Original Sin (15 page)

All three women nodded in agreement.

‘So how was Belcourt?’ said Sam finally.

Paula smiled sweetly. How typical of them to wait so long to ask. She had been in such a good mood when she had arrived at lunch, but now she felt irritated at their feigned lack of interest in the party of the year. Of course they had both hoped Paula would be able to wangle them an invitation, but Paula had claimed the guest list was strictly restricted to close friends and family. The truth was that Paula simply hadn’t wanted them there diluting her moment of high social exclusivity.

‘Oh, it was good fun,’ said Paula casually, stirring a straw around in her mineral water. ‘Although I almost sliced my finger off on a window in the guest cottage. I couldn’t say anything. though. After all, the Billingtons are family now.’

Gigi’s smile was fixed like plaster. ‘Well, I wouldn’t speak too soon. Did you read that
Oracle
home–wrecker story the other day? That can’t have gone down too well with David’s family. Anyway, have you heard? Princess Karina has just enrolled her daughter into Eton Manor.’

Paula bit her tongue, furious at not being given the opportunity to elaborate on the grandeur of Belcourt, yet secretly satisfied at the speed with which Gigi had steered the conversation back into her comfort zone. She knew she had scored a direct hit with the guest cottage detail.

‘Princess Karina?’ said Sam. Paula could tell she had no idea who Princess Karina was, but was afraid to say the words out loud for fear of committing a social faux pas.

‘She’s just fabulous, isn’t she?’ declared Gigi, flapping a hand. ‘She’s Italy’s Marie–Chantal. Her family would be the king and queen of Italy if they hadn’t been deposed.’

‘Legendary wardrobe,’ nodded Sam. ‘She has a Birkin for every day of the year.’

‘And she’s enrolled at Eton?’ asked Paula.

‘Carlotta, a six year old, the same as our babies,’ said Gigi, using her fork to draw patterns with the drizzle of balsamic vinegar on her plate.

It was Paula’s turn to pretend a lack of interest. ‘Do we know which class she’s going in?’

All their girls were in Year One but there was another class of twenty–two pupils for children of their age, which made only a fifty/fifty chance that Carlotta would be in their class.

‘Not yet. A girl in Bruce’s office knows the sister of the admissions’ secretary. All we know is that she’s been accepted by Eton Manor, and starts after the Easter break.’

‘Well, those parents’ coffee mornings need some fresh blood.’

Gigi looked at Paula, knowing what the other was thinking – what they were all thinking. The parents of Eton Manor pupils were some of Manhattan’s most wealthy, successful people, and consequently the school’s packed events calendar was one of the best networking opportunities in the city. Deals were quietly brokered on the father–son camp–out, lucrative friendship bonds nurtured at the Christmas fair. This, however, was on a different level. Princess Karina would be new to the city and looking for social contacts. This was a solid–gold opportunity to make a new friend who moved in the very highest circles.

Paula dabbed her glossed lips with her napkin and felt a charge of determination surge through her. Attending Brooke and David’s engagement party had stirred conflicting emotions. The exhilaration she’d felt when she had first arrived at Belcourt had been quickly replaced with an unsettling sense of dissatisfaction with her own life. Okay, so she had been granted entry to an even more exclusive circle of Manhattan society, but it was one in which she felt uncomfortably small and insignificant. Belcourt’s ballroom had crackled with star quality that night; every single guest seemed to radiate some potent force that had made Paula seem to wither. But Paula was a fighter. Every setback was an opportunity. She knew she needed to improve her position. When she had first met William, Asgill’s was talked about in the same breath as Revlon, and everyone expected it to be snapped up in a billion–dollar take–over. But it hadn’t happened, and Paula knew from William’s moods after a day at the office that business wasn’t good. She couldn’t rely on him to improve their lot. But she had two things on her side. New social leverage thanks to Brooke’s engagement, and steely practicality that had brought her from Greenboro North Carolina to Manhattan’s Upper East Side, a force which she knew could propel her to even greater heights.

Her eyes flickered over to table eight, where a Hollywood legend and a media mogul giggled over their poached pears. It was a snapshot of everything she had ever wanted: wealth, celebrity and power. It be envied and admired. To get the best table in the house, no matter who else was in the room. Then her gaze trailed back to Gigi and Sam. They were nice girls, of course. Fun and harmless. But Paula was beginning to feel as if she had outgrown them. It was time to move up a gear. And she already had a few ideas about how she was going to do it.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Patty Shackleton had worked her legal magic. The
Oracle
agreed to print a retraction on their website and an apology in the main paper the following day, but Tess wasn’t taking any chances. She knew that newspapers didn’t take too kindly to being pushed around by lawyers, and the last thing she wanted to do was spark a tabloid vendetta against the Asgills. A charm offensive was called for, so two days later she had arranged to meet Rebecca Sharp from the
Oracle
for lunch. Sitting under the yellow awning outside Da Silvano, watching the traffic thunder down Seventh Avenue, Tess smiled broadly as she watched her old friend climb from a taxi and glide over to her table.

‘You look fantastic,’ said Tess, quite taken aback at her glamour. Becky had been at the
Colchester Observer
with Tess over a decade earlier, and they had moved to London at around the same time, Tess on the women’s pages of the
Daily Mirror
, Becky on the Bizarre showbiz desk of
The Sun
. Back then she was known as Bonkers Becks, tall and chunky, a great laugh, obsessed with music, and for the first year in the Big Smoke they had cut quite a swathe around town, going to any premiere, party, or gig to which Becky could get a plus one.

Tess had not seen Becks since her transfer to the New York
Oracle
’s entertainment and celebrity news desk three years earlier, and her transformation was incredible. Her long hair, once the colour of marmalade, was now a buttery blonde, falling in soft curls onto her tanned shoulders. She had lost at least three stone and her Amazonian physique had become slender and graceful in her thin cashmere vest and skinny jeans.

‘I cannot believe you’re finally here,’ squealed Becky, causing a couple on the next table to look at them with alarm. ‘And as a publicist of all things! How’s it going on the dark side?’

Becky’s accent had picked up a transatlantic burr and she had always been loud, but her time in the Big Apple seemed to have increased the volume another 10 per cent.

Tess laughed. ‘My first day at work I got into the office at seven a.m. and I was almost the last person to arrive. How do you fit sleep in here?’

Becky waved her hand casually in front of her. ‘Sleep’s for wimps, darling. The second everyone heard how Anna Wintour gets up at five for a game of tennis and a blow–dry, everyone wanted to be in the office before dawn. You’ll soon learn that in Manhattan: it’s all about
competition
.’

‘So where are you living?’

‘Brooklyn,’ said Becky, pulling a face. ‘Mind you,
everyone
is there right now, the rental on a shoebox on the island is insane. How about you?’

‘Just a few minutes away actually,’ said Tess casually. ‘On Perry Street in the Village.’

Becky almost choked on her Perrier. ‘You bitch!’ she screamed, ‘I hate you! Someone’s paying you far too much money. Shit, I
dream
of the West Village, that’s why I love coming here for lunch, so I can play “Let’s pretend”.’

‘Let’s pretend?’ asked Tess.

‘Pretend that I’m someone like that,’ she whispered, nodding towards a super–glamorous blonde at a nearby table. The woman was stunning, with a flawless up–do and two–thousand–dollar dress that Tess recognized as Marni. She was sitting opposite a forty–something man wearing chinos, a navy sweater, and a scarf wrapped around his neck. He was overweight and, frankly, ugly.

‘You want to be a woman like that?’

Becky looked surprised. ‘Who doesn’t?’

‘But have you seen who she’s with? He’s wearing a pashmina!’

‘Darling, every woman in this city wants to land a rich husband. Some women, most of my friends in fact, devote their whole life to finding one. And these days you can’t be too picky.’ Becky let out a dramatic sigh. ‘Ah, the joy of not having to work.’

Tess smiled. ‘You love work.’

‘Completely beside the point,’ said Becky flatly. ‘It’s the option of not
having
to work.’

She leant forward conspiratorially.

‘Speaking of women with very rich men, how’s your new friend Brooke Asgill? You
are
going to get me an interview with her, aren’t you?’

Tess pulled a mock–outraged face. ‘After the stunt your newspaper has just pulled?’ she cried. ‘Seriously though, you do realize you have royally pissed off two of the most influential families in New York – and what for? A two column pot–shot story that has to run an apology the next day?’

‘Actually, my editor loved the story,’ said Becky. ‘Anything to do with the Billingtons is big news, and David and Brooke are the sexiest New York couple since JFK Jr and Carolyn Bessette. It’s not like a tabloid is going to be best friends with them anyway.’

The waiter arrived with their ravioli and the girls started eating.

‘I need a favour,’ said Tess. ‘Two actually.’

Becky looked up. ‘Shoot.’

‘I need an introduction to all the media high–rollers, you know. Newspaper editors, society column writers, editors–in–chief, and features editors on all the big glossies. I know a few people out here but I need to know everyone worth knowing very quickly.’

‘No offence, but I
was
surprised when I heard the Asgills had got you in. PR gigs are all about contacts, aren’t they?’

Tess pulled a sarcastic face. ‘Thanks for reminding me.’

‘What else did you want?’

‘Tell me who gave you the story about Brooke.’

Becky gave a long slow laugh and wagged her finger. ‘Come on, Tess. You worked in papers; you know we never reveal a source. We have journalists on the paper who have been to jail rather than give up the name of their contact.’

‘Since when did you become Miss Integrity!’ laughed Tess. ‘I clearly remember you giving endless column inches to no–hoper bands on your music page in
The
Sun
in return for a press trip – or even a glass of Cava!’

Becky smiled at the memory of their shared time on the loose in London.

‘So what can you do for me?’ she asked.

So much for friendship
, smiled Tess. Becky hadn’t got this far simply by being a good laugh. Beneath the fluffy, party–girl exterior she was as hard as nails.

‘Help me now and I’ll see if I can get you a story exclusive on Brooke and David’s wedding.’

‘Honeymoon shots?’

Tess shook her head. ‘Can’t promise that, but certainly something exclusive, something that will earn you big brownie points.’

Becky took a big orange leather diary from her expensive–looking tote and began flicking through its pages. She scribbled down an address on a fluorescent pink Post–it note and handed it to Tess.

‘There’s a bunch of us going down to Soho House tonight. There’s a Cinema society screening of the new Coen Brothers’ film.
Very cool crowd
,’ she said. ‘Everyone from Glenda Bailey to Col Allen should be there, and there will be drinks afterwards. That should start you off.’

‘Sounds good,’ said Tess, folding up the paper. ‘Now what about the source?’

Becky laughed. ‘Tess, you’re like a dog with a bone!’

‘Tell me,’ said Tess, but Becky held up her hands. ‘I don’t know, honestly. It wasn’t my story.’

‘Come on, Becks, you know everything.’

Becky looked at Tess for a long moment, then leant forward. ‘I think was an ex–girlfriend of David’s,’ she said. ‘You know what they say about a woman scorned? Well, in New York, that fury is multiplied. Never underestimate the damage a vengeful social climber can cause.’

‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ grinned Tess.

Becky put her hand on Tess’s. ‘Honey, it’s so good to have you over here. Honestly.’

‘It’s good to see you too. Especially as you’re doing so well. I mean, just look at you. Where did Bonkers Becks go?’

Becky laughed out loud, again causing heads to turn. ‘You know, I used to think that New Yorkers have no time for love because they throw themselves into their careers,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Now I think it’s the other way around – they become workaholics because it’s so hard to find love.’