Second Chance - Jane Green [55]
Yvonne purses her lips. ‘Actually we all wish you had a love life for us to gossip about. Lovely girl like you, you deserve someone much better than that awful George.’
Olivia’s mouth falls open. ‘But you all said you loved George.’
‘Yes, well. That was before he dumped you for that American bimbo.’
‘Yvonne! How do you know all this?’
‘Know what? I don’t know anything. I’m just saying. You ought to have a lovely man who makes you happy.’
‘I’m not going to talk about it any more,’ Olivia says, picking up her coffee and walking out through the door. ‘But just for info, I do have a date tonight,’ and as Yvonne’s face lights up and she prepares to shower Olivia with questions, Olivia shuts the door and walks off towards her office, giggling.
She is meeting Fred tonight. He is finally here. She shouldn’t be excited, sees no reason to be excited, particularly given that this is a five-day business trip, and she’ll probably hate him once she meets him anyway, but this is the first time she has felt there is something to look forward to. She has arranged to pick him up from the Dorchester at seven o’clock.
At three, she does something she never does. Pulls on her coat, picks up her bag, and announces to Sophie, her assistant, that if there’s anything urgent, she’ll be on her mobile. ‘But only call if it’s an emergency,’ she says, and Sophie, who has inadvertently seen a couple of emails from Fred, winks her approval and shoos her away, knowing that nothing, bar the shelter burning down, would cause her to interrupt Olivia on her date.
Her first stop is the hairdresser. ‘I need to cover the grey,’ she tells Rob the colourist, ‘and then I need a trim.’
Rob purses his lips as he examines Olivia’s never-been-touched hair. ‘God, you’ve got a lot of grey,’ he murmurs, almost to himself as he picks up her hair. ‘Natural colour, or can I throw in a few lowlights just to add a bit of depth?’
‘Whatever you want.’ Olivia shrugs. ‘I’m in your hands now. Knock yourself out.’
Two hours later, Olivia stares at herself in the mirror in awe. Chestnut and copper streak her hair; and Kim, the junior stylist, has cut long layers into her bob that sweep her cheeks and make her look years younger.
Kim and Rob stand behind her, arms crossed, waiting for Olivia’s reaction. They have dealt with women like her before – women who come in wearing jeans and boots, who don’t possess a scrap of make-up, and believe that natural is better. They have performed makeovers on these women before, and are never quite sure what the outcome will be. Some have cried with joy at how much younger, how much better they look; and others have spat in fury and refused to pay, demanding they strip the colour off the hair immediately, somehow put it back the way it was.
Olivia, thank God, is one of the good ones. She started smiling halfway through the blow-dry when her new colour emerged, and is now clearly delighted.
‘I love it,’ she squeals. ‘I love, love, love it,’ and they hand her a mirror to see the back, laughing as she stares with obvious delight at herself and her new swinging, shiny hair.
‘Now just remember what I said,’ Rob says as he walks her to reception to pay. ‘Lipstick and blush, little black dress and a lot of confidence.’
Olivia turns to him. ‘Thank you so much,’ she says, spontaneously reaching out and giving him a hug. ‘Wish me luck!’ And with that she’s off.
Her Beetle zips through the London traffic, and at every traffic light Olivia stretches up and checks herself in the rear-view mirror. It’s not that she’s vain, it’s that she can’t believe how different she looks. She is, just as Rob suggested, wearing a black wrap-dress that she got on sale last winter and wore to George’s office Christmas bash. She felt beautiful that night and loved feeling George’s pride as he introduced her to his colleagues at work. She tried not to think about it tonight as she pulled the dress from the back of the