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We move through the first of the reception rooms, which is full of girls with pretty dresses and bouffant hair, wearing too-high shoes, blowing air kisses and squealing at nothing.
“Dayna! Dayna!” Anna leaves a group by the arched window and runs towards me — more for show than in genuine excitement, I think. Her white-blonde hair has been curled into ringlets, and she looks angelic in her floral dress. Appearance is everything. She throws her arms around me. “So pleased you could be here.” It’s subtle, but her attention definitely falls on my Cartier gift bag, then Rachel’s.
“Of course. I’m thrilled to be here, Anna. Nineteen, wow!”
“I know, I’m getting so old,” she giggles.
Rachel’s face twists like she’s just been stung by a wasp.
“And I’m pleased you could make it, too,” Anna says, shifting her focus to Rachel.
“I’m Rachel. Here.” She holds out the Cartier bag.
“I know that,” Anna says dismissively, accepting the gift bag. “Oh my gosh, you really shouldn’t have.”
“I didn’t,” Rachel mutters.
I jab Rachel gently in the ribs and hand over the other gift bag.
“Oh I love, love, love! Thank you both so much. I’m going to show the girls.” With that, Anna leaves, and we probably won’t speak to her for the rest of the party.
“Heartfelt,” Rachel says before finishing her second glass of bubbles.
“Dayna, darling.” My mother comes at us with her arms outstretched. She looks as immaculate as ever, her dress displaying her slim frame to its best advantage, her hair salon-styled. The walking cliché of a trophy wife.
“Hi Mum.” I step into her arms for the short time she accepts me before greeting Rachel.
“Veronica, it’s a pleasure as always. Thanks for having me.”
“It’s no trouble. Anna likes to have her closest friends around her for her birthday.” My mother is too busy indicating the expanse of guests to notice Rachel rolling her eyes. “She has so many friends, it’s wonderful to see, isn’t it? Doesn’t she just look beautiful?”
“She really does,” I say. “The party is great, Mum.”
“Wait until you see afternoon tea. The cakes are divine.” She loops her arm through mine and leads me to the back of the room. “I hired Bruno Gaville.” She turns her head back to Rachel. “He really is the best patisserie chef. Michelin-starred, no less.”
My mother rests a hand on my arm that’s wrapped in hers. “Darling, I do wish you’d wear something other than black. And lace. I’ve seen you in much prettier cuts.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.”
“We also need to talk about your birthday. I was thinking something low key. I don’t really have the time to plan anything extravagant. You’ll appreciate I’ve had to put a lot of effort in to today.”
There are so many things I’d like to say to that. First off, she’s been planning my stepsister’s nineteenth birthday for months. I’m thirty in seven days, and she hasn’t even thought about it yet. More importantly, I really don’t want my mother to plan anything for my birthday, especially nothing with a room full of squealing girls and money-greedy women.
“Actually, Veronica, I’ve made plans already for Dayna’s birthday. You know, with it being next weekend and a special birthday.”
My mother scowls at Rachel, but her face breaks into a fake beam as we approach a group of finely clad women. “Ladies, I think you all know my eldest, Dayna.”
“Do I really have birthday plans?” I whisper to Rachel.
She reaches for a quail’s egg canapé from another waiter. “You do now.”
Thank you, I mouth as one of the four ladies, Penelope Hamilton, moves in to kiss my cheek. “Dayna, you remember my daughter, Constance?”
My stomach drops so quickly I feel sick. Constance Hamilton looks stunning, as she has the few times I’ve met her previously. It’s easy to see why Clark would have fallen for her, even if it was just the day after we slept together, eighteen months ago. Her honey hair looks effortless yet flawlessly placed on her shoulders. Her petite face is contoured to perfection. The hand she extends to me is smooth and manicured. Her rose-coloured dress shapes her svelte hips and flows out from her thighs. Her slim legs are displayed to their full advantage in nude stiletto heels.
She smiles, I think sincerely, yet I feel truly inadequate, more perhaps than even my mother makes me feel. Maybe more than Clark made me feel. This is the woman he chose immediately after he left me in bed, alone, naked, desperate for him. This is the reason there’ll never be another mistake between Clark and me. That thought makes the sick feeling rise from my stomach to my throat.
“Hi Constance, it’s been a little while. How are you?” I could kick myself. “Sorry, that was probably an insensitive question.”
