Chelsea Wives

by Anna-Lou Weatherley

  Yasmin had to stop herself from smacking his hand away and grimacing. She had snorted a generous line of cocaine before arriving tonight but the effects were beginning to wear off and she decided it was time for a little more anaesthetic.

  ‘Will you excuse me,’ she announced to the rest of the table, snatching up her Swarovski crystal clutch bag, Jeremy grinning like the proverbial Cheshire cat as he watched her tight behind wiggle off in the direction of the restrooms.

  *

  The world-renowned, infamous chef, Raymonde Rousse, had been flown in from Lyon especially to create and prepare the finest six course gastronomic masterpiece for tonight’s event and so far he had not disappointed. The Kobe beef carpaccio appetiser was drawing murmurs of approval from around the table.

  ‘So tell me, Charlotte. How are you finding life in LA?’ Calvary enquired, wondering what the whole deal was with her attendance. While there was definitely a higher celebrity turnout tonight, Charlotte Macclesfield was the real deal. A bona fide Hollywood A-lister who hung out with the likes of George Clooney and Colin Farrell. Just last week she had been pictured in Grazia magazine, half naked, sunning herself on Clooney’s yacht with a gaggle of the usual Tinsel Towners.

  ‘I adore LA,’ she replied coolly. ‘Sunshine twenty-four seven, being near the beach,’ she patted her radiant skin. ‘It’s worked wonders for my health.’

  And tits by the looks of it, Calvary thought, eyeing her newly acquired, impressive cleavage. ‘And are you working on something exciting? A new script perhaps?’

  Charlotte smiled sweetly, suddenly aware that the whole table was listening in. She had only agreed to come tonight because Sebastian Forbes had promised to pay her a quarter of a million in ‘expenses’ and fly her in via private jet. Not half bad for an evening’s work, all told. He had put her up at The Dorchester too, in a suite next to the old Saudi prince, who incidentally, upon her arrival had filled her entire room – even the bidet with red roses and champagne. He had even left a gift on her pillow; a dazzling diamond bracelet that had sent her into a fit of excited giggles. Her smile had soon waned however once it dawned on her what she might have to give in return for such overwhelming generosity. Charlotte Macclesfield was young and naive but she wasn’t completely void of nous.

  ‘I’m considering my options,’ she replied, noncommittal.

  ‘How wonderful,’ Calvary remarked. ‘It must be like a dream come true for you, a girl from a council estate taking Hollywood by storm.’

  Charlotte smirked. Bloody bitch. She could keep her back-handed compliments to herself.

  ‘Oh, it is, it is,’ she replied, all sweetness and light. ‘I realise I am one lucky girl.’

  ‘And a very beautiful one,’ Prince Saud interjected. ‘You look stunning, my dear. Even better in the flesh than on screen. I loved you in Me and You, Baby. It is my favourite film of all time.’

  Yasmin cast her eye towards Calvary and Imogen and made the slightest flick of her brow.

  ‘I’d be interested to see his DVD collection,’ she muttered under her breath and Calvary hid her smiles beneath her napkin.

  *

  Sebastian surveyed his guests with satisfaction. He had excelled himself this year; the exquisite food, the constant flow of champagne, the opulent venue and the A-list attendance. Following dinner he had an even bigger treat in store for them all; Shirley Bassey and Michael Bublé would be providing the entertainment! He couldn’t wait to see the look on his guests’ faces when he announced them.

  All he needed now to round off the perfect evening was for his moment behind the microphone to go without a hitch. His speeches in previous years had, on occasion, been described as a little on the ‘dry’ side. A criticism that had bothered him immensely. Well, not tonight, he thought. Sebastian Forbes was going to give the speech of his whole goddamn life, one they would all be talking about for weeks, months, hell, maybe even years later. And the thought made him smile from ear to ear.

  CHAPTER 19

  Yasmin Belmont-Jones felt an enormous sense of relief as she snorted the remains of the white powder from the pristine white toilet seat. She wasn’t sure how much more of her lecherous husband’s pawing she could take but at least this took the edge off it.

  Wiping any tell-tale signs of powder from her nose, she took a deep breath and placed the small wrap of coke back into her jewelled clutch. Much as she tried not to admit it to herself, all this pretence was beginning to wear her down. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep it up. Worst of all, she was nowhere closer to getting the answers she so desperately needed and was fast running out of ideas of where to look for them.

  Yasmin had searched her husband’s home from top to bottom; rifled through his office particulars with a fine tooth comb; been through every drawer and bureau, every cupboard and dresser in the whole house and had found nothing. Not so much as a newspaper clipping.

  The most frustrating part of it all was that Yasmin wasn’t even sure what it was she was looking for. In her suicide note, June Larkin had alluded to there being some sort of videotape from that fateful evening. ‘Incriminating evidence’, she had called it. Apparently, Belmont had it hidden in a secret ‘underground’ location, though what that meant was anyone’s guess. Bloody June Larkin. As useless in death as she had been in life, Yasmin thought to herself bitterly.

  She exited the cubicle distinctly more bright eyed than when she had entered it, something that had not gone unnoticed by Sammie Grainger who was standing by the wash basins, pretending to adjust her make-up in the mirror. She had been watching ‘Lady Belmont’ closely all evening, just waiting to seize the perfect opportunity to catch her alone.

  She had no intentions of jumping in feet first and revealing her discovery, however. There was a good chance Stacey would disappear off the face of the earth and take her story with her. She couldn’t risk spilling the beans. Not yet.

  Oblivious to Sammie’s presence, Yasmin ran her hands underneath the tap and studied her reflection in the mirror.

  ‘Some party,’ Sammie said. ‘I won’t need to eat for a month if I make my way through the feast out there.’ She smiled brightly at Yasmin in the mirror, suddenly struck by how attractive she was up close with her flawless skin, perfectly neat curves and voluptuous fake breasts. There was a softness in her face too, a vulnerability that had been there in her young photograph, and it caused Sammie to feel a sudden stab of empathy for her.

  Yasmin looked up, making eye contact with Sammie’s reflection.

  ‘Indeed,’ she smiled affably. ‘Though I have to say I’m not a big fan of anything that’s been smoked in tea. Bleurgh!’ She pulled a face.

  Sammie laughed.

  ‘Sammie Grainger,’ she said brightly, holding her hand out.

  ‘Yasmin Belmont-Jones.’

  ‘Of course, Lady Belmont-Jones. We’ve already been introduced.’

  ‘We have?’

  ‘You don’t remember?’

  Yasmin shrugged apologetically.

  ‘I meet a lot of people, darling,’ she said, realising to her horror just how much she was beginning to sound like Calvary Rothschild.

  ‘The Chelsea Wives feature … I’m the journalist who interviewed you.’

  Yasmin’s hackles rose. Journalist.

  ‘Ah yes, now you come to mention it, your face does ring a bell.’ An alarm bell.

  ‘So, you’re here on business tonight?’

  Sammie detected a defensive tone in Yasmin’s voice and told herself to go easy.

  ‘Not exactly. Though I am here with my boss.’

  Yasmin raised an eyebrow.

  ‘People will talk,’ she retorted.

  ‘I think you might be right!’ Sammie said truthfully. ‘He’s arranged for us to stay in the same hotel room. Something about there being a double booking apparently.’

  Yasmin smirked.

  ‘That old chestnut.’

  ‘Afraid so. Not sure how I’m going to get myself out of this
one.’ She rolled her eyes.

  Yasmin took in the girl’s features for a moment; her lightly tanned skin and short dark hair, the look of steely determination in her hazelnut eyes.

  ‘Not your cup of tea, then?’

  ‘Not exactly, no,’ she replied. ‘Let’s just say I’m not a big fan of tea either.’

  Yasmin smiled. She figured they had to be around the same sort of age and that by the sound of her accent those same drawn out vowels that she herself had been at such pains to disguise she was a South London girl. Come to think of it, looking at her properly now, she wondered if in fact she did recognise her after all.

  ‘Well, good luck, er, Sammie, is it? Hope it all works out with the boss. If all else fails, a swift kick to the bollocks always does the trick.’ Yasmin winced as soon as the words had left her glossy mouth. This was not the language of a lady.

  Sammie stifled a giggle. You could take the girl out of Croydon …

  ‘Thanks for the tip,’ she smiled. ‘Oh, and Lady Belmont!’

  Yasmin turned to face her. Her heartbeat had begun to accelerate in her chest now. The coke, probably.

  ‘If you’re interested, I’d really like to do a little follow-up piece on you. You know, a profile life after marriage, any business plans you might have, that sort of thing. Perhaps we can chat about it over lunch sometime. What do you think?’ Sammie proffered her business card.

  Yasmin tentatively accepted it, eyeing her cautiously.

  ‘Yes. Why not?’ she said, not wanting it to look as though she had anything to hide.

  ‘Great!’ Sammie beamed.

  ‘But I’m afraid there’s really not much to tell.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure there’s plenty,’ Sammie said brightly. Plenty indeed. ‘Enjoy the rest of the evening.’

  Yasmin watched as she closed the door behind her.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ she muttered, tearing the card in half before throwing it in the bin.

  Much as she hated to admit it, Jeremy had been right about one thing; journalists: they were bloody parasites, the lot of them.

  *

  ‘My Lords, Ladies, Gentlemen, Scholars and Your Royal Highnesses.’ Sebastian Forbes took to the stage to the sound of applause. ‘It is with enormous pleasure that I stand before you tonight, in this most sumptuous of surroundings here at Lancaster House.’ The audience duly clapped their appreciation and Sebastian felt the first potent rush of adrenalin pump through his system. ‘As most of you here can lay testament to, Forbes Bank prides itself on taking the utmost care of its customers and has done for over two hundred years now. In the words of my father, my grandfather and his father before him, “In Forbes We Put Our Trust … Fund.” There was rapturous laughter among the crowd and Sebastian felt his chest swell.

  ‘I think it is no coincidence then, that with safety being the highest on our list of priorities, I can welcome a new and most prestigious client into the Forbes fold. My lords, ladies and gentlemen, it is with the most sincere and genuine pleasure that I introduce to you someone whom I both admire and thank unreservedly for choosing to put his faith and trust – not to mention his most precious of belongings quite literally, in our hands. Please, be upstanding for his Royal Highness, Prince Saud al-Khahoutam of Arabia!’

  The room erupted.

  Imogen smiled to herself as she stood. She bloody well knew it!

  Calvary raised her eyebrows.

  ‘So the rumours were true then? He’s in bed with the prince?’

  ‘Looks that way,’ Imogen remarked, watching her husband’s self-satisfied face as he lapped up all the applause and adoration.

  ‘By all accounts, he might not be the only one tonight.’ Calvary cast her eye to Charlotte Macclesfield and placed her tongue firmly in her cheek.

  Imogen struggled to raise a smile. Her earlier sense of foreboding had reached flood alert and was now threatening to drown her. She just couldn’t seem to shake off the feeling that something dreadful was about to happen.

  Prince Saud took to the stage accompanied by his security staff and bowed regally.

  ‘Thank you … you are most kind,’ he said, relishing his moment in the spotlight. Like Sebastian, he never could resist an audience. He took an audible breath.

  ‘Those of you who are reading the papers will know that I have come to England for two purposes. The first, if you must believe what you are reading, is being to find myself a new princess, although judging by what I see before me tonight, I am, how do you say, spoilt for choices.’ There was uproar amongst the audience, as various predatory socialites blushed and giggled, sharpening their elbows at the ready.

  Charlotte Macclesfield almost choked on her champagne. Jesus fucking Christ! She hoped he didn’t think that she might be in the running as the next Mrs Prince Saud al-Khahoutam!

  ‘The second reason,’ continued Prince Saud, ‘and the real reason I am visiting your most beautiful country, is to find a safe home for the only woman in my life who has never let me down, or indeed, left my side – the Bluebird Diamond!’

  The audience gasped as one of the prince’s meaty bodyguards ambled up on stage, displaying the gigantic rock for all to see. It lit up the room like a giant disco ball, sending prisms of rainbow-coloured light dancing across the open-mouthed faces of the cheering guests.

  ‘Now that’s what I call a rock,’ Yasmin said to her husband, unable to take her eyes from the enormous jewel.

  ‘It’s the most exquisite example in the world by all accounts,’ Jeremy said. ‘Absolutely flawless. Apparently, it even has a mind of its own.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ Yasmin was intrigued.

  ‘Yes. According to rumour, it can actually tell the difference between good and evil.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Jeremy,’ Yasmin scoffed. ‘I didn’t think you went in for all that superstitious nonsense.’

  Jeremy shrugged.

  ‘I look forward to our long and prosperous relationship, Mr Forbes,’ the prince announced, handing an eager Sebastian the priceless jewel, just as they had earlier rehearsed.

  He turned to address the crowd.

  ‘She is now in safe hands.’

  Everyone began to cheer and, given the nod by Sebastian, the paparazzi sprung into action.

  ‘Well, that’s some coup,’ Jeremy sniffed, slowly clapping his hands. ‘He’s a very clever man, that husband of yours, announcing their coalition tonight like that,’ he said, turning to Imogen. ‘That diamond will be the making of him, mark my words; they’ll all come in their droves now; Saudi royalty like to keep things in the family.’

  Imogen knew Belmont was right and the thought unnerved her. As the crowd settled, Sebastian took the microphone again.

  ‘Before I round off tonight’s speech and introduce our next guests – very excited about that one – I would like to just say one more thing.’ Imogen looked out at her husband. He was relishing his moment in the spotlight.

  ‘As we all know, behind every great man in business, there is always a great woman.’

  She felt her stomach lurch. Oh no. Please don’t say Seb was about to bring her into proceedings. ‘And none come any greater than my beautiful wife. Please,’ he said, holding his hand out in her direction. ‘Everyone … Mrs Imogen Forbes!’

  Imogen’s nausea reached crisis point and she instinctively covered her mouth with her hand, lest she throw up there and then. Seb had not mentioned anything to her about inviting her up on stage with him. The last thing she wanted was to be wheeled out in front of an audience, forced to act out the devoted wife role. Forced to rise from her seat, she was aware of the intense glare of a thousand pairs of eyes upon her and Calvary squeezed her shaking hand reassuringly. Imogen made her way up to the stage where she briefly embraced her husband.

  ‘What are you doing, Seb?’ she hissed in his ear. Sebastian gave her a slow, small smile that was far from reassuring.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I have a story to tell,’ he began, his voice smooth and practised. ‘Jus
t recently, I came very close to losing my wife in a plane crash.’ He paused for effect, adding to the drama. It seemed to work as the room fell hushed.

  ‘For those of you who can remember, my wife was once a very famous model, and at the request of a rather well-known cosmetics company, recently flew out to LA to test shoot for a potentially life-changing campaign that she hoped was going to put her back on the map, so to speak.’

  Imogen stared out towards a sea of faces who seemed to be hanging on to his every word, her stomach lurching like a porpoise. Where was Seb going with all this?

  ‘Sadly,’ Seb continued, ‘the day she arrived, a terrible tragedy occurred; one of the most devastating plane crashes in UK history in which over 300 people lost their lives, including that of my wife’s dear, dear friend, Cressida Lucas.’

  Various members of the audience murmured their sympathies.

  ‘For the first time in my life I came this close,’ he held his thumb and forefinger together, ‘to losing someone I love with all my heart and, my dear friends and associates, it brought it home to me. This most tragic of accidents showed me just how much I owe my brilliant, beautiful wife. I realise now that without her by my side, I am nothing at all.’

  People began to clap and a collective ‘ahhhh,’ emanated from the crowd.

  ‘Which is why I want to take this opportunity to tell her. Imogen …’ he took her shaking hand and faced her, ‘I love you so much.’ He kissed her then, his dry lips smothering hers.

  The crowd erupted in a cacophony of cheers and whoops.

  Imogen drew on her acting skills as hard as she could, smiling at Seb coquettishly, appearing to be touched by such a tender ode.

  ‘And to finish my tale,’ Seb shouted out over the din, ‘can you believe that after all that, she did not even get the job!’ Imogen froze. ‘They turned my wife down saying that they had found someone younger, someone better suited to their campaign!’ The cheering abruptly subsided, leaving a low silence. The room suddenly felt hot and airless. ‘They must be mad!’

  Imogen picked out her friend’s faces among the crowd. Yasmin’s eyes were wide with shock and Calvary had her hand over her mouth.