Page 238 - Bridget Jones's Diary - by Helen FIELDING

'You see,' I said proudly. 'It's a miracle.'

He was pretty impressed, I can tell you. 'You're right,' he said softly. 'It is a
miracle.'

Just then Natasha appeared in the doorway. 'Oh, hi,' she said, seeing me. 'Not
in your bunny girl outfit today, then,' and then gave a little laugh to disguise her
bitchy comment as an amusing joke.

'Actually we bunnies wear these in the winter for warmth,' I said.

'John Rocha?' she said, staring at Jude's dress. 'Last autumn? I recognize the
hem.'

I paused to think up something very witty and cutting to say, but unfortunately
couldn't think of anything. So after a bit of a stupid pause I said, 'Anyway, I'm
sure you're longing to circulate. Nice to see you again. Byee!'

I decided I needed to go outside for a little fresh air and a fag. It was a
wonderful, warm, starry night with the moon lighting up all the rhododendron
bushes. Personally, I have never been keen on rhododendrons. They remind me
of Victorian country houses up north from D. H. Lawrence where people drown
in lakes. I stepped down into the sunken garden. They were playing Viennese
waltzes in a rather smart fin de millennium sort of way. Then suddenly I heard a

noise above. A figure was silhouetted against the French windows. It was a
blond adolescent, an attractive public schoolboy-type.

'Hi,' said the youth. He lit a cigarette unsteadily and stared, heading down the
stairs towards me. 'Don't suppose you fancy a dance? Oh. Ah. Sony,' he said,

holding out his hand as if we were at the Eton open day and he was a former
Home Secretary who had forgotten his manners: 'Simon Dalrymple.'

'Bridget Jones,' I said, holding out my hand stiffly, feeling as if I were a
member of a war cabinet.