Bergdorf Blondes (27 page)

“You look delicious,” said Julie, who looked pretty delicious herself in a pistachio Narciso shift and too many pearls.

“Thanks, Julie,” I said, surreptitiously grabbing the pillbox from my zebra bag and stuffing it inside my clutch. “Let’s go down. Mom’s gonna be going nuts.”

“Darling! Yooooo-hooooo! Over here!”

Mom was beckoning Julie and me from a shady corner of the tent at the bottom of the garden. Dad’s party was in full swing, the perfect picture of Eng
lish country life. Guests were milling about sipping Pimm’s on the lawn at the back of the house. I had to hand it to Mom, she’d done a great job. She’d gone totally Thomas Hardy with the décor (one of her favorite themes). There were little wooden benches for guests to sit on, and glass jars filled with cottage garden flowers—lupins, sweetpeas, cornflowers—on the tables. Dad was in his element, dressed in his favorite striped seersucker suit, surrounded by a gaggle of his friends’ leggy teenage daughters. As Mom had predicted, the sun was beating down as though we were on South Beach. If only I wasn’t feeling so tense, I thought, I might be able to really enjoy myself.

Julie and I each grabbed a Pimm’s off a tray and wandered over to Mom. She was wearing the aforementioned cream suit and hat. (Any chance to wear a hat and Mom is in one. You can imagine.) She looked somewhat overdressed, as did Julie and I: most of the guests were dressed in tatty straw hats and ancient tea dresses, as is the custom of the British upper classes at garden parties.

“My god, haven’t these people heard of fashion?” asked Julie as we crossed the lawn.

“Julie, British people think fashion’s tacky,” I explained.

“That’s really sad,” she said, a tragic look on her face.

“Darling, are you wearing foundation?” said Mom.

“Actually, Mom, no. It’s too hot,” I replied.

“Julie, you look wonderful, who made that sensational dress?” asked Mom. Before Julie could answer, Mom looked over my shoulder and said, “Ah
Countess-sss
.” I tensed. This was going to be humiliating, I thought. “How marvelous to see you. Pimm’s?”

Julie and I turned to see Caroline approaching. She looked 100 percent chic in that undone English way. She was wearing men’s pants with a sheer Indian shawl thrown elegantly over her shoulders.

“Brooke, call me Caroline, please.”

“Caroline. Pimm’s?” said Mom, beaming.

“Hello girls,” said Caroline. “What lovely outfits.”

“Thank you. You look totally hot, too,” said Julie.

“Julie, do tell us about your wedding. Who’s making your dress?” said Mom.

I couldn’t focus on the small talk at all. Where was Charlie?

“Well it changes every day—obviously—but right now it’s Oscar de la Renta, Valentino, McQueen, and Zac Posen. I guess I’ll decide on the day,” said Julie.

“Won’t someone get upset?” asked Caroline.

Smiling sweetly Julie replied, “Yeah, probably, but you know, I’m really spoiled, and very rich and exceptionally pretty, so I get to do exactly what I
want.” Seeing Caroline’s expression of shock, Julie added, “It’s okay, you don’t have to feel sorry for me. I like me like this.”

“So, where’s the birthday boy?” asked Caroline.

“Peter is smoking with the
teenage
girls,” said Mom. “Where is your little boy? On his way I hope.”

“He sends his regards, Brooke, but he wanted me to let you all know he’s so terribly sorry not to be here today. He had to go back to Los Angeles this morning.”

“So soon after the funeral?” said Mom, unable to hide her disappointment.

“He’s just directed a film and it seems someone wants to talk to him about doing another one. Had to go today, he said. You know what Americans are like when it comes to business. Very pushy, aren’t they?” said Caroline pointedly.

Charlie wasn’t coming? This was a disaster, from the apology perspective. I suddenly felt anxious and edgy.

“Julie, shall we go in and get some Bucks Fizz?” I said, making a let’s-get-out-of-here expression.

“What is it?” said Julie.

“Back in a minute, Mom,” I said, taking Julie’s hand and leading her out of the tent.

I snuck off with Julie into the kitchen. It was fearfully hot in there because Mom insists on having an Aga, which is like a rich English person’s stove. It’s
like they all absolutely have to have one, like Americans have to have a Sub-Zero fridge if they’re anyone who’s anyone. The problem with Agas is they’re on all the time, even in summer. It was like a furnace in there but at least we were alone.

“Oh god, Julie, what am I going to do?” I said, agitated

“What are you talking about? Why are you hyperventilating?” said Julie, looking concerned.

“He’s not here!”

“Who?”

“Charlie.”

“So?”

“But what about apologizing to him? Saying I’m sorry for being so rude and everything.”

Even though I had actually been dreading seeing him after yesterday, I suddenly really minded that Charlie wasn’t here after all.

“Send him an e-mail,” suggested Julie.

“That would be so rude. You have to apologize in person if it’s going to mean anything,” I replied.

“You’re completely obsessed with him.”

“I’m not! What am I going to do?” I wailed, pacing around the kitchen.

“Why are you so desperate to apologize in person? Are you totally in love with him or something?”

“Oh Julie, it’s not that. I just feel terrible for being
such an idiot yesterday. I want him to see that I can be responsible, and grown up, and that I’m a good person and everything.”

“Who are you kidding?! You’re nuts about him.”

“Julie! It’s much worse than you think. I stole something out of that library last night.”

“No! Did you take a piece of family jewelry?”

“No, I took a pillbox.”

“Eew,” said Julie, looking slightly disappointed. “What’s the big deal about that?”

I rifled in my clutch bag and took out the little enamel box and set it on the kitchen table. I opened the lid and showed the inscription to Julie.

“God, how beautiful! I think you should keep it as a souvenir,” said Julie.

“I can’t,” I said.

“Okay, so we’ll just sneak out and go put it back and no one will ever know the difference. Come on, darling, let’s get in the car and go now.”

Whenever Julie hits Europe she always rents a snappy BMW to allow her to take advantage of the liberal speed limits. The lanes to the castle, with their blind corners and steep dips, were no obstacle to this—Julie took them as though she were driving the Monaco Grand Prix.

“Julie, slow down!” I yelled as we took another curve at speed.

“Oh god, sorry,” she said, braking dramatically. “I just find driving slowly so uncool.”

She slowed to a more manageable pace. As we passed a cornfield dotted with wild red poppies Julie said, “I can’t believe we haven’t discussed it yet, but what do you think of my engagement ring?” She flashed it in the sunlight. The stone was so large it could support its own solar system.

“It’s really incredible,” I said.

“Well you know what they say. The bigger the diamond, the longer the relationship lasts.”

Frankly I’m a little concerned about Julie’s understanding of marriage. She hadn’t matured nearly as much as I’d thought since her engagement.

“He owns half of Connecticut, more or less. And you know I love it there.”

Julie was definitely in love. She’s been allergic to Connecticut forever. She always says that the huge number of married women there driving aimlessly around in Range Rovers, wearing identical vanilla-colored, thirty-thousand-ply cashmere turtlenecks by Loro Piana and solitaire diamonds makes her feel suicidal.

“Do you want me to come in with you?” asked Julie fifteen minutes later as we pulled up outside the castle door.

“No, you just wait here in the getaway car. I’ll be five minutes,” I said, putting the enamel box back in my clutch and getting out of the car.

“Okay, dude! Don’t get caught.”

God
, I thought to myself as I slipped in through the main entrance,
this could be icky if I see that butler guy again
. Sneaking up the stairs and along the corridor to the library, I felt uncomfortable when I remembered my tantrum from the day before. I just wanted to put the little box back and be out of there. Even if I was never going to be able to apologize to Charlie in person, the least I could do was redeem myself by returning the box I’d taken. Not that anyone would necessarily know that I’d redeemed myself, since no one knew I’d taken the little box in the first place.

Just as I was coming to the library, I heard a door to my left being opened. I froze. What if that was the butler? I couldn’t face being almost arrested twice in twenty-four hours. I looked around. I didn’t dare go on, but I couldn’t go back either. I pulled back into a dark alcove, with a stuffed stag’s head hanging above me. Tense, I watched as the door opened and a figure appeared. I gasped. It was Charlie. What was he doing here? Wasn’t he supposed to be on his way to LA?

He looked right at me. He seemed even more shocked than I was. Oh god, I thought, now I’ll have to apologize face to face, and admit I have his box and be all grown up and honest about everything. Now that I had the chance, I didn’t fancy it at all. But for once Charlie was speechless. Not only that, I detected a slightly shy, embarrassed look on his face. God, I couldn’t believe it, Charlie was actually blushing. There was an awkward silence.

“I thought you’d gone to LA. What are you doing here?” I said eventually.

“Um…” Charlie looked more uncomfortable than ever.

“Yes?” I said.

“Frankly, I just couldn’t face the party, after yesterday.”

“I see,” I said. How rude, I thought, after everything that had happened.

“I didn’t want to upset you any more than I already have. I’m not leaving for LA till tomorrow night. God, I’m totally busted, aren’t I?” he said sheepishly.

The tables had turned. For the first time ever, Charlie was apologizing to me. Strictly
entre nous
, I loved it.

“Very busted
indeed
,” I said, unable to resist a grin. He smiled back, a little reassured.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you, really. That’s a nice dress,” he said.

See. It had worked. I’d completely distracted him
from the robbery I was about to put right with Julie’s outfit.

“Thanks,” I said.

He took a step closer, looking at me inquisitively.

“So, are you planning on making a habit of breaking into this place?”

“No!” Drat. Maybe the tables hadn’t turned after all.

“Well, what are you doing here then?”

“Well, okay…”

God, he’s still
très
cute, I thought, even without the Canaletto as a backdrop. He was wearing a navy shirt and pants and looked ridiculously handsome. What a drag he’d caught me. I mean, there’d be no chance of any more regret when he found out I was a thief.

“Okay what?” he said, coming and leaning against the wall next to me.

I had to pull myself together. I was not here to engineer another regrettable scenario with Charlie.

“Well, god, I’m so embarrassed about yesterday,” I said eventually. Now it was my turn to blush. “I’m really sorry, Charlie, for what I said. I don’t think your mom’s a snob, and I didn’t mean it about you trying to trick me, and I do like you—”

“I don’t think we’ll ever be able to see each other again,” said Charlie.

“Really?”

“It’s doubtful,” he said. “You are a dreadful girl.”

“I’m sorry,” I said sadly. I looked up at him. If I wasn’t mistaken there was a very mischievous look in his eye. “You’re kidding me!” I said, laughing. “Do you think you can ever forgive someone as dreadful as me?”

“Of course I forgive you. How could I not in that dress?”

That’s the nice thing about Charlie. He forgives me everything almost immediately. I really admire that. Most people I know, like me, take forever to forgive even a tiny thing like Julie stealing my favorite Cos-abella thong. Eew, now I’d have to tell him about the pillbox.

“Don’t look so worried!” he said, seeing my anxious face. “What is it?”

“Well, actually, there’s something else.” That little gold box could ruin our
détente
, I thought unhappily.

“I can take it,” he said, looking me straight in the eye.

For a split second, I stared right back. I swear I’m not exaggerating when I say this, but the whole universe was in that look. Everything. The past, the future, the sun, the sky, every pair of shoes Marc Jacobs ever designed, every Bellini, every ball gown, every trip to Rio I’d ever taken. God, I thought to myself, how could I have let Charlie slip through my fingers like that? He’s the real deal. Kind,
adorable, the cutest thing ever—and that’s not even including how good he is in bed, or his lovely castle or anything (not that I was influenced by that at all, of course). What a dingbat I’d been! No one had cared more about me these past few months than Charlie. True, I’d been beyond annoyed when he’d saved my life in Paris and everything, but when you really think about it, it’s a very enchanting thing to do. When he put me on that plane from Nice to New York, even though I could have murdered him at the time, afterwards I secretly thought it was sweet beyond belief.

“What was it you had to tell me?” said Charlie, taking my hand.

What did I have to tell him? Literally, I couldn’t speak. When Charlie touched me my blood sugar dropped fifteen miles. The fact was, I realized now, I didn’t have hypoglycemia, at all. I’ll try and explain it better. If you only get hypoglycemia around one person, the chances are actually much greater that you might be falling in love than that you have suddenly contracted a nasty sugar condition.

“The thing is, Charlie, I’ve got to admit something bad,” I said, starting to open my purse.

God I could murder Julie sometimes. The fact is, she was totally right about everything. I was
très, très
in love with Charlie, in love and infatuated beyond belief, and here he was off to LA tomorrow! Maybe I
had to take my chance and tell him, for real, how I really felt, come what may and all that. Seriously, I had to do it. I mean, if I told him about the pillbox and then immediately made up for it with a really romantic, very regrettable afternoon, surely he wouldn’t be so cross with me? To quote Julia Roberts in
Pretty Woman
, I wanted the fairy tale. She told Richard Gere how she felt about him and it all worked out fine and it’s not like she’s got that huge an advantage over me, except for the smile. I mean she was a hooker in that movie and Richard didn’t mind
at all
.