A Winter's Wedding (19 page)

She wanted to ask Dylan if he’d been joking about the marriage proposal, but then she decided that particular topic could wait for another day.

20. Arabella’s Party

It was the 20th of December, and Arabella was throwing the Christmas party to end all Christmas parties at her Chelsea town house. She’d invited all her friends and everyone she had ever met in the magazine publishing industry, even Jane Maxwell. She’d also invited all the neighbours on her street and half the staff at Liberty, Selfridges and Harrods. Luckily many of her biggest pieces of furniture had been sold off, and most of the floors were tiled, so she wouldn’t have to worry too much about spilt drinks and dropped cigarettes. To make the house appear less empty, Arabella had placed a fresh Christmas tree in each of the main reception rooms and decorated the branches with pink ribbons, threaded through cinnamon cookies, and iced gingerbread men wrapped in cellophane. Each tree bore a handwritten note, encouraging people to help themselves to the goodies attached. The guests were due to arrive in about an hour.

Arabella was looking fabulous in a silk jacket with a massive diamanté brooch pinned to the collar, and a zany print skirt from Get Cutie. Emily thought she looked about ten years younger in the silk jacket than she ever had in her fur coat.

‘I’m moving out next week. I got the date yesterday,’ Arabella told Emily as they loaded up the dining-room table with a staggering amount of savouries, pastries and pretty cupcakes – all home-made by Arabella herself, to save money. She was living on a budget now, so hiring expensive caterers and florists was a thing of the past.

‘How do you feel about that?’ Emily asked carefully.

‘Not quite as bad as I thought I would,’ Arabella said, rearranging the plates so her gorgeous cupcakes could take centre stage. The delicious scent of the buttercream frosting was calling to her. But she’d eaten three already that morning, so she didn’t dare have another one. The zip might burst on her skirt, if she kept on nibbling.

‘Oh good,’ Emily said gently. ‘I’m so pleased.’

‘You should be. It’s all down to you that I didn’t take an overdose when the solicitor told me I would have to sell my beloved house and settle out of court – or stand my ground and face a possible prison sentence. You talked me round to the idea of letting go of this house; you made it seem almost fun to be poor.’

‘Firstly, I hope you’re joking about the overdose?’

‘Relax, Emily; I only considered it for about five minutes.’

‘And secondly, when did I ever say it was fun to be poor? Not that I am actually poor as such.’

‘Oh, you know what I mean. All your tales of walking hand-in-hand in the snow with Dylan, and watching DVDs on the sofa for hours, and eating fish and chips on the promenade that day the two of you went to Brighton. You know … the simple things I’d forgotten about after being married to David for so long.’

‘Well, okay, when you put it like that, I suppose I do sound a bit thrifty,’ Emily grimaced.

‘I didn’t mean to insult you, my darling,’ Arabella said, lighting a cigarette and wafting the smoke away from the food. ‘Yes, I know that you’re paying off that loan you took out to rescue your father. And yes, I know Dylan isn’t being paid for his work in the shop. Let’s go into the kitchen and have a glass of champers in peace before the stampede begins. At least, I hope there’ll be a stampede.’

‘There will be huge crowds here, don’t you worry.’

‘I’m not coming back to work after Christmas, if nobody from the magazine turns up at the party,’ Arabella declared, leading the way to the kitchen and taking a bottle from the fridge. ‘I mean, ever since they found out what I did to David’s house, they might all be afraid of me. Damn that reporter for spilling the beans.’

‘
Everyone
at work is coming; they’ve been talking about it all week. And nobody blames you for starting the fire, I promise. I think they were all rather impressed, as it happens. I mean, it was fine once they knew that you’d checked the house was empty first. I hear Jane might even bring her new boyfriend along,’ Emily said, accepting a tall flute of bubbly.

‘Who is he, do you know yet?’ Arabella asked, checking her lipstick in her compact.

‘No, we still don’t know his name, but she’s been a bit weird lately,’ Emily said.

‘She’s always been a bit weird. That hair of hers; it’s far too long. And she wears far too much make-up. Too much lippy – and, coming from me, that’s saying something,’ Arabella said, puffing away nervously.

‘Well, she is still in her twenties, Arabella. That’s the look for women of that age, don’t you know? Now … don’t quote me on this, but I think our Jane’s going out with some sort of a celebrity,’ Emily said conspiratorially.

‘No way! What makes you say that?’

‘Well, Jane said something to me the other day in the kitchenette. She said she wouldn’t be larking about with stupid coffee tables and candlesticks for much longer. And she was caressing her precious silver bracelet when she said it. You remember that bracelet I told you about? She’s always playing with it at meetings. Oh, this champagne is so delicious. It’s the one thing about this winter that I don’t mind being stone cold.’

‘Thanks, it’ll be my last great extravagance. After this I’ll be shopping at Asda and Primark, for I’ll have a mortgage to pay.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Emily soothed.

‘Don’t be. I’m looking forward to it, Emily. That little house I managed to buy – it’s heavenly. I mean, it’s all dark and poky at the minute, but I’m going to do it up in white with distressed mirrors everywhere, and ornamental birdcages hanging from the rafters.’

‘I can’t wait to see it when it’s finished,’ Emily said approvingly. ‘We’ll photograph it for the magazine maybe?’

‘Um, let’s not. The readers might start asking what happened to my old house,’ Arabella said meaningfully.

‘Oh yes, you’re right. Let’s not bother.’

‘It was only thanks to yet another political scandal that I was dropped from the front pages last Sunday. Imagine trying to claim back the cost of seventeen massages!’

‘Yes, here’s a toast to our hardworking MPs. Bless them,’ Emily said.

‘Cheers.’

‘Cheers. Between the shopping, the travelling, the bunk-ups and the massages, it’s a wonder they get any work done at all.’

‘Here’s to the Mother of Parliaments!’ Arabella declared, making a wobbly salute while trying not to drop cigarette ash into her drink.

The two friends laughed heartily.

‘Seriously, thank heaven for those pompous old twats in Westminster for keeping the hacks busy. I can see the headline now, if it’d been me,’ wheezed Arabella. ‘
Loony Wife Burns Down Ex-husband’s Love Nest Before Downsizing To A Labourer’s Cottage
.’

‘No, that’s far too long. It’d be something like
Interiors Queen Torches Mansion
.’

‘Quite,’ Arabella rolled her eyes.

Then she laughed again and reminded herself that she was supposed to be throwing a party tonight.

Just then the doorbell rang.

‘Half an hour early, who on earth can that be?’ Arabella said in an excited voice as Emily went to answer the door. ‘Nobody arrives at parties early. At least, nobody I know does. How very common …’

Emily opened the door to find the entire staff from
Stylish Living
standing on the steps – all thirty-five of them, except Jane Maxwell.

‘We know we’re early, but we just couldn’t wait any longer,’ Petra explained. ‘We’ve already been in the pub for an hour and a half. None of us have ever been to Arabella’s house before, and the curiosity is simply
killing
us.’

‘Come on in,’ Emily laughed. ‘Come on in, and you’re very welcome.’

Meanwhile, Arabella had switched on the stereo and was frantically lighting a dozen pink candles on the buffet table. Everyone trooped in and waited in the hall to be told what to do next.

‘Give me your coats, and go in there,’ Emily said, pointing to the candlelit dining room. ‘I’ll be through in a minute with drinks.’

Arabella was standing at the fireplace with one elbow resting awkwardly on the mantle when she finally came face-to-face with her colleagues. She looked so nervous at seeing them again, Emily felt sorry for her.

‘Arabella, thanks for inviting us to your lovely home. We’ve missed you so much,’ Petra announced, handing Arabella a small silver box. ‘We all chipped in to buy you this. It’s a cocktail ring, and it reminded us of you – larger than life, and twice as much fun. Merry Christmas,
darling
Arabella!’

Arabella laughed out loud with relief and began to hug everybody. Emily could almost see the anxiety melting away from her face. Arabella’s staff still respected her, and that was all that mattered now.

The doorbell rang again, and another couple of dozen of guests from the industry filed in. Then the neighbours turned up, all bearing gifts of wine and chocolates. Arabella was worn out with kissing and hugging everyone and telling them all how happy she was to see them at her party. They were soon crowded around the buffet, sipping champagne and delicately nibbling the fabulous cupcakes, when Jane and her mystery boyfriend pulled up outside the house in a yellow Ferrari. The distinctive purr of the engine was easily heard above the music on the stereo. Some people ran to the windows to look out. Jane and her new man were kissing passionately in the front of the car.

‘Isn’t that the American producer guy … ?’ Arabella began. ‘Douglas Doberman.’

‘Doug Liebermann,’ Emily corrected.

‘Do you know, I think it is him,’ Petra gasped. ‘He’s fifty-three.’

‘But it can’t be,’ someone said. ‘He’s engaged to that awful bimbo.’

‘Yes, and they only got engaged a short while ago,’ Petra muttered. ‘Not that our Jane would care very much either way.’

‘It
is
him,’ Arabella said triumphantly as Jane’s mystery man came up for air.

‘He’s Daisy Churchill’s fiancé,’ Emily said needlessly.

‘Make that Daisy Churchill’s
ex
-fiancé,’ Arabella laughed.

‘Oh Jane, what have you done?’ Emily said.

‘Daisy’ll gut the two of them like fish,’ Arabella trilled, running out of the room and down the hall to greet them.

‘Isn’t he meant to be worth about a hundred million dollars?’ Petra said begrudgingly.

‘Yes, he owns lots of big TV shows in America,’ Emily told her.

‘Well, this should be interesting,’ Petra said, refilling her glass and putting a grilled prawn in her mouth. ‘Talk about a gold-digger.’

‘Petra, I’m sure it’s a genuine love match,’ Emily said, rolling her eyes as they all turned to face the door.

Arabella’s lovely party quickly turned into a Doug Liebermann autograph hunt. Though not an actor himself, he had every actor in LA on speed dial. He owned a disgustingly large mansion in the hills with an infinity pool and three guest cottages. And to top it all, he was six foot four with a blond mullet and shoulders like the Incredible Hulk.

Emily and Arabella sat on a window seat, nursing two glasses of champagne but forgetting entirely to drink them. They watched Jane with fascination as she hung off Doug’s arm like a handbag, her casual office clothes now replaced with the tightest, shortest dress imaginable. Her hair had been bleached to a platinum waterfall, and her lips looked a bit fuller than they’d been the previous week.

‘Do you think he’s good-looking?’ Arabella asked.

‘He’s not my cup of tea. But he’s not bad, I suppose,’ Emily said quietly.

‘I reckon I’ll soon be reading Jane’s resignation letter,’ Arabella whispered.

‘If it lasts beyond the weekend,’ Emily said.

‘I wonder how she ever hooked up with him?’ Arabella asked idly.

‘They must have met at Daisy’s house when she was staging the shoot,’ Emily offered. ‘She did a shoot there, but we didn’t use it in the end.’

‘Oh yes, of course; that must be it. Jane’s a bit younger than Daisy, isn’t she?’ Arabella mused.

‘Yes, and she looks it. Poor Daisy; all that plastic surgery and tanning must be very hard on the skin in the long term.’

‘Not to mention very hard on the wallet,’ Arabella added, newly conscious of monetary matters. ‘Are you jealous?’

‘What of?’ Emily asked.

‘Of the lifestyle Jane will soon be enjoying in LA? I am!’

‘No way; I love London and I love my job. I couldn’t bear to live from day to day, just hoping to get another few months out of it before my rich boyfriend trades me in for a better model,’ Emily said. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,’ she added, thinking of Arabella’s ex-husband and his new family.

‘You’re all right, darling; I know exactly what you meant, and you’re quite right. I’ll never get married again, not as long as I live. I’ll never invest so much time and energy in a man again. Never!’

‘But you might meet a truly nice man some day,’ Emily said.

‘There’s no such thing as a truly nice man,’ Arabella said darkly.

‘Yes, there is,’ Emily countered.

‘No, some clever men
pretend
to be nice. But they’re still only being manipulative.’

‘That’s a very cynical thing to say,’ Emily said.

‘It’s true, my darling.’

‘Dylan is lovely. He’s taking my parents out to a show tonight; he bought the tickets especially so they’d be fully occupied tonight. So I wouldn’t be worrying about them turning up here and doing their
Father Ted
routine.’

‘You really do focus too much on your poor, dear parents,’ Arabella said affectionately. ‘Secretly you’re a bit of a snob, aren’t you? Well, don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll go home to Belfast soon.’

‘I am not a snob! How dare you! I didn’t want them to come tonight, because they’d be out of their depth – that’s all. And people might laugh at them and hurt their feelings. If you must know, I’m getting used to them living in London. They’re so happy here. I’m not used to seeing them this happy.’

‘Well, that’s lovely. Will you help me to heat up some more savouries, sweetheart? The food is disappearing like nobody’s business.’

‘Sure.’

Arabella and Emily made their way through the chattering crowds towards the kitchen and were very surprised to find Petra, sitting on a chair by the back door, crying her eyes out.