by Kait Jagger
‘Her waist has shrunk,’ Patrice went on, pulling another pin from his mouth and tucking it into a fold in the dress. ‘And that makes her rear look bigger.’
‘Thank you, Patrice,’ Luna said with a pointed look at Kayla in the mirror. ‘You see? It’s just an optical illusion, how big my arse looks.’ She was beginning to snort even as the words came out of her mouth and when Kayla held her hands apart as if to say, This big, Luna held her side and howled in earnest.
Her ribs were hurting from how much she’d laughed that day. From the moment her and Nancy’s flights arrived at virtually the same time at Heathrow, through a raucous brunch in Covent Garden, to their fitting at Patrice’s loft, it had been just like old times. Nancy regaling them with tales of her adventures in PR, Kayla cracking wise at every opportunity and Luna being the butt, quite literally, of their good-natured jibes. The only thing missing was Jem, who’d cried off saying she had party preparations to attend to and would see them that evening.
‘Okay, step out of the dress,’ the trim, bearded costume designer instructed. Luna did as she was told, then plonked down on the reclaimed hardwood floor of his loft, clad in nothing more than her bra and knickers, toying with her fishtail braid.
Kayla immediately leant down in her chair and raised her phone, snapping a photo before Luna could stop her. Holding it up to Nancy, she mused, ‘You do look a little underfed these days, Lou.’
Patrice’s sewing machine whirred into action up in the corner.
‘And white,’ Nancy said. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to go for some fake tan this afternoon?’ Nancy had an afternoon of spa treatments planned for the two of them, given that Kayla had to head off shortly for her matinee performance.
‘Absolutely not,’ Luna said. ‘Besides, I’m supposed to be a ghost, right? So pale is good.’
Between them, Kayla and Patrice had decided that Luna should dress as one of the bogeymen in the game; each of the three main characters had an imaginary nemesis who sometimes materialised to make their task of Nazi killing more difficult. For Nancy’s character Elle, it was her brother Anthony, missing in action since a catastrophic D-Day where the Allied forces lost. For little Tommen, the boy from the village, it was swamp creatures who infested the fishing lake at Arborage. And for the character of the Marquess, it was his dead wife, known only as the Marchioness.
It was this character Luna was supposed to be dressed as. According to the game, the Marquess had spent twenty years in mourning for his ethereal wife, dead since the night of their wedding in 1928. Thankfully, since the flapper look really didn’t suit Luna’s figure, the dress Patrice had chosen wasn’t slavishly 1920s in style. ‘Think more Marilyn Monroe in Some Like It Hot,’ Kayla had explained.
‘Okay,’ Patrice said, rising from his sewing machine and carrying the dress over to Luna. ‘Try it now.’
Luna stood and raised her arms into the air, but Patrice shook his head.
‘This time take off your bra. You can’t wear one with it anyway, and we need to be sure it fits right.’
Luna unclasped her bra and threw it on the floor and Patrice lifted the dress over her head, carefully pulling it down.
The dress was sleeveless, with a diaphanous, rounded yoke descending to strategically placed sequins that just about covered her nipples, becoming more numerous in the bodice and close-fitting skirt. The skirt needed to be tight, as the dress was backless, with a shining, sequin-laden cowl that fell to the bottom of her spine.
The fabric, where it was visible under all those sequins, was lightest rose. As Patrice knelt again at her side, Luna frowned speculatively in the mirror.
‘I don’t know… pink isn’t really my colour,’ she said uncertainly. She turned slightly to the side, studying the outline of her humble, B cup breasts in the sheer fabric, then trying to catch a glimpse of her bum to see if Patrice’s alterations made it look less enormous.
Patrice tugged slightly at the hem and ran his hand up the side of said bum.
‘No, this shade of pink definitely suits you,’ he said quietly.
Luna caught Nancy lifting her eyebrows at Kayla in the mirror and whirled around to look at them.
‘You think it looks silly on me, don’t you? Come on, be honest.’
Kayla laughed and assured her, ‘Believe me, you do not look silly, homegirl.’
‘No, no, you’ve outdone yourself, Patrice,’ Nancy agreed, looking Luna up and down approvingly. Patrice nodded and stood, moving swiftly over to a clothes rack in the corner. Nancy and Kayla exchanged another glance and Luna could see they were both struggling to keep straight faces.
‘What?’ she demanded. ‘What?’ Upon which the other two women burst out laughing.
‘Right, I have actual work to do,’ Patrice announced, throwing a garment bag at Kayla and making a shooing gesture with his hands. ‘Time for you girls to go.’
A few minutes later, as they emerged onto the street in Soho, Luna demanded, ‘What’s up with you two? It’s all very well to laugh, but if I’m going to make a fool of myself in that get-up tonight—’
‘Sweetie,’ Nancy said, putting her hand on Luna’s arm. ‘You aren’t going to make a fool of yourself. You looked fantastic and now I’m actually slightly jealous of your costume.’
‘Yeah,’ Kayla added. ‘You saw the effect it had on Patrice.’ Luna looked at her blankly and Kayla rolled her eyes. ‘Oh my days, you really are oblivious sometimes. You didn’t notice how he had to get up and walk away?’
‘Tell you what, I noticed,’ Nancy said with a little chortle.
‘You mean…?’ Luna stumbled. ‘But, Patrice is gay.’
Kayla shook her head. ‘No he’s not.’
‘Yes he is,’ Luna said.
‘I’m telling you, I have known Patrice since he was sixteen years old and he is not gay. What, do you think every man with an eye for women’s fashion is gay?’
‘No, of course I don’t, but…’ Luna hesitated, remembering other fittings, including one where Patrice had actually cupped her breasts. Covering her face with her hands, she moaned, ‘Oh God, he’s bloody straight?’
‘Why else do you think he was slaving over his sewing machine for you?’ Kayla laughed. ‘Believe me, he doesn’t even offer me that kind of service.’
Luna cleared her throat, at a loss for words. ‘Crikey,’ she managed.
‘That’s right, girlfriend,’ Kayla said, slapping her on the bottom. ‘Patrice wants to tap that.’
*
This time, as their taxi made its way down the main drive at just before midnight, Luna forced herself to look at Arborage House. It looked beautiful, as ever, floodlit at night, and she was glad she wouldn’t have to go into it. The party was taking place in the permanent marquee on the Queen Charlotte lawn, where weddings and other events were held.
‘Look at the bleeding queue!’ Kayla exclaimed, pointing toward a line of at least thirty costumed partygoers snaking outside the tent. The three women exited their taxi and exchanged glances.
Luna looked at her watch and shook her head. ‘I thought we were getting here late.’
‘I’m not waiting in line,’ Nancy declared imperiously, taking the other two women by the arm and marching to the entrance. ‘Jem!’ she shouted.
At this, the petite raven-haired woman manning the door looked in their direction and cried, ‘You’re here!’
‘You look adorable,’ Luna said, eying up Jem’s 1950s schoolboy outfit, an exact replica of the outfit worn by the character of Tommen in the game. ‘But,’ she gestured to the clipboard in Jem’s hand, ‘what are you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be inside with your guests?’
‘The girl who was helping me has disappeared,’ Jem replied anxiously, adding, ‘I have to say, support from the Events staff at Arborage hasn’t exactly been…’ She looked almost accusingly at Luna, who didn’t know what to say in response. Arborage wasn’t her domain anymore.
‘Look,’ said a man at the front of the queue dre
ssed in a butler’s costume, ‘are we going to get in there sometime tonight? Or are you just going to stand there chatting with your mates?’
‘Oi!’ Kayla shouted. ‘Shut it, Jeeves.’ She made to move toward him and Nancy grabbed her arm. Sensing that things were on the verge of getting ugly, Luna decided urgent intervention was required.
‘You,’ she instructed, grabbing the clipboard from Jem’s hands, ‘get into that party. Kayla, you go with her. Nancy, you stay here with me.’ Jem looked at her doubtfully, but Luna raised herself to her full height, pointing into the tent, and Kayla came and put her arm around Jem.
‘Don’t forget to stamp their hands!’ Jem shouted as she was led away. ‘You have to stamp them!’
Ten minutes later, they’d winnowed the queue down to fifteen or so, though more guests continued to arrive. Luna quickly discovered that the guest list was a disorganised mess, with different lists for employees of Rod and Jem’s company, specially invited contacts in the games industry, and Arborage invitees. She could see why Jem had struggled all on her own and she was frankly taken aback that Arborage’s usually seamless events machine had so completely broken down.
At least, she thought, she had the advantage of being able to recognise her former co-workers, one of whom had just gotten to the front of the queue.
‘Roland!’ she exclaimed, throwing her arms around a balding, bespectacled man dressed in tuxedo and white scarf.
‘My dear Luna,’ Arborage’s Tours Manager chuckled, ‘I should have known I’d find you here, sorting us all out.’ Sobering, he kissed her on both cheeks and added, ‘I was so pleased when I heard you were coming. I’ve… well, you have been missed.’
Luna smiled, genuinely delighted to see him. For all his foibles and slightly fastidious manner, Roland White had been one of her closest friends on the staff. ‘Let me just tick you off the list,’ she said, flipping through the sheaf of papers on her clipboard.
‘Ah,’ Roland said as a rake-thin, waxy-skinned young man came to join him in the line. ‘May I introduce you to Alex Parker, the newest member of the Tours team. Alex, this is Luna Gregory, former personal assistant to the Marchioness.’
Alex was dressed almost identically to Roland in a tuxedo and white silk scarf, the outfit worn by the character of the Marquess in Remainers. Though, to Luna’s eyes, the costume suited the younger man’s louche bearing better. Nodding at her disinterestedly, Alex glanced toward the marquee entrance. ‘C’mon, Roland, I’m gasping for a drink.’
‘Patience, dear boy,’ Roland chided good-naturedly, a fond expression on his face, leaving Luna to wonder exactly what was going on between the two.
‘Parker, Alex,’ she read, ticking his name off the list. ‘If you can just get your hand stamped by that lady over there,’ she nodded toward Nancy, who was taking a surreptitious slug from a silver flask. Turning back to Roland, she asked, ‘So, are many of the family attending tonight?’ And instantly regretted it; innocuous though her question was, it felt like fishing.
‘Only Isabelle,’ Roland replied, prompting Alex to declare over his shoulder as Nancy stamped his hand, ‘No. Stefan’s coming too.’
Roland frowned. ‘I heard he declined.’
‘Changed his mind earlier this week, that’s what Emma in Events told me.’ With that, the younger man glided over to Roland and took him by the arm. ‘Now come on, old chap.’
How to explain the sudden rush of disappointment Luna felt when Roland said, ‘Only Isabelle,’ followed by the flood of alarm when Alex contradicted him? The wanting to see Stefan and the dread of seeing him. Her palms were actually sweating against the clipboard as she turned to greet two teenaged volunteers in tiny black dresses and heels so high they looked like a pair of baby giraffes. Apparently they hadn’t gotten the memo about this being a costume party.
‘Names, please?’ she asked.
And then there he was, emerging along a darkened gravel path from the house. Even by the weak light of the lanterns hanging outside the marquee, Stefan Lundgren attracted, nay commanded, attention. Like Roland and Alex, he had opted to dress as the fictional Marquess, but unlike them Stefan inhabited his tuxedo like it was a second skin, his jacket sitting perfectly on his broad shoulders. He wasn’t wearing a tie, Luna noted, and her breath caught in her throat at the sight of his dark blond hair falling in waves over his white collar, two buttons undone to reveal the pulse in his neck where she had last pressed her lips…
‘Hi, Stefan!’ cried one of the girls happily, rousing Luna from her reverie. She snapped to attention as he approached, his lips parting and white teeth flashing as he smiled at them in response. That honey on toast smile of his had what Luna could only assume was its intended effect as the two girls practically jumped up and down with delight, their faces eagerly studying his.
‘We thought you weren’t coming,’ drawled Girl Number 1 in a Sloane accent, her lips pouting in remembered disappointment.
‘Yet here I am,’ Stefan said lightly. His voice as smooth and self-assured as ever, its slight Nordic inflection serving only to heighten its impact, to Luna at least.
Luna, meanwhile, stood clutching her clipboard, silent, shunned witness to all this, completely unable to speak and wishing she could sink into the grass underneath her feet. To her immense relief, Nancy sauntered over at this point and took the clipboard from her hands, enquiring sweetly of the two girls, ‘Are you two sure you’re supposed to be here? Do your mothers know you’re out this late?’
He turned to her then. It was dark, too dark to see the colour of his azure eyes upon her, but she felt his heat even from two feet away, and when he took a step closer she smelled his cologne, the cologne she knew so well. The smell of him.
Glancing around quizzically, Stefan frowned and said, ‘Miss Gregory, what are you doing? You are no longer in Arborage’s employ.’ Luna flinched at his brusque tone before she could stop herself. And still she couldn’t respond, couldn’t speak to him. Perhaps he saw the effect his words had on her, or perhaps he was just playing the charming host, because he added in a more convivial manner, ‘You are our guest.’
Luna cleared her throat and managed, ‘You appear to be short-staffed. Nancy and I are just filling in.’
‘No, I’m sorry, girls, I can’t seem to find you on the guest list,’ Nancy was saying in a voice so treacly it made Luna’s teeth ache. ‘And, I mean, really, don’t you two have school tomorrow morning?’
As the girls began to protest, Stefan swivelled his head around and enquired silkily, ‘What seems to be the problem?’
Girl Number 2 mewled, ‘This American woman here says she can’t find us on the guest list.’
‘Well,’ Stefan said with a smile, ‘we can fix that. I would be honoured if the two of you would come as my personal guests.’
‘Ah, of course, if your Uncle Stefan vouches for you that’s okay then,’ Nancy said with saccharine-coated venom.
‘Nancy,’ Stefan nodded, eyes glinting. ‘As always, it’s a delight to see you.’ And then he offered his arms to the two girls and off they went into the marquee.
Luna looked at Nancy. Nancy looked at Luna. Inside the marquee, music began to play. The Jackson Five, if Luna wasn’t mistaken. Nancy handed Luna her flask, which Luna lifted to her lips. And drained.
Perhaps it was only a coincidence, but moments after Stefan entered the marquee, Emma from Events came running out, full of apologies, and Luna and Nancy were finally able to join the party.
The marquee was really two tents, one small anteroom and an adjacent, much larger ballroom. Entering the anteroom, they found it decked out with life-sized cardboard figures of the main characters, as well as no less than six large LED screens streaming scenes from the game. Luna had seen this sort of thing at Rod and Jem’s offices in Shoreditch before, but the scenes she was looking at now were much more extensive.
She’d have liked to take a closer look, but Nancy was dragging her toward the main room, declaring, ‘I need a drink.’ L
una paused at the coat check area to hand in her battered North Face backpack, which she’d been lugging around with her all day.
‘What room are you staying in?’ asked the young man behind the desk, who Luna vaguely remembered as an intern in Rod and Jem’s office. When she looked at him blankly, he whipped out a tablet and pulled up a floor plan of Arborage’s west wing bedrooms, done in Remainers style complete with Nazis roaming the hallways. There were names, including Jem and Rod’s, against several of the rooms.
‘That is incredibly cool,’ Luna marvelled, ‘but I’m not staying the night. I just need to leave my bag here.’
The main tent, too, had been specially decorated, with a trestle table along one end laden with food and candelabras, and branches dripping with Spanish moss reaching up to the top of the tent. There was the usual bar and dance floor as well, though no one was dancing.
Luna estimated that there were around 250 people present, most in costume. Numerous tuxedo-clad Marquesses, several Anthonys, some household staff, and a surprising number of Elles, to Nancy’s clear annoyance. It appeared that almost all of Rod Studios’ staff, including Rod himself, who was standing near the food table talking to someone Luna didn’t recognise, had opted to dress as lake creatures in various states of decay. Luna smiled and nudged Nancy, nodding in the direction of Kayla, who had also come dressed as a lake creature and was sitting on a gangly programmer’s knee for a photo, their combined bracken becoming tangled together.
‘I’ll get us some drinks,’ Nancy shouted over the strains of Take That as Luna made a beeline toward Jem’s family.
Later, after Jem’s dad had insisted on taking copious photos of Jem, Luna, Nancy and Kayla together, Luna put her arm around Jem and observed, ‘This party is pretty amazing, Jemima Evangeline.’
‘Yes, but…’ Jem scanned the room unhappily and Luna could tell immediately what was bothering her. The room looked incredible, and there were some amazing costumes, but it all felt a little… tame. Maybe just the slightest bit flat. Sometimes that happened – heaven knew she’d seen it often enough during her time at Arborage, parties the Marchioness had hosted that hadn’t quite taken off. And some that had, despite inauspicious beginnings. It was alchemy, from what Luna could tell, what made an event like this successful or not.
