Trophy Life (14 page)

Chapter 11

'I have never heard of Chateau Magnifique. What is it?' The committee was reviewing items to be ordered for the dinner when Olivia singled out the wine Amy had selected to be the red option for each table. Amy had given her the job of liaising with the wine merchant.

'It’s the house red,' Amy replied nonchalantly. She was determinedly not looking at Olivia, instead carefully studying the agenda laid out in front of her on the blond wood of the conference table at the Society’s HQ.

'You can’t order the
house red
.' Olivia was clearly affronted. Like two particularly useless henchmen, Binky and Darcy sat on either side of her, each engrossed in their own activities. Amy wondered if these two women ever left their leader’s vicinity.

'House?' drawled Binky. 'Isn’t The Dorchester a hotel?'

'Look,' Olivia’s tone became low, patronising. 'I know you’re not accustomed to these things, but this calibre of event. It calls for a higher standard than what you might be used to. Why don’t you let me pick the wine?'

'What is it, a French thing?' Binky asked Darcy.

'I think it’s German. Pronounced
Haus
' Darcy replied knowledgably, placing great emphasis on her pronunciation of the last word. 

'It’s cheap wine,' Olivia broke in looking levelly at Amy. Both Darcy and Binky gasped.

'Olivia, we’re on a budget. If we order something dearer it means we raise less.' This had been an ongoing theme throughout the meeting, with Olivia and her dynamic duo of friends disputing almost every item, offering an infinitely more lavish, infinitely more expensive alternative.

'But you can’t invite this quality of guest and serve them house red. It’s a travesty.'

'I think you have to reassess what you count to be a travesty Olivia,' Giselle said dryly. Amy looked over gratefully at her sister-in-law, who had offered to help on the committee.

'Look,' Olivia said, referring to the drinks options. Freddie had provided her with a direct contact at a wine distributor, meaning they could get an excellent discount, but the budget was still tight. 'The Chateaux Lafitte is a great wine.'

'It starts at £100 a bottle,' Amy said disbelievingly. 'It would wipe out anything we raised for The Children’s Fund.'

She remembered her visit to the run down offices of the charity. Several children had been there painting on canvases. For all the world they looked like ordinary, happy children, but as Claire had pointed to each one and told Amy their stories, a very different picture had emerged.

'That’s Kai, he’s seven. His mother is so severely disabled he has to make all the meals for her and his brother. He takes care of both of them whenever he’s not at school. We have onsite carers here so he can have a few hours off. There’s Gemma. Whenever her mum is at work she has to look after her disabled sister.'

'But I don’t understand,' Amy had said. 'Surely such a worthy cause has people banging the door down to help?' But there were so many people to help, so many charities. Not all of them had a voice.

'The money you raise will help us improve our facilities and hopefully give us more of a carers’ allowance so we can help more kids.'

The words had stayed with Amy and she was determined to raise as much as she could. She would fight for every last penny.

'There will be a bar Olivia, where people can buy what they want. There’s no need for the wine on the tables to be that extravagant. Please order house red and house white for the tables.'

'Give them brandy I say,' a raspy voice unexpectedly crowed from the end of the table. Everyone turned to look at Lady Fenella. Amy had forgotten she was even there. 'Never hurt
my
kids.' The silence that followed was confused, but short.

'What about raffle prizes?' Amy tried to change the subject. 'Any ideas?'

'My publisher is very happy to donate books,' Dame Rochester offered.

'Daddy’s trying to get rid of some ponies, would that help?' Darcy asked without looking up from her screen.

'I don’t think we want to raffle off anything that eats,' Amy said carefully.

'That leaves most of the female guests as an option then,' Giselle said with a smile, drawing an angry – and slightly hungry – glare from Olivia.

'Oh we should do a bachelor auction,' Binky said with uncharacteristic excitement.

'No,' Olivia, Amy and Giselle all said at once eliciting a pout from Binky.

'Papa has kindly agreed to donate a day’s shooting at the estate,' Olivia said pointedly. 'And I believe there’s talk of some golf lessons from the club.

'That’s all great,' Amy said. 'But I think we still need one spectacular item to really get people’s attention.'

'Binky, can your father help?' Giselle asked her.

'Hm?' Binky looked up distracted from where she was now examining her nails.

'With a prize,' Amy prompted. When Binky still looked confused, Amy added, 'For the auction.'

'Oh, yah' Binky seemed to be searching her mind. 'I suppose he could give a yacht or something. Nothing too big. Maybe 20 feet?'

Amy’s mouth fell open at the casualness with which Binky offered something that was probably worth the same as most people spent on their family home, but she quickly closed it. What else could she expect? 

'Yes, that sounds ok, Binky,' she replied slowly. 'Can you just confirm that with him?'

'Just did,' sighed Binky, lifting up her phone and showing Amy the screen where her dad had replied '
Of course Pooky'
to a text where Binky had simply asked, '
Yot please daddy'
.

When the meeting ended, Amy decided it was time to run progress by Andrea. She was feeling quite good about the elements she had cemented so far, but had no idea what her mother-in-law would think. She needed to gauge her reaction to them just to make sure she was on the right track.

She climbed the softly carpeted staircase to Andrea’s room with its intricate iron bannister and chandelier at the top and knocked on an enormous white door.

'Come in,' came the faint reply.

'Hi Andrea,' she said meekly as she opened the door and peered round. Andrea’s office, like most of the headquarters, had a light, plush carpet and fine shimmery wallpaper. The fireplace was large and ornate with an impressive white marble surround adorned with a giant floral arrangement, the chandelier looking like it wouldn’t be out of place in a sixteenth century French palace.

As she entered, Andrea was sitting at an antique mahogany desk, writing something with an enormous fountain pen. It seemed like everything from the furniture to the stationery dwarfed this fragile woman, like she was shrinking before Amy’s eyes. There was no computer on her desk, something which made Amy wonder how much work she could possibly do without internet access.

After a moment or two, Andrea looked up and gave her a closed mouth smile, one which didn’t reach her eyes.

'Ah, Amy. What can I help you with?'

'I just wanted you to see what we’re doing with the dinner. It’s coming along really well and-'

Andrea silenced her with the lifting of one hand.

'I trust you entirely. Everyone says you’re doing a wonderful job. Don’t worry about running things past me.' She bared her teeth in something approximating a smile, although it wasn’t too far from how a crocodile might greet a mouse.

Amy almost had to sit down with the force of the surprise of this. She wondered who had been praising her work, but decided it best not to push her luck.

'Just give all the paperwork to Esther and she’ll make sure it gets to the right place, draw the cheques, that sort of thing,'

'Ok, thanks Andrea. I really appreciate the faith you’re putting in me on this.'

'Of course,' Andrea said languidly, her smile eerie. When she said nothing further, Amy took it as her cue to leave and, saying her goodbyes, hurried out of the room. 

She felt exhilarated. At first, the thought of organising this event on her own had been daunting, terrifying. But now that she had started she knew she could do it and do it well. What was more, she saw this as her chance. Her opportunity to impress Lady Andrea and her whole family with her skills. The trust that had been placed in her was not only flattering, but vital. She would not let her down. For so long Amy had been uncertain as to how Andrea had felt about her. Especially as she was the lesser of her two daughters-in-law in almost every respect. But maybe now she could finally be accepted.

With that thought in mind she went to the underground car park to get her car. As she was exiting the garage, her in-car phone rang. She pressed the button on the steering wheel to connect the call. 

'Hello stranger!' Julia’s voice filled the space around her.

'Jules!' she said happily.

'Auntie Amy! Aunty Amy I’m going to ballet because I am a ballerina!' her niece’s voice rang out in the background. She was on speakerphone.

'Hi! And aren’t you a beautiful ballerina!'

'How are things?' Julia asked. 'Flynn stop eating that elephant it’s your friend.'

Amy told her briefly about where things had got to with the dinner with the occasional interruption from Julia telling one of her children something.

'It’s really great you’re raising money for such a worthwhile cause,' Julia said. Her tone was positive, but Amy could always tell when her sister was holding back.

'But…' Amy prompted.

'There’s no but.'

'But but but but but!' With Flynn as the ringleader, all three of Julia’s children were yelling this in the background.

'What are the women like in this society?' There was a silent, but very definite emphasis on how Julia said the word 'society', like she was placing quote marks around it. To her surprise, Amy felt defensive.

Perhaps it was because she really did like Giselle and Esther and some of the other London Ladies, perhaps because she was proud of the work she was doing, but she didn’t like the idea of Julia making fun – however subtly – of the group.

'They’re really nice,' she retorted.

'Even Olivia Hollingcroft?'

'Well-'

'And Kitty Hijinx?'

'I haven’t actually seen Kitty.'

'Weren’t they associated with the Nazis during the war?'

'Ah, now that was just a rumour.'

There had been a tale about how Gillian Forsythe, the chairwoman of the Society from 1937 to 1939, had become involved with a man whom it transpired was a member of the German National Socialist Party. Some newspapers had gone on to speculate that she had let this relationship influence the Society’s membership and activities. This seemed to be mentioned in almost every article ever written about the Society.

'Honestly though Julia, they’ve been really welcoming and I’m getting on really well with this.' She couldn’t admit to herself let alone to Julia that this was the first time she was feeling truly useful since her legal career had met its very sudden end.

Her sister’s voice was much softer when she said, 'I’m really pleased for you. Just don’t let all of this aristocratic nonsense go to your head, ok?'

'I promise. Now let me speak to the kids.'

***

That evening, she and Harry were invited to the Somerfelder Splish Splash, an annual poolside party held at Somerfelder House by its owners Lord and Lady Somerfelder. A friend of Harry’s from Eton, Lord Edmund 'Honky' Somerfelder came from a long line of Barons who, in his words enjoyed, 'a jolly good Scotch, a decent hunt and someone quite a bit less decent to grab onto when it’s all done'. This declaration was usually followed by him guffawing and downing a shot or two.

Lady Somerfelder was a fiery thick set blond with ruddy features and a booming voice. When they weren't playing the consummate hosts with the most, the Somerfelders were often seen in animated discussions, typically revolving around the Baron’s extra-marital activities. Harry often joked that Lord Somerfelder was his investment property as he would eventually be worth a lot in the divorce market.

From experience, Amy knew there were only two types of women that attended the Splish Splash. Those who wore little to nothing, invited indiscriminately by the male host and those who wore tasteful and invariably expensive summer dresses coupled with discreet wedges, á la Kate Middleton attending a garden party. So, while Harry looked dapper in khaki corduroys with an unbuttoned shirt and light jacket, she paired a knee-length white dress with Gianvito Rossi cork wedge sandals.

A cacophony of twenties style music emanated from the brightly lit country house as they made their way on the vast stone driveway, a small bird zig zagging in front of the car as it approached the elegant Georgian frontage. Inside was an explosion of action which the house itself struggled to contain, allowing it to spill out as the front door opened. Raucously laughing men had chattering women on their arms holding onto delicate flutes of champagne, their voices competing with the sound system. Amy thought she recognised several of them from previous outings. She could see Lord Jonty Gloop, his hat askew, his nose already crimson, in an impassioned discussion with another man who she remembered as ‘Tonky’ Grunt, also known as Sir Antony. Meanwhile Ladies Isabella Forthright and Geneviève Lovett were delicately sipping their Kir Royals on the patio. They looked supercilious and bored. Then there were the people who needed no introduction because their faces were known around the country by virtue of their celebrity. She could already see Justice Harper by the pool, and was that a rock star’s daughter tickling away at the piano?