Trophy Life (15 page)

What confused Amy was that there definitely seemed to be a dress code. Whilst their clothes weren’t too dissimilar from her own, all the women were wearing twenties style feather headdresses with strings of fake pearls around their necks and some were clutching cigarette holders. Several of the men meanwhile wore top hats. Was it fancy dress? She had had no idea. Presumably Harry hadn’t either. As if in answer, Honky’s voice boomed through the crowd, parting it like a curtain on a string.

'We’ve gone Gatsby! Couldn’t stand the thought of another boring old pool party so this morning we thought we’d liven things up. Here.' He motioned to a passing woman holding a variety of clothing. He grabbed several pieces and practically threw them at Harry and Amy. 'It’s the twenties baby! Amy you look divine.' He kissed her emphatically on both cheeks and patted Harry on the back. 'I have no idea where the wife is so I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with me for now.'

As was often the case at these parties, Amy and Harry were separated quite early in the proceedings and barely saw each other throughout the night, with Honky steering him off to find the cigars. When this first used to happen to her, Amy would freeze to the spot where Harry had left her, like a forgotten umbrella awaiting its owner's return. There she would remain until he came to reclaim her, sipping her drink quietly. She was now practiced at mingling and making small talk, but really didn’t enjoy the whole process. She had learned that the trick was to find someone else who looked as lost as her. She would then hover near them until one of them spoke first. Like a game of chicken at a social anxiety convention. She looked around, searching for a suitable target. Yet, before she could find one, she heard her name being called out.

'Amy! Yoo hoo!' Turning round, she saw Binky and Darcy arm in arm, barrelling towards her in a tumble of feathers and silk. 'What are you doing here?'

Amy considered that these two must always have been at the same parties she had attended, but they simply hadn’t known each other. Ignoring the question, Amy smiled broadly and they all air kissed. Both girls looked breathtaking. Binky was in a sheer white dress with a neckline that plummeted down dangerously close to her bellybutton, her tiny breasts obediently pert on either side. Darcy meanwhile was in a royal blue maxi dress with a definite Grecian twist. Both wore the twenties style garb of the party.

'Oh my gosh it’s been sooo funny,' twittered Darcy, who was far more loquacious than usual. 'Cara and Immy got into a food fight and later we’re all jumping into the pool.'

'But you have to drag one celeb in with you,' Binky added emphatically, waving a champagne flute around.

'Where’s Harry?' Darcy asked, looking around.

'Around somewhere. I think he’s off with Honks,' she said as breezily as she could.

'Oh, look
there
she is.' Binky’s expression was a mix of relief and joy as she waved at someone behind Amy.

Taking a sip of her cocktail, Amy turned to look in the direction Binky was gesturing, almost choking once she spotted who it was.

'Kitty, you bitch, where have you been?' This coming as a shriek from Darcy.

And there she was. Kitty Hijinx was slinking towards them through the crowds, a Cheshire grin on her face as she grasped her champagne flute. Amy had never before seen her in the flesh, but she knew her instantly. Not just from her newspaper and magazine shots, but by her demeanour, once described by a journalist as 'like Cleopatra in a bubble.' Amy had thought this a strange characterisation, but seeing Kitty in front of her, she understood. Binky was just as beautiful as her sister, but Kitty looked regal, mythical, untouchable. 

'Oh, you know,' Kitty drawled in her sultry voice. 'Got letched on by some friend of Pugsy’s. Bastard did nothing to help. Thirty minutes on how beautiful I am and how I must be a model. Idiot.' She rolled her eyes and Amy watched her in fascination. She was so beautiful, it was easy to forget that she was real. She was right in front of her. Sensing what must have been Amy’s stare, Kitty’s eyes alighted on her and Amy felt herself shrink in their intensity.

'Kitty Hijinx.' Hearing Kitty addressing her made Amy remember her furious voice on the phone all those years ago. The ire in her tone. Seeing her now, Amy could recall every word in that conversation.

'Amy Green,' she managed to reply.

'Amy is
Harry’s
wife,' Binky told her sister excitedly. Amy had never felt more like a little girl. Infinitesimally inferior to this deity.

Kitty’s eyes lingered on her before she said, 'Ah, yes, I’ve heard about you.' Amy wanted to kick herself for being so pathetic as to be pleased that Kitty had heard of her. Why was she so tragic?

'Amy’s in charge of the annual dinner,' Darcy put in.

'That must be it,' Kitty said. 'Binky’s been chattering away about you.' Then, as though forgetting she was there, Kitty turned to her sister. 'What are you doing here anyway? Everyone’s in the summer house. Let’s go.'

'You have to come with us,' Binky said, grabbing Amy by the hand and starting to drag her outside.  Amy followed laughing as Binky kept hold of her hand. She felt bizarrely flattered by their attentions and glad to have something to do at an event like this. As they walked down the slope of the vast lawn, the lights of the house and pool faded and she could see a small building further away emanating a glow. Laughter and music came from inside and around it and she could see people running in its vicinity, others smoking outside. 

The noise and lights got increasingly louder and brighter until Amy found herself in the midst of a party far rowdier than the one at the main house. Most of the female guests looked like supermodels, at least if their lithe figures were anything to go by. Amy was quite sure she’d seen some of them on the covers of
Vogue
. Meanwhile, the men, many of them holding cigars, were having loud and excitable discussions.

Just then a tall man with the bluest eyes Amy had ever seen and that Amy would struggle to describe as anything other than beautiful sauntered over to Binky and laid a kiss on her cheek before pulling her into a bear hug.

'Ladies,' he smiled mischievously while pulling Darcy in for the same treatment. 'And who is this?' His look as he eyed Amy was nothing short of lascivious.

'Jamie!' her companions both sounded out delightedly.

'Jamie Gregor-Flint-Grey this is Amy Green, Harry Green’s
wife
,' Binky said, enunciating the last word with great emphasis. Then in a sing song, 'Amy, Jamie.'

'No way,' Jamie said, his eyes firmly on Amy’s. 'Aren’t you a bit young to be married? And to Harry Green?' His smile broadened and he tutted and shook his head playfully.

Amy had no idea how to reply, which was why she was relieved when another man, one whose extreme skinniness and extreme height made him look like a beanpole, distracted Jamie.

'Oi, Jamie you complete bastard, you owe me at least one magnum.'

Raising his arms in the air in a 'come and get it' gesture, Jamie retorted, 'You haven’t won the bet mate. It’s still one all.' And they went off, presumably to settle the wager.

Binky and Darcy continued to introduce her around the room, where titles seemed as abundant as the freely flowing alcohol. A rowdy poker game was going on in the corner and what appeared to be a small impromptu band made up of several minor rock stars had come together in another, providing background music for a litany of mind boggling conversations. Amy also thought she saw people snorting something, but she dismissed this. Surely she was just imagining that. Though it would explain why everyone was so uncharacteristically energised.

'So there we were in Mustique, when who did we hear was in the next villa?' one girl was saying loudly.

'Glasto was a blast,' another crowed. 'Did you stay at the house? I didn’t see you.'

'I was saying to Petra just the other day-' Amy could hear from elsewhere.

Sitting in a cluster of sunken chairs and bean bags, Amy was quietly taking it all in. It was like discovering another world within a world. Like Alice down the rabbit hole, just with champagne rather than tea.  And perhaps it would have been Lady Alice. Just then, a shadow fell over her.

'Amy.' The cold voice above her was unmistakeable. Now on her second glass of champagne and having failed to find any food, Amy was feeling less than sharp.

'Olivia, how are you?' she tried to sit up from her very relaxed position. She felt quite vulnerable sitting so reclined while Olivia towered over her.

'What a surprise. Don’t you look-' she paused here as if lost for words. 'Happy.' Olivia herself looked far from happy to see her. Her broad jaw was visibly clenched and there was a fiery glint in her eyes. But then the gleam shifted, the menace replaced by something akin to mischief. Amy thought it was like seeing a lightbulb appear over Olivia's head.
Ping
. An idea.

'Amy, have you met the Honourable Elizabeth Hinford-Smith?' Reaching out a red talonned hand which Amy took robotically and used to help her stand clumsily, Olivia pushed her towards a bird-like girl whose features all seamed at acute angles. Even her mousy brown hair had a pointy quality in its severe bob.

Amy greeted a slightly flustered Elizabeth who soon went on her way again. Once out of earshot, Olivia leaned over so close that Amy was almost choking on her perfume. She whispered to Amy confidentially. 'Poor girl. Supposed to marry Harry you know. One of a line of girls actually. Ugly as sin of course, but her father
is
a Duke.' Olivia was clearly warming to her subject.

'Lady Andrea was just desperate for him to marry the right sort of girl. She knew it would make things so much cleaner for him in society. What with his father’s title being for banking and all. And not hereditary.' Olivia made it sound like having a non-hereditary title was akin to having leprosy. 'Andrea lined up girl after girl after girl. I do believe the final match was all but announced, though I’m not sure who she was.' She shook her head and tutted. 'But then he married you.' Her voice and smile were bright and jarring, like a newly popped up Jack-in-the-box.

The music and accompanying noise suddenly seemed very loud as Amy struggled to understand what Olivia was saying.

'What do you mean?'

'Oh I wouldn’t like to say. Not my bag darling. You’ll have to ask him.' She was the picture of discretion.

Amy looked over to where Elizabeth was chatting to a rat-like man, his nose diving in just as a snout would explore an errant crumb as he sipped his red wine. Harry had never told her about his ex-girlfriends. She had always assumed this was for her own benefit. Maybe he considered it ungentlemanly to do so. But now she was curious to find out more. And, whilst she had been feeling the buzz of the alcohol, of the evening, Olivia’s revelation quickly brought her down to earth.

Yet she couldn’t help but feel like a puppet on a string when, in the chauffeured car on the way home – their own car was being brought back by another driver – she asked him about it.

'Lizzy?' Harry seemed annoyed at the mention of her. 'We went out for a bit at uni. It was mummy who was set on the match.'

'But you didn’t want to marry her?'

'Did you want to marry every guy you went out with before you met me?'

Amy laughed, this answer putting her at ease. It had been a fairly stupid question. Just because he’d been out with someone it didn’t mean anything. She had let Olivia make her paranoid. She searched for a way to lighten the mood.

'Admirable avoidance of the question, sir. Touché.'

But instead of laughing along, Harry turned to her with abrupt irritation. 'What’s this all about? I didn’t marry her I married you so what’s the problem?'

Stunned by the ire in his response, Amy sat in silence. She wanted to know about the 'final match' Olivia had mentioned, but looking at the thunder in Harry’s eyes she knew she couldn’t push him any further. She considered asking Giselle, but that felt like a betrayal. Like airing their dirty laundry.

'Where were you anyway? You only turned up at the end. I don’t expect you to disappear like that.'

'Just with a couple of the girls from the Society,' she said breezily, looking out of the window. It’s ok for you to wander off without explanation, but I practically have to wear a tracking device, she thought angrily. 

The only sound that could be heard for the rest of the journey was the swish of other cars as they passed by.

***

As Amy parked outside her parents' house the next morning she was struck, as always, with the prettiness and serenity of her childhood home. The neo-Georgian façade with its large windows and perfect brickwork stood beautifully on the road of identical houses, each with perfectly manicured lawns and driveways, carefully pruned topiary peppered here and there.

She got out of her car and walked to the white door with its columned porch where, after ringing the bell, she heard the familiar sound of her mum’s decisive footsteps.

'Amy!' Her mother stood in the doorway, arms open, a welcoming smile spread on her face. In dark grey linen trousers, a scoop-neck white top and loose beige cardigan covering her tall, slim frame, Clara Harris looked the epitome of over fifties chic. Her blond hair was cut in a short, yet feminine style and her makeup was understated. She definitely didn’t look like a grandmother of three. People had often struggled to reconcile Clara’s light complexion and long trim frame with her younger daughter’s dark hair and petite, curvier body. She had her mother’s pale skin, but it was Julia with her long limbs and long blond hair that was the spitting image of their mother.