‘There are. You just don’t recognize them.’
They walked on a pace or two, round the plinth of a large urn, and looked across the roses at the assembling guests.
‘There,’ said Esme, pointing discreetly to a tall man in navy blazer and fawn slacks. ‘David Frost.’
The famous TV interviewer was exerting his charm over a group of flattered middle-aged women. ‘It’s a distinguished crowd rather than a café society one,’ Esme said.
Although she didn’t admit it, she too had expected a more glamorous guest list but surmised that the Princess was content being the star of her own show. She sat on a chintz-upholstered swing seat, holding court within a circle of admiring sycophants who were basking in her status like the rays of the sun. It was true that the light that seemed to radiate from her shone more brightly into male eyes – with one in particular trying unsuccessfully to capture the shade of the seat’s fluttering canopy so that he might gaze more intently into the Princess’s face. Esme recognized him as head of the furniture department at Christie’s. He was large and round in the middle and in his tight suit seemed to taper from a long, jowly head towards narrow feet. He looked pop-eyed and sweaty, no doubt from the effort of fighting between an impulse towards pompous discretion and a natural love of intrigue. No one could beat the Princess for the most scandalous stories.
Margaret caught Esme’s eye – rolling her own – and waved her over.
‘Do you know Esme Munroe?’
The male collective dutifully introduced themselves and Esme in turn introduced Suki. They were spare parts in a group of people bound not by their affection for each other but purely by the love of their hostess. Anyone seen as new, including Esme, was regarded as a cuckoo in their nest. They’d all no doubt scrambled to get to the top of the social ladder and they guarded their place in the court of Princess Margaret with badly disguised jealousy. Esme understood the glamour and appeal of the Princess but these were the kind of social climbers she didn’t like; bitchy and petty-minded, caring more for the Princess’s title than the woman herself. And they clearly felt that since ma’am hadn’t mentioned Suki’s name, she was not worthy of so much as a look. It reminded Esme of how the Contessa had treated her when she was a child. Like she was invisible. Esme took Suki’s hand to include her in the throng.
‘We are trying to get Charles to reveal who the headless man was in Margaret Argyll’s Polaroids but he won’t tell,’ said the Princess. She inhaled tolerantly and blew the smoke out in a long hissing jet. ‘You probably don’t know, do you, Charles? Just teasing us, which I find frightfully dull.’
Encouraged, Charles said, ‘Ma’am, you know how important it is to string out the punchline, how dull would it be if I told you from the off?’
Princess Margaret swashed a non-existent fly from her face, ‘For God’s sake, Charles, just tell us,’ she said with a concentrated look of mischief.
‘My father told me it was Douglas Fairbanks Jnr,’ said Esme, deciding to show the group she was not the kind of know-nothing girl they’d probably pegged her as. She turned to Suki to explain, ‘We’re talking about this scandal of a duchess who got photographs stolen of her giving—’
‘Giving a man a blowjob, but his head is cut out of the picture,’ finished Margaret.
One member of the crowd – with a serious comb-over and navy shirt with white collar and cuffs – pretended to faint and gasped, ‘An ugly word like that should never spew from such a beautiful mouth, ma’am.’
‘Oh, shut up, Lionel. I have conceived two children, you know.’ To which Lionel bowed in apology, befitting his already oleaginous manner.
‘Come on, out with it, we’re getting bored,’ she said, rapping Charles on his knuckles with her cigarette holder.
‘Bill Lyons.’
Delighted, Princess Margaret clapped her hands, ‘The Pan-Am director?’
‘The very one. I’m not surprised. I would have done the same had I managed to corner him,’ said Charles.
Much laughter erupted. Esme was surprised that the Princess was engaging in such a conversation, but she seemed to thrive on gossip and soon the men began competing to tell the most salacious stories about people Esme had never heard of.
‘Esme, darling,’ the Princess turned to her, ‘have you got any delicious secrets about the ghastly Lucia? Is she as poisonous as ever?’
‘Well, actually I did find something out…’ She went on to tell her hostess what Javier knew of her humble beginnings.
‘Oh, my. What is it about aeroplanes that the aristocracy find so attractive?’ asked Margaret.
Although Esme hated the Contessa she felt bad about her indiscretion as she knew the information would pollinate far and wide on the wings of this lot and she didn’t want to be known as the source. It would only add to her nemesis’s arsenal of vitriol against her and her mother. Too late now, she admitted.
‘Why is everyone so frightfully dreary these days? We may all love to talk about Margaret Argyll or your wicked Contessa, Esme, but I never hear what misdeeds you young people are getting up to. Won’t someone tell me something new?’
‘I’ve got a story.’
Everyone went quiet and turned to Suki as if she had risen from the dead.
‘Do tell,’ said the Princess, addressing her for the first time.
‘Well, Esme’s been on a mission to find out how the other half live, haven’t you? But that’s all ended up in disaster. Her Aussie friend got run over because of that little love triangle…’ Suki laughed an uncomfortable laugh.
Nobody said a word and it became so silent that all Esme could hear was the low buzz of a bumblebee. Her heart raced and she felt her blood turning to ice.
‘She got caught in bed with her boyfriend. But…’ she added quickly, ‘the guy’s a real cad. He’s the one to blame.’
Suki looked surprised by the words flowing from her mouth but seemed unable to stop them.
‘Esme turned up at my house almost naked. It was lucky she got to me before anyone that mattered was awake.’
Princess Margaret’s expression faded to one of shock as she whipped from Suki to Esme and back again.
Esme felt her vision turn to darkness and her head swam. Determined not to faint, instead she headed inside as fast as she dared.
How could she? How could Suki be so disloyal? She shuddered as she realized how it felt to be on the receiving end of betrayal. The pain of the fact of her crime rose in her throat and she let out a sob. Unaware of where she was going, she went into the room nearest the drawing room – a kind of annex with a desk – and collapsed on the sofa.
‘Oh, Cece, Cece.’
Esme felt the sofa dip as a soft puff of air released from its feathers.
‘Is Cece the friend you…?’ a kind voice asked.
‘Yes and I can’t believe Suki told everyone,’ sobbed Esme.
Princess Margaret sat next to her and stroked her back.
‘Darling, tell me exactly what happened.’
Esme spoke, her words rushed. She left nothing out. Cece, Suki, Bill, the photographs, sleeping with Dan, her terror. She told her how kind Cece had been, how down to earth and unspoilt she was. What fun. How hard-working.
‘Esme, Esme, darling girl. Serena is right. We’ve all fallen for men who turned out not to be quite what we thought. But you must learn to see through people.’
Esme looked at the Princess, confused.
‘Friendship, in my opinion, is built on two things. Respect and trust. Both elements have to be there. And it has to be mutual. You can have respect for someone, but if you don’t have trust, the friendship will crumble. Serena’s not cruel, I can see that, but I fear her mouth works faster than her brain. She’s too eager to please – at any price.’
Esme nodded her head, her eyes welling with shame.
Princess Margaret wiped a tear from Esme’s cheek and went on, ‘Don’t let that silly girl upset you. You can’t be chained to the mistakes of your past. It s
ounds like this girl, Cece, is lucky to be alive – and that means you have a chance to make amends.’
Keen to allow the Princess to advise her further, Esme told her how Cece had behaved at the gallery opening and fateful night in Eaton Square.
‘People aren’t always what you want them to be. Sometimes they disappoint you or let you down, but you have to give them a chance. You can’t just meet someone and expect them to be everything you’re looking for and then be angry when they don’t fulfil every hope and aspiration you projected onto them. It’s foolish to believe that someone will be exactly what you imagine them to be. And sometimes, when you give them a chance, they turn out to be better than you imagined. Different, but better.’
The Princess walked over to a side table with two decanters and a jug of water.
‘Would you like a whisky? It’s all I have in here, I’m afraid.’
‘No, thank you,’ said Esme.
As the Princess fixed herself a drink, she carried on.
‘I despise the rituals of fake friendship. There are many people who can’t stand me but because I’m the Queen’s sister they’ll put on radiant smiles and spout compliments until their teeth hurt from their obsequious effort. All that insincere familiarity. If you and your friend – what is she called again?’
‘Cece.’
‘If you and Cece were identical, what would you have to give each other? And if you can’t give a person something they don’t have, how can you ever be friends? Enjoy the different worlds you come from, don’t fear them. But enough lecturing. You need to get to your friend. Don’t leave it until it’s too late. My driver, Griffin, will take you. You know which hospital?’
‘Yes. Thank you, ma’am. If you don’t mind my saying, I needed a kick up the arse and there is no one better at delivering it than you. Suki really dumped me in it, but you’re right, she’s not a bad person.’
‘I’m sure she’s not. I’ve become cynical in my old age. She’s just a little too keen to be in with the in crowd, and I suspect she’s not had enough adventures of her own so she has to tell stories about other people’s,’ laughed the Princess.
Hospitals held upsetting memories for Esme: the fear of not knowing if her mother would die or remain damaged by whatever her chosen method of attempted suicide had been that time. The waiting was the worst, the uncertainty of what lay ahead. The fact that losing a parent happened to pretty much everyone, sooner or later, didn’t make those hospital visits any less hideous. But she was determined not to dwell on the past. Today was about Cece.
Visiting hours weren’t for another thirty minutes so she took a seat on some plastic chairs she’d been directed to. It was just a little too cold and smelt just a little bit too sharp and clean. Esme could hear the constant humming of fluorescent lights in the silence. As everyone else there seemed to be in the same predicament – anxiously waiting to visit loved ones – there was no cheerful conversation. She looked at the clock, which had superpowers such that it moved only two minutes in what seemed to be at least twenty. It made her acutely aware of how little time she might have had with Cece.
She clutched a bag to her. Princess Margaret had given Esme what looked like a baby pillow with a pink-and-white embroidered case. ‘Hospital pillows are like cement. This will make Cece more comfortable.’
As she sat and waited, the Princess’s words had deeply resonated with her. Esme understood now why she had been so drawn to Cece when they met. She was truth. No affectation, no entitlement, just herself. Of course she wasn’t perfect. She had vulnerabilities and quirks like anyone. But Esme now felt foolish to have allowed her instincts about Cece to have been clouded by other people’s judgements and superficial standards. It didn’t matter that Cece had got drunk; she was ashamed to think how all this had stemmed from her panicking about what others would think. Bill hadn’t given a rat’s arse about Cece’s behaviour – he’d no doubt seen worse from his super-rich clientele – his only thought had been to protect the paintings. And now Cece was lying in the depths of this vast hospital, with no family at hand and probably scared out her wits. If the shoe had been on the other foot, Cece would have come to her aid, Esme knew. Boyfriends were expendable but friends were not.
After an eternity, her fellow visitors began to gather their bags, gifts and flowers, shooing young ones towards a bank of lifts. Cece was in a ward on the third floor, apparently.
Peering through the reinforced glass window in the door, she saw Cece propped up in her bed chatting to an ancient woman with chaotic hair and her teeth in a glass on the bedside table. Her head was dressed and she had her arm in a sling across her chest. A black bruise circled her left eye. Esme smiled. Only Cece could look so recklessly cool bound and bandaged in hospital. Just seeing her awake and talking made Esme’s heart swell with love and relief.
Esme didn’t want to approach while this other visitor was there. She waited outside the double doors for a few minutes and felt her courage failing. Maybe she could just leave a message with the ward sister, to say she’d been but didn’t want to interrupt. But just then Cece’s visitor left the ward. One more glance through the glass at her friend – now looking quiet and pensive – was enough to remind Esme that courage was the only way to start making amends. Still with no idea what to say, she went over to the bed and put the pillow on the tray table next to the flowers she’d sent. She took Cece’s free hand and squeezed it gently, then harder as she tried to hold herself and her emotions together.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered.
Cece didn’t pull her hand away so she carried on.
‘I behaved appallingly and quite understand if you never want to see me again.’
‘Shit happens, Es.’ She didn’t smile but there was no anger in her voice.
For the first time, Esme wondered if Cece’s disappointment might hurt more than her anger.
‘Can you forgive me?’
They stayed silent, holding hands for a few minutes. Esme didn’t dare speak for fear she’d say the wrong thing.
‘Sometimes people let you down,’ Cece finally said.
Did she mean Dan or herself? Esme wondered.
‘The thing about nearly dying is suddenly you don’t care about the small stuff. And anyway, everything hurts too much for me to get mad.’
Was this forgiveness? Esme knew she was walking on thin ice – a thin crust of what possible friendship remained.
‘Yeah, I was pissed off you screwed my boyfriend and yeah, it sucks that I got run over but you weren’t driving the car and Dan is hard to resist with his headlights on and trust me you weren’t the first,’ she said. ‘The guy’s a fuckwit and it seems it took a broken arm and concussion to make me realize this. I bet he told you he discovered The Clash. What a tool. Hit and not run aside, you did me a favour. You aren’t perfect. I’m not perfect. It happened. It was awful. It’s over.’
Esme couldn’t believe Cece’s generosity. She didn’t deserve it. ‘I still shouldn’t have done it, Cece. It was fucking thoughtless. I feel such a trollop. You must have been terrified. I should have been there for you. I watched you get put into the ambulance and I was so ashamed I just fled. I should have followed and been here when you came round.’
‘Trust me, it was no worse than waking up with a shit-house hangover and in here they give you morphine.’
‘Shall I call your boss…’ – Esme tried to remember his name – ‘Clement, and tell him what’s happened?’
‘That would be great. Hopefully he hasn’t filled my place already but he knows I’m good for business.’
‘Maybe I could stand in for you… until you’re better, that is.’
Cece burst out laughing, ‘You wouldn’t last a night. Fuck him. There are plenty of bars that need a great Aussie waitress. And if I can’t find one, there’s always a doorway and soup kitchen.’
‘Don’t say that!’
‘I’m joking. It’s not the first time I’ve lost a job and won’t be the last. I’
ll be fine.’
Reality hit home for Esme. Cece had no other place to go to and no family to pick up the rent. Did Javier even know she was here? Her job at the club was her sole source of income and there was no safety net for her. Losing everything for Cece was a world apart from her own fear of being sacked by Bill. Back up North, there was The Lodge and Mrs Bee to go home to – and worst-case scenario she could raid her father’s art stash at the warehouse. Her bank account might be in the red but she would always have access to wealth.
‘This is all my fault.’
‘Come on, I was a cow to you that night at Eaton Square. I wanted to get high and party and show that you weren’t the only one who had friends who threw crazy parties. I was still embarrassed after puking outside your gallery, and I thought Dan’s mates would show us a good time. But they were just stoners and lechers. Anyway’ – Cece smiled, the old irreverence creeping back into her eyes – ‘to be honest, I’m more worried about having to spend another night in this fucking room. I’ve got to sleep mere metres from a woman whose ailment is unknown to me but she stares at me her every waking hour. For all I know she might be a cannibal. Except her teeth are in that glass.’
Both girls burst out laughing.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Predictably, the hospital food was disgusting and lacking a kitchen to rustle up the chicken soup which Mrs Bee always swore was a cure-all, Esme went in search of sustenance. The only shop open nearby was a mini-market. She returned with a small offering, knowing she still had a very long way to go to make amends; magazines, fruit and some Lucozade. When she got back Cece was asleep, so she scribbled her a note and tiptoed out.
As she walked away from the hospital, there was the sense of relief to have made up with Cece but her forgiveness left Esme feeling worse than ever about her own betrayal. How typical of Cece not to feel exploited or that sleeping with Dan had strained their friendship beyond repair. What Esme had done was reprehensible but Cece – in all her grace – had chosen to show that it wasn’t the burning of bridges that mattered but the rebuilding that counted. A broken friendship that is mended through forgiveness can be even stronger than it was before, she thought.
Summer in Mayfair Page 26
