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‘Congratulations by the way,’ said Mimi, ‘on David’s new show, I mean.’
The change in tack took Brooke completely by surprise. ‘What show?’
‘I know it’s not officially been announced yet,’ said Mimi, ‘but I have friends at the network and I hear that David been offered a prime–time Washington show.’
Brooke gaped at her. Both the Billington family publicity machine and the network had wanted to hold back on announcing David’s new show until the inevitable media frenzy surrounding the wedding reached its peak – that way they were guaranteed maximum advance coverage for the show. The only people who knew about it were David’s family and the executives at the television station, so Mimi’s contacts and information were impressive.
‘As it’s Washington–based, I assume both of you will be moving to DC?’
‘No decisions have been made yet,’ said Brooke, flustered. ‘That’s why I haven’t discussed it yet with Edward.’
‘I think it would be a good idea if you did go,’ said Mimi.
Brooke snorted. She was not easily angered, but Mimi was pushing her near boiling point. Trust Mimi to find my Achilles heel, thought Brooke furiously. The issue of their imminent move away from New York remained raw and unresolved between herself and David.
‘What are you really saying, Mimi? That you’ll go to the press with details of an imaginary affair if I don’t hand in my notice?’
‘My, my,’ smiled Mimi. ‘All this press attention has made you paranoid.’ She folded her arms carefully in front of her. ‘What I am saying is that, while some people might think that having you at Yellow Door is good for business, I’m not so convinced. How do you think your fellow editors feel about you being invited to the executive board meetings when they are not? They’d be forgiven for thinking you were acting a little above your station.
‘Well, thanks for the vote of confidence,’ said Brooke calmly, wondering how much of what she was saying was spite and how much was true.
‘Do yourself a favour, Brooke – do us all a favour,’ said Mimi with a twisted smile. ‘Be the wife everyone wa
nts you to be. Stop playing at being something you’re not.’
‘Speaks the ball–breaking feminist.’
‘Speaks someone who knows what’s best for everyone,’ she added with syrupy condescension.
‘Good for everyone? Or good for you, Mimi?’ spat Brooke, finally losing her temper. ‘The truth is, Mimi, that I probably will go to Washington. My husband’s life is going to be there, in the short term at least, and I want to support him one hundred per cent. Plus, it does have the added bonus that I won’t have to see your bitter face every day.’
‘Is that your four weeks’ notice?’
‘No!’ she said fiercely.
Mimi smiled slowly and the coffee on her lip glistened. ‘Not yet, anyway.’
She paused at the door. ‘He’s very good looking, isn’t he? Matthew Palmer, I mean? I love those dark, brooding sorts.’ She winked. ‘But don’t worry. The next time the reporters ring, I’ll be in a meeting.’
Turning on her spiked heel, she left the room silently. Brooke watched her go, not entirely sure whether the tight knot in her stomach was there because Mimi Hall was a scheming bitch, or because Mimi Hall was right about everything she had said.
CHAPTER FIFTY
In a state of deep anxiety, Paula was examining gift bags. There were twelve in total, one for each guest, all lined up at ninety–degree angles to the edge of the walnut dining table.
‘I’m just not happy about the candle,’ she said, her face creased with worry. She turned to Karl Lee, her three–hundred–dollar–an–hour ‘entertainment consultant’ and waved a fat Jo Malone candle at him.
‘Lime, Basil and Mandarin, Karl? Isn’t that a little obvious? What about the Pomegranate Noir, like I suggested?’
The slim man, dressed head to toe in black, shook his head adamantly.
‘No, no, the Lime is definitely a safer option; it’s one of Jo’s most popular scents. Plus I know Pomegranate Noir candles were used at a lot of important Thanksgiving dinners last week. Dinners your friends might have attended.’
Paula sighed, remembering that Karl had been recommended by Rose Billington, and therefore should be the best in the party business. And Paula was fairly happy about everything else in the bags: the tan Smythson ‘Travel & Experiences’ notebooks, hand–made chocolates from the by–appointment–only chocolatier Au Lait on Madison, and Loro Piana scarves so fine that they folded up into nothing. Each party bag had cost her over six hundred dollars; but it was worth it, because everything had to be just right: Saturday night’s dinner was perhaps the most important night of her entire social life. She’d spent two months engineering the guest list and it was A–list only. Socially competitive friends like Gigi Miller and Samantha Donahue certainly did not make the cut and, anyway, those girls didn’t really fit her lifestyle these days. When she had seen them at fundraisers, Paula had noted they were now occupying tables that bordered on Social Siberia. She had heard a whisper that such had been the downturn on Wall Street, Samantha had even had to suffer the indignity of moving out to Brooklyn. It almost made Paula shudder to think they had once been such good friends.
No, Saturday’s dinner guests were of a much higher calibre; in fact the seating plan was a dream come true: Princess Karina and her husband Arlo, Brooke and David, Lucia De Santos, who, after the rocky start at Carlotta’s birthday party, had turned out to be just delightful, and two friends of Karina’s from the Bermuda circuit whose husbands were something terribly important in the media. After all, she had not quite given up on the Tucker’s Town dream quite yet.
As soon as she had arrived back from Bermuda, Paula had consulted with Charles Nicholls, the society divorce lawyer nicknamed ‘the Scythe’ both for his ability to cut down his opponents in court, but also for his skill in maximizing the financial harvest. Charles had been extremely supportive and had made very positive noises about Paula’s possible settlement, given the presence of children and the length of their marriage, but he had also encouraged Paula to choose her moment carefully to file papers. He had heard about the stalling of the Asgill’s sale and cautioned Paula that her husband’s fortune was almost entirely linked to the fortunes of the company; if the company slumped any further, it would impact on her potential ‘dividend’ from the divorce.
