‘Did I what?’ snapped Liz, tapping her foot angrily against the table.
‘Take her to lunch?’
Liz eyed her companion with irritation. ‘I can’t remember. And anyway I’m glad I didn’t. Beth Wickham is right, she is an arrogant bitch and it’s no wonder Paul D’Erlanger dumped her.’
Anne looked across the crowded restaurant to where Beth was giving Tony Travers her undivided attention, approximately six inches between their noses.
‘Paul dumped Beth too,’ she said mildly. ‘I hear he’s trying to get back with Ellie.’
Polly, on the other hand, was made of sterner stuff. You had to admire her, thought Ellie, colliding with her one afternoon as she strolled to meet Clive at the National Gallery and Polly was distractedly trying to get a cab back to her office.
Polly squealed a greeting, grabbing Ellie by the arms and berated her for hiding herself away.
‘We’ve missed you at WIN, you naughty girl,’ she scolded playfully. ‘How about lunch?’
The first profile Ellie had written for Focus since her return had been published that week. She felt she could afford to be more forthright.
‘I don’t do lunch very much these days,’ she told a startled Polly, who continued to measure success in terms of how long it took to fit someone in for that very activity.
‘But I thought you were writing for Focus again, I mean I heard about your TV show...’
Ellie knew that a nasty suspicion had surfaced in Polly’s mind. She groaned as though comprehension had just dawned.
‘Oh sorry, Polly, I thought you knew. I meant I don’t have business lunches any more unless I really have to.’
Polly eyed her in alarm. Her voice faltered.
‘You don’t? What, never?’
Ellie knew she was going to enjoy this.
‘Oh, no. It’s just that these days I can afford to choose what I do and having lunch is something I choose not to do.’
There was a persistence about Polly which at one time Ellie had put down to professionalism, something she herself believed in. Now she thought it irritating.
‘But you really will kick yourself if you don’t hear about who I’ve just taken on. Wait for it... Are you ready for this? Trevor Summers.’
Ellie laughed and started to move on. Trevor Summers might have once rated an interest in her life. But these days Oscar-winning actors were way down on her list.
‘If he’s that good, Polly, we don’t need to waste each other’s time meeting for lunch to discuss it.’
Polly made one last attempt to retrieve her position.
‘Fine, great. I’ll send you his biog. You’ll love him. Fascinating guy. And he was thrilled when I told him I knew you well.’
Ellie paused.
‘Now there’s a funny thing, Polly. I, on the other hand, have discovered in the last few months that I really didn’t know you at all. See you.’
*
Before Ellie left for Venice the sore subject of Kathryn Renshaw and her libel action against Focus had to be addressed. For Ellie it was irritating and time consuming, and she hated being used as a tool for a vain, financially ambitious woman to parade her life across the tabloids. The action for libel was to be heard in the High Court and was expected to last five days.
‘After which,’ she told Rosie, ‘Venice may well be exactly what I need after all.’
The press were out in force on the first day of the hearing when Ellie arrived accompanied by James Baldwin. Kathryn Renshaw turned up with a posse of minders, several relatives and a fierce expression which set Ellie and James into a fit of laughing.
‘You ain’t seen nothing, yet,’ he breathed as the Renshaw brigade swept past and into the oak-panelled court room, settling themselves firmly into the public benches, in full view of the jury. Throughout the next five days they presented a united and totally unassailable front of moral indignation whilst quietly negotiating with the murkier tabloids to do an exclusive story just in case Mr John Renshaw’s ex- and very irate wife should lose her case.
As James had predicted, Kathryn Renshaw needed her day in court.
What had clearly outraged her was that James had advised their counsel that they saw no point in calling John Renshaw as a witness, since it was Ellie’s own comment that Kathryn Renshaw had benefited both financially and socially from her marriage to the Ambassador that had caused all the bother.
Clearly determined to have maximum compensation for the loss of seeing her former husband in court, Kathryn Renshaw, a walking tribute to the safer end of the fashion industry but an experienced litigant, skilfully lobbed gratuitous comments into her evidence which she was aware would make a good headline next day, lost no opportunity to describe Focus as no better than the gutter press and when Quentin Anstruther, the QC acting for Focus, boxed her into a corner, she resorted to a copious bout of weeping which left everyone wrung out with the tedium of it all.
Quentin had decided to call Ellie first to give evidence and the ordeal was not so much the time that Kathryn Renshaw’s counsel took to cross-examine, but the fact that he was so plodding and unimaginative, it was like dealing with a third-rate member of the debating society at school.
‘Still, why should he put himself out?’ James yawned as they waited for the jury to come back with their verdict. ‘He’s home and dry. Our only concern now is that the press box is crammed full and the rest are practically swinging from the rafters, which means that the jury may well feel obliged to say something dramatic. It’s happened before,’ he pointed out, seeing the look of amazement that crossed Ellie’s face.
While they waited she had time to observe Kathryn Renshaw and had never felt sorrier for any woman before. John Renshaw had been her one claim to fame, her ticket to opportunities that were now lost to her, a gilded life with a view from the top — and then she had overplayed her cards.
One holiday too many, a bigger house, a faster car and while she was enjoying the fruits of her most ambitious career move, her marriage to the Ambassador, he had been consoling himself for the lack of her presence in his life with his secretary, about to become the third Mrs Renshaw.
Too late Kathryn had seen the trip wire, and since her looks, her ability and most depressing of all her age, precluded the chance of another brilliant match, she had locked herself into a time when life had been better and now she couldn’t — and indeed couldn’t afford to — let go.
Ellie shivered. What a waste of a life. To hanker after something that is gone. She would never do that, of that she was sure.
And it was in that moment, watching the distorted features of Kathryn Renshaw acting for all she was worth, that the futility of loving someone who was no longer there hit her.
James was not at all surprised that the jury found for Kathryn Renshaw a sizeable sum which, for the moment, seemed to assuage the Renshaw camp’s need for income and revenge.
Ellie was just thankful it was all over. ‘I must get someone to libel me,’ she said as they left the court and strolled along the ancient corridors, down the shallow stone steps and out into the forecourt. ‘I could do with a new car.’
Glancing back as they headed down Fleet Street, they witnessed the sight of Kathryn Renshaw leaning heavily on her lawyer’s arm delivering a well-rehearsed set of quotes to the assembled press, jockeying with each other to capture the victor. ‘Just want a quiet life. My marriage was a mistake but I am paying for it,’ came floating after them.
‘Getting well paid for it, more like,’ muttered James. ‘And call that victory? She’s the biggest loser I’ve ever come across. C’mon, a quick drink and then back to the real world.’
The morning papers featured the case very prominently, putting a dramatic Kathryn Renshaw on all the front pages. Ellie wasn’t surprised but what did catch her unawares was that quite a few of them had used photographs of Ellie herself leaving court with James.
Mid-morning, as she was leaving her flat to drive down to Dorset for a production
meeting with Letty, Jed phoned and asked who her press agent was.
‘For someone who wants to lead a blameless life,’ he teased, ‘you don’t half attract attention.’
*
Towards the end of March Jed, Rosie and Ellie with Piers Imber, the photographer Rosie was besotted with, left London for Venice with a couple of assistants and a make-up artist in tow. Rosie was in festive mood. For once she didn’t have to drag hundreds of dresses through customs, sorting out carnets, and face the dreary task of ironing everything on location.
‘Easy peasy,’ she crowed as they stepped into the motor launch at Marco Polo that was to take them across the canal to their hotel. ‘I pointed out to Jerome that since most of the guests at the ball will be wearing couture anyway, what was the point? Tra la. No work for me.’
Ellie had thought the break would do her good, but she had forgotten just how romantic Venice was even on the cloudiest of days. You do not come to Venice when you are recovering from a broken heart, she told herself grimly as the hotel launch swung into the wide basin before heading into the Grand Canal and the brilliant perfection of the city was spread out before her.
A city that is a celebration of beauty and love was no place to help her forget that the man she was unwise enough to have fallen in love with was virtually living with someone else and at any moment might announce they had married.
Ellie steeled herself for that news, but every day that passed without hearing Theo was married she had come to regard as a bonus. What she found impossible to unravel was why she should still care what happened to a man who had treated her so badly, used her and undoubtedly would have discarded her the minute he achieved his aim.
But she did care. It had been nearly four months since she had acted out that outrageous scene in the hotel. She had wanted to punish Theo, let him see how easily he too could be fooled and most importantly never let him know that she had believed him.
The stupid thing is, she thought, as she unpacked an hour later in her luxurious room at the Europa, she couldn’t bring herself to believe that she didn’t.
He had made no effort to contact her. No sign that his bid for Linton’s Field had been withdrawn. Nothing. It was as though everything that had passed between them had never happened.
It had been many weeks since Ellie spent every waking moment thinking about him. She had, she told herself with relief, learned to live with it. The knowledge made it easier for her to stay with Clive, but while they were still deeply concerned with each other, still made love, they had lost the passion of the first heady moments of their affair, and settled — the thought amused her — into a comfortable relationship, which suited them both. Neither of them was prepared to take it further or even find out why.
The phone by her bed gave a low buzz.
‘See who’s on the ball committee?’ came Jed’s cheerful voice. ‘Lady Broughton, but of course she would be, it’s her rainforests at stake. Anyway, she’s having a drinks party this evening and we’re invited.’
While Jed was speaking Ellie scrabbled among her pile of envelopes to find the invitation from Sarah Broughton, which announced she would be delighted if they could join her at six thirty at the Gritti Palace.
Ellie wasn’t sure that she in turn was that delighted. She liked Sarah Broughton enormously, but she wasn’t convinced she could handle being with her, knowing how closely connected she was with Theo, and his name was bound to come up. She said so to Jed.
‘Got to do it sometime, my flower,’ he said, but he wasn’t altogether surprised when at six fifteen Ellie rang to cry off and arrange to meet him, along with Rosie and Piers, for dinner at the Trittoria alla Madonna.
At eight she boarded a vaporetto to the Rialto Bridge and slipped through the sliding doors that led to the tiny platform at the back. Pulling her collar around her neck, she watched as the quietly majestic, romantic buildings like a series of Canaletto’s fell away as the boat glided down the centre of the Grand Canal towards the Rialto Bridge.
She didn’t mind being alone. Clive was now immersed in his next book, late of course, and since he hadn’t the time to come with her she couldn’t think of anyone else she would want to share such a moment with.
Alighting at the bus station Ellie strolled back along the quay to the side street where the entrance to the hugely popular restaurant was located.
It was, as she had thought, packed. Rosie, Piers, along with Trixie the make-up artist and Bob, Piers’s young assistant, were in fine form at a table towards the back of the main room. She noticed that Jed was looking anxiously at her and smiled at him to let him know she was okay.
Later as they crossed the Rialto Bridge, having elected to walk back to their hotel, stopping off at Harry’s Bar for a nightcap, Jed hung back.
‘Ellie, I’ve got to tell you something.’
The cautious note in his voice surprised her, the uncertain expression on his face even more so.
‘It’s Theo,’ he said abruptly. ‘He’s here. Did you hear me Ellie?’ he asked when she simply stood staring at him. ‘He’s here, with his parents — and Debra.’
‘I see.’ Ellie’s voice was dull. ‘He was at Sarah’s drink, I suppose?’
Jed just nodded. He loathed having to tell her but at the same time he knew she had to be warned.
‘Yes, I spoke to him for a quite a while. He’s staying with the Prince at his Palazzo and flying back to New York immediately after the ball.’
Ellie continued walking, feeling a strange sense of calm. It was knowing he was in the same city, probably less than a mile away, that was doing it, but why? Surely she should be feeling sick with nerves, panic-stricken, ready to get the first flight out.
It was what Jed finally asked.
‘No, of course not,’ she said tightly. ‘I have to get on with my life. It was bound to happen. After all, he doesn’t know how much he affected me. And nor will he.’
Chapter Twenty-nine
Ellie watched as the gondolas and motor launches arrived at the torch-lit jetty that formed an archway into the marble-hailed entrance to Prince Stefano’s sumptuous home.
The mild spring evening, with only a gentle breeze from the water, lent an air of enchantment to the almost too perfect setting. Each new arrival disgorged a glittering army of names and titles dressed in an array of jewels and designer gowns, the sight of which had Rosie and Piers almost fainting with pleasure.
Ellie left them setting up cameras, as Rosie darted around accosting European princesses and socialites with a confidence that made a refusal simply out of the question and demonstrated to Ellie why Focus’s fashion editor was so good at her job.
‘Your Highness,’ Ellie heard her exclaim, ‘You look too dee-vine. Gianni must be thrilled you’re wearing one of his gowns,’ and she turned away to hide a giggle at Rosie’s outrageous implication that her acquaintance with Versace was close and personal, and grinned appreciatively as Rosie notched up another conquest.
Ellie’s role at the ball was to get some colour to add to the interview she had completed that morning with the Prince. He was barely an inch taller than she was, but quite extraordinarily good looking. In spite of herself Ellie had liked him and found that beneath the outrageously flirtatious manner and quite stunning conceit, he had a razor-sharp brain and was comfortably able to reel off — and dismiss — every single perfume and cosmetic range in the world that he regarded as a competitor to his own exclusive Stefanissimo brand.
‘For you, Eleanora,’ he smiled winningly as she rose to leave his suite of rooms at the Palazzo, which Jed had privately estimated must be worth millions, being one of the few private residences left in the city overlooking the Grand Canal. ‘You must wear my perfume for tonight and you must dance with me so that I can make every man present know I am not only gifted but irresistible to the most beautiful woman in the room.’
So saying he pressed into Ellie’s protesting hand a white satin-finished box, tied with silver ribbon, which Ellie
knew contained his most expensive perfume, one she lusted after but would never have bought since the price ran into three figures.
It was impossible to refuse him, he looked so genuinely hurt when she tried to — and so, knowing that she was unlikely to want to criticize him, she accepted it and his impossible compliments with delight and told him mischievously that she didn’t how she would last out until the evening when she would make him keep his promise to dance with her.
‘You will write wonderful things about me,’ he smiled, clasping her hand. ‘My good friend Theo — who most mysteriously has disappeared for the morning — tells me you are the greatest journalist in the world, but I will be having many words with him, because he is very sly and did not say also the most beautiful.’
Ellie had managed a faint smile and was relieved the Prince couldn’t hear her heart pounding against her ribs as she took her leave of him.
Of course he knows I’m here, she told herself as she dressed for the ball. My name is on Sarah’s invitation list, on the one for the ball and Jed must have mentioned it.
‘You can’t avoid him forever,’ Jed said when they had managed to squeeze in a brief visit to the Accademia and were sitting on the verandah of the Gritti Palace sipping coffee in the warm sunshine, lazily watching the river traffic bustling up and down the Grand Canal.
‘You must think I’m stupid to be still feeling like this,’ Ellie said in a small voice.
‘Not at all.’ Jed pushed his sunglasses back into his blonde hair and lifted his face to catch the sun. ‘Having talked to him at length at Sarah’s I understand how you feel. Ellie, I really liked the guy.’
‘So did I,’ she answered flatly.
‘And I’ll tell you something else, Miss,’ Jed said, without opening his eyes. ‘If things were different, I personally think you two would be terrific together.’
‘But things are different,’ she sighed. ‘The difference is called Debra Carlysle.’
‘I thought it was Delcourt.’ Jed’s amused voice made her give a guilty start.
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