by Plum Sykes
I heard a door slam downstairs and voices. Everyone was back. I hurriedly hid the little box in my zebra handbag. Feet sprinted up the stairs and suddenly Mom, Dad, and Julie were crowding in at the door.
“Are you all right, dear?” said Mom. “Why are you lying on Julie’s clothes?”
“I’m just really jet-lagged,” I said, not getting up. “Sorry about today, Mom, I didn’t mean it about the party.”
“I’m sure most people would rather be stuck in traffic than come to one of your mother’s parties,” said Dad. “Aawwggghhh!” he howled as Mom clipped him smartly on the back of the head. “Peter, it’s your party.”
“Well, I wish you’d let me invite some of my friends then.”
“Mom, I’m sure everyone’s going to love it,” I said.
“We had a lovely chat with Caroline after you left. That Charlie is a very sensible boy, you know. Convinced his mother that she was being melodramatic about the chairs. We’ve made up. After all these years! The Countess is coming to the party, with Charlie. Isn’t that sensational news?”
No, I thought. Maybe if I called Patrick Saxton he’d send a helicopter for me. I wonder if there’s anywhere it could land in the garden of The Old Rectory?
“I thought I’d wear my Caroline Charles cream suit. What do you think?”
“Who’s Caroline Charles?” said Julie.
“She’s Princess Anne’s favorite designer.”
If only Mom would face up to the fact she’s American and wear Bill Blass like everyone else’s moms, she’d look a whole lot better.
“Do you know how the father managed to disappear like that, in America?” asked Mom.
“They never used the title. Charlie told me,” I replied.
“Titles darling, plural. Dunlain is the family name and the titles are the Earl of Swyre and Viscount Strathan. If you’ve got that many names and you move countries, I suppose no one ever knows who you really are. I don’t understand the British, covering up those wonderful titles! It’s criminal. By the way, the Finnoullas are bringing their daughter Agatha tomorrow. She’s a lesbian, darling, but we all have to pretend we don’t know.”
Rest was impossible that night. Maybe Julie would look more glam in Valentino than Zac Posen, I thought as I lay in my bed in the spare room not sleeping. Anything to distract my mind from the day’s events. I mean, yes, Zac P. is the trendiest designer in the world this second, no argument, but does a girl really want to look like Chloë Sevigny on her wedding day? I swear this is nothing to do with wanting a free Valentino outfit, but I suddenly felt compelled to stop Julie from ruining her wedding day by dressing as an indie actress.
“Julie,” I whispered. “Are you awake still?”
“Sort of. What is it?”
“What about Valentino, for the dress? I mean, when Debra Messing wore him to the Golden Globes she went from no-name TV girl to fashion star overnight. Maybe Zac’s too avant-garde.”
“I’m asking a lot of designers to make me something. I’m just trying to keep everyone happy. Then I’ll decide on the day. I always change my mind a million times about what I want to wear when I go out so I’m figuring I need multiple options on my wedding day.”
“You can’t do that.”
“I so can. Wow, can you believe Charlie has that incredible place? And all that antique stuff. I wonder if he’ll ever invite me to stay after I was so mean dating Todd in Paris. Eew, the triple-dating I used to do!”
Henry had really had an effect on Julie. I mean, she never even used to be conscious she was triple-dating, let alone show any remorse.
“Julie, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Did Charlie break up with you in Paris?”
“Eew! Okay, yeah, I guess he did.”
“Why did you say you were still together?”
“Duh. Because, historically, no one ever leaves Julie Bergdorf. I don’t know why you let so many men break up with you. Do you think Charlie would sell off any of those paintings? I really dig that Canaletto in the library. It would look so much cuter in my bedroom at The Pierre though.”
“I don’t think people sell off their family heirlooms here,” I said.
“Shame. Everyone thinks you’re madly in love with each other. And he’s got that house and everything! You two would be so cute together.”
God, Julie was turning into my mom.
“Julie, stop it!”
“He wouldn’t be a bad person to date. At least we know now he could afford a driver. He’s a terrific catch. Mind you, after your incredible tantrum this afternoon and being so rude to Charlie—”
“Oh god, was I terribly rude?” It was starting to dawn on me how unforgivably ill-mannered I’d been today.
“How weren’t you rude?”
Coming from the reigning queen of bad manners herself, this was a bit much. Still, Julie was right. I mean, I’d broken into Charlie’s house, stolen a beautiful tchotchke—though since he didn’t know about that it didn’t really count—had a meltdown in front of him, insulted Charlie, his mom, and mine, and all right after a death in the family. Looking back on it, I realized how embarrassed and cross I was about the whole Little Earl business, thinking Charlie was trying to trick me. Now, lying there in the dark, I felt foolish. Maybe I’d overreacted. Charlie was probably a perfectly decent human being—even if he’d taken terrible advantage of me during that weak moment at the Mercer—who’d actually been pretty sweet to me on several unhappy occasions. He hadn’t tried to mislead me about being the Earl, he just wasn’t a big fat show-off, unlike some of my other dates, Eduardo and Patrick to name but two. I mean, English toffs have some crazy code of honor where they never say anything that might be considered even the teensiest bit show-offy. The fact was, I regretfully admitted to myself, Charlie had impeccable manners, and I had shown myself to have less than perfect ones today.
“Julie, god, I feel like such a jerk. Do you think if I apologize to him at the party tomorrow he’ll forgive me?”
And I could return the pillbox, I thought. That would be almost as hard as apologizing. It was so divine I was getting totally attached to it. It would be so much nicer for my Tylenol to live in there than in their paper carton.
“Yeah, you should. Then we can all enjoy the party, and maybe you can get laid.”
“Julie, stop it! Have you got an Ambien?” I asked. I’d never get to sleep without a chemical boost.
“Sure,” said Julie, rifling around on the floor. She found a little plastic jar, popped it open, and handed me a tiny pale orange tablet.
I slipped it in my mouth and washed it down with a sip of water. Bliss, I thought as I lay back on Mom’s crisp Irish linen pillow. If only I could take another Ambien when I woke up tomorrow morning.
“Wear this,” commanded Julie the next day, handing me a pale pink silk dress trimmed with lace. It had a sexy split up one side. It was completely inappropriate for an English garden party.
“I’m wearing the Balenciaga dress,” I protested.
“You can’t! That dress has been so done. Kate Hudson wore it to the Golden Globes, then there was a shot of Charlize Theron at Cannes in it. Next thing you know it’ll turn up on Rebecca Romijn-Stamos at the MTV awards, and then it’ll really be over,” sighed Julie. “I’m concerned that a preppy white dress is not the best get-the-guy-with-the-castle number.”
Since I wasn’t planning on getting the guy with the castle anyway, I didn’t really care. But it did occur to me that maybe Charlie wouldn’t be quite so cross with me when I gave him back his golden pillbox if I was looking really adorable and showing a bit of leg. I mean, if you can distract a man from his real purpose with fashion, do, I always say. I took the silk dress and slipped it on. It was almost one o’clock and we needed to join the party.
“You look delicious,” said Julie, who looked pretty delicious herself in a pistachio Narciso shift and too many pearls.
“Thanks, Julie,” I said, surreptit
iously grabbing the pillbox from my zebra bag and stuffing it inside my clutch. “Let’s go down. Mom’s gonna be going nuts.”
“Darling! Yooooo-hooooo! Over here!”
Mom was beckoning Julie and me from a shady corner of the tent at the bottom of the garden. Dad’s party was in full swing, the perfect picture of English country life. Guests were milling about sipping Pimm’s on the lawn at the back of the house. I had to hand it to Mom, she’d done a great job. She’d gone totally Thomas Hardy with the décor (one of her favorite themes). There were little wooden benches for guests to sit on, and glass jars filled with cottage garden flowers—lupins, sweetpeas, cornflowers—on the tables. Dad was in his element, dressed in his favorite striped seersucker suit, surrounded by a gaggle of his friends’ leggy teenage daughters. As Mom had predicted, the sun was beating down as though we were on South Beach. If only I wasn’t feeling so tense, I thought, I might be able to really enjoy myself.
Julie and I each grabbed a Pimm’s off a tray and wandered over to Mom. She was wearing the aforementioned cream suit and hat. (Any chance to wear a hat and Mom is in one. You can imagine.) She looked somewhat overdressed, as did Julie and I: most of the guests were dressed in tatty straw hats and ancient tea dresses, as is the custom of the British upper classes at garden parties.
“My god, haven’t these people heard of fashion?” asked Julie as we crossed the lawn.
“Julie, British people think fashion’s tacky,” I explained.
“That’s really sad,” she said, a tragic look on her face.
“Darling, are you wearing foundation?” said Mom.
“Actually, Mom, no. It’s too hot,” I replied.
“Julie, you look wonderful, who made that sensational dress?” asked Mom. Before Julie could answer, Mom looked over my shoulder and said, “Ah Countess-sss.” I tensed. This was going to be humiliating, I thought. “How marvelous to see you. Pimm’s?”
Julie and I turned to see Caroline approaching. She looked 100 percent chic in that undone English way. She was wearing men’s pants with a sheer Indian shawl thrown elegantly over her shoulders.
“Brooke, call me Caroline, please.”
“Caroline. Pimm’s?” said Mom, beaming.
“Hello girls,” said Caroline. “What lovely outfits.”
“Thank you. You look totally hot, too,” said Julie.
“Julie, do tell us about your wedding. Who’s making your dress?” said Mom.
I couldn’t focus on the small talk at all. Where was Charlie?
“Well it changes every day—obviously—but right now it’s Oscar de la Renta, Valentino, McQueen, and Zac Posen. I guess I’ll decide on the day,” said Julie.
“Won’t someone get upset?” asked Caroline.
Smiling sweetly Julie replied, “Yeah, probably, but you know, I’m really spoiled, and very rich and exceptionally pretty, so I get to do exactly what I want.” Seeing Caroline’s expression of shock, Julie added, “It’s okay, you don’t have to feel sorry for me. I like me like this.”
“So, where’s the birthday boy?” asked Caroline.
“Peter is smoking with the teenage girls,” said Mom. “Where is your little boy? On his way I hope.”
“He sends his regards, Brooke, but he wanted me to let you all know he’s so terribly sorry not to be here today. He had to go back to Los Angeles this morning.”
“So soon after the funeral?” said Mom, unable to hide her disappointment.
“He’s just directed a film and it seems someone wants to talk to him about doing another one. Had to go today, he said. You know what Americans are like when it comes to business. Very pushy, aren’t they?” said Caroline pointedly.
Charlie wasn’t coming? This was a disaster, from the apology perspective. I suddenly felt anxious and edgy.
“Julie, shall we go in and get some Bucks Fizz?” I said, making a let’s-get-out-of-here expression.
“What is it?” said Julie.
“Back in a minute, Mom,” I said, taking Julie’s hand and leading her out of the tent.
I snuck off with Julie into the kitchen. It was fearfully hot in there because Mom insists on having an Aga, which is like a rich English person’s stove. It’s like they all absolutely have to have one, like Americans have to have a Sub-Zero fridge if they’re anyone who’s anyone. The problem with Agas is they’re on all the time, even in summer. It was like a furnace in there but at least we were alone.
“Oh god, Julie, what am I going to do?” I said, agitated
“What are you talking about? Why are you hyperventilating?” said Julie, looking concerned.
“He’s not here!”
“Who?”
“Charlie.”
“So?”
“But what about apologizing to him? Saying I’m sorry for being so rude and everything.”
Even though I had actually been dreading seeing him after yesterday, I suddenly really minded that Charlie wasn’t here after all.
“Send him an e-mail,” suggested Julie.
“That would be so rude. You have to apologize in person if it’s going to mean anything,” I replied.
“You’re completely obsessed with him.”
“I’m not! What am I going to do?” I wailed, pacing around the kitchen.
“Why are you so desperate to apologize in person? Are you totally in love with him or something?”
“Oh Julie, it’s not that. I just feel terrible for being such an idiot yesterday. I want him to see that I can be responsible, and grown up, and that I’m a good person and everything.”
“Who are you kidding?! You’re nuts about him.”
“Julie! It’s much worse than you think. I stole something out of that library last night.”
“No! Did you take a piece of family jewelry?”
“No, I took a pillbox.”
“Eew,” said Julie, looking slightly disappointed. “What’s the big deal about that?”
I rifled in my clutch bag and took out the little enamel box and set it on the kitchen table. I opened the lid and showed the inscription to Julie.
“God, how beautiful! I think you should keep it as a souvenir,” said Julie.
“I can’t,” I said.
“Okay, so we’ll just sneak out and go put it back and no one will ever know the difference. Come on, darling, let’s get in the car and go now.”
Whenever Julie hits Europe she always rents a snappy BMW to allow her to take advantage of the liberal speed limits. The lanes to the castle, with their blind corners and steep dips, were no obstacle to this—Julie took them as though she were driving the Monaco Grand Prix.
“Julie, slow down!” I yelled as we took another curve at speed.
“Oh god, sorry,” she said, braking dramatically. “I just find driving slowly so uncool.”
She slowed to a more manageable pace. As we passed a cornfield dotted with wild red poppies Julie said, “I can’t believe we haven’t discussed it yet, but what do you think of my engagement ring?” She flashed it in the sunlight. The stone was so large it could support its own solar system.
“It’s really incredible,” I said.
“Well you know what they say. The bigger the diamond, the longer the relationship lasts.”
Frankly I’m a little concerned about Julie’s understanding of marriage. She hadn’t matured nearly as much as I’d thought since her engagement.
“He owns half of Connecticut, more or less. And you know I love it there.”
Julie was definitely in love. She’s been allergic to Connecticut forever. She always says that the huge number of married women there driving aimlessly around in Range Rovers, wearing identical vanilla-colored, thirty-thousand-ply cashmere turtlenecks by Loro Piana and solitaire diamonds makes her feel suicidal.
“Do you want me to come in with you?” asked Julie fifteen minutes later as we pulled up outside the castle door.
“No, you just wait here in the getaway car. I’ll be five minutes,” I said, put
ting the enamel box back in my clutch and getting out of the car.
“Okay, dude! Don’t get caught.”
God, I thought to myself as I slipped in through the main entrance, this could be icky if I see that butler guy again. Sneaking up the stairs and along the corridor to the library, I felt uncomfortable when I remembered my tantrum from the day before. I just wanted to put the little box back and be out of there. Even if I was never going to be able to apologize to Charlie in person, the least I could do was redeem myself by returning the box I’d taken. Not that anyone would necessarily know that I’d redeemed myself, since no one knew I’d taken the little box in the first place.
Just as I was coming to the library, I heard a door to my left being opened. I froze. What if that was the butler? I couldn’t face being almost arrested twice in twenty-four hours. I looked around. I didn’t dare go on, but I couldn’t go back either. I pulled back into a dark alcove, with a stuffed stag’s head hanging above me. Tense, I watched as the door opened and a figure appeared. I gasped. It was Charlie. What was he doing here? Wasn’t he supposed to be on his way to LA?
He looked right at me. He seemed even more shocked than I was. Oh god, I thought, now I’ll have to apologize face to face, and admit I have his box and be all grown up and honest about everything. Now that I had the chance, I didn’t fancy it at all. But for once Charlie was speechless. Not only that, I detected a slightly shy, embarrassed look on his face. God, I couldn’t believe it, Charlie was actually blushing. There was an awkward silence.
“I thought you’d gone to LA. What are you doing here?” I said eventually.
“Um…” Charlie looked more uncomfortable than ever.
