by Lulu Taylor
‘I haven’t got one,’ Octavia admitted. ‘I’ve just about learnt how to turn my laptop on.’
‘How chic,’ breathed Gerry. ‘Mysterious. Removed.’ He held up a hand and looked serious. ‘Never change … promise me right now. Do I have your word?’
Octavia shrugged, laughing. ‘I can’t promise anything of the sort! I’m changing every day, but mostly thanks to you.’ She looked down at the wonderful gown she was wearing. She and Gerry had gone shopping together, and he had styled her from head to foot: the white Marchesa gown in a Greek goddess style fell in softly shimmering folds, showing off her peaches and cream skin. Her golden hair was twisted into a Grecian-style knot with long loose curls allowed to fall down her back. An antique necklace of real ancient coins, strung together on a gold chain, was twisted around the knot, and her jewels continued the classical theme: rather than diamonds, her necklace was a many-layered waterfall of aquamarines tumbling in a twisting gold fretwork.
‘You look like Helen of Troy!’ Gerry had cried when they’d assembled the outfit, down to the high-heeled sandals with thongs twisted about her ankles and up her calves. ‘Show-stopping. I love it.’
Octavia had had a marvellous day. Gerry had decided that she and Flora should spend it at a spa, being pampered, massaged, buffed and polished. He had taken Octavia entirely in hand, deciding who would style her hair, who would make up her face, what scent she would wear and even what colour her nails would be painted. When finally, with her dress on and her jewels in place, she’d been allowed to stand in front of the mirror, she’d gasped. ‘Is that really me?’ she’d said wonderingly.
She looked so sophisticated and adult – no longer the fairy-tale princess with platinum hair and a sparkling ball gown, but a sexy, polished young woman, shimmering with style and money.
‘It’s really you, my darling,’ he said, coming up behind her and smiling with satisfaction. ‘You are a total knockout.’
If the reactions of the other guests were anything to go by, then Gerry’s hard work had indeed been a success. She’d been nervous at first but people were so flattering, complimenting her on her dress and how wonderful she looked, that her nerves subsided and she began to enjoy herself. More than one young man had given her a meaningful glance and raked his eyes appreciatively over her.
‘You can take your pick,’ Gerry had whispered in her ear as he noted the young and handsome heir to an earldom bow low to Octavia and kiss her hand. ‘Just don’t hurry into anything.’
‘I won’t,’ she said, her stomach fizzing delightfully. Boyfriends, so far forbidden, were a territory she was very much looking forward to exploring.
She glanced over to where her sister stood. Flora was her one worry. Where Octavia was flourishing in their new life, Flora was visibly fading. Where Octavia shone and glistened, her sister seemed pale and lost. She looked beautiful in her white halter-neck Halston gown and white platform heels, her hair was long and glossy, and a fortune in diamonds by Chopard sparkled at her neck and ears and nestled in her hair. Nevertheless, there was something washed-out about her, and her shoulders looked a little bony where the halter-neck skimmed her collarbone. She stood on Gerry’s other side, and was introduced by him to everyone … but only after Octavia had received the lion’s share of the limelight.
‘Here’s some of the younger crowd I wanted you to meet,’ he said, as a couple of sophisticated-looking girls with knowing eyes approached them. They had interpreted ‘white’ rather loosely. One was dressed in a yellow and ivory Moschino dress with a tutu worn underneath to create a prom-style effect. The other had several tattoos inking their way down her arms and across her breast.
‘This is Jasmine Burlington,’ Gerry said, indicating the girl with tattoos. ‘A naughty little trouble-maker who was expelled from no fewer than three schools.’
‘Shitholes, all of ’em,’ Jasmine offered. She had a curious accent, drawling and posh but with an Estuary edge, and was dressed in a white lace mini-dress with spaghetti straps, a black bra showing defiantly underneath. She leant forward and kissed Octavia on the cheek with a loud smack. ‘Whoops!’ she said, drawing back. ‘You’ve got my lipstick all over you. People will talk. They’ll think we’ve been making out in the loos or something.’
Gerry whisked out a handkerchief and wiped away at Octavia’s cheek. ‘Charming as ever, Jasmine. And this is her partner in crime, Rosie Gilbert.’
Rosie, the Moschino ballerina, had her dark-blonde hair backcombed on one side and shaved away almost to the skull on the other, and her make up was heavy and Gothic, eyes rimmed with layers of black kohl. ‘Hiya,’ she said to Octavia, looking her up and down without seeming very impressed by what she saw.
Octavia felt some of her newfound confidence melting away. She had never met girls like this before. She had been brought up to respect the values of traditional elegance and beauty, to think of Grace Kelly as the epitome of womanhood: to her, seeing a girl who’d had her skin inked with permanent designs, or shaved her head, was remarkable. No doubt there were plenty of them in London, but not in the places where Octavia hung out. They seemed so sure of themselves, full of attitude and eager to be noticed.
‘Hello,’ she managed in a small voice.
Jasmine looked over Octavia’s shoulder and her face brightened. ‘Oh, God, look,’ she cried, ‘it’s … it’s … a friend of ours,’ she finished a little lamely, shooting a glance at Gerry. ‘Come on, Rosie, we’ve got to talk to her. Catch you ’round,’ she said to Octavia. ‘Are you going to an after party?’
Octavia stared at her blankly.
‘Don’t encourage after parties!’ scolded Gerry. ‘They make people leave earlier than they might have done.’
‘Oh, bollocks, Gerry. We’ll all be here to the bitter end, don’t you worry. If you don’t have anywhere to go, you can always come with us,’ Jasmine said to Octavia. ‘See ya.’
They were gone, skittering away across the marble floor to find their friend.
‘After parties,’ Gerry muttered scornfully. ‘They’re beginning to take over from the main parties! After all the time and effort one’s put in, not to mention the expense …’
‘Where’s Flora?’ Octavia asked suddenly, noticing that her sister had vanished from Gerry’s side. Without waiting for his reply, she dashed off, leaving him calling after her that she must come back, the most important guests were due any moment …
Octavia hurried round the ballroom, holding up her skirts so she could move more easily. It was crowded now, the women sparkling in white with enormous rocks worn at their necks and ears. Wherever she went, people stared and some tried to speak to her, but she ignored them. At one point she passed Jasmine and Rosie who were now sitting in an alcove on a small red sofa either side of a dramatic-looking woman with deep auburn hair, a slash of red lipstick and a curving feather headdress, but Octavia didn’t stop. She had only one thought in her head: Where is Flora? She didn’t know why but it seemed vital to find her.
She saw Vicky picking up a glass of champagne from one of the drinks tables and rushed over, grabbing her cousin’s arm.
‘Have you seen Flora?’ she demanded.
Vicky looked blank. ‘No. Isn’t she with you?’
‘I’ve lost her. You go that way and see if you can find her. I’ll go this way.’
Vicky nodded quickly, looking serious, and set off while Octavia, breathless and panicky, began to circle the ballroom for a second time, avoiding Gerry by hiding behind several broad-backed male guests. She suddenly remembered something. Where had she found Flora in the old days at Homerton? Her favourite hiding place … Of course. Flora always hid in the old wardrobe in the east wing, among the coats.
Octavia rushed back towards the entrance and pushed her way into the cloakroom, startling the coat-check girls who were taking possession of the coats and wraps of the smartly dressed people still arriving at Templeton House.
At the back of the cloakroom, she saw a white figure sitting on th
e floor behind a rail of coats with a puzzled attendant asking if there was anything the matter.
‘It’s all right,’ Octavia said briskly. ‘I’ll take over here.’
The attendant looked relieved and went back to the busy front desk.
Octavia went forward slowly. ‘Flora?’ she said in a gentle voice.
Her sister was sitting bent over, her arms wrapped around her knees, rocking back and forth.
‘What’s wrong?’ Octavia put her arms around her sister. Flora looked up at her, her eyes wide and frightened. She was deathly pale.
‘These people!’ she whispered. ‘So many people … It’s terrifying me … They’re all staring at me! Watching me!’
Octavia had seen Flora like this before, overtaken by fits of fear, talking of being watched, shaking and shivering like a terrified animal. Only gentleness and her sister’s presence could bring her out of it. ‘It’s all right,’ Octavia murmured, hugging her sister tightly. Flora put her head on Octavia’s arm and the trembling subsided a little. ‘It’s okay, Flo-flo. It’s just a party, you know. Everyone here wants to be your friend. No one wants to hurt you.’
‘I can’t face them all,’ Flora said in a small voice. ‘It’s too much for me. It reminds me of our birthday party … and you know how much I hated that.’
‘It is daunting,’ conceded Octavia, ‘but we have to get used to it. This is normal. It wasn’t normal living the way we did, shut away from the world.’
‘But it’s all I know,’ Flora whispered. ‘I don’t know if I can take this new life.’
‘What’s the alternative? Going back to Aunt Frances? You can’t want that, can you?’
Flora said nothing and Octavia saw a brief look in her eyes that made her think that the prospect was nowhere near as insupportable to Flora as it was her sister. ‘No!’ she cried. ‘You can’t go back there! I won’t let you.’ She felt a wash of sadness. ‘Oh, Flora, we’ve waited so long for our freedom. Would you really rather be back with Aunt Frances and the Brig than living with me?’
Flora stared at her for a moment and then shook her head. ‘No,’ she said through pale dry lips. ‘Of course not.’
Relief flooded through Octavia. ‘Thank goodness.’ She hugged her sister again. ‘Then will you be strong? For me? Will you try and cope with all of this? It’s important to me, you see, I don’t know why. I’m as scared as you are, in my own way, but I need to belong to this new world. I can’t go back to our prison – you do see that, don’t you?’ Octavia stood up and helped her sister to her feet. ‘Now let’s go and find Vicky. I’m sure she’s just as worried as I am. She can take you home any time you want, but see if you can last another hour. It’s been so kind of Gerry to hold this party for us.’
Flora smiled weakly. ‘All right. I’ll do my best.’
Octavia hugged her, wishing she could transfer some of her own strength into her sister. ‘I’m worried about you, Flo-flo.’
‘Don’t be,’ Flora said, more firmly. ‘I’ll be all right. Now let’s find Vicky.’
The ball was in full flow as 10.30 approached. The late arrivals had made their appearances and the reception rooms were crammed. The supper room was packed, the bar was full of people clamouring for bottles of champagne or the vanilla vodka martinis that Gerry had thoughtfully provided.
‘I feel like I’m in Clash of the Titans,’ said Amanda Radcliffe to her circle of girlfriends. ‘Some of the Greek goddesses are hilarious. Have you seen Lady Frilford? She’s as wide as she is tall. She looks like giant cotton-wool ball in that dress.’
They all laughed.
‘Amanda, I’ve just seen Ferdy,’ said Suze. ‘He’s dancing with Georgia Jagger in the boogie room.’
‘Oh?’ Amanda kept her composure, raising one eyebrow ever so slightly. ‘He’s always trying to make me jealous. It won’t work. I’m not going to take him back. It’s over and that’s that. He can bore poor little Georgia as rigid as he likes, it’s fine by me.’
Nevertheless, Amanda felt a prickle of irritation. This whole evening had been horrible. First there was someone else wearing the exact same white Temperley dress as she was. That wouldn’t have been so bad, because she looked by far the better in it, but the woman in her dress was old and rather frumpy with bad hair and very bad accessories, so she’d managed to make the dress look less stylish than it was and that reflected badly on Amanda’s choice.
Then there was the fact that she had no boyfriend to be her escort at the party and it was making her cross, particularly as Claudia had a new man buzzing around her, tending to her every whim, and was looking very smug about it. Amanda was beginning to wonder if she’d done the right thing breaking up with Ferdy … perhaps she would have to instigate a little re-warming of those particular coals …
But the thing that had totally ruined the night for her was Octavia Beaufort. She was so full herself, preening and posing as though she was some kind of megastar. It was annoying too that Gerry had managed to get so many people to come – important society people who would now have Octavia’s name in the forefront of their minds. Amanda gritted her teeth as she thought of it.
What made the whole thing a particularly bitter pill for her to swallow was that not so long ago, she had been Gerry’s protégée. He had fawned over her, praising her beauty, style and exquisite taste, had venerated her family money. He had taken her to exclusive parties and introduced her to the most important people and the newest stars. He had dubbed her the hottest young thing on the social scene. But all that was brutally changed. She had been dropped. Someone had come along who – Amanda’s blood boiled with rage when she thought about it – was, in Gerry’s eyes at least, more beautiful, more stylish and infinitely more wealthy.
He’s just a star fucker! she told herself. A vile old snob. A silly, money-grabbing, social-climbing old fool.
Watching him squire the Beaufort girls around the room, as though he personally were responsible for them, had made Amanda sick. He’d betrayed her. She hated him, and them. Well, she didn’t care much about the quiet one, it was the other sister who made her furious, with Gerry slavering all over her, and that ridiculous smug attitude of hers.
Claudia came up with her new boyfriend in tow. He seemed to like tans as much as she did; they were both a solid mahogany colour. Like matching sideboards, thought Amanda spitefully.
‘Hello, darling.’ Claudia craned her neck for air kisses. ‘Mwah! Well, have you seen the belles of the ball? I have to say, they are even prettier close up, aren’t they?’ She looked about innocently. ‘Where’s Gerry, Amanda? You and he are usually thick as thieves.’
‘He’s doing his community service,’ retorted Amanda, ‘helping the socially disabled.’
There was another titter from her circle of friends. They always liked it when Amanda got all worked up and started letting the malice flow.
‘I think those twins are ridiculous,’ she continued, enjoying the appreciative audience. ‘He may be dressing them up as though they’re a couple of life-size dolls, but he can’t hide the fact that they’re complete retards from the Land That Time Forgot. They’ve absolutely no idea what the fuck’s going on! And the way they look so alike is just freaky, like they’re something out of a laboratory. Except that one thinks she’s the most fabulous thing on earth and the other … well, she’s a bit of a tragic case by the looks of it. Have you noticed the way she twitches and stares? I think she’s got a touch of OCD – either that or she’s developed a severe case of village-idiot-itis. Did you hear the way she talks? When I was introduced to her, I thought she was about to swallow her own tongue.’ Amanda imitated Flora’s voice. ‘H-h-h-hello, I h-h-h-hope you have a g-g-g-g-good evening.’
Suddenly she was engulfed by a horrible sense of shock as freezing water cascaded over her. She gasped and then squealed as she realised that her hair was drenched and her skin and dress soaked. ‘What …?’ she spluttered as an ice cube slid out of her hair and down on to her shoulder. ‘What the fu
ck …!’
‘How dare you talk about my sister like that!’ cried an outraged voice.
Amanda blinked away drops of icy water and saw the Beaufort twin she hated most standing in front her, an empty jug clutched in one hand, her eyes sparking with fury and two angry dots of pink on her cheeks.
Everyone around was watching with barely restrained glee as they took in the extent of Amanda’s drenching. Claudia had one hand clamped over her mouth while Suze’s eyes were as big as saucers.
‘I heard what you said,’ Octavia continued in a voice of steel. ‘Your nasty, spiteful remarks. Do you think Flora can help stammering? She’s terrified of people like you, with your ready judgements. Do you think it’s easy for her to stand there and meet hundreds of people when she’s been protected from it her whole life? Well, I’d rather be sweet, innocent, kind Flora than you! You’re just a mean, disgusting person, and I certainly don’t want you at this party. I know Gerry would say the same. I want you to leave.’
Amanda gaped at her, still gasping and unable to take in what had just happened. It was like a bad dream, being at the centre of all these glamorous people while looking like a drowned rat.
‘So get your coat and get out,’ Octavia said coolly. Then she turned on her heel and sauntered away, pausing only to put the water jug back on the table as she went.
‘I say, Amanda,’ said one of the men, ‘she’s certainly showed you what for! Not quite so retarded after all.’ He guffawed with laughter.
‘Oh, piss off! All of you can go and fuck yourselves!’ shrieked Amanda, anger coursing through her. Then she shook her head, spraying a shower of drops, set her shoulders and stalked off, trying to remain impervious to the stares and muttered comments as she made her way to the Ladies to find a towel.
Octavia marched away, heart racing, still full of fury. Who was that awful girl? Did Gerry know her? Well, no one was going to talk like that about Flora and get away with it!