I glanced at Dan, but he didn’t see me. He was looking at Jamie and Ella, nodding at their words, smiling at their stories. But Dan and I weren’t touching at all.
‘This place is, like, so cute,’ Ella said, an upward inflection on the word cute, like it was a question. ‘Joy, is it nineteenth century?’
‘I… Do you know, I’m not sure.’ I could tell Joy was mortified that she didn’t know, she liked to be an authority on everything. ‘It’s original, but some of the building has been extended,’ she offered, desperately trying to be informative. Her face suddenly lit up as she remembered something, had a fact to impart: ‘Oh, and the marble is Carrara.’
‘Yes, it’s exquisite,’ Ella said, ‘just gorgeous. The soft veining is almost white… so much more subtle than the brighter white Calacatta marble.’
‘Sounds like you know your marble!’ Dan said, clearly impressed. And all the time, I kept thinking Why, why have you taken Joy’s earrings?
Meanwhile, Joy smiled and nodded in agreement at Ella’s marble analysis.
‘Ella knows all about architecture too, she’s been in palaces all over the world,’ Jamie said proudly.
‘Wow, palaces? I’m envious,’ I said, and she smiled at me.
‘She’s into photography, aren’t you, darling?’ Jamie added, looking down at her with such love, it stung me slightly. I wanted that kind of love too.
Ella nodded eagerly and crossed her legs. Her bare toes were small, compact, the toenails like silver jewels. I wasn’t sure if I was jealous of her or wanted to be her, but looking at Violet’s face, my daughter definitely wanted to be Ella when she grew up.
‘So did you say you went to India together? How romantic – had you known each other… long?’ I asked.
‘Long enough,’ Ella replied, looking at Jamie, not at me.
‘Oh, what do you do?’ I asked, undeterred.
‘She’s a model,’ Jamie said proudly.
Violet’s eyes widened at this.
‘I’ve done swimwear for designer friends, that kind of thing – but I’m not like a serious model. I want to move into stuff that matters – photography, vlogging, blogging – saving the planet and all that.’
‘Wow! You would be an amazing YouTuber,’ Violet suggested, awe shining in her eyes.
‘Maybe,’ she said, like she could be anything she wanted to be. I envied her confidence… or was it arrogance?
‘Ella’s selling herself short,’ Jamie added proudly. ‘She’s modelled all over the world, all the catwalks on fashion week, fashion photography, lingerie. Designers and photographers are always messaging her, asking her to fly off—’
‘Gosh,’ I said. Catwalk and photographic fashion, plus lingerie, were, I thought, quite different kinds of modelling. Didn’t models usually stick to one kind? I wasn’t sure, and after what I’d seen earlier I was now questioning everything that she said. There was no denying Ella could model anything. She’d make a bin liner look like high fashion but then again perhaps Jamie was just exaggerating, bigging up his new wife for the family? Sometimes Jamie did that. All the Taylors had a slightly irritating tendency to embellish sometimes, but Jamie was the worst.
‘Ella’s wasted in modelling. She’s not a clothes horse, she’s so creative,’ Jamie said.
‘You’re sweet,’ she said, kissing him on the cheek.
‘She has twenty-five thousand followers on Instagram.’ He beamed.
‘I just do what feels right, and hope people like it,’ she said.
I found her hard to read. I thought maybe if I looked at her Instagram, I could try and work out who she was? Then again, Instagram could sometimes be more confusing – it was often more about who we wanted to be. When I started the Instagram account for Taylor’s, I’d also made one for myself and wasn’t above posting the odd family photo at Pizza Express styled to look look more like dinner in Milan.
‘So, are you one of those Instagram influencers?’ I asked. ‘Do you have lovely things sent to you for your Instagram page?’
‘Page… it’s called a profile, Clare.’ She gave a little giggle and looked at Jamie, who looked down. I wasn’t sure how to take it; was she making fun of me?
‘It’s all far too technical for me,’ Joy said, coming out in sympathy with me.
‘Oh yes. I meant profile,’ I said, giving her the benefit of the doubt. ‘So what happens, do you model the stuff you’re sent?’ I asked again, like a dog with a bone.