“I’d forgotten which room was which,” Cordelia answers.
“You came in here to do drugs at my party,” Annabel spits.
Tom tenses next to me. Cordelia’s jaw clenches at the accusation.
“As I’ve already told you,” Cordelia says sharply, “that’s not true.”
“People never change,” Annabel says, flicking her hair back in a superior fashion. “You can’t help it, can you, Cordy? You couldn’t fight that urge.”
Cordelia’s hands clench into fists before she looks directly at Tom to reply. “I haven’t been doing drugs. I came up here to get some peace.”
“I’m sure this is a misunderstanding,” I say, sensing something dangerous bubbling beneath the surface of this conversation. “We should all go back downstairs. Annabel, you can’t be missing at your own party. Everyone will be wondering where you are.”
“Yeah, come on,” Tom says, taking a step forward. “Let’s drop this and enjoy the rest of the night.”
“Tell her to stay away from my room,” Annabel remarks coldly.
“She will,” Tom assures her. “Right, Cordelia?”
Cordelia nods, snatching up her bag and her glass of champagne from Annabel’s dressing table. Tom opens the door and I lead the way out onto the landing.
“Thank goodness I walked in here before anything got out of hand,” Annabel mutters, as we all file past her out of the room.
“From what I remember, you were the one making sure things always got out of hand, Annabel,” Cordelia retorts, over her shoulder, with Tom shaking his head behind her and whispering at her to “shut up and walk away.”
Annabel’s jaw drops and she stomps across the landing, stopping us as we make our way down to the party.
“You’re the one who overdosed, Cordelia,” Annabel hisses. “Not me.”
Cordelia stops dead on the stairs, the color draining from her face. Tom looks as though someone has slapped him. He reaches out to clutch Cordelia’s arm protectively. She shakes him off and turns to walk back up the steps to the landing.
“Cordelia,” Tom pleads quietly, but she ignores him.
Annabel stands tall, wearing a triumphant smile. She doesn’t flinch when Cordelia gets to the top, clearly thinking she’s won.
“Fuck you, Annabel,” Cordelia says, before she throws the contents of her glass straight into Annabel’s face.
Annabel yelps loudly. The guests’ faces swivel upward,causing a ripple of gasps through the party as they see what’s happened.
“Youbitch!” Annabel cries, champagne dripping through her hair and down her face. She spins round and runs into the bathroom, slamming the door.
Cordelia, seeming unaffected by what she’s done, glides down to the party while everyone watches, whispering to one another. Tom and I have little choice but to follow her.
Georgia appears, tackling the stairs in a ridiculous pair of heels, looking full of concern. “Was that Annabel yelling? What’s going on? Oh, hey, Tom, how are you? I’ve been looking for you! Talk in a min, babe. I’ll come and find you—Annabel, are you OK?”
The crowd parts in the hallway as Cordelia makes her way to the door.
“Cordelia, wait,” Tom says, smiling awkwardly at guests as they recoil from us, pretending everything is completely under control. “We need to get our coats.”
But she’s already asked the doorman to let her out, and as the door opens, there’s a rush of noise from a crowd outside and a host of camera flashes.
“Great. The press is here.” Tom groans. “Cordelia, wait!”
I grab Tom’s arm and say, “I’ll go, it’s OK,” then hastily follow her outside.
I shield my face with my hands and, head bowed, make my way down the steps. Most of the photographers are, thankfully, crowded round Cordelia as she hails a taxi at the side of the road, and none pays any attention to me.
“Cordelia, wait for me!” I yell at the top of my lungs, hoping she’ll hear me over all the questions being fired at her from reporters.
