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can.”
    Jeremy shrugs.
“Naw. Don’t worry. I live around the corner anyway. I’ll just throw
them in the washing machine as soon as I get home.” He motions to
the waiter for another bottle. “Come on, sit down. Relax.”
    I sink
carefully into my seat. “You live nearby? Me, too.”
    “Yeah, I’m just
on Welbeck, down the street.” Jeremy waves a hand in the air. “Your
clinic was so close, I figured I’d give you a try. I’m happy I
did.” He smiles. “I was really depressed, and you cheered me up.
Well, you and the thought of a new nose.” He taps his nose as if
it’s behaved poorly.
    I almost say he
doesn’t need a new nose, but I snap my mouth closed just in time.
Who am I to tell someone what they need and what they don’t? That
will be up to the women of Great Britain when they vote in the
poll.
    “So.” Jeremy
pours me a large glug of wine then fills his own glass. “Why did
you want to meet?”
    I take a
mouthful of liquid, swallow, then breathe in. “Okay. Well.” I put
on the life-affirming, bushy-tailed expression I imagine every life
coach employs. “So here’s the thing. For a select group of clients,
Transforma offers our life advisory service. And I’m thrilled to
report that you’ve been chosen.” God, I sound like I’ve swallowed a
whole pharmacy of happy pills.
    Jeremy’s brow
does a cute crinkly thing. “A life advisory service? What’s that,
exactly?”
    “A new life to
match the new you,” I chirp. “How to dress, how to date, how to
turn yourself into the ideal man, both inside and out.” I can feel
my face turning red as I hold his eyes.
    “Serenity, what
are you on about?” he asks with a lovely lopsided grin. “I don’t
need a new life. I just need a new face.” He grimaces, as if an
unpleasant memory has come to mind.
    “Yes, that’s a
typical response,” I say knowingly. “Many patients don’t realise it
takes more than a new appearance to make one happy with
oneself. That’s why we, at the Transforma Harley Street Clinic,
undertake a global approach, helping our clients become the person
they’ve always wanted by working with them on everything from
wardrobe to waistline. Because, you know,” – I lower my voice
dramatically – “you can’t embrace your future without understanding
your past.” God! Where the hell is all this spewing from? And is
that cheesy infomercial voice mine?
    “Well, I could use some help with my wardrobe, I guess.” Jeremy looks
down at his wine-stained jeans. “But I don’t know about the rest of
it. I’d rather forget the past, to be honest.” His face twists, and
I can’t help wondering what he’s so keen to forget. I’ll find out
soon enough – if I can pull this off.
    I nod
understandingly. “I know. A lot of people feel that way before they
start. But it’s a very rewarding process, and when it’s over I can
guarantee you’ll be happy with the results.” More than happy,
actually. He’ll be the man of every woman’s dreams.
    “Anyway, my
methods are very relaxed. Some have even called them
ground-breaking,” I say in a desperate bid to convince him.
    “Ground-breaking, huh? What exactly do you do?”
    “Well . . .” My
mind works frantically. “We start with a complete clothing
analysis. What does your wardrobe say about you, your hopes and
your dreams? What do you want it to say?” I risk a glance in his
direction, and he’s nodding slowly. “Then, we move on to, er,” – my
gaze falls onto the bottle on the table – “wine therapy.”
    “Wine therapy?”
Jeremy raises his eyebrows.
    “Yeah, you
know. In vino veritas. ” Or whatever that saying is. “It’s a
method used to ensure complete relaxation, developed by Ziggy, um,
Moyles.” Christ. I hold my breath that Jeremy’s bought it.
    “Well, that
doesn’t sound so bad,” he says. “Is there an extra fee
involved?”
    He’s going to
go for it! “No, no, of course not,” I respond. “If you purchase
over five thousand