And for a third, Mark Swan will be there.
I shudder. No way am I going to let Swan feel any pity for me. If I want to cry, I can do it tomorrow.
12
Vanna’s place is already packed by the time I get there. I was hoping to have a quiet chat with her, maybe even a glass of wine, before Charles arrived, but I guess there’s no chance of that. Cars are stacked three deep in her glorious gravel driveway, there are blokes outside rigging outdoor fairy lights into the trees and bushes, there are caterers coming and going with crates of champagne and trays of delicious-looking food.
I thread my way into the hallway past them.
‘Vanna? Vanna?’
Rupert comes lumbering up to me, followed by Winston. I reach down with a pre-emptive ear scratch before he can ruin my make-up again.
‘Upstairs, slapping on the old warpaint,’ he says. ‘Who are you? We haven’t been introduced.’
‘Rupert.’ I wave frantically at him. ‘It’s me, Anna.’
‘Anna. Anna?’ he says, astonished. He comes closer, peers at me. ‘Anna! By God, it is, too. I didn’t recognize you.’
‘Oh,’ I say, feeling pleased.
‘You look terrific,’ he says, sounding amazed. ‘I say, did you have a nose job?’
I grit my teeth. ‘No, Rupert, I did not have a nose job.’
‘Because it looks a bit smaller,’ he says charmingly. ‘Although now I get up close I see that’s just an optical illusion. And you look thinner! You look normal now,’ he tells me, graciously.
‘Thank you, Rupert.’ I sigh. The sarcasm is lost on him.
‘Let’s have a look at you,’ he says, turning me round. ‘Good Lord! That’s a very flattering outfit. Course, I always prefer ladies in dresses. You should wear dresses more often, Anna!’
‘I’ll remember that.’
‘That way, people won’t assume you’re a lesbian,’ he says.
‘Top tip, Rupert,’ I say. ‘Thanks.’ I look round desperately for Charles, but he hasn’t got here yet. A mature person would handle this whole situation with zen-like calm found deep from within. On the other hand, I’m going to handle it with alcohol. ‘Pass the champagne, could you?’
I’m sipping away as Vanna descends the stairs and appears. She stops dead in the entranceway to the kitchen, blinks.
‘Anna? Is that you?’
‘Hi, hon,’ I say, going over to give her a hug, but she holds me back so she can take me in.
‘I don’t believe it,’ she says. ‘I don’t believe it.’
I don’t know whether I should be flattered or annoyed by all this incredulity.
‘I didn’t look that bad before,’ I mutter. ‘Did I?’
‘No, it’s not that,’ she lies blatantly. ‘But now you look delicious, darling!’
‘Let’s not go overboard,’ Rupert guffaws. Vanna shoots him a look before which a Cossack would quail and he beats a hasty retreat to the morning room.
‘He’s an oaf,’ she says with unusual candour, ‘but you do look wonderful, Anna. Have you had some…’ Her voice trails off. I lift an eyebrow.
‘Work done?’ she hisses.
‘Nope.’
‘No Botox? Collagen lip injections?’
I shake my head.
‘Not even a little contouring on your … Oh. No. Really, well, that’s fabulous. So this is all you,’ Vanna says, warmly. ‘And now we can see what you should look like. You should have done this years ago. Did you use a personal shopper?’
‘Sort of.’ I explain to her about Janet.
‘The model I met? The brunette or the blonde?’
‘The brunette.’
‘You know what I think of models, darling.’
‘They are my friends, please be nice to them.’
‘I’m always nice to people, even people I can’t stand,’ Vanna says. ‘Hostess with the mostest, you know. But I do think I’ll have to re-assess with your friend Janet. She’s done a simply marvellous job.’
‘She has.’ I can’t deny it. Under all the sick disappointment of my job interviews, and even though I’m dreading seeing Swan, I also want to know how he’ll react when he sees me. He’s never seen me in anything better than baggy jeans and shapeless T-shirts. Hey, at least I’ll be looking good when I have to face him. I wonder if he’ll say anything, or will he—
‘Charles! Angel,’ Vanna says. I go bright red and spin round to see Charles standing there, looking as pleased as Punch, clutching two huge bouquets of roses. ‘Darling, your fiancé’s here.’
‘Yes,’ I say, guiltily. ‘Hi, Charles.’
‘Ladies,’ says Charles. He’s wearing his stack heels and a dark suit, goatee beard neatly trimmed. ‘These are for you, Vanna, to thank you for throwing the party. ‘Fraid your house will be total bedlam.’ He hands her a vast bouquet of yellow and pink roses and twiggy branches that’s almost as tall as he is. ‘And Anna, my dear, these are for you.’ He passes me an equally ginormous bouquet of crimson-red roses. ‘To thank you again for agreeing to become my bride,’ he says.
‘I didn’t bring you anything,’ I say, as Vanna beckons her housekeeper over to whisk away the flowers and stick them in water. ‘I’m sorry … sweetheart.’
‘You’re giving me the ultimate gift,’ Charles says, bowing stiffly. ‘Your hand in marriage.’
I hug him and reach for my champagne glass again. The caterers have put on their uniforms, the first guests are drifting in through the door, and the party’s about to start.
‘Let’s go and stand next to Vanna and welcome everybody in together,’ I suggest. Charles smiles up at me gratefully. I thread my arm ostentatiously through his. Dear Charles, he’s so sweet. I am absolutely not going to be ashamed to be seen at his side.
‘Do you like my new dress?’ I ask him. ‘My make-up? I had it all done specially for tonight.’
‘Oh, yes,’ he says, giving me a cursory glance up and down. ‘You look very nice, darling.’
I tell myself it doesn’t matter. Men don’t have an eye for these things, everyone knows that.
* * *
Mark Swan doesn’t show up.
It’s a fabulous party. One of Vanna’s best. Everybody seems to be having an incredible time. There are three different kinds of champagne, including pink (I love pink champagne, even though it’s probably very common of me), there are little designery snacks – chips served in miniature newspaper cones, dim sum, tiny tartlets of various styles, beef carpaccio speared through with a toothpick – that must be the upper-class version of sausage on a stick – all sorts of stuff. There’s a string quarter out in the garden, and all the trees are strung with fairy lights, and candles in glass jars are strategically dotted around the lawn. Vanna’s catered a huge buffet with every kind of delicious food imaginable. I don’t seem to have much appetite, though. I’m picking away at smoked chicken, sitting at the top table with Charles and Vanna and Rupert, trying to remember to laugh at all his jokes, and generally watching everybody else have a fabulous time.
Is it just me, or is it really dull showing everybody your engagement ring every five seconds? It’s like going to university and being asked over and over again what A levels you did. I’m so sick of extending my hand and simpering. I know, I know, I must sound like a total grouch. And I want to be better at this. Happier. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
I do enjoy Lily and Janet, though. They’ve turned up with Ed and Henry. Janet’s all over Ed while Lily is trying to do her princess act on Henry. And Ed, who’s rather scruffily dressed, is very solicitous, constantly going back and forth fetching things – glasses of champagne, napkins, slices of watermelon. Mostly for Lily, as Henry doesn’t seem to be asking how high when she says jump. Janet’s beaming soppily at Ed, and Lily keeps tossing her blond hair and pretending to be all stiff and cold, but she actually looks quite happy. Happier, now I come to think of it, than I’ve seen her for ages, maybe since I’ve known her.
‘Darling.’ I turn to C
harles. ‘Would you excuse me just a moment? I’d like to go and have a chat with Lily and Janet.’
‘Of course, poppet,’ he says, turning back to Rupert and his boring anecdote. I slip away.
‘Hi, guys,’ I say.
‘Anna, congrats,’ says Henry, shaking my hand warmly.
‘Charles is a lucky man,’ Ed says. ‘Let’s have a look then. Ahm, yes,’ he says, examining the ring. ‘Pretty.’
‘I wouldn’t need something that big,’ Janet says eagerly. I wince for her, but Ed doesn’t seem to have noticed.
‘Oh yes, I prefer smaller stones, myself,’ he says.
‘I bet you do,’ mutters Lily with a warning look at Janet, but Janet’s oblivious.
‘But you know Charles,’ Henry says cheerfully. ‘He never spends one pound where ten will do, does he?’
Lily sighs, then hastily covers it with a delicate little cough.
‘Tell you what, Dawson, let’s go and talk to him, leave the girls by themselves for a few minutes,’ says Henry to Ed.
‘Righto,’ says Ed. ‘Be back in a sec.’
‘Don’t be too long,’ purrs Lily.
Ed looks at her, blushes. ‘I won’t,’ he says.
‘Oh, bloody hell, Anna,’ Lily exclaims as soon as they’re out of earshot. ‘This party is ridiculous. Just ridiculous! How much did he spend?’
‘I doubt Vanna let him pay, but I’m sure he tried.’
‘He’s lovely,’ says Janet, loyally. ‘And you look awesome,’ she says with triumph. ‘Anna B in the hizzouse! Lettin’ ’em all know wazzup!’ She does a hip-hop hand motion.
‘Oh, cut that out, Janet,’ says Lily.
‘Don’t be a hater,’ Janet says, hurt.
‘I do look great, thanks to you.’
‘He was knocked off his feet, wasn’t he? Blown away?’
‘Um, absolutely.’
‘I knew it,’ Janet says in triumph.
‘But never mind about me,’ I say, wanting to do anything to change the subject. ‘What about you girls? You look like you’re in love.’
Janet sighs blissfully. ‘I totally am.’
‘And the whole world knows it,’ Lily tells her, shortly. ‘You’re not going to get whatever costume jewellery Ed can afford acting like that.’
‘Am I being too keen?’ Janet asks humbly.
‘I’ve seen limpets less clingy than you,’ Lily says witheringly. ‘But it doesn’t matter if you ruin your chances with Ed, because you really can’t go out with him. He’s too poor.’
‘No he’s not,’ say Janet and I together. And Janet’s bristling, mild-mannered Janet looks as if she might turn into Bruce Banner and rip Lily’s head off.
‘Tell me about Henry,’ I say, to ease the tension. Lily shrugs.
‘He’s all right,’ she says.
‘You look like you’re quite keen on him.’
‘I’m not keen on men, they’re keen on me.’
‘But you have to admit, he’s not bad looking.’
Lily relaxes slightly, sighs. ‘He is gorgeous,’ she admits.
‘Nice to talk to?’
‘I like him,’ she concedes. ‘Even though he’s very arrogant. He wouldn’t fetch my drink,’ she pouts.
‘That’s because you changed your mind three times. He got you whisky, you said you wanted vodka. He got you vodka, you said you’d decided on cognac.’
‘A woman has a right to change her mind,’ Lily insists, tossing her hair. ‘Anyway, Ed got it for me.’
‘He’s very chivalrous,’ Janet says adoringly. ‘Couldn’t move fast enough, could he?’
‘It’s such a fantastic party,’ Lily congratulates me again. ‘You’re sooo lucky,’ she says.
‘Yeah, I know,’ I say. ‘I’m really lucky.’ I look at Janet staring adoringly after Ed and suddenly feel a painful clench around my heart. But I know I have to shake this off. Charles is a good man who wants to take care of me for the rest of my life, and if I hold out for some stupid, romantic notion of true love …
It’s just that I like myself in my new clothes. I think I look pretty damn good. And I wish my man felt the same.
Charles gives me a little wave and I wave back.
‘True love,’ Lily says. She nudges me. ‘I did tell you, Anna, it’s as easy to love a rich man as a poor one. Glad you made the right decision!’
‘I keep telling you, it’s not like that.’
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Lily says infuriatingly. ‘I’m not going to spill the beans.’
And then I see him. Standing in the kitchen doorway, looming over the garden. Scanning it, a large present wrapped up in his hand. Looking for someone. Looking for me.
‘I think I’ll just go and circulate,’ I tell them. ‘Your boys are heading back this way.’
Distracted by Ed and Henry, the girls don’t even give a backwards glance as I walk away from them towards the kitchen, my kitten heels crunching on the gravel.
He came. Three hours late, but he came.
Swan is standing there, hovering, looking, I’m glad to see, extremely uncomfortable. I square my shoulders, shake out my hair. The green dress Janet picked is ruched at the bodice, it looks rather Georgian, empire-wasted, draping skirt, and my make-up is the same as it was this afternoon; I just freshened it. And I’m wearing Anais Anais, and I have a sweet little evening bag in white clutch silk …
But why would he notice? Charles didn’t.
I take a deep breath. I’m only doing this to take his gift and be polite, I tell myself. And after tonight I probably won’t see the guy again.
‘Hello, Mark,’ I say, in what I hope is a suitably patronizing tone. ‘How good of you to come,’ I add coldly.
‘Anna,’ he says. He stands there clutching his gift and looks me up and down. ‘Anna,’ he repeats.
‘That’s my name, don’t wear it out,’ I joke.
‘You look stunning,’ he says.
I melt just slightly but try to freeze myself back over. Swan looks pretty stunning himself. In honour of the occasion, he has decided to wear a suit. Totally out of character, but he looks good in it. It’s dark, charcoal grey, with a pale blue shirt. It fits him perfectly; with his body, it has to be bespoke.
‘Thanks,’ I mutter. I catch sight of our reflection in Vanna’s glass door. Tall though I am, he dwarfs me.
‘This is for you,’ he says, awkwardly, shoving the gift at me. It’s quite solid.
‘Thank you, you needn’t have bothered,’ I say neutrally. You certainly didn’t bother to help submit my script hangs in the air.
‘I can see you’re consumed with curiosity as to what it is,’ Swan says drily, ‘so let me put you out of your misery. It’s a Sony Vaio.’
‘The souped-up laptop?’
He nods. ‘You can load the Final Draft I gave you right onto it and start rewriting your movie.’
‘How do you know it needs rewriting?’
‘How do you know it doesn’t?’ he asks, patiently.
I pull myself together.
‘Very kind of you,’ I say dully. ‘You shouldn’t have. It’s far too generous a gift.’
Swan shrugs. ‘I’ve got a lot of money. As, I suppose, do you.’
‘I don’t have anything,’ I tell him. ‘I just got fired. Remember?’
Swan says nothing but makes a gesture with his head at the party raging expensively all around us.
‘This is my friend’s house,’ I tell him. ‘And yes, Charles is rich, but so what, that’s not my money.’
He grins. ‘Wives all say that, until the divorce courts.’
Oh! He’s so arrogant, standing there, looking down at me. The awkwardness has gone and he’s back to his old self-confident self. I think of the interview today. ‘If you can bring us Mark Swan,’ and the phone call, same thing, and Frank Giallo’s sly look at him, ‘Are you attached?’
It’s Swan, Swan, Swan. It’s all about him, isn’t it?
‘Speaking from experience?’ I snap, seeing red.
‘Bitter because you have to pay her alimony?’
‘Not at all,’ he says, and his tone’s pleasant enough, but a shutter comes down over his eyes. ‘I was glad to give Maryann what she asked for. In fact I gave her more.’
‘Well, aren’t you Mr Perfect,’ I retort. ‘I expect meanness to ex-wives makes for bad PR. I know you probably find it a wild and crazy idea, but some of us want to make our own money.’
‘Sure,’ he says, aggravatingly patronizing.
I thrust the gift box back at him. ‘Maybe you should take this back.’
‘Why? Are you still sulking because I wouldn’t help you submit your script?’
‘I’ll never be able to get an agent now,’ I cry. ‘People always want you. They always want to get to you!’ I’m glaring at him. ‘I’m worse off than I was before, I’ve no job, and now I’ll never get one. Nor an agent. I can’t make it on my own, I’ll always be seen just as a short cut to you. And you won’t even help me.’
Swan looks at me. ‘Anna,’ he says. ‘You need to think about this. You’re just being pathetic.’
‘Pathetic?’ I demand furiously. How dare he?
Something snaps inside me. Mark Swan, standing there, looking so gorgeous, so disdainful. I step forward, hand raised to slap him round the face, but his own hand darts out, lightning quick, and catches mine. My wrist seems tiny in his hand; it’s stopped as dead as though I’d tried to smash it into a force field.
‘You shouldn’t resort to physical violence,’ he says softly, and he’s looking at me like … like …
We’re close, his chest is inches from mine, his head, his weatherbeaten, craggy face, and that sexy, kind, laughing mouth …
I feel my own lips part, involuntarily. My heart is racing. His eyes are flickering down over my face …
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ I manage.
‘But I want to,’ he says, still softly.
My heart flips over. Thudding. I sway on my feet a little, I feel almost faint. He lets me go and I take a step back. It can’t mean what I think it does. Can it?
The Go-To Girl Page 32