Christmas at Tiffany's

by Karen Swan

  ‘Ooh, who’s it from?’ Cassie asked, darting over and looking for a card.

  ‘Doesn’t say. Don’t worry, I’ve had a good look. Luke, perhaps?’ Her toast popped out from the toaster and she put it on a plate and walked over to the table.

  ‘Hardly! Unless the thorns have been dipped in poison. The last communication I had from his lawyer was that the Vogue story was going ahead.’

  ‘No way! I thought you’d got it all stopped.’

  ‘In Paris, yes. But they’ve got different privacy laws in the States, and he’s got copyright.’ She gave a defeated shrug.

  ‘Well, can’t you fight it?’

  ‘I could – if I had more than eighteen quid in my bank account.’

  ‘No! You don’t—’

  ‘Not literally, Suze! But not far off. I’m just going to have to get my head round the fact that most of the western world is going to see me naked.’ She was silent for a minute, and then a slightly hysterical laugh escaped her.

  ‘What’s so funny about that?’ Suzy asked. ‘I’d be topping myself. I have to whistle just so that Archie can brace himself for the sight of me coming out of the bathroom.’

  ‘It’s not that,’ Cassie sighed. ‘I was just remembering how terrified I was of Gil’s reaction to me in the nightie dress. I mean, it was because of that that I was trying to find him that night. If I’d just worn the velvet one, I still might not know about him and Wiz, even now. Instead, half the world’s going to see me in the buff! How ironic is that?’

  ‘That’s mad karma, babe. You must have done something really bad in a previous life!’

  ‘I’m beginning to agree,’ Cassie smiled, brushing the tops of the rose bush. They hadn’t opened yet, but she could tell from the buds that the petals were a delicate pink.

  Suzy looked over at the rose bush. ‘Hey, that couldn’t have come from Henry, could it? Didn’t you ask about flowers from him?’

  ‘No. The others came as seeds. I had to grow the damn things. Why suddenly send me a plant?’

  Suzy shrugged, and Cassie remembered what Dean had said.

  ‘By the way, Dean said something.’

  ‘Oh yes? Dean says a lot. Trust me. Can’t stop him.’

  ‘He says Henry’s wedding has been cancelled.’

  ‘Yes, he just rang. I’ve put him straight, don’t worry. There had been a query over the reception venue’s availability and I’d forgotten to cancel the first date option, that’s all. It’s all sorted.’

  ‘Oh. Good,’ Cassie said flatly.

  ‘Is that disappointment I hear in your voice?’ Suzy asked, a small smile twitching her lips.

  ‘No, not at all,’ Cassie replied, sitting back in the chair. ‘I was just getting fed up with being told first one thing and then another. I mean, hello? New hat? Should I get some new shoes? And dresses need to be sorted . . .’ Her voice trailed away.

  Suzy pulled herself up to standing. ‘Well, worry no longer. It’s all on. I spoke to him this morning, actually. He sounds a lot happier. They’ve broken through the ice and reached the Gakkel Ridge. I think he’d rather be swimming with seals than examining the new anthropogenic pressures on the pristine Arctic ecosystems, but . . .’

  Cassie shot her a look. ‘You have no idea what you’re taking about at all, do you?’

  ‘None whatsoever,’ Suzy agreed as a big, noisy yawn escaped her. ‘Lawd, I’m tired.’

  ‘Go and have a nap,’ Cassie said. ‘I’ll take over whatever you were doing here.’

  ‘Oh, would you? I was just looking through the brochures to draw up a shortlist of dresses for Miss Second-Weekend-in-September-Chiswick. She says she wants something modern and simple. No hoops or ruches or anything that makes her look like an Austrian blind.’

  ‘Sure thing,’ Cassie smiled. She’d gone from girl Friday to girl Monday-through-Friday in the blink of an eye, but she kept the smile on her face until Suzy had shuffled out of view. Then she laced her fingers around the warming cup and gave a weary sigh, eyeing the happy-ever-after brides on the table as if they were the enemy.

  Chapter Forty-One

  The days began to pick up pace as Suzy’s various deadlines loomed ever larger and Cassie attuned herself to the neurotic, just-below-hysteria pitch that most brides-to-be operated at.

  ‘God, tell me I wasn’t like that,’ she muttered to Suzy as they came out of a meeting with a prospective bride who wanted the cast of Riverdance to perform at her reception.

  ‘Some hope. You were so dreamy you could have got married in a dustbin and thought it was romantic.’

  Cassie pulled a face. ‘Was I really that bad?’

  ‘Worse. Nothing would have stopped you,’ Suzy said, opening the car door. Cassie was doing all the driving now, as Suzy was struggling to get Cupcake behind the wheel. She clicked her seat belt on. ‘What did make you fall for him, anyway?’

  ‘You mean apart from the voice?’ Cassie asked, throwing her bag into the back seat. She’d bought a pleather Top Shop one to replace the Maddy Foxton bag she’d ended up giving to Katrina Holland. Not exactly a fair swap.

  ‘Fair enough. I get that.’

  Cassie turned on the ignition and pulled away. ‘I don’t know that it was one thing, really. Just the package, I guess. He was older, confident, self-assured. Dry sense of humour that I like. I was far from home and he just . . . made me feel safe.’ She gave a shrug as they pulled on to the Fulham Road.

  ‘You never saw the boring, pretentious, affected arrogance that we all saw then?’ Suzy asked innocently.

  Cassie gave a startled laugh. ‘He’s not that bad!’

  ‘You’re defending him? What on earth is wrong with you? You’re supposed to curse the very mention of his name.’

  Cassie sighed. Being so busy for the last few weeks had had a positive effect on her mood, but she still felt she was barely more than sleepwalking most of the time. The divorce proceedings were dragging – her solicitor seemed unable to get through to Gil’s; she’d had to suspend her litigation against Luke due to insufficient funds; and all hell had broken out amongst the girls. Suzy had told Kelly everything that had happened in Paris, and Kelly had sided with the two of them immediately, to the effect that Anouk found herself sacked by email as both Kelly’s bridesmaid and Suzy’s baby’s godmother. Cassie was grateful for the support, but also depressed by it as the girls’ exhortations breathed fire into the new enmity and made it a living thing.

  ‘It’s too exhausting. I can’t live with that much hate inside me, Suze. I’m just not made that way.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to forgive him?’ Suzy asked, indignation pulsating all over her.

  Cassie paused. ‘Forgive, no. But I just don’t want to keep it with me.’ She swung the car through amber lights and Suzy grabbed the handrail. ‘I want to keep on moving – physically, geographically – until the hurt is so far in the distance, I can’t really remember it any more.’

  ‘So what are you saying? What about Wiz?’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re forgiving her too.’

  ‘I’m not forgiving either of them,’ Cassie said sharply, and there was a brief silence between them. ‘But at the end of the day . . . she’s a mother,’ she shrugged. ‘Once she fell pregnant with Rory – even if it was accidental – she must have had a deep need to keep her son with his father. You can’t blame her for that.’

  ‘You most certainly can!’ Suzy said crossly. ‘Gil was not hers to take.’

  ‘No . . . But he was Rory’s.’

  ‘Ugh!’ Suzy exclaimed, crossing her arms petulantly over her belly. ‘I don’t know what to do with you, really I don’t. You’re far too soft. I worry about you, Cass. I fear you haven’t learnt anything this year, that you’ll let someone else use and abuse you, just like they did.’

  Cassie didn’t say anything. True, she might be softhearted, but Suzy must know after all these years that if she believed something, she stuck to it. />
  They sat behind a bus chugging along the King’s Road.

  ‘Of course, I don’t suppose it’s ever occurred to you that there could have been a different way to play all this?’ Suzy said in a lighter, more playful tone.

  Cassie arched an inquisitive eyebrow. ‘That being . . . ?’

  ‘Why, to seduce Gil one last time, get pregnant, bear the rightful legitimate heir, get the entire estate passed over to your child, kill Wiz and adopt Rory as your own, of course. Not considered that option?’

  Cassie burst out laughing. ‘No. But now that you mention it, I’ll keep it as my Plan B. It’s a good back-up. Modest. Achievable.’

  They pulled up outside the mews. A blacked-out top-of-the-range Range Rover with all the toys was parked opposite. ‘Hmmm, swanky,’ Suzy muttered, trying to get herself elegantly out of the tiny car. Not easy when she was – as she kept saying – as full as an egg.

  They were just through the front door and kicking off their shoes when the bell rang.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ Cassie called to Suzy, who had made a beeline for the bedroom and an elasticated waistband.

  Cassie opened the door.

  ‘Katrina!’

  The older woman smiled. She was wearing sunglasses and a Hermès scarf wrapped around her hair as though she was Grace Kelly and had travelled here in a sportster, not – Cassie could see the chauffeur standing by the car opposite – in an armoured tank.

  ‘You are a difficult woman to keep up with,’ Katrina smiled. ‘Almost as many air miles as me.’

  ‘How did you find me?’

  Katrina dipped her chin. ‘Anouk,’ she said, with a look that suggested she knew something, if not all, of what had happened at the Dior party. ‘May I come in?’

  ‘Uh, yes, yes of course,’ Cassie replied, holding the door wider. ‘Suze! We’ve got a guest.’

  Suzy walked back into the sitting room, rubbing Cupcake. She’d changed out of her chic Diane von Furstenberg pregnancy dress into one of Archie’s tracksuits, and a vast expanse of tummy was now on show.

  ‘Katrina, this is my friend, boss and landlady Suzy McLintlock. Suze, this is Katrina Holland.’ She stalled. It didn’t seem right to call her a friend. ‘We met in Paris. Mrs Holland is one of Anouk’s clients.’

  ‘Katrina, please,’ Katrina said, shaking Suzy’s hand lightly. ‘And I’m one of Bas’s clients too, don’t forget.’

  ‘Of course,’ Cassie nodded.

  ‘It’s a pleasure,’ Suzy said, trying to suck her tummy in – a totally pointless exercise, but she recognized her guest instantly from the gossip pages. Everyone knew Katrina Holland was a serial bride and Cassie watched her friend thinking how great would it be to get her on her client list! ‘We were just making tea. Would you like some?’

  ‘Thank you. That would be lovely.’

  Suzy nodded and dashed out, and straight back into her DVF dress. Cassie wondered whether she’d be able to cobble together a matching teacup and saucer from her lovingly mismatched collection. She wasn’t sure Katrina Holland would ever have put anything other than Limoges to her lips.

  ‘Please, won’t you take a seat,’ Cassie said, indicating the patchwork linen sofa. She sat down opposite on a calico-upholstered wing chair.

  Katrina swung a large bag over to Cassie. ‘I wanted to bring this to you,’ she said quietly, her eyes flicking towards the kitchen door to make sure they were alone. ‘And to thank you for what you did for me in Paris.’

  Cassie peered in, hoping to God she wasn’t giving her her old bag back. Even if it had been dry-cleaned, she wasn’t sure she could feel the same way about it, knowing that it had been used as a receptacle for something other than chewing gum and biros.

  But it wasn’t. It was a replica, but one size up and scarlet. Cassie gasped as she pulled it out.

  ‘I’m afraid Maddy didn’t have any green leather left. I hope you like it?’

  Cassie looked at her. ‘I love it! But you didn’t have to do this. Honestly, I was perfectly happy to . . .’ She kicked the Top Shop bag beneath the sofa with her foot.

  ‘I know. That’s what made your gesture all the more generous.’

  Cassie gave a small, embarrassed shrug. ‘I can’t believe you’ve come out of your way like this to find me.’

  ‘It was the very least I could do, Cassie. You don’t understand how devastating that incident could have been for me. For my reputation. The press would have had a field day. I would have been humiliated, and most probably libelled.’

  ‘I can imagine.’

  ‘You are very discreet.’

  ‘Soft and wimpish is usually how my friends describe me,’ she grimaced.

  ‘Well, I came today because I wanted to know how I can thank you properly.’

  ‘Oh no, really!’ Cassie said. ‘This is more than enough. There’s honestly no need—’

  ‘Ah, but there is.’ Katrina’s gaze was firm and insistent. ‘I insist. There must be something I can do – a little influence I could wield for you?’

  Huh, if only. Cassie gave a polite smile, trying to deflect the offer, but Katrina’s gaze was firm. Cassie held her palms up, vainly searching for something to offer. ‘Well, uh . . . maybe . . .’ An idea came to her. ‘Maybe you could buy one of Maddy’s bags for yourself? She’s found it difficult to get any publicity since her alliance with Oscar de la Renta . . . broke off, and you always get photographed such a lot.’

  ‘Done,’ Katrina said without missing a beat. ‘And what else?’

  Cassie’s eyes widened. Wasn’t that enough?

  ‘Really Katrina, I’m not—’

  But Katrina was still staring at her expectantly, insistently.

  The favour Cassie had done her obviously carried more weight than she’d realized.

  Katrina leaned in. ‘I’ll cut to the chase. I thought that there was probably one way I could really help you.’ She flicked her eyes down at the floor and then back up at Cassie. ‘It’s to do with Paris.’

  ‘The Dîner en Blanc?’

  ‘I sent you the invitation, on Claude’s behalf.’

  Cassie’s eyes grew wide. ‘You knew him?’

  ‘Very well. We had grown very close.’

  Cassie couldn’t hide the shock on her face – Claude had been sleeping with Katrina?

  ‘I’m his backer,’ Katrina smiled, reading her mind. ‘A package arrived at my home the day after his death. One of the things it contained was your invitation to the Dîner. He implored me to make sure you attended.’

  ‘But . . . why?’ This was so much to take in. ‘Because of my list?’

  List? Now it was Katrina’s turn to look baffled. ‘I think he wanted us to meet. He knew I could help you.’

  Cassie sat back, blowing out through her cheeks. ‘Katrina, I’m sorry, but you’ve completely lost me.’

  ‘I was there the night Luke Laidlaw threw him out into the street.’

  ‘At the exhibition?’

  Katrina nodded. ‘He told me all about what Luke was threatening to do to you – giving the pictures to Vogue.’

  Cassie nodded, looking away. ‘I see.’

  ‘He loved you, Cassie. You were a dear friend to him. He wanted to protect you. So I’ve done what I think he would have wanted.’

  Cassie looked at her in alarm. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I had lunch with Alexa Bourton. She’s agreed to pull the pictures. They’re not going to be a problem for you any more.’

  Cassie sank back into her chair as if she’d been pushed. But her overwhelming relief was mingled with suspicion. ‘How did you convince her?’

  ‘Partly because her boss is a . . . friend of mine, and partly because I pointed out that you probably aren’t the only former girlfriend he’s photographed nude.’ She gave Cassie a pointed look.

  ‘He has photos of her too?’

  ‘Most likely.’ Katrina nodded. ‘It’s in Alexa’s best long-term interests not to give him too much power.’

  ‘I should
say.’

  ‘But it’s left something of a hole in the magazine, which is why I’m here. They’re going to press next week and Luke’s exhibition pictures were the holding piece for the issue. They need a muse.’

  Cassie wondered why Katrina was looking at her so intently. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know any muses.’

  ‘I’ve offered them Claude’s.’

  ‘Claude had a muse?’ Jealousy reared up in her.

  ‘You, Cassie.’

  Cassie laughed suddenly, shaking her head. ‘No! No! I’m not. For a short while I was going to be the pastry chef, but he never interviewed me for the muse position. No.’

  Katrina paused for a second, then reached into her bag, looking for something. ‘The restaurant already has an eighteen-month waiting list. And we’ve pushed the opening back by three weeks to coincide with the date Vogue hits the stands.’ She pulled out a proof of the wine menu and handed it to Cassie. ‘Now do you believe me?’

  Cassie stared at it, the hairs on her neck standing on end as she read the name for the first time. ‘I thought it was an acronym,’ she frowned, staring at the name written in pistachio script across the top and realizing her schoolgirl error. ‘I heard it in French but translated it in English.’

  ‘“C et C”? Yes. It stands for Claude and—’

  ‘Cassie.’

  Chapter Forty-Two

  ‘There you go,’ Dean said, loading the last of the flowers into the back of the car.

  ‘It’s beyond me why Suzy didn’t get a minivan, or at least an estate,’ Cassie said as she fiddled with the catches to drop the back seats down. She was fairly expert now, having done little else for the past month. ‘I’m getting RSI constantly pulling these seats up and down.’

  Dean clapped his hands together. ‘Well, another weekend, another wedding,’ he said. ‘How many more to dispatch before the hatch?’

  Cassie blinked at him for a moment before she got his meaning. He was always falling into rhyming slang and confusing her. ‘Oh, you mean . . . uh, well, it’s Kelly’s wedding next weekend. And the baby’s due a fortnight after that. It’s all planned like a military procedure.’