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Mary–Ann nodded. ‘I remember that one because by then I was crying. Howard saw me and gave me his handkerchief. Must have been about twelve thirty, I guess.’ She reached for the tumbler and drained the last of the liquid. She waggled the glass at Jemma.
‘Drink?’
‘No, I must be going,’ she said standing up. ‘But thank you so much for your time.’
‘No problem, honey,’ said Mary–Ann, showing her to the door. ‘Always happy to talk about the good old days.’
She opened the door and Jemma stepped out.
‘Never get involved with a man, honey,’ said Mary–Ann as a parting shot. ‘They all let you down in the end.’
Amen to that, thought Jemma as she heard the door close behind her.
CHAPTER SIXTY–TWO
Brooke had been dreading her bachelorette party, given that her sister Liz was in charge of the arrangements. She had been expecting some humiliating stripper bar involving baby oil and beefcake, so she was therefore astonished to find Liz had booked the private room of the Buddha Bar, the hottest club–restaurant in the Meatpacking District, and had filled it with pink champagne and exquisite canapés. She had also invited at least forty of Brooke’s closest friends: people from school and college, colleagues from Yellow Door, and girls from the society circuit. Brooke reminded herself what her sister was like: whatever Liz did was always the best it could be. On the other hand, Brooke was mildly cynical about this show of good nature – there just had to be some motive behind it, didn’t there? – although standing at the bar, strewn with gardenia petals, surrounded by frien
ds, it was hard to think what it might be.
‘I just want to say thank you for all this,’ said Brooke, touching Liz on the arm. ‘It’s just perfect. I can’t believe you’ve got so many of the old crowd here.’
Liz gave a casual little shrug. ‘I just thought it was a shame you don’t see too many of the Spence and Brown lot any more,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s important to stay connected.’
Tiny tea–lights dotted round the room gave Liz’s face a soft golden glow, but her expression was unsmiling and melancholic. If Brooke hadn’t known better, she would have said her sister actually looked, well, sad. She glanced at her again; it was rare you saw any emotion from Liz apart from anger. Brooke leant across the bar and ordered two champagnes, handing one to Liz, who drained it in one long gulp.
‘Liz, are you okay, honey?’ asked Brooke.
‘Are you sure you’re ready for the Billington family?’ said Liz, ignoring the question. Her gaze was unsettlingly direct, her tone unmistakably heartfelt, and for one anxious moment Brooke wondered if Liz knew about last night, the night she had almost had sex with Matt Palmer, a memory that had been both thrilling and repelling Brooke in the twenty–four hours since it had happened. The irony was that Brooke was desperate to talk to her sister about her misgivings. While the two women were not close, Liz was the smartest, wiliest person she knew; no trouble ever seemed insurmountable to her, every problem was an opportunity, and she always seemed able to manoeuvre her way out of anything. Brooke would have loved her sage advice, but the truth was that Brooke just didn’t trust her.
‘Of course I’m ready for them,’ said Brooke.
‘Well, you’d better be,’ Liz replied, her eyes flat and sad, ‘because they don’t care about anybody or anything except themselves.’
Brooke frowned. ‘Liz, is there something–’
Her question was interrupted as a tall, slender blonde approached, wearing a skin–tight sequinned mini–dress, the veil of a pillbox hat obscuring her face.
‘Lily? Is that you?’ asked Brooke, bending to peer under the veil. The hat nodded, a quiet sniffling coming from beneath.
‘There’s been an accident Brooke,’ whispered her bridesmaid–to–be. ‘Something awful’s happened.’
Her heart lurched – did Lily know? If his cousin knew, did David know? She felt completely paranoid.
‘It’s the Botox,’ sniffed Lily as she lifted her veil. Her left eyelid was puffy and drooping badly, as if she’d been punched squarely in the eye.
‘I was having a quarter–head especially for the wedding, and it’s slipped.’
‘What were you doing? Cartwheels after the procedure?’ said Liz tartly.
Brooke glanced at her sister. It was insensitive, even for her, but Lily didn’t seem to mind.
‘Please, can you help me?’ said Lily clasping Liz’s arm. ‘There must be someone at Skin Plus who can help! How can I be a bridesmaid like this? I can’t,’ she said, beginning to sob.
Liz peered at her more closely. ‘I’m not sure anything can be done,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry, though. It will probably wear off in two to three weeks.’
Just then Brooke’s mobile phone rang. Her throat tightened as she saw the name on the LCD display. David. She touched Lily’s arm sympathetically as she took the call.
She had been avoiding David all day but she couldn’t ignore him forever. He was due back from Las Vegas any time and she had no idea what to do or say to him. She took a deep breath and picked it up.
