Lost and Found. Jane Sigaloff

      ‘Yup?’

      ‘If The Carlyle Hotel call…’

      ‘I know, I know. I’ll put them straight through.’

      ‘Right…’

      Conversation closed.

      Taking a sip of her tea, Sam brushed her hair, applied a little extra Touche Éclat, a fresh coat of powder, lipgloss and a generous squirt of perfume from the bottle she kept in her desk drawer. Restored to at least a superficial level of normality, she smoothed down her skirt as she got to her feet, and checked her appearance in the mirror. Perfect.

      Insecurities filed away in an internal drawer somewhere, she strutted towards the lift. She loved the high-profile deals, and she was getting more and more of them. Youngest partner in the City. She dared to dream. As long as EJ didn’t get there first.

      Chapter Two

      January 24th

      Ben hesitated. Ali hadn’t seen the funny side of him reading her journal, and that had been nearly twenty years ago. But there was a high probability that this one might contain more than high school crushes, exam angst and playground politics. Plus, if he didn’t at least try to identify the author, how was he supposed to reunite the two in exchange for eternal gratitude? Perfect justification. He flicked back to the beginning.

      If found please return to:

      Flat 3,

      68 Warwick Road,

      Battersea,

      London SW11 8HP

      Damn. But breakfast wasn’t due for another forty-five minutes, and he only needed to have a quick shower. After all, he was unpacked already.

      Jan 1st

      Hungover. Should never have gone to Sophie’s dinner party. Food always fantastic—really must learn to cook properly—but midnight was a bit like watching the slow dance at the school disco. Bed at 4:00 a.m. Resolve to wake up next New Year’s Day without having to apologise to liver, stomach and kidneys for immaturity. Brain seems to have developed pulse of its own. Just waiting for it to burst out of my forehead, Alien stylee.

      NY Res:

      1. a) Run/cycle round Battersea Park at least 3 x week

      b) Register for charity half-marathon. Would like to hit 30 at peak of physical fitness

      Ben held his two-pack in. What was it with women and exercise? As far as he could make out they spent most of their schooldays avoiding physical education before devoting their late twenties to single-handedly combating the twin forces of evil—cellulite and gravity—determined to make amends.

      2. Posture.

      Stand and sit up straight.

      Don’t want to become hunchbacked old woman

      He sat up a little straighter. Round shoulders were the curse of the comfort generation.

      Smile while walking fast. Don’t want to be old and fierce-looking with furrowed brow

      3. No carbs. (January only) Fresh fruit x 5 daily. Espec. red peppers and tomatoes—antioxidants

      4. Read one Penguin Classic every 2 months

      5. Keep legs and bikini line hair-free even in depths of winter—remember am doing it for self

      6. Be better friend, however busy at work. Owe Sophie and Mark at least five dinners—prob. more

      7. Sort out nuclear winter in window boxes and try and keep them alive for more than two months at a time. Replanting is cheating. Water might help. Think last batch of plants were dodgy. Water. Sun. Photosynthesis. How hard can it be?

      8. a) Have great sex

      b) Have sex more than once

      c) Have sex more than once with the same person

      d) That person must be someone you have never had sex with before

      9. Pilates or yoga? Research difference

      Research difference? Ben scoffed. He was sure one was just the new-fangled version of the one before. It was all a gimmick. New millennium women were exhausting.

      10. Streamline wardrobe. Be ruthless. Do not need another pair of black trousers, probably ever.

      11. Buy anti-wrinkle cream. Is it too late once wrinkles have started to appear? Ask EJ. She seems to have inside track on new products

      12. Buy night repair cream—why do repairs have to take place at night? Is it like roadworks? But no one has to dig anything up, do they?

      13. Find tennis coach. Am too old to still have a crap serve

      14. Try whisky again. May have grown into it now.

      Ben grimaced sympathetically. He’d never understood the allure of cough medicine with ice or water, and despite David’s repeated determination to make him a man, Southern Comfort was as close as he’d managed to get to the whole malt zone.

      15. Exfoliate

      Liver now feels like is trying to burrow its way out of my back cavity. Sure in desperation it has borrowed water from other vital organs. Can’t rehydrate fast enough and have officially run out of soap operas, Australian, American and otherwise, to watch on apparently numerous digital television channels that I pay for. Hangovers definitely getting worse.

      EJ says we have passed physical peak. Wish I’d known when I was reaching the summit. Should’ve had more random sexual encounters. Anyway, who says I need man to rescue me? Am perfectly happy. Wonder how Paul is? Oh, no. Usual downward hangover spiral and selective memory kicking in. Always wouldn’t mind having boyfriend, however unsuitable, on days like today. And if alcohol is a depressant why did I feel so good last night? Lonely. No one has called. Not even Mum. Don’t know why I bother to have answer-machine and call-waiting.

      Ben shook his head. If she had just got off her toned arse and headed down to the pub for a couple of Bloody Marys with a buddy or two she’d have been feeling a lot better, he was sure of it.

      Must call Sophie and Mark and say thank you. Not now. Probably still in bed. Not sure will make it out of house today. Maybe should add atrophy to list of skills to perfect this year.

      All out of empathy, he flicked forward a handful of pages.

      Jan 16th

      Bad day. 1—Caught myself counting faint lines on forehead in lift mirror at 7:00 a.m. before remembering CCTV memo. 2—Richard called twice about having lunch to discuss my progress—more like his progress. 3— Departmental drinks tonight—decision to have onions in salad at lunch was wrong one. 4—Monster spot brewing on lipline, with roots in central nervous system and fast-track link to tear ducts. Have drenched in tea-tree oil and now whole office smells like aromatherapy zone. Have despatched Mel to buy industrial strength cover-up and air-freshener.

      Ben yawned. Just reading her life was exhausting, but no wonder Adrian Mole and Bridget Jones were world-famous. It was mundanely addictive stuff, and without thinking he’d conjured up a mental picture of a black-trousered, ageing, hyper-active hunchback in need of chill-out, pilates and serve lessons.

      Hope that someone laughs at early attempt to be witty before I lose will to live or they notice spot. Definitely should not have attempted pre-emptory squeeze. Lip must not swell. Are there genuinely confident people out there or are they just better at bluffing than the rest of us?

      Sam sat in the conference room and watched the bubbles in her mineral water lose their battle to cling to the bottom of the glass before forcing herself to concentrate by diligently taking copious notes. Doing her utmost