by Ruby Soames
‘But I –’
‘Don’t worry – no one can see your bruises.’
So far I’ve survived reading about the love of my life’s engagement in the paper, losing my job, confronting my real father, his death, finding myself on holiday with my mum – surely I could get through my ex-boyfriend’s wedding?
But bridesmaid? Again?
Ottilie hikes up the steps while fastening the car keys in her little designer bag.
Inside, we follow what sounds like canned laughter to the garden where a crowd of about fifty people sit around a swimming pool next to a large white marquee covered in white flowers.
A deep breath. A smile. A few hours to keep it together.
‘Hello, beautiful people!’ Ottilie sings as she waves her arms in the air, flashing her debutante smile and nearly tripping over a man watering the Elizabethan roses. She turns back and waits for me. ‘Oh Sarah, if you’re worried you haven’t bought them a present? Don’t – I added your name to mine.’
I have only ever seen Rebecca in photographs, photographs of Joseph, where she appeared in the background, usually in a black dress with her hair up, her skin ghostly and eyes squinting from the flashing bulbs of paparazzi cameras. Now as she turns to me, I see she is very different, wild sandy hair that falls haphazardly around her head, Tibetan-terrier style. She has a large, red face and a big smile that is strangely prepossessing. Her handshake is firm and resolute. She emits a confidence that is firmly grounded in her huge paddle-like feet. Her voice is deep, masculine and, I have to say it, engaging. As she looks at me, I catch sight of Joseph walking around the far edge of the pool talking to a small group of bathers.
Ottilie steps back to introduce me to our hostess.
Rebecca grabs my hand and booms out, ‘So you must be the girl who nearly drowned this week. Nick, this is the “storm girl”!’ She clicks her fingers at a passing waiter, ‘Two Daiquiris – pronto!’ She turns back to me, ‘Unless you’d rather champagne – as you can see, we’ve got crates of the stuff.’
‘Becks, what’s the big secret?’ Ottilie says.
‘You’ll soon find out – what’s happening today will blow your little minds!’
Nick shakes my hand while Rebecca points at me. ‘We heard you could have been killed – and look at you! As good as new apart from … and … and,’ she lifts up my hand to see the scratches and bruises on my arms. ‘And here she is, coming out to celebrate a wedding. What a trooper! D’you need an agent? Ha-ha.’
Rebecca puts a drink in my hands, ‘Come, let’s chill out until the photographers get here.’
She aims a microphone attached headset to her mouth and calls out to a platinum-blonde man who is aligning rows of flowers down the garden. ‘Hey! Wayne – let’s have more gardenias by the entrance!’ She looks over to me as she sips her drink. ‘Wayne’s come all the way from Monaco to do the flowers, such a sweetie – love the plinths, hon’, let’s have more! More! More! On both sides of the congregation! And trail the ivy right to the ground … that’s it!’ She continues ordering people around over the microphone.
And then she turns in another direction. ‘Joe! Joe! Ottie’s here with the drowned girl! Come say hello, then you have got to get ready!’
Ottilie clings to my arm, ‘Oh God, there he is! That’s Joseph! Isn’t he just scrumptious?’
Joseph who is balancing along the edge of the pool waves to me. He and Rebecca look at each other for a few seconds, enough to let me know that something is going on. It is then I wonder if my being there isn’t an accident.
‘Joseph – I’m ringing the Hugo Boss people now. I think we should close the deal. OK?’
‘OK … boss.’
For me to see him in this context is as frightening and compelling as seeing your beloved, docile old cat catch, skin and eat a mouse.
Before making the call, Rebecca looks up at Ottilie and mouths, ‘Where’s Peter?’
Ottilie throws her arms up in the air. ‘Fuck knows. I suspect he’ll get in touch when he needs bailing out of some crisis or another.’ Ottilie gives me a reassuring look as she pops an avocado slice in her mouth.
Joseph is surrounded by achingly muscular, tanned men who seemed to follow whatever he does. In a line of dogs at the trough, Joseph would eat first, the others, the subdominants, would wait until he’s finished.
I watch Joseph kick a ball across the lawn. It ricochets off a palm tree and hits the water. One of the sunbathers is woken up by the splash. Sylvia Amery sits up and looks furiously at Joseph.
‘Joe! Could you –?’ She raises her eyebrows. Her eyes are so blue and her skin, her body, her whole being so physically perfect. She is more beautiful in real life. She is more beautiful than any woman I have ever seen.
‘Sorry,’ Joseph says.
Her perfect lips move into a smile. ‘It’s OK. We’re trying to sleep, huh?’ A wisp of blonde hair falls from the bundle she’s pinned to the top of her head. It falls across her cheek, she lifts it, arching her back.
Joe kicks the ball again into the pool – she glares at him.
‘That’s it Joseph – that’s enough– I’m adding that to the pre-nup – not to kick balls near me!’
‘Well don’t you let your dogs sleep on my pillow!’
‘Creep!’
‘Square!’
She laughs before lying back and going to sleep again.
Joseph looks over to see if I’ve witnessed this exchange.
Rebecca who’s been busy with the chef, stands in front of me. ‘Sarah, have you met the others, this is Cristobel, my little sister, Max – of Fallen Angels, remember? Alex Tindell – hairdresser to the stars … if you girls ask nicely he just might give you a styling – that’s Sylvia Amery – our blushing bride over there – Sylvia, not too much sun! She’s with her friend Blizzard, you ever heard her music? No … me neither, but we’re all invited to Ibiza for her show. Whatever you do, don’t wake her up. Friends from London over there, Emilia Fortescue, Deputy Editor of Hot Gossip and –’ She continues running through the names of celebrities due to attend, which makes Ottilie jump up and down with excitement. ‘Margaux, we need an update.’
‘Margaux’ is sweating copiously in a yellow plastic dress. She stands in front of Rebecca and proclaims: ‘One hundred and forty-eight minutes.’
‘Fuck!’ Shout Rebecca and Ottilie in unison.
More flowers arrive in a van that nearly drives into the marquee.
‘Joseph,’ says Rebecca. ‘Are you going to say hello or what? They’re going to be your bridesmaids for God’s sake!’
Joseph slopes up to the bar next and drums self-consciously on the bar. ‘Hi Sarah,’ he says.
I’d hoped that over the last few months I’d been inoculated against the effect Joseph has on me, but I haven’t. Still, I manage to muster, ‘Congratulations!’
I turn to Rebecca, ‘We already know each other.’
‘You in the biz, Sarah?’ she asks, looking eager to add me to her collection of media friends.
‘No, I just walk people’s dogs while they earn the money to pay me.’
‘Oh yeah? Joe was looking for a dog walker last –’ She puts down her phone and lifts her sunglasses above her hairline so Joe and I can both look straight into her small blue eyes frayed with lines of stress, sleeplessness and pro-biotic drinks. ‘Ah. Right.’
I feel we’ve just collided our cars on a busy junction.
‘Sarah – that Sarah. I want you to understand something very important. Joseph, you too, listen. This is “Joseph and Sylvia’s” big day. It’s an important day. A nothing-can-go-wrong day, y’know? Like … nothing. Is that clear? Sarah – go with this right till the very end – don’t react until it’s all over – do you understand?’
Joseph looks at me briefly. I shrug, feeling far too old to be told off, especially for something I haven’t done.
‘Do you understand?’ she repeats.
‘Yes, it’s Joseph and Sylvia’s big day. Look, I
shouldn’t be here. I don’t know why I’ve been invited here as –’
‘Just … both of you. Behave today. Promise me you won’t react until it’s all over.’ She taps frantically at her temples and empties out her lungs in one long exhalation. Then, ‘Help yourself to another drink, Sarah. Not you, Joe. Remember – everything has to go as planned. Get me?’
She walks out to where the lawn starts, claps her hands in the air and adjusts the microphone. ‘OK – Sylvia! Listen up. Everyone! Joseph – please, listen. And Sarah,’ she says waving me over, ‘this involves you too.’
Margaux manages to walk over to us, her heels piercing the grass like skewers.
‘OK. Listen up everybody. This is how it goes. Sylvia? Are you listening? After the ceremony, a private plane will take you both to St Barth’s. Tomorrow morning you are to stroll arm in arm through the market. That afternoon the press will see you at the Old Colonial Hotel smooching on the beach – Sylvia, when Paula comes she’ll fit you with a few bikinis. After that, evening, Johnny’s boat – are we organised for that, Ottilie? Good. Tele-lens sort of thing – but we need a few more faces and bodies on deck. OK? Sylvia, go easy on the tanning: we don’t want crispy bacon. It’s going to hit the shelves for the Saturday papers. Right? And don’t forget to keep flashing the rings tonight – get it in all the pics. We’ve got to get them back to Tiffany’s by Tuesday. Over to Margaux.’
Margaux takes a mini step up to the mike and goes over the plans once again.
I start to get what she was saying. I mean, really get it.
Joseph walks past me dropping some ice into his drink.
I ask him. ‘This wedding – it’s just … all staged? Just for publicity?’
He raises his eyebrows. ‘See Sarah, don’t believe everything you read in the papers.’ There is regret in his voice. And bitterness. After all we’ve been through, I’d not believed it when he insisted the romance with Sylvia had been orchestrated by his agent – and now I am hearing her plan it right down to the underwear they wear.
Rebecca clicks her fingers for our attention again. ‘All clear, Joseph?’ she asks.
‘Over and out.’ He makes sure I’m watching as he walks up to her and drops something in her lap. ‘Keep that will you,’ he asks, ‘I’m going for a swim.’
‘It better be the last because Justin’s waiting to do your hair,’ she says. Joseph starts to walk away – then he turns, looks at me, and moves his head over in the direction of the swimming pool.
Rebecca opens her hands to see what he’s entrusted her with. It is the compass I’d given him. He’d put it on a gold chain and had been wearing it around his neck.
‘Ah, sweet,’ sighs Rebecca.
‘What’s that?’ asks Ottilie looking up from a magazine she’s flicking through.
‘It’s the compass he’s sworn never to take off.’
‘Bless,’ says Victoria, a blonde, puffy girl. She peers down at the compass’ face for a while before saying, ‘Looks stuck.’
Joseph winks at me as he swings a towel over his shoulder. Without missing a beat, I say, ‘I’m going for a quick dip too.’ Joseph hangs back for me to join him but as I turn, Rebecca calls out, ‘No! It’s not all right! We want to hear all about you and Peter! Sarah, tell us all about him! Peter … Ah!’ gasps Rebecca. ‘Ah yes! Did you know, Joe, Sarah’s the love interest of Barbados? She’s the reason Peter Lyle’s been so elusive all week … we’d heard about his mystery woman. Aha! Sarah, who’s not only conquered the ocean, but Mr Lyle III’s heart!’
One girl, who’d been hanging upside down in a tree since we’d arrived, somersaults down and pines, ‘So you’re the one who caused him to leave the island! What did you do to him?’
‘I thought he didn’t have a heart, ‘Becca,’ laughs another girl, whose name I’d already forgotten.
‘You’ve got to tell us about it – right from the first snog!’ insists Rebecca as she catches my wrist and tries to drag me back to the table.
I look over at Joseph just as a man in a black polo neck thrusts another drink in my hands. I see the shock in Joe’s eyes. Rebecca’s phone rings again. ‘Joseph, darling, can you pass my ciggies … just there. Hang on a sec –’
Joseph moves away, slowly, bowed, as if in physical pain.
‘No, no … Joseph!’ I call, but he is moving away fast. In seconds he’ll be out of earshot.
I call out as loudly as I can, ‘Peter and I. We were just friends!’
‘Not what I heard!’ laughs Rebecca while listening to someone on the phone.
Rebecca’s little sister raises her head and looks at me quizzically.
‘Do you mean you’re going out with Peter, American Peter?’ she asks in a sleepy voice.
‘No, I’m not!’
‘Course she is! Who could resist?’ adds Rebecca. ‘Harvey!’ she says down the phone.
I am losing sight of Joseph.
‘Oh he’s gorgeous, I’m so jealous!’ exclaims Cristobel, pounding the grass.
‘Sarah, do tell us … is he the most amazing lover? Is he … Isn’t he?’ She laughs loudly, ‘Becca, can you imagine, Peter a total nul au lit!’
Rebecca looks up from the phone, ‘Yah, I can!’
Nick comes to my rescue, ‘You girls are just terrible! Sarah nearly died a few days ago and all you want to know about is her sex life!’
I break from the group and start running after Joseph.
Behind me I heard Rebecca asking, ‘Margaux! Where’s Margaux? She’s supposed to be – Sarah! Ottilie! The bridesmaids’ dresses – Sarah? Where are you off to?’
8
Desperate to explain myself to Joseph, it isn’t long before I’ve run the length of the mansion’s sprinkler system and am trudging over tall, spiky grass. I call Joseph’s name until I make myself hoarse. Catching my breath, I can hear helicopters in the distance, a gospel choir tuning up, amplifiers being set up and the distinctive sound of champagne corks popping.
Is he not going to turn up for his own wedding? I stop for breath and hear a branch snap behind me.
I turned quickly. ‘Joe?’
Rebecca holds out the compass. ‘You might need this?’
‘I’m looking for Joe – I need to speak to him.’
‘He’s probably in the Rum-bah, the local bar.’ She tosses me the compass. ‘But first, we need to get a few things straight.’
‘Peter and I … it wasn’t like that … and now Joe thinks … You made him think that! You arranged all that … to make it look like … Why?’
‘Hey, maybe it’s better for both of you if you just let go and get on with your lives. Face it, you’re not girlfriend-of-star material. You are holding Joseph back.’
‘What gives you the right to meddle with other people’s private lives like you do?’
‘You thought he was shafting Sylvia!’
‘I read his Twitter updates!’
‘I pay someone to write those – everyone knows that.’
‘Why? What are you doing? How can you blame me for not knowing Joseph wasn’t with Sylvia when you’d convinced everyone else?’
‘Excuse me: I said we’re here for a wedding. I said wait till the end. I never said Joseph and Sylvia were –’
‘What are you Rebecca?’
‘An agent.’
‘Isn’t interfering with your clients’ love lives a little outside your job description?’
‘Look, it’s what I do. I manage people. Listen, Joe needs to appreciate that girlfriends, money, careers – they come and they go. Don’t think I don’t care about his feelings – I do – but right now, he’s hot, he’s bankable, he’s fit – but people have to be talking about him – that’s how it works.’
‘I know how important Joseph’s career is to you. But can’t you just stick to that?’
‘When I was at university I was diagnosed with cancer,’ she says.
‘I’m sorry, that must have been awful.’
‘Awful, yes. I had to re-think
my whole life. I was told I couldn’t have kids, might not live very long. So I left university and set up my own company. I love my job and I love the people I work with. And I’m going to succeed as much as I can and I want Joseph to do the same. I want the best for my clients, as I would for myself. Not to see them moping around after some girl who can’t really cope with her boyfriend’s success. Someone who’d run off with the first guy she meets. Joseph loves you Sarah, he’s miserable without you – but excuse me if I take the opportunity to show him that no one’s worth it. This is the time to be out there, in the world, not walking dogs together and filling up supermarket trolleys – he can do all that when he’s old and fat and teaching drama in some local school.’ She wafts away a fly. ‘So why don’t you back off and give him the chance to be the best star he can be?’
‘But I could cope with his success. I never prevented him from acting, from doing really well – that’s why we loved each other – we let each other to do what we loved, we didn’t judge or restrict – of course, I thought he’d gone too far when it looked like he’d been screwing around, but … I wasn’t a threat to you, Rebecca.’
‘Reality check, Joseph’s just one of many young men I have on my books. He’s not better looking, he’s not more talented or driven – what makes Joseph different is that people want to buy into the package – the life they believe he’s having – and part of that lifestyle is that he’s in a romance with Sylvia Amery and in forty minutes it’s going to get even more exciting when –’
‘– you re-write the next part: he stays with the woman he loves and who loves him.’
I turn from her and hurry through the trees back to the house, hearing her behind me, ‘Sarah! You’ve got it all wrong – again!’
9
Ottilie comes slaloming around the caterers. ‘Have you seen him?’
‘No. I couldn’t find him.’
‘Everyone’s here. Waiting for him.’ She pauses while I catch my breath. ‘His brother’s a bit of alright, isn’t he? What are we going to do? Sylvia keeps asking where he is?’