Drop Dead Gorgeous

by Anna Cheska

  Phoebe giggled. ‘You haven’t changed, you naughty man!’ She recrossed her legs.

  Hazel sat up straighter in the bamboo chair. How old would she be? Sixty-five if she was a day. Brian was older – distinguished and grey, but still an attractive man. Rather debonair and very … sound, Hazel decided dreamily.

  ‘What is the point of life,’ Giorgio demanded, ‘if you do not enjoy eet?’ He surveyed Hazel over the rim of his glass.

  Here we go again, she thought.

  Phoebe intercepted the look. ‘Lucky you’ve got Hazel here to keep you under control.’ They all laughed uproariously. It wasn’t a particularly funny remark – Hazel didn’t think so anyway – but it was just one of those evenings. Laughter and wine flowing, good food, pleasant company. So … well, so normal.

  Brian refilled her long-stemmed wine glass. ‘Marvellous to be with like-minded people.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Hazel knew exactly what he meant.

  ‘We’re so tucked away here.’

  ‘Mmm.’ There were streaks of silver in his hair, she noted. ‘Have you been living here long?’

  ‘Since my retirement.’

  She nodded. As she’d thought. ‘Nice to get away from the English climate, though.’ In winter, anyway.

  He raised his glass. ‘And to find some freedom,’ he said with feeling. ‘To freedom and self-expression.’

  ‘To freedom,’ Hazel echoed, not sure what he was talking about.

  They clashed glasses.

  ‘And how long have you been married?’ Hazel asked Phoebe, thinking to tease her. A lifetime, no doubt. She put her drink down carefully on the glass-topped table.

  ‘Oh, we’re not married, darling.’ Phoebe laughed again. ‘We both were once – but to other people. Living in sin, that’s us.’

  ‘Really?’ Well, of course, Hazel reflected, everyone got divorced these days – look at Vanessa. And like her friend, not everybody wanted to go through another marriage. It was understandable, she supposed. Though …

  ‘And why not?’ Giorgio too had consumed vast quantities of Bardolino. Were there really four empty bottles on the table? Hazel squinted but couldn’t keep track, the silly things seemed alive.

  ‘An outdated institution, isn’t that what they say?’

  Hazel smiled vaguely. It was certainly what she’d said to Vanessa over that tea in Kirby’s, which seemed like a lifetime ago. The trouble was, she didn’t really believe it. She waited for someone to make the joke about the institution.

  ‘And who wants to join an institution?’ Phoebe obliged. She might be English but she was a bit of a pain, Hazel decided.

  ‘Absolutely,’ Brian agreed. But Hazel divined a lack of enthusiasm here. He wasn’t the type to flout convention, she guessed.

  Phoebe turned to Hazel. ‘Don’t you think so? Or are you trying to convert our Giorgio?’

  Hazel sat up straighter. ‘I have no intention of making Giorgio do anything he doesn’t wanna do,’ she said, aiming for prim and sounding sloshed instead. Heavens, was she drunk?

  At this point, Giorgio – perhaps thinking that her defences were down – put a hand on her thigh again. She squirmed.

  ‘Unlike me.’ He squeezed the flesh – harder than necessary, surely? She would have slapped him if they hadn’t been in company.

  ‘I want to make you do everything you don’t want to do, hmm, my love?’

  Everyone laughed again, including Hazel who didn’t immediately grasp that he was discussing their sex life – or lack of it – with two strangers. When she did realise, after the laughter had died down, she hissed, ‘Control yourself, do,’ and shoved his hand away with considerable force.

  Brian got to his feet. ‘How about a game of cards?’ he suggested.

  Hazel smiled at him gratefully. He was exactly the sort of man who could be relied on to break a spot of nasty tension, to change the subject discreetly and smoothly when conversation took a turn for the worse.

  ‘Lovely.’ She clapped her hands. There was nothing like a nice game of cards. It was so ordinary and so English. To finish dinner, clear the table and indulge in a few hands of whist …

  Phoebe smiled. A sly smile? Goodness, Hazel was seeing it everywhere now. ‘The usual?’ she asked.

  ‘What else?’ Giorgio had become quite animated. He even helped Phoebe clear the table. Neither of them appeared to be any the worse for drink – they weren’t swaying anyway.

  Hazel put her hands on the edge of the table to steady herself. She was swaying and she hadn’t even stood up yet.

  Brian went off to fetch the cards. ‘Shall I deal?’ he asked when he returned.

  ‘Gin rummy?’ Hazel asked. ‘Newmarket? What do you usually play?’ She hoped she wouldn’t let herself down. Only coffee from now on, not a drop more wine.

  ‘Poker.’ Brian’s smile was ordinary, English but not very reassuring. ‘You can play poker, can’t you, Hazel?’

  Chapter 31

  As per the instruction on the invitation to Jude’s party, Imogen was made up to the eyeballs. Tiffany – who had come round to tell her she’d got a place at the local art college starting in September – had added some of her own cheekbone glitter and one of her stick-on beauty spots. Imogen had drawn the line, though, at a fake dragon tattoo.

  ‘Not that you need it,’ Tiffany said, sticking on the beauty spot and admiring the effect. ‘You look well groovy, Imo. What kind of party did you say it was?’

  Imogen hadn’t. ‘SHAG.’ She shrugged in response to Tiffany’s exclamation of disbelief. ‘One of Jude’s hare-brained schemes.’

  ‘Hey, blatantly wild.’ Tiffany rolled up both sleeves to reveal a tasteful daisy imprinted on each wrist, the name DAVE inscribed in capitals below. Imo hoped he was an improvement on Warren. ‘Can anyone come?’

  ‘Absolutely not. You’re far too young.’ Jude had been explicit on that point too. Only women of a certain age, she had specified. The rest of them – according to Jude – were too busy having fun already.

  * * *

  To celebrate, Vanessa and Ralph had planned a day out at the seaside in Brighton. A morning of strolling the prom had been particularly enjoyable, Vanessa thought, as Brighton front had two levels and the underpass was home to some charming craft shops, bars and tiny art galleries. This was followed by a traditional lunch of fish and chips and an afternoon spent shopping in The Lanes, which left them ready for an evening being pampered at the Grand Hotel.

  ‘If your answer is still yes, my lovely,’ Ralph said as they sipped their champagne cocktails in the Grand’s elegant conservatory, ‘then we should consider location.’

  ‘I rather like it here.’ It had been a marvellous day. And now, sitting here with Ralph – who was dressed in style in grey suit and cravat – Brighton seemed the obvious choice. A compromise perhaps, Vanessa thought, being a short journey by rail from both Chichester and London. And yet in its own way it had it all. Galleries, shops, character and culture. ‘And there’s a marvellous festival,’ she added. That was a temptation. Brighton Festival was second only to Edinburgh these days.

  ‘Something about the place, isn’t there?’ He patted her hand. She was wearing her mother’s garnet and diamond ring in honour of the occasion.

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘Then why not?’

  Vanessa smiled. Darling Ralph, so easy and so impossible to please. ‘Perfect,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll contact some estate agents, shall I? Make a start?’ His eyes creased as he smiled back at her. That face might be lined, she thought, but he still had it – whatever it was, inside.

  ‘It is spring after all,’ she agreed. The urge for change was in the very air. Vanessa adjusted the folds of her favourite long black dress. She wouldn’t tell him about the test results yet, she didn’t want anything to spoil a perfect day. And besides, the doctor had assured her that the lump could be dealt with easily, having been found in time. One breast or two, Vanessa knew it would make no difference whatever to Ralph.
She would tell him. But not tonight.

  ‘And you can leave the little one?’ He was watching her carefully, his eyes concerned, as if he knew without being told.

  ‘As I said to you once before, Imogen is a survivor.’ Rather unfortunate perhaps for her to have fallen for a man who was about to become a father. But … Vanessa twisted the garnet ring. She had a feeling that Imogen was indeed stretching her wings and ready to fly. So she wouldn’t be telling her either. There would be time enough.

  ‘To us.’ With his free hand Ralph covered hers once more. With his glass he touched hers. ‘Together at last.’

  ‘To us.’ Vanessa closed her eyes for a moment and felt the warmth of this man she had always wanted. Once, physically, but now … for his humour, his companionship, his values. Still, she couldn’t resist a small smile, as she flicked a speck of dust from his jacket and said, ‘I always knew you’d see reason eventually.’

  * * *

  Imogen arrived early to help Jude get things ready. Daisy was staying the night with Hannah. And no, Jude said, she had not told Hannah’s mother what kind of a party it was.

  Imo noted the sign in the Georgian-paned window of The Goddess Without: MAKE THE MOST OF YOUR MASK. CREATE YOUR TRUE (IMAGINED) SELF, and laughed. She ran up to the flat … and succumbed to Jude’s critical eye.

  ‘Not bad. You see, you can do it if you try hard enough.’ Jude was dressed in black. Black silk shoe-string-shouldered top, black silk pencil skirt – ankle-length but with a split to the thigh to reveal plenty of black-stockinged leg. Her hair was raven, her eyes the deepest shade of violet Imo had ever seen (could you get contacts that colour? she wondered) and her lipstick dense blackcurrant.

  ‘You look as if you’ve flown out of an Anne Rice novel,’ Imogen told her. It was a kind-of compliment. Anne Rice’s books might be about vampires but they were generally rather beautiful and erotic ones.

  ‘And you look like a cross between a female Gary Glitter and Liz Taylor. But you’ll do.’

  Imogen stuck out her tongue, grabbed a wooden spoon, and turned to scoop tuna mayonnaise into a bowl. She carried it through. ‘Have you invited lots of men?’ she called as she went. Not that she was interested for herself, though Jude would keep saying that the party was in her honour. Imo smiled. Maybe that should be a party for her to lose what little honour she had left …

  ‘That’s the general idea.’

  Naomi arrived and joined in the last-minute preparations. She wasn’t exactly made up to the eyeballs as specified, but she had made a concession to their hostess by adding blusher and mascara to her normal lipstick and powder. She was wearing a jade green dress which emphasised her curves and suited her colouring perfectly.

  Yet again, Imogen could see the attraction she must have held for Edward, and yet again she was tempted to ask her about Marisa but she bottled out.

  ‘How’s that daughter of yours?’ Jude had no such scruples. She also had no tact.

  ‘She’s done a disappearing act.’ Naomi got busy with the pasta salad, though the flush that swept up her neck and face betrayed her emotion. ‘I got back from work last night to find … well, just a note stuck on the mantelpiece.’

  ‘Where’s she gone?’ Jude asked.

  ‘London.’

  ‘London?’ Jude and Imo stared at one another.

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later Naomi was still mixing pasta as if her life depended on it. She wasn’t sure how much to tell them. She was still trying to take it in herself. It was a shock to contemplate living without her daughter but at heart her overriding feeling was one of relief.

  Imogen re-entered the kitchen. ‘With Alex?’ she asked bleakly.

  ‘Alex?’ Naomi met her gaze.

  ‘Has she gone away with Alex?’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ In the past months Naomi had grown very fond of Imogen. She had helped Naomi change her life more constructively than Edward ever had, and Naomi loved that life – the shop, the plants and flowers, even looking after young Daisy. ‘Surely Alex told you that it was over between the two of them?’ she asked Imogen now. Perhaps she should have said something before. Only she was wary of interfering in other people’s lives – especially people like Imogen who had plenty of reason to resent the ways in which she had interfered before.

  ‘Well, kind of. Only…’ Imogen’s voice trailed off. She looked hopelessly towards Jude (currently dealing with Coronation Chicken) who sighed, shook her head in mock despair and carried the bowl through.

  ‘You didn’t know for sure?’ Naomi clingfilmed and moved on. Granted, Marisa had continued to pursue Alex. Naomi had caught her once or twice phoning him, giving him a hard time, no doubt. In the end she’d told her sharply to give the man a break. Yes, Naomi smiled to herself, she could do that now; their relationship had not been the same since Imogen had entered their lives. ‘You can’t make someone love you,’ she had told her daughter. ‘Push too hard and you’ll drive them away.’ But Marisa would never be told. And now she’d launched herself into another … episode.

  ‘There’s still the baby,’ Imogen said. She looked so forlorn standing there cradling a plate of Caesar salad that Naomi simply had to go over and give her shoulder a quick squeeze.

  ‘But you see, as it turns out, there is no baby.’ She said the words with some difficulty. This was not the time, she’d told herself before coming to the party tonight. This was a night for having fun. For two pins she would have cried off but she knew how much Jude was looking forward to the evening, and it was a party for Imogen after all … But now, seeing Imogen’s expression, she had to tell her. ‘And Marisa has apparently realised there’s more to life than having an artist as a boyfriend. There’s also money. Money that’s available now – not at some vague time in the future.’

  ‘No baby?’ Imogen’s eyes grew wider. ‘You mean…?’

  Naomi nodded. ‘It was in the note.’ And it had given her such a jolt when she’d read the words. Irresponsible though Marisa was, Naomi had been looking forward to being a grandmother. Perhaps her daughter might even get it right this time, she had found herself thinking.

  ‘But why? How?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Jude had obviously caught the gist of the conversation as she re-entered the kitchen, and now Naomi had the full attention of them both. She took a deep breath. ‘I don’t think there ever was a baby,’ she said. Any alternative to this she didn’t care to contemplate. Marisa had gone away last weekend, but that wasn’t unusual. Marisa did lots of things, including going away. And then she had met this man – how or where heaven only knew – who, according to her, had money and knew someone who ran a modelling agency in London. Life wasn’t actually like that, was it? Though, granted these things did seem to happen to her daughter. Whatever the truth of it she had her own route to follow and Naomi was damned if she was going to feel guilty for the rest of her life after making one bad decision. She exhaled loudly. She would always worry. But: ‘Marisa has grabbed her portfolio and run,’ she announced.

  ‘Hmm.’ Jude was the first to move. ‘I’ll cancel all her nail appointments then, shall I?’ She whizzed her plate through and rushed straight back again. ‘Was that tactless? Sorry.’

  ‘Not at all.’ Naomi tried to be brisk. ‘Marisa is a mixed blessing.’ That much was certainly true.

  Jude switched her attention. ‘Come on, Imo, stop dreaming. If you’re that desperate to speak to AA…’

  ‘AA?’

  ‘Well, it’s not Alcoholics Anonymous and no one’s broken down. Yet.’ She groaned. ‘So if you’re that desperate, why not take the initiative and call him?’

  ‘Call him?’

  ‘Well, why not?’

  * * *

  Imogen hurried her plate through. Why not? She could think of a hundred reasons why not. He was too young, he was irresponsible, he … Heavens, she’d run out of reasons already.

  ‘I told him to get lost,’ she reminded Jude as she came in to change th
e CD.

  ‘Maybe he didn’t believe you.’

  Not very likely. She’d blown it with Alex Armstrong. Clearly it had never been meant to be, though it had been pretty wonderful all too briefly. ‘Maybe I’ll meet someone single, heterosexual and gorgeous tonight,’ she said, trying to be brave.

  Jude gave her a knowing look and blew her a kiss. ‘That’s the general idea,’ she told her.

  Roberto emerged from his room in a tuxedo. Imo noted Jude’s reaction. ‘At your age,’ she teased.

  ‘I may not be as young as I was, sweetie…’ Jude leaned closer confidingly ‘… but who said youth is the only thing worth having?’

  ‘Er, Dorian Gray?’

  ‘Well, he was talking crap.’

  ‘He was?’ Imo was lost here.

  ‘I know my strengths,’ Jude informed her.

  Imogen grinned. ‘So what are you offering? Beauty?’

  ‘Beauty is not my only commodity.’ Jude pulled a scary face. ‘And what I’m offering is neither here nor there.’ She put an arm around Imo’s waist. ‘Because I’m doing the selecting.’

  ‘I see.’ Though Imo wasn’t sure it was that simple. What happened if the person you selected didn’t want to know?

  ‘Choice, Imo,’ Jude said.

  ‘Choice?’

  ‘Now that’s worth having.’

  Chapter 32

  Jude decided to nip up by the outside spiral staircase to check Florrie was okay with the noise level. She’d warned her about the party. Her neighbour hadn’t seemed to mind in the slightest. ‘It’ll liven the old place up a bit,’ she had said, somewhat wistfully. Jude wondered if she was remembering her own dancing days, those male attentions she had once enjoyed.

  Florrie didn’t answer her knock, so Jude, shivering despite having thrown her big coat around her shoulders, tried the kitchen door. It was open.

  ‘Florrie?’ She slipped inside. The light was on in the hallway so she went through, heading for the sitting-room. It was only just after nine, Florrie was bound still to be up.