It's Got To Be Perfect: A laugh out loud comedy about finding your perfect match. Haley Hill

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СКАЧАТЬ where Cordelia had gone. ‘I’m here with my friend.’ I stood on tiptoes to look above the heads. ‘Cordelia. Now where is she? Ah, over there.’

      I pointed her out. She was immersed in conversation with a tall olive-skinned girl who was blessed with the rare combination of endless limbs, tiny bottom and big boobs. As if to add further insult to the rest of the female population, she had also been awarded a super bonus prize of waist-length glossy brown hair.

      ‘So, you do the boys and she does the girls?’ Mike asked with a wink.

      ‘No, we do both,’ I replied, waving Cordelia over.

      Mike raised his eyebrows. ‘You do girls and boys? Excellent.’

      He smirked and then topped up my champagne.

      Moments later, Cordelia returned and introduced her new acquaintance, Megan, whose bee-stung lips and emerald-green eyes now made the rest of her attributes seem decidedly average. Mike nudged me and then laughed. Stephen was transfixed, as if the befuddled puppy had encountered his first T-bone steak.

      ‘We’re not supposed to pair them off before they sign up,’ Cordelia said, pulling me away from Mike. ‘Or spend the entire night talking to one guy,’ she whispered in my ear.

      Mike reached for the champagne bottle. Just as he went to top up my glass again, Cordelia placed her hand over the top.

      ‘We can’t stay,’ she said, before handing me my coat.

      Mike’s brow creased, his expression revealing something more than simply a dent to his ego. Although he’d already made it clear that he would never need to use a dating service, he was quick to add that he’d be happy to ‘help me out’ if I couldn’t find any men for my female clients.

      ‘Only if you get desperate though,’ he added, pressing his business card into my hand.

      I nodded and smiled, before hurrying after Cordelia.

      ‘Right, be completely honest with me,’ Cordelia said as she marched into the night. ‘Are you really doing this dating thing for the good of the people? Or …’ She let the door swing shut in my face.

      I heaved it back open, with the aid of a slow-to-respond doorman and then glared at her. ‘Or what?’ I asked.

      ‘Or,’ she began, marching along the pavement, ‘are you looking for a man for yourself?’

      I scrunched up my nose. It was a valid question, and one that I wasn’t quite sure I had an answer to.

      ‘I want to help people,’ I said, tottering behind her.

      ‘Since when?’ she asked, turning to face me and throwing up her hands. ‘You know I love you to bits. You’re my best friend.’ Her expression softened. ‘It’s obvious you have a good heart: you donate to charities, you adore animals, you help old ladies, you even smile at ugly babies. But people—’ she looked around as though searching for an example ‘—the unimpaired, adult kind—’ she pointed vaguely at the pedestrians around us ‘—you’ve never really had much time for them.’

      I frowned, wondering what had prompted such dramatics.

      ‘Come on. They irritate you. With their eating in public, dithering on pavements, wearing bad clothes and saying inane things. People get on your nerves. You spent the past five years hiding from them in a lab. So why now, suddenly, do you want to help them?’

      I squinted across the street at a man grappling with a cumbersome kebab, and I wondered if she was right.

      ‘And then in the bar,’ she said, pointing back as if to remind me of its location, ‘with that guy. You had that smitten look you get.’

      ‘Oh, come on,’ I said. ‘It’s not as though I can prevent my most base level desires from reacting to a stimulus. Pupils, cease dilation, for now I am a matchmaker, born of higher purpose.’ Then I glared at her shoes. ‘And besides, it’s not like you haven’t exploited the perks of your job at Dior, is it?’

      She looked down and smiled. ‘Fair point,’ she said, admiring her red Mary Janes as if for the first time. Then she looked up and her eyes met mine. ‘I just want to make sure you’re doing this for the right reasons.’

      I watched Kebab Man, now heading towards us with iceberg lettuce stuck to his chin, and I mustered a smile.

      ‘I’ll make a good altruist,’ I said, before leaning into the road to hail a passing taxi. Next stop, the Royal Exchange.

      When we arrived at the eminent sixteenth-century building, Cordelia pointed up at the Duke of Wellington statue, in the manner of a tour guide. ‘He defeated Napoleon, was Prime Minister twice and still managed a twenty-five-year marriage,’ she said.

      ‘Well, he deserves a statue, then,’ I said, striding up the stone steps.

      ‘Although he was shagging around the entire time,’ she added with a smirk. ‘Dirty bugger.’

      I tutted and shot a disapproving look back at the statue, wondering if his wife had regretted the choice she’d made: assuming love would come packaged as a duke on a stallion.

      Once inside the courtyard, we made our way past Bulgari and Boodles and upstairs to the lounge bar. Immediately I felt as though I should be negotiating the terms of a FTSE 100 company buyout, rather than contemplating the least embarrassing way to approach potentially single strangers. Cordelia and I perched on some upholstered bar stools and glanced at the wine list, which according to the barman comprised those made exclusively from ancient vines. Once he’d wandered off with my credit card, I decided that if I was to be mingling with city workers, I should at least have the vaguest comprehension of what a FTSE 100 company was. Cordelia, who had once dated a trader, offered me a crash course on city finance.

      When she’d concluded with a dubious interpretation of the stock market, I peered around the room to look for potential clients. Straight away three men approached the bar. They stood right next to us. I hoped they hadn’t mistaken us for call girls.

      The oldest one, who had a bit of a paunch, purposely bumped Cordelia’s knee.

      ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ he said with a lecherous smile. ‘Now, the least I can do is to buy you a drink to make up for my clumsiness?’

      ‘I already have one, thanks,’ she replied, and swivelled her bar stool away from him.

      Undeterred, he walked around the other side and wedged his paunch between us, and then leant in towards Cordelia.

      ‘How else could I apologise? Dinner?’ A dribble of saliva hung off his bottom lip.

      ‘No, thanks,’ she said, swivelling her bar stool back the other way.

      He grabbed the seat and spun her back towards him. ‘Diamonds? There’s a jeweller’s downstairs. Pick anything you’d like.’

      ‘I’m fine. Thank you,’ she said, peeling his hands off her chair, an action which only seemed to embolden him further.

      A few minutes later, following what amounted to a clockwise–anticlockwise bar stool spin-off, he thrust his leg through the foot stand to anchor it СКАЧАТЬ