Never Mind The Botox: Rachel by Penny Avis Page A

the kitchen and popped the bread back up. ‘Harry, we’re about to go out for dinner!’
    Harry popped the slices back down again. ‘I’m hungry now. And besides, I need a cheese toastie, not some fillet of fish with a load of rabbit food.’
    Rachel hesitated, trying to decide how best to react. She could tell Harry had already had quite a few drinks and the last thing she wanted was a row before they’d even left the house. Plus he should probably eat something.
    ‘Alright,’ she said, ‘but don’t take ages − our taxi will be here in half an hour.’
    Rachel was relieved to see Harry wolf down his sandwich and head in the direction of the shower. She’d already left out his black tie suit on the bed. True to form, Harry was out of the shower and getting dressed five minutes later. He walked back into the sitting room and stood in front of her, glaring.
    ‘What?’ Rachel asked.
    Harry looked down at his feet. His suit trousers were at least an inch too short.
    ‘Oh shit!’ said Rachel.
    ‘Yes, oh shit!’ Harry replied.
    ‘I told you to try them, you idiot,’ said Rachel.
    ‘You’re the idiot that measured them,’ retorted Harry. ‘Honestly, how hard can it be to get right?’
    ‘Well, if you’d stood still for ten seconds rather than dancing around like an eel on speed, I might have had a better chance of getting the measurements right.’
    ‘Well, I’m not going wearing these.’
    Rachel felt slightly panicked. What a start to the evening.
    ‘They aren’t that short. Let me have a look.’ She loosened the fastener on the waistband of the trousers and pulled them down so they sat a bit lower on Harry’s waist. ‘Look, that’s better.’
    Harry looked down and seemed marginally placated by the adjustment.
    ‘The taxi will be here soon. Why don’t you watch TV while I put my dress on? I’ll get you a beer.’
    Rachel quickly grabbed a beer out of the fridge and turned on the sports channel before there was any more talk of not going. She jumped into her dress and had just finished getting ready when the doorbell rang. Harry finished his beer and much to Rachel’s relief they left. As Harry walked in front of her to the taxi his beer-induced sway seemed to accentuate the shortness of his trousers. Rachel shook her head.
    The summer party was being held in a magnificent Georgian hall in the centre of London. Between the columns at the front were burning torches that were flicking gently in the light wind and Rachel could see an enormous sweeping staircase inside. Her heart started pounding slightly. The two doormen who greeted them were dressed in fairly comical outfits that included red socks, knee-length britches with tassels at the bottom, gold jackets and pointed red hats. Seemingly unaware of the fancy-dress-like qualities of their outfits, they greeted Harry and Rachel with very solemn nods and waved them in the direction of the great staircase.
    ‘Christ, this place is posh,’ said Harry.
    ‘I think it’s beautiful,’ said Rachel. ‘Look at those paintings on the staircase.’
    Large gilt-edged portraits of regal men and women regarded them from the middle of ornate panels as they climbed the staircase.
    ‘It feels like they’re all staring at me,’ said Harry. ‘Freaky load of old, dead people.’
    As they reached the top of the stairs there was a waitress holding a tray of champagne while an efficient-looking lady in a black trouser suit from Rachel’s office was discreetly checking invitations. Rachel took a glass of champagne.
    ‘Do you have any beer?’ Harry asked the waitress.
    Rachel cringed.
    The poker-faced waitress didn’t. She smiled politely at Harry. ‘Certainly, sir. They will have beer at the bar in the Rose Room where you’re having your pre-dinner drinks.’
    ‘Thank you,’ said Rachel.
    She put her arm through Harry’s, straightened her back slightly and guided him through into the Rose Room. The room was already full of people chatting and