‘Listen,’ Douglas made to reach out for her hand but she snatched it away. ‘The Ivanovs have said we can have their house up in Lake Como for a couple of weeks – why don’t you go? Get away for a while, take some friends with you. Have a spa break, or whatever it is that you women do. It’ll do you good to clear your head a bit.’
As usual, he was trying to buy back some kind of equilibrium between them, though secretly Calvary was a little taken with this suggestion. Perhaps a holiday was just what she needed. She’d invite Imogen and maybe even Yasmin Belmont-Jones too. She had grown rather fond of her in recent weeks and was sure Imogen wouldn’t mind if the girl tagged along.
Imogen Forbes was Calvary’s oldest and truest friend. Having been introduced at a rather stuffy charity event by their respective husbands some twelve years ago, Calvary often joked that their meeting was one of the best things to have come out of her marriage to Douglas. Though in fact, it was no joke at all.
Hailing from similar backgrounds – the worlds of fashion and modelling – the two women had struck up an instant rapport and had spent the entire evening in deep conversation and fits of giggles. They had both left the party that evening feeling as if they had met a kindred spirit. Over the years their friendship had strengthened and deepened into something they both cherished dearly. Like sisters, they bickered occasionally, but were fiercely loyal and protective towards one another.
‘You could fly out next week, after the ball,’ Douglas suggested, hopefully. ‘Relax, sun yourself for a few days. Just wait until you see the Ivanovs’ place; it’s absolutely spectacular.’ He detected the slightest flicker of interest in Calvary’s eyes, and felt himself relax a little.
‘I’ll arrange for you all to fly out on the jet,’ he said in a childlike voice, attempting to lock the deal down, ‘and,’ he added as an extra sweetener, ‘you can have free run of the Black Amex card.’ He sang the last bit like a game show host enticing a contestant to gamble for the big prize.
Calvary watched as her body visibly sagged in front of the mirror. She felt utterly defeated.
‘I’ll take Tamara shopping tomorrow,’ she said quietly with her back to him, tucking her jeans into her Tod’s leather riding boots.
A small, satisfied smile crept across Douglas’s face and he had to stop himself from letting out an audible sigh of relief.
‘That’s it, old girl,’ he said, immediately buoyed. He could go and have that game of golf now without all this nasty business hanging over him, threatening to put him off his swing.
‘Get yourself something fantastic for Forbes’s do as well, spend what you like.’
Calvary grabbed a packet of Vogue cigarettes from the stash in her dressing table and threw them into her Smythson tote.
‘Oh, don’t you worry, Douglas,’ she said, brushing his shoulder with her own as she flounced past him. ‘I damn well intend to.’
CHAPTER 14
Yasmin Belmont-Jones hated funerals. Even more so than most people. They reminded her of her sister. And anything that reminded her of her sister hurt. It hurt like hell.
Still, she had to hand it to her, Yasmin thought as she looked around the magnificent church filled with celebrities and VIPs, whoever this Cressida Lucas woman was, she sure was one hell of a well-connected lady.
It had been at Calvary Rothschild’s blithe insistence that she attend today’s ceremony.
‘But I’d never even met the woman when she was alive,’ Yasmin had protested. ‘It doesn’t feel right me being there.’
‘Minor details,’ Calvary had replied dismissively. ‘It’s the perfect setting to introduce your new look to society, show the press – and your detractors – that you won’t be downbeaten by their pernicious comments. Besides, it’s not as if the deceased will mind, is it?’ she added facetiously, casting an approving eye over the demure Victoria Beckham black shift dress that she had cajoled Yasmin into wearing for the occasion. She was determined to rid the girl of her Chav-Sloane persuasions if it killed her.
Yasmin was silently horrified. Calvary viewed today as little more than a photo opportunity! Reluctantly though, she also knew that she had a point; she had to brazen it out in front of the press, who had so far been most unforgiving about her. Hiding herself away would only serve as fuel to their ever increasing interest. The last thing she needed was them digging for dirt.
Despite her earlier misgivings, as Yasmin looked around at the church humming full of A-listers, she was almost glad she had made the decision to come after all.
‘All these celebrities …’ Yasmin whispered into Calvary’s ear, trying not to sound as star struck as she actually was. ‘It’s like ‘An Audience with …’
A regal looking lady in a huge avant-garde hat with a giant lobster on top of it passed them and took a seat in an adjacent pew.
Calvary raised a critical eyebrow.
‘If it blows off, dear, I wouldn’t chase it,’ she remarked sardonically. Yasmin stifled a snigger. Calvary could be quite amusing when she hit her stride. If she wasn’t careful she might actually start liking the woman.
‘Cal,’ Imogen came towards them, greeting her warmly with a big hug, ‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ she said, enjoying the reassuring warmth of her friend’s embrace. Calvary brushed an imaginary tear from Imogen’s face and smiled affectionately at her. She was dying to ask her friend if she’d heard any news about the campaign from L’Orelie yet but thought it an inappropriate moment, given the situation.
‘How are you feeling, darling?’ Calvary asked earnestly. ‘Nervous about the eulogy?’
‘Nervous?’ Imogen spluttered. ‘That’s the understatement of the century. My guts are in knots, Cal. I feel sick. I’m really not sure I can do it, not in front of all these people.’
‘Oh, nonsense!’ Calvary said in that dismissive way of hers that stopped short of telling you to pull yourself together. ‘Of course you can do it, can’t she, Yasmin?’ Calvary briefly turned to her for confirmation.
‘Er, yes,’ Yasmin nodded. ‘Of course. It’ll be fine,’ she smiled weakly at Imogen as she remembered her own sister’s eulogy all those years ago. She had cried all the way through her speech, great heart-wrenching sobs that had echoed around the rundown old church. Just thinking about it turned her mood black.
‘Thank you,’ Imogen smiled gratefully at Yasmin, taking the tips of her long, French manicured fingers briefly in her own. The press may have portrayed the new Lady Belmont in a less than favourable light, calling her a cold, gold-digging opportunist, but Imogen had seen flashes of a kind and generous soul on the occasions they had met, which made her think they had misjudged her. ‘I realise you’ve only come here today to support me,’ she addressed Yasmin with a grateful smile, ‘and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.’
Yasmin swallowed back a pang of guilt.
Taking a nervous seat, Imogen began going over the speech she had prepared for today’s service in her mind. Only she was distracted by a conversation taking place between two women in front of her.
‘You know, I heard that she was going under financially …’ one of the women whispered a little too loudly.
‘Who? Cressida Lucas? Really?’ the other replied conspiratorially, shuffling in closer towards her.
‘Uh-huh. Bailiffs at the door of her Mayfair apartment and everything. Died in debt by all accounts.’
The woman tutted and shook her head.
‘How positively awful.’