Chelsea Wives. Anna-Lou Weatherley

      ‘At least this way her debt is automatically written off, isn’t it?’

      ‘Don’t ask me how it all works, darling. I know nothing about money, other than how to spend it!’

      They both began to laugh then, and Imogen cleared her throat loudly, causing the two women to turn round and look at her sheepishly.

      Imogen was hardly surprised by what she’d overheard. Cressida had lurched from one financial crisis to another her whole life. But being the resourceful woman she was, or at least had been, she had always found a way out of it.

      Imogen smoothed out the creases in her dress and sighed. She had worn a scarlet Chanel shift today in Cressida’s honour, teamed with black studded leather gloves and sky-high Louboutin platform pumps. Cressida would have wanted a splash of colour. She’d always hated black.

      As she stepped up to the pulpit, Imogen’s legs almost buckled beneath her. Clearing her throat, she took a deep breath as she looked out at the sea of people, suddenly wishing she’d had a stiff vodka cocktail to take the edge off her nerves.

      ‘The day I met Cressie – as she was known to me – was the day my life changed forever …’

      As Imogen began her speech, Sammie Grainger slipped inside the church and scanned the vast congregation. She had never seen so many celebrities all in one room together before and felt a small frisson of excitement. Spotting Yasmin Belmont, she made her way over and sat down beside Calvary, who turned to look her up and down like she was something the cat had dragged in.

      ‘What are you doing here?’ Calvary hissed. ‘I thought Hello! had the monopoly on today.’

      ‘I’m here for the canapés and champagne at Claridge’s afterwards,’ Sammie quipped.

      ‘Hmm, I’ll bet you are!’ Calvary retorted.

      Out of the corner of her eye, Sammie watched Yasmin Belmont-Jones surreptitiously.

      Those icy blue eyes and that distinctive upturned nose. She looked so familiar, it was like that elusive word on the tip of your tongue.

      *

      ‘That was wonderful,’ a young, attractive Asian man congratulated Imogen as she stepped down from the pulpit to rapturous applause. ‘Really wonderful. Cressida would’ve been so touched.’

      ‘You think so? Oh, thank you,’ Imogen said, exhaling loudly. She was glad it was over. It had been such an honour to be asked to speak at the service but her nerves were shot to pieces and she needed a drink.

      ‘It’s Imogen, isn’t it? Imogen Forbes?’

      ‘Yes,’ she smiled, shaking the man’s hand.

      ‘Well, I thought you captured Cressida’s essence perfectly,’ he reassured her. ‘And I know she thought the world of you. She talked about you a lot, especially recently. Said you were about to “go massive” again, or something, though I assume she meant your career and not you personally.’ He laughed, inwardly cursed himself. Why did he always have to make a prick of himself in front of attractive women by putting his great big size elevens in his mouth?