowy and graceful. Someone he could rely on to say the right thing when she accompanied him on important work events. Audrey knew this woman – she could see her! The problem was, she couldn’t see her in the Table For Two files. There were too many tattoos and divorces in there.
    She’d sleep on it, she decided. And then she’d call Max in the morning to talk him through a few choice selections. She’d knock his socks off with her ladies, come hell or high water. She wasn’t letting a client like Max Higgert get away.
    Audrey looked up. She hadn’t noticed Hilary leaving. Only Alice remained, bent studiously over her paperwork, her hair piled onto her head and held in place by a chewed biro. Audrey shut down her computer, squeezed into her coat and headed for the door.
    ‘Goodnight, Alice,’ she called out frostily.
    There was no response. Completely lost to the world, Audrey thought. The place could burn down around her and that girl wouldn’t notice.
    Audrey strode out of the office and immediately came face to face – as she did every night – with the insult that was Alice’s bike. If there was one single thing that could dampen the pleasure of knowing she was on her way home for an evening of uninterrupted BBC television programmes, it was the sight of Alice’s bike, manacled to the railings like a rusting suffragette. Audrey had never known an item scream ‘romantic failure’ quite so loudly. Why couldn’t she get the bus to work like any normal person? No: sensible, practical Alice had to ride a clapped-out pushbike and leave it padlocked right in front of the door. And to top it all, it was accessorized with the ultimate stamp of spinsterdom: a pannier.
A pannier!
What must the clients think?
    Audrey straightened her mac and powered in the direction of the bus stop. Mentally she was already pouring her first sherry of the night.



ALICE

    On Saturday morning Alice wheeled her bike through her front garden and headed into the city centre to meet Ginny. She wished she didn’t feel such dread. Normally her spirits would soar at the prospect of spending the day with her best friend. But today was being rudely gatecrashed by the unwelcome guest of shopping.
    Alice wasn’t exactly a ‘shopper’. For her, a trip to the shops was only brought about by absolute necessity, like an empty fridge and impending starvation. And today was to be dedicated to the very worst kind of shopping: shopping for clothes. Shopping for clothes meant looking in mirrors. Alice hated looking at herself in mirrors and didn’t keep one in her flat. It’s what’s inside that counts, she reasoned defiantly as she pedalled along. When Mr Right shows up he’s not going to scarper just because I forgot to brush my hair that morning or didn’t get around to ironing my skirt. Love conquers all: even mismatched outfits and saggy jumpers.
    All too soon she arrived at the shops. She padlocked her bike and made her way to the boutique where Ginny had decided they’d meet.
    ‘Morning!’ Ginny chirped, her arms already laden with clothes. ‘I’ve found loads for you to try on. There’s the peach taffeta with the sweetheart bow, the sheer lemon minidress with matching knickers, and the plunge-front satin in scarlet; you won’t be able to wear a bra with that one.’
    The blood drained from Alice’s face.
    ‘Don’t be