The Stylist (29 page)

T
he air was hot and humid, filled with the sweet scent of hibiscus, in the outdoor arrivals area at Kona Airport on Hawaii’s Big Island. It was dark, we were both overtired and nursing monster hangovers—it’s impossible to say no to a steady stream of free champagne and red wine when travelling in Club—and Vicky and I had the giggles, big time.

‘Aloha! Miss Annie Liechtenstein and partner? Please, let me take your luggage,’ said a porter from the prestigious Four Seasons Resort. When we arrived at the entrance to the hotel—by air-conditioned car, complete with bottled water and cool flannels—garlands of beautiful, fresh pink orchids were placed around our necks. Beau was right, it was like landing in paradise. We were so woozy from the two flights from London via LA that it was surreal to find ourselves now standing in a stunning open foyer, decorated in an upmarket traditional Polynesian style with wooden tables, comfortable chairs and fragrant white orchids. The light rustle of palm trees and the soft sound of a ukulele player
entertaining late-night revellers somewhere in the distance permeated the warm air. If you listened really carefully you could just about hear the rolling waves of the Pacific Ocean far beyond. Everything about it was totally worth the journey, even for our whistle-stop trip.

‘So who do we check in as—you’re Annie at the moment, right?’ Vicky whispered in my ear as we approached the reception desk.

‘Beau told me Annie for anything official,’ I muttered, mentally practising my pseudonym for the next couple of days:
Lick-ten-stein, Lick-ten-stein. Hello, my name is Annie Liechtenstein.
I really hadn’t nailed my backstory.

‘When do we have to start acting like we’re a couple?’ Vicky was trying hard to stop her wobbling voice from turning into full-scale hysterics.

‘Hopefully everyone’s in bed already,’ I said, through gritted teeth. ‘Don’t put me off!’

A waiter presented us each with a chilled glass of passion fruit Bellini, delivered on a silver tray. Just what I needed to steady my nerves.

‘Aloha!’ he chimed. ‘Welcome to the Four Seasons, we
really
hope you’ll enjoy your stay.’

‘Aloha! Don’t mind if I do.’ Vicky downed a large gulp to stifle any involuntary outbursts of laughter.
How we’re going to hold it together for these next two nights, I just don’t know.

As we took our room key and turned to follow our porter, another vehicle glided to a halt in the driveway. Three figures got out of the car, which had a boot full of cases, and we could hear that they had British accents, too. Though
the lighting was muted, I’d recognise that voice anywhere. I gripped Vicky’s arm, my heart racing.

‘Amber?’ Rob called. ‘No way! Didn’t realise you were doing the wedding with Mona—I would have called. This is great!’ He dropped the two flight cases in his hands and walked towards us. ‘Vicky, too—nice one! How did you wangle that?’

‘Rob!’ I looked at him, his face all lit up and welcoming. This was the best—and worst—surprise ever.

‘What’s the plan, then?’ demanded Fran with the bob, stepping in front of him, instantly in work mode. A feeling of doom descended upon me as I imagined how Mona was likely to react to the documentary crew’s reappearance.

‘Why are you here, guys? Does Mona know?’

‘Mona invited us. Wanted to see if we could turn the pilot around with this job. The production company have agreed to give it one last shot—so it better be good,’ said Fran ominously, marching into the hotel.

As the reception staff looked on, I pulled Rob to one side. ‘By the way, I’m Annie in front of most of the guests for this trip. Remember, to help out Beau?’

‘You don’t make things easy for yourself, do you?’ he chuckled. ‘Of course—Annie it is.’

‘And, um, Vicky is Victoria—my “partner”.’

He sniggered. ‘As in, your “civil partner”?’ I nodded, mutely. ‘Awesome. I love this trip already! You make a beautiful couple. Production meeting after breakfast, then?’

‘I’ll let Mona know.’ I fiddled with my orchid garland anxiously. The butterflies in my stomach were already throwing a party and we’d barely arrived.

Thankfully, a porter came to our rescue, and led Vicky and I off to a white golf buggy. We were soon following
a pathway lit with tiki torches to our bungalow, an elegant two-room suite, almost hidden by lush tropical flora and fauna. During the short five-minute journey our driver must have said ‘Aloha!’ at least seven times, each with the same level of enthusiasm, to every passing staff-member and guest. But I could barely concentrate on anything, other than the fact that Rob was here. I wasn’t over him at all. Vicky read my mind.

‘It’ll be fine,’ she promised, squeezing my knee.

As is the law on entering the best hotel suite you have ever set foot in, we immediately set about exploring—bouncing on the super-king beds, stroking the bamboo headboards, checking out the fully stocked minibar and nearly passing out at the huge bathroom, complete with outdoor shower for bathing under the stars. But when we flung open the balcony doors in the living room area, we were both finally rendered speechless. Beyond our balcony, not more than a stone’s throw across a strip of perfectly raked sand, was the ocean, gently lapping at the shoreline. A full moon sent a magical beam of light across the beautiful, rippling expanse. We breathed it all in deeply, and felt our shoulders drop.

‘Pinch me, please,’ I uttered.

‘Sod Rob, I think you might actually fall in love with me here, Amber Green,’ Vicky teased. ‘Anyway, this view alone is the best birthday present ever. Thank you so much.’ She pulled me in and planted a kiss on my cheek.

‘You’re right. Sod Rob—he didn’t look very handsome today, anyway. It’s handling Mona I’m most worried about. But, whatever happens, we’ve got to make the most of being in this amazing place.’

That meant no unpacking, just getting some proper sleep
in our luxury beds. The long journey had left us both shattered, and I’d noticed crusty red-wine stains decorating my lips.

The only thing that could top our arrival in paradise, under the cover of nightfall, was waking up and seeing it all over again, bathed in early-morning sunlight. After a deep sleep I emerged to find Vicky on the balcony already, Instagramming the hell out of everything.

‘Shit! Careful!’ I rushed to pull down her arm. ‘You’ve not put anything up, have you?’

‘No, but I’ve sent one Tweet. What’s the panic?’ My palms were sweating, and not because of the humidity.

‘I forgot to say—Beau and Trey have a deal with a magazine, and no one can know the wedding’s happening here. It’s got to stay exclusive. Beau called me about it just before we left—sorry, I meant to tell you. It’s really important. If you take it down fast, hopefully no one will have seen anything.’

Vicky fiddled with her iPhone, holding it up and waving it around.

‘Damn reception, it’s really in and out here.’

‘What did it say?’ I was beginning to feel panicky.

‘That I’m here at the Four Seasons, Haulalai,’ she muttered, sheepishly, ‘… for a celebrity wedding … Shit, sorry, hon, I didn’t know.’

‘But you didn’t mention Beau’s name, right?’

‘No. And it’s not like I’ve got millions of followers—I’m sure no one’s picked it up. Ah, that’s it. Deleted.’

The phone in the room buzzed into life, making both of us jump. Nervously, I dashed over. ‘A-Annie speaking?’

‘Amber, it’s Beau. Aloha! Welcome to paradise—isn’t this the most amazing place you’ve ever seen?’

‘Certainly is! Have you seen Mona yet?’

‘Only briefly—she arrived really early this morning in a foul mood after spending three hours being questioned before she could get through passport control. Must be something to do with the shoplifting or the Cabo episode. I give up. Anyway, she was asking after you, and I said it’d be best if she met you at my villa after the brunch.’

‘Brunch—great! We’re starving.’

‘It’s at the main beach restaurant in ten minutes, and then it’ll be time to start making everyone over. We’ve got so much to do and not much time. You okay to come to brunch and then my suite? It’ll be only us girls—and Mona and Pinky of course—I’m staying in the Presidential Villa. And one other thing—I, um, there’s been a change to the wedding gown. I brought two of them out with me, because you can never be sure if your suitcase is going to make it, and I couldn’t risk getting married in my birthday suit. I was going to wear a Vera Wang, but then Dolce & Gabbana came through with the most incredible custom-made dress for me. It’s covered in crystals with a sexy fishtail and a veil with a really long train. I look like a mermaid in it—it’s perfect for Hawaii, you’re going to die! And I was thinking we could build on the mermaid theme by adding some shells and pearls onto the bridesmaid dresses.’

I took this in. ‘Does, um, Mona know about the theme yet? It sounds like quite a lot to do on your actual wedding day, Beau …’

‘I thought we could tell her together.’
She’s as scared of her as I am.
‘Oh, Amber, I’m so in love with the idea. Think
Birth of Venus
meets Hawaii. How cool?’ Hmm. Beau had the most un-Botticelli body imaginable.

‘Awesome!’
Well, what else can I say?
‘I’m just a bit concerned about where we’ll get the shells and pearls from though—where’s the nearest town to here?’

Her voice broke into a raucous laugh. ‘Oh, Amber! You’re so funny sometimes. Look where you are! We’re on a beach, for Christ sakes—just send your wife-stroke-assistant out to pick up some shells, the more authentic the better, and my mom’s got a long pearl necklace she’s donated as my “something old” so we can dismantle that and sew them on. I mentioned the idea to the editor at the magazine and they’re going crazy for it: they’re working on finding a giant shell for Trey and I to stand in when we have our photos taken! I know it’s a lot to pull together, but it’ll be fun!’ Beau’s catchphrase was really starting to grate on me.

‘You’re the bride. See you at brunch, and then let’s do this!’ Resistance was futile, so I mustered all the American enthusiasm I could before replacing the handset, slamming my fist against the duvet and crumpling into a heap on the bed as I relayed it all to Vicky—including the part about Mona already being in a foul mood. Vicky, obviously, found it hilarious. Then I remembered an important question I’d forgotten to ask, so I quickly called Beau back: ‘Other than Mona, is there anyone here who will know I’m not actually Annie Leichtenstein? I mean, you said Jason Slater would be here—is that still …?’ Vicky’s eyes lit up. I braced myself.

‘Of course, Amber! Durr! But don’t worry, he’s in on the Annie thing, so he’ll keep it up in front of Trey. He’s an actor after all.’

I laughed nervously. ‘Okay, if you’re sure.’

She paused. ‘He’s a good guy, you know—he’s been a rock to me.’

‘I believe you,’ I found myself saying, with no conviction.

Trey and Beau stood greeting guests at the entrance to the ocean-facing restaurant. Beau looked stunning in a sheer peach flowing gown with a high slit showing off her golden tan and revealing her slender body, barely covered in what looked like a Missoni string-bikini, underneath. I began to feel self-conscious in my cut-off denim shorts, white vest top and Havaianas—my idea of beach cool was clearly not on the same level as hers. The assembled party of guests before us was something to behold. Women dressed up in finely embroidered kaftans in coral colours. Wealthy-looking girls in animal print silks and hippy-chic crochet dresses, worn casually over expensive bikinis to show off their model-perfect limbs, their faces hidden behind oversized sunglasses and big, floppy beach hats. Vicky was going to have her work cut out telling apart the fake from the natural boobs gathered before us.

The men were mostly in preppy pastel colours, linen trousers or Ralph Lauren shorts with open white shirts, revealing tanned chests and admirable pecs. A concoction of flowery summer perfumes, mixed with the sweet scent of coconut sunscreen, hung in the air. I recognised several faces from TV and film appearances and one guy in a straw fedora and Ray-Bans had a definite resemblance to Justin Timberlake.

‘It’s not,
is it
?’ Vicky nudged me, thinking the exact same thing. But I’d just noticed Jason Slater in one corner, biceps bulging in a white string vest, as he bent down from a bar stool, apparently putting something into a pouch around
Pinky’s neck. Finally he patted the little pig on its derrière, and it was whisked back to Beau by an excitable young guest far more interested in playing with a micro-pig than mixing with any of the beautiful people. Jason had a shifty look in his eye, for sure—but I parked that for now.

‘You should have seen Pinky’s passport photo—so cute!’ Beau cooed, as the little animal started licking my feet in recognition.

‘Dear Annie, welcome! I see that someone’s obviously taken a shine to you!’ Trey greeted me with a kiss on each cheek, like a long-lost comrade. I felt a twinge of guilt at how friendly he was.

‘It’s so great to have a fellow Brit here. Beau and I are over the moon you could find the time to join us—aren’t we, baby?’

Beau smiled. ‘Sure are—
and
they’ve flown in from freezing London.’

‘Filming at Shepperton Studios,’ I offered, awkwardly, ‘with Scorsese.’
What am I saying?

‘Ha—I know only too well what those gruelling production schedules are like.’ Trey smiled. ‘And you must be Victoria?’ Trey seemed impressed that I had bagged such a pretty wife. Vicky offered her hand. ‘Welcome. I hope you both have an incredible time here in Hawaii.’ He gestured to the postcard-perfect vista before us.

‘Thanks so much, Trey—it’s an honour to be here, for both of us,’ I cooed, having instructed Vicky to smile sweetly and leave all the talking to me.

After a buffet of tropical fruit, pancakes and eggs done every which way, plus some strained conversations with
guests keen to know how I enjoyed working with Beau and Jason on
Summer’s Not Over
—which I still hadn’t actually seen—and limited chat about what I was doing with Scorsese, Vicky and I excused ourselves and headed over to Beau’s villa. Mona opened the door, dressed in an OTT, long, wafting zebra-print kaftan, hair loosely tousled around her shoulders and at least twenty bangles jangling loudly on each arm. She had rings on almost every finger.