‘She’s going as fast as she can,’ Anna called.
‘Everybody be cool.’ Angelo was crouched in the back seat with fifty of the goody bags. ‘These roads are twisty little mofos. We’ll get there when we get there. And how about that!’ he declared as the hotel appeared on the horizon. ‘We have eyes on you! See, all good.’
I turned in off the road, looking for a parking spot and a couple of people, looking like Zombie Glamazons, lunged from the shadows, yelling about goody bags.
One of the glamazons was seventeen-year-old Francesca. With modern, slick-backed hair and a very short black Balmain masterpiece, she looked stunning. ‘Jesus Christ.’ I regarded her architectural shoulder pads and bare legs with wonder. ‘Is the dress … real?’
She winced apologetically. ‘Mum made me. Quick, the goody bags!’
The other glamazon was Molly – long-legged and elegant in a red one-sleeved, body-con dress.
‘Tom Ford.’ Another apologetic wince. ‘Claire made me.’
And here was Claire herself. In a strange black dress over a strange acid-green bra over even more strange ivory-coloured trousers. And yet she wore it with such confidence that it worked.
‘You look –’
‘Thank you. Supriya Lele. Nearly bankrupted me. But I couldn’t stop myself, it was literally like being possessed. Luka, c’mere and carry these boxes!’
Fifteen-year-old Luka, as long and lean as a whippet, darted towards the car, dressed in a dark, silky tracksuit. Claire had obviously persuaded him into some expensive outfit for the night. What could you do? Only admire her.
‘Give me a look at you.’ Claire inspected my professionally made-up face, my – very natural-looking, I must say – fake eyelashes, my costly blow-dry, my fabulous dark green dress, my black nail varnish and my high sandals. She sighed. ‘You’re an utter babe.’
Before I knew what she was doing, she’d slid her hand up my thigh.
‘Claire,’ I squeaked. ‘For the love of –’
Her hand met bare skin and her eyes met mine. ‘You went with the hold-ups. And why might that be?’
‘I –’
‘He’s inside, looking absolutely fucking gorgeous. One of the first to arrive. The best of luck to you, babes, I hope you get whatever you need from this. Okay, let’s go!’
The noise in the reception room hit like a roar. They were all there, Mum’s sisters, her cousins, her golf friends, their respective spouses. The women were generally brightly coloured and shiny while their spouses were sombre in suits, many of them leaning on sticks. One or two even had their legs up on chairs. ‘Hip-replacement season has just ended,’ Claire said, then marched away, with Anna and Angelo in tow.
Adam grabbed me. ‘Hold up there, missy.’ He inspected my outfit. ‘You look amazing. That dress! The Vampire’s Wife, right?’
‘How do –’
‘– I know? From doing my wife’s many, many returns to Net-a-Porter, Mytheresa, and … what’s the Italian one? Luisaviaroma? That’s it.’
‘You look pretty amazing yourself.’
Adam’s look tended to be classic but never dull. Tonight he was in a dark suit, which at first glance seemed discreet. But the cut was faultless, the fit was perfect, the fabric was alluringly touchable and the whole shebang had probably cost about a million euro.
‘He’s over at the window.’ He nodded across the room and there was Luke, smiling slightly, in a black reefer jacket, the collar up. Surrounded by my fucking aunties. ‘Moody and beautiful.’ Adam sighed heavily. ‘I’m sure you heard about the shitshow with Piet and Beatriz?’
I nodded.
‘She told me to keep an open mind!’ Adam hissed. ‘I only did it because she wanted to.’
‘But she felt sidelined.’
‘How am I meant to know the rules? Nobody explained. All I knew was she said if I didn’t enjoy myself, she’d laugh at me. So I did what I was told, I did enjoy myself and now she’s furious. Jesus, he’s taking the coat off.’
Luke was shrugging his jacket back from his shoulders, revealing dark jeans and a black, fitted shirt.
‘Very … lithe, isn’t he?’ Adam asked. ‘Is that the word I mean?’
I didn’t know but my heart hurt with how much I wanted him.
‘Like, you’d swear he’d practised that jacket thing. I hear he goes horse-riding these days.’ Bitterly he said, ‘Figures. I’ll be honest, Rachel, I wasn’t happy you broke up, that would be going too far, he was nice – well, before he wasn’t – but I was never comfortable with him. I don’t get his look and we’ve nothing in common. Quin is much more my type.’ He glanced around. ‘Where is he?’