by Karen Swan
Tor looked away, tense, as she made the call.
The car came to a stop and the driver got out, opening their door and letting the noise and lights stream in.
Cress and Mark got out first, while Tor finished talking to Hen.
Hurriedly she slid along the seat on her bottom and swung her ankles out first, and a cheer went up as her red shoes and blonde hair were glimpsed by the crowds. She emerged sleekly, but blinking, into the mid-afternoon sun, like a bear coming out of his cave after the long winter sleep. The applause swept all around her and she could see microphones waving for attention, sheets of paper flapping for her autograph.
She huddled in to Cress and Mark, and they all laughed nervously at the madness engulfing them, as absolute strangers lauded them like stars even though they clearly could have no idea who they were.
A stressed-looking ponytailed woman in a floor-length sequin dress that looked like something Goldie Hawn would have worn ten years ago came up to them, brandishing her clipboard with one hand and holding the tiny mike which was wired round her ear with the other.
‘Names, please.’
‘Cressida and Mark Pelling; Victoria Summershill. We’re with Harry Hunter’s party.’
The woman scanned her lists.
‘I’m sorry. Could you repeat those names to me?’
‘Cressida Pelling; Mark Pelling; Victoria Summershill.’
She looked again, and then shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t have you down here. You’ll have to step over there, please,’ she said, indicating to the crowds.
‘What?’ Cress said quietly.
‘If you could step over there, please.’
‘No, no, I couldn’t step over there,’ Cress said, more loudly. ‘Check your list again, please.’
‘Your names aren’t on the list, ma’am. Please, clear the carpet for the next guests.’
‘I am telling you to look again! I am Harry Hunter’s publisher. I own Sapphire Books. I own Harry, godammit! If we’re not coming in, nor is he.’
‘Mr Hunter is already here,’ the woman said, standing her ground. She was used to this game. Gatecrashers, getting more sophisticated, more ballsy every year.
‘What? But his car’s not booked for another twenty minutes!’
The woman said nothing but merely raised her eyebrows, and Tor became aware that two black-suited brick walls had come to stand behind them, just as the crowd let out a huge roar.
Tor swallowed hard and tried, for her children’s sake, not to die. It was one thing not to get into the VIP area at Mahiki, or to have your card refused at the service station, or to be kicked off the courts at the Harbour Club because they’d finally realized you weren’t a member, but to be turned away from the Oscars in front of all these people, in front of all these cameras, in this lovely dress . . .
‘Is there a problem?’ inquired a clipped English voice.
Tor, Cress and Mark turned in unison.
‘Amelia!’ Tor cried. ‘But – but I thought you’d gone into labour.’
Amelia stepped forward on the pretext of giving her a kiss. ‘Officially speaking I have,’ she whispered in Tor’s ear. ‘But my contractions have worn off and I’ve reminded James I’ve technically got another nineteen hours to go before they have to get the baby out. So I’m taking my chances.’
Tor couldn’t help but giggle at her nerve. ‘Good on you!’
‘What’s going on here?’ James asked, stepping forward.
‘Harry bloody Hunter! He’s struck us off the guest list,’ Cress fumed.
‘But you’re his publisher!’ Amelia exclaimed.
‘I am!’ Cress shot a stony look at the official. ‘I told you I was.’
James’ mouth set. ‘His latest game?’
‘You should know,’ Tor thought to herself, as she watched him.
The woman was unmoved. She looked at Amelia. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Abingdon, but we have to move these people off the carpet now. NBC are waiting to speak to you.’
Tor caught sight of an emaciated brunette practically going purple trying to get Amelia’s attention.
‘I want Mrs Pelling’s group added to my guest list,’ Amelia said firmly.
‘I’m sorry, Miss Abingdon, that won’t . . .’
‘Or I’m turning around and going back to my hotel now. I’m in the middle of having my baby anyhow.’
The official swallowed nervously. Amelia Abingdon was up for Best Actress. There was no way she could walk out now. The producers were expecting her. If she did win, there’d be no one lined up to accept on her behalf.
She turned away and spoke into her mike, her glossy pony-tail bouncing around as she barked orders further up the receiving line.
‘OK, if you’d like to proceed up the carpet, the officials will show you where to go,’ she said finally, a rictus grin stretched across her face.
Cress and Tor breathed the biggest sighs of relief their corsets would possibly allow, while Mark and James shook hands, mutually glad that the prospect of the women going into histrionics had been averted.
‘I don’t know how to thank you,’ Cress said to Amelia, as they started shuffling up the carpet, leaving Tor free to plead with James.
‘Just get Tor to design me a nursery and we’ll call it quits,’ Amelia smiled.
Tor bit her lip as James advanced towards her. He paused for a moment and then bent down to kiss her on each cheek.
‘You and I are going to talk. Today,’ he said into her ear.
Tor nodded and looked at him. ‘Yes. I know.’
James smiled. That had gone better than he’d expected, for once. ‘Good,’ he said, resting a heavy hand on her waist, just as the party turned on to the main stretch and the crowd went wild, chanting Amelia’s name.
Amelia came over and linked her arm through James’s. ‘Do you mind if I borrow him for a bit?’ she smiled, without any trace of sarcasm. ‘The photographers want him.’
‘Uh . . . yes, yes, of course,’ Tor said backing off, her eyes unable to leave James’s.
‘I’ll find you inside,’ James said emphatically. ‘Don’t go anywhere.’ He leaned in to her and dropped his voice. ‘I can’t believe how good you look in that dress. You know, my mother wore that the night she met my father.’
As soon as he said it, she saw that he realized his mistake, but Amelia was already leading him off.
Tor looked on, as Amelia led him away, the realizations rushing forward. That first morning at the market, Hen had said, ‘James said it was you.’ She couldn’t understand it at the time; she’d never met a James Colesbrook. But of course, George Colesbrook was his step-father. Tor had assumed Hen had been sent around to her by Kate, but she’d been sent by James. He’d been spying on her all this time.
‘Did he say anything?’ Cress hissed, coming to her side.
Tor looked at her. ‘Hen’s his mother,’ she said, stunned.
‘What?’
But there was no time to extrapolate any further. A couple of minders, picking up on the cheers from the crowd as the two unknowns walked past, hustled them over to the press pits, and the women found themselves giving interviews to E! and Fox, and MTV, talking about their outfits.
Tor had never known anything like it, and yet it was exactly as she’d imagined it would be. As they walked into the lobby of the theatre they paused, adjusting to the steady light (the constant popping of the flashes outside had exacerbated Cress’s headache further), and busied themselves with tracking down some flutes of fizzing pink champagne.
Tor tried not to gawp as they walked around the room, circumventing the Who’s Who of Hollywood: Quentin Tarantino, Orlando Bloom, Ron Howard, Kate Hudson, Catherine Zeta Jones, Clint Eastwood. She kept her eye on the door, waiting for James to walk through with Amelia. She had to speak to him. Not just about Harry now. About Hen too.
‘Christ, this is crazy,’ she said, as Cress came and stood next to her, looking into the theatre. The rows of seats were drenched in da
rkness, serving to amplify the dazzling wattage of light focused on the stage. A dramatic curved staircase was built in the centre of the stage, with huge screens set up on either side; giant, rather gawdy, Oscar statuettes were positioned at each entrance and exit point, pink and gold banners swagged across the ceiling and a small rainforest of flowers festooned from epic planters.
‘It’s like Centre Court, isn’t it?’ Tor said to Cress. ‘Much smaller than you think it’s going to be.’
‘Over there!’ Cress suddenly hissed, pointing rudely towards a sleek blonde head that was bobbing through the crowd at the far end of the room.
‘Who is?’ Tor asked quickly, wondering who – in such esteemed company – merited singling out.
‘Greta!’ And she pushed past Penelope Cruz, after her. She wasn’t letting her get away with such shoddy incompetence. Mark could shove his contract where the sun didn’t shine. That girl was going – today!
Tor and Mark – for want of anything else to do and feeling rather like lemons anyway – followed, apologizing for all the elbows Cress was jogging as she barged past.
They finally caught up with her by the back stairwell at a fire exit.
‘Where’s she gone?’ Tor gasped, looking around. There was nobody back here, save a few waitresses dashing in and out with trays.
Cress shrugged. ‘She definitely came this way. I saw her. Just wait till I get hold of her . . . Correcting that guest-list was precisely why I sent her ahead. The silly cow was supposed to have averted that crisis out there. I mean, supposing Amelia hadn’t come along? We’d be sitting on the pavement in our finery, right now.’
‘Leave her alone, Cress,’ Mark said brusquely. ‘It wasn’t her fault.’
‘Oh, do shut up, Mark,’ Cress snapped. ‘I’m so not in the mood to indulge your adolescent crush today. Really!’
Mark’s jaw clenched and he blushed like a schoolboy, but he said nothing.
Tor looked at Cress, not wanting to get caught in the middle of a domestic. ‘Cress, I um . . . I really need to go and find James. I’ll just . . .’
She tipped her head towards the corner, just as Kate came around it, one hand on her bump, and looking frantic. Kate carried on a few paces before she saw the group. She stopped abruptly, but unless she turned on her heel, there was nowhere else to go.
Slowly she walked up to them, the silk jersey of her strapless jade Versace dress beautifully encasing her tight tummy, a high slit making a feature of her legs. She had let her hair grow long again, and was wearing a stunning emerald collar. Though her jewellery collection had always been impressive, it had moved into another bracket altogether since she had hooked up with Harry.
‘Hello,’ she said cautiously, feeling conspicuously outnumbered.
Mark looked distinctly uncomfortable as he sensed the electric tension between the women.
‘Kate,’ Cress said evenly.
‘Hi, Kate,’ Tor said, hoping to neutralize Cress’s combative tone. ‘You look amazing.’
‘No Harry?’ Cress asked.
‘No, I was just looking for him. I can’t find him. I’ve looked everywhere.’
‘Have you checked under all the rocks?’
Kate’s eyes narrowed as she squared up. If Cress thought pregnancy had made her go soft, she could think again.
‘Was getting us knocked off the guest list your idea or his?’ Cress continued. ‘What was it – payback for the photographs?’
Kate bit her lip – she had no idea what Harry was up to now; another of his secrets – and looked around the room again. She saw Amelia Abingdon walking in, looking flushed and luscious, draped in whimsical white silk tulle with a red velvet ribbon beneath her bust, ruby and diamond pendant earrings dangling daintily from her ears. She did a double-take when she saw James follow her in, looking distracted as he scanned the crowd. Was he looking for Harry?
There was a sudden kerfuffle inside one of the storecupboards, and two Gucci-clad security men leapt forward.
‘Oooh, she might know,’ Cress said, spotting a waitress coming out of a door.
‘Excuse me,’ she said accosting the woman. ‘Have you seen a young blonde girl back here, pretty, skinny?’
The waitress’s eyes skimmed the room in recognition. ‘Um, ma’am, could you be more specific? Most of the women here, uh – look like that. Do you know what she was wearing?’
‘No, no, I – I could only see her head. Oh, hang on – Mark!’ she called, motioning for him to come over. ‘Mark, do you remember what Greta was wearing when she left to come here?’
‘Yes,’ he said, without pause. ‘A mid-length cobalt blue dress with sleeves.’
Cress looked at him. ‘But – that’s my new dress. For the party tomorrow night.’
‘Well, I told her to quickly choose something of yours to put on . . . What?’ he said, hands up. ‘She couldn’t very well turn up here, trying to get us back on the guest list, in jeans, could she?’
One of the security guards burst open the door to the cupboard violently, the other one’s gun trained on . . .
‘I’m sorry, ma’am, I must get back,’ the waitress said to Cress, indicating her tray. ‘These will be getting cold. But I haven’t seen anyone in a blue dress like that today. I’m sorry.’
Cress spun round to face Mark.
‘Mid-length? Cobalt blue? What are you, a bloody fashion editor? Since when did you ever know that cobalt is even a colour?’ Cress demanded.
But Mark wasn’t listening. He was staring into the cupboard, his mouth open.
For there, inside, was Harry enfolded in Greta’s long legs, his trousers down around his ankles, Cress’s new dress crumpled up around Greta’s waist.
Chapter Fifty-four
‘Oh my God,’ Cress whispered, hardly able to believe what she was seeing.
She looked over at Kate, whose view of the couple was obscured only by the door. Two paces and she’d see them. The security guards made a swift and silent exit, once they realized that etiquette, and not security, had been breached. Mark – who looked as if he’d just had a stroke – didn’t move, so Cress ran to the door.
‘You’re fired!’ she hissed, and slammed it shut.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats. The ceremony for the Academy Awards will begin in three minutes,’ intoned a smooth voice through the loudspeakers.
Cress quickly opened the cupboard again. ‘Not you,’ she hissed hatefully at Harry . . . ‘You!’ Greta quivered under her glare. ‘And I want that bloody dress back dry-cleaned.’
‘Shit, where is he?’ Kate muttered, looking around the room. ‘This isn’t funny.’
‘You’d better take your seat, Kate,’ Cress said, all animosity suddenly forgotten. Whatever professional rivalry had passed between them, Kate didn’t deserve to find Harry like that. ‘He’s probably in the loos or something. He’s probably even sitting down wondering where you are. Let’s face it, the vain pig’s not going to miss an opportunity to put his face on global telly, is he?’
She tried to guide Kate away from the hallway, but Kate just stared at her suspiciously. What was with the volte-face?
Cress tried the distraction method Tor was so good at. ‘Oh look, is that Julia Roberts?’
Kate followed her point to Julianne Moore, and burst out laughing. ‘God, your star-spotting is even worse than your cooking, Cress,’ Kate said without thinking.
Tor smiled hopefully as she felt the women’s chemistry momentarily reassert itself.
Cress stuck her chin in the air. ‘Yuh, well actually, I do a pretty mean boeuf en croûte these days. You’ve been missing out. You’re not the only one who’s had things going on, you know.’
Kate smiled in spite of herself. God, she’d missed their sparring.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, this is the two-minute call. Kindly take your seats.’
‘Come on, Cress, we’d better go,’ Mark said. ‘We’ve got no idea where we’re sitting.’
‘Actually, you�
�re next to us,’ Kate said, shrugging. ‘I saw your names on the chairs.’
Kate turned to lead them all to their seats, just as a flash of dishevelled cobalt streaked out of the storecupboard, to be followed by an unruly mop of blond curls beginning to emerge from behind the door.
Her heart stopped, her breath caught and the baby kicked, but her feet carried on where her courage failed and she found herself turning on her heel.
They were all seated towards the front in the centre aisle, with Harry – as a nominee – given the aisle seat. The card lollipop with a picture of Harry was still on his chair.
‘Here you are,’ Kate said numbly, nodding for the people who were ‘filling’ the gaps in the crowd to leave. Cress and Tor and Mark waited for them to come out of the aisle, and Tor, although acutely aware that she was blocking Charlize Theron’s view, scanned the crowd desperately for James.
‘You first, Tor,’ Cress said. She wanted to be sure she was near to Harry. She didn’t trust him. There was no way she was letting him up on that stage without her, although she realized she’d have to navigate her way past Kate and that rather big bump first.
They took their seats, fidgeting about a bit. ‘How long does this go on for, by the way?’ Tor whispered to Cress.
‘Four hours.’
Tor paused. ‘You’re kidding! Are there any breaks?’ she asked, loading the question with significance.
‘It’s OK. They stop for commercial breaks. You can escape to the loo then,’ Cress said, missing the point. She was still fired up about Greta. The lights along the aisles dimmed suddenly and Harry dashed into his seat, smoothing down his jacket.
He joined in with the clapping as Chris Rock, this year’s host, ran out on to the stage, arms aloft. Running an insouciant hand through his floppy hair, he leaned over and kissed Kate on the cheek.
‘Sorry, baby.’
‘You bastard!’ she hissed, feeling the tears run down her cheeks. ‘How could you?’
‘Hey, relax. I just got stuck in the men’s loos. I ran into Steven and we went over a couple of details about the financing for the next film. It’s no big de–– Shit, smile, you’re on camera!’ he said, clapping and fixing a beaming grin across his face, just as the cameras found him and Kate and their image was beamed around the world.
