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rock on your finger,' and '
If
you want an SW3 address,' and '
If
you want to be known as a seriously good dinner-party hostess.'
    I mean, I wouldn't
mind
being known as a seriously good dinner-party hostess. You know. It's just not exactly highest on my list of priorities right now.
    Plus, Jemima's idea of being a seriously good dinner-party hostess is inviting lots of rich friends over, decorating the whole flat with twiggy things, getting caterers to cook loads of yummy food and telling everyone she made it herself, then sending her flatmates (me and Lissy) out to the cinema for the night and looking affronted when they dare creep back in at midnight and make themselves a hot chocolate.
    'I did that quiz,' she says now, picking up her pink Louis Vuitton bag. Her dad bought it for her as a present when she broke up with a guy after three dates. Like she was heartbroken.
    Mind you, he had a yacht, so she probably was heart-broken.
    'What did you get?' says Lissy.
    'Eighty-nine.' She spritzes herself with perfume, tosses her long blond hair back and smiles at herself in the mirror. 'So Emma, is it true you're moving in with Connor?' I gape at her.
    'How did you know that?'
    'Word on the street. Andrew called Rupes this morning about cricket, and he told him.'
    'Are you moving in with Connor?' says Lissy incredulously. 'Why didn't you tell me?'
    'I was about to, honestly. Isn't it great?'
    'Bad move, Emma.' Jemima shakes her head. 'Very bad tactics.'
    'Tactics?' says Lissy, rolling her eyes. '
Tactics?
Jemima, they're having a relationship, not playing chess!'
    'A relationship
is
a game of chess,' retorts Jemima, brushing mascara onto her lashes. 'Mummy says you always have to look ahead. You have to plan strategically. If you make the wrong move, you've had it.'
    'That's rubbish!' says Lissy defiantly. 'A relationship is about like minds. It's about soulmates finding each other.'
    'Soulmates!' says Jemima dismissively, and looks at me. 'Just remember, Emma,
if
you want a rock on your finger, don't move in with Connor.'
    Her eyes give a swift, Pavlovian glance to the photograph on the mantelpiece of her meeting Prince William at a charity polo match.
    'Still holding out for Royalty?' says Lissy. 'How much younger is he than you, again, Jemima?'
    'Don't be stupid!' she snaps, colour tinging her cheeks. 'You're so immature sometimes, Lissy.'
    'Anyway, I don't
want
a rock on my finger,' I retort.
    Jemima raises her perfectly arched eyebrows as though to say, 'you poor, ignorant fool', and picks up her bag.
    'Oh,' she suddenly adds, her eyes narrowing. 'Has either of you borrowed my Joseph jumper?'
    There's a tiny beat of silence.
    'No,' I say innocently.
    'I don't even know which one it is,' says Lissy, with a shrug.
    I can't look at Lissy. I'm sure I saw her wearing it the other night.
    Jemima's blue eyes are running over me and Lissy like some kind of radar scanners.
    'Because I have very slender arms,' she says warningly, 'and I really don't want the sleeves stretched. And don't think I won't notice, because I will. Ciao.'
    The minute she's gone Lissy and I look at each other.
    'Shit,' says Lissy. 'I think I left it at work. Oh well, I'll pick it up on Monday.' She shrugs and goes back to reading the magazine.
    OK. So the truth is, we do both occasionally borrow Jemima's clothes. Without asking. But in our defence, she has so many, she hardly ever notices. Plus according to Lissy, it's a basic human right that flatmates should be able to borrow each others' clothes. She says it's practically part of the unwritten British constitution.
    'And anyway,' adds Lissy, 'she owes it to me for writing her that letter to the council about all her parking tickets. You know, she never even said thank you.' She looks up from an article on Nicole Kidman. 'So what are you doing later on? D'you want to see a film?'
    'I can't,' I say reluctantly. 'I've got my mum's birthday lunch.'
    'Oh yes, of course.' She pulls a sympathetic face. 'Good luck.