There was a static click as Vlad acquiesced.
They landed without incident and Stella got to enjoy her ‘hero-in-emergency’ moment as she jumped down from the helicopter, bag in hand, ducking away from the still rotating blades as she rushed to the emergency. The emergency in this case was a tall butler who awaited them in the doorway of the conservatory with a tray of champagne.
‘With the compliments of Mr Eastman. He will join you shortly.’
Stella could not help laughing. His accent was clearly supposed to be English, but his elongation of the vowels was very hammy. She took a glass.
‘Cheers, Jeeves. You might want to check those flies.’
She looked down and his eyes followed hers. They all laughed, except Ana, who apologised.
A set of bamboo sofas filled the conservatory and they sat and waited for Freddie.
‘Nervous, Dix?’ asked Stella provocatively.
‘Not a bit. You’d better like him or you’ll be walking back to Manhattan.’
Stella laughed. She knew Dixie was bluffing. She was looking forward to meeting him. Anyone who could make Dixie this nervous had to have something about him.
When he appeared she was not disappointed. Well over six feet with an easy charm, a firm handshake, a large, dry hand.
‘My pleasure,’ said Stella, gripping his hand and pulling him a little closer so she could look up at him. ‘I’m Stella. I don’t bite unless it’s midnight.’ She winked.
‘Of course, I’ve heard all about you.’
‘All? You haven’t, I promise.’
He was attentive and charming to each of them, but with Dixie he was admirable. Stella witnessed a mutual respect that excited her (for Dixie, of course).
‘I hope you don’t mind, Ana,’ he said, ‘but I made sure your champagne was alcohol-free.’
‘How? Oh. Thank you,’ said Ana looking around, a little embarrassed.
Shit, thought Stella, if the sharing of that secret embarrassed her, she was going to implode when she saw what Dixie had arranged for her later!
‘Follow me,’ said Freddie. ‘I can’t wait for you to meet my family.’
They headed into the centre of the house where more drinks were being served. Stella was tottering slightly in Dixie and Ana’s wake as they entered a busy room with a high ceiling. She stopped and looked around in awe and envy. Wow, she thought, I remember these days! This was like the old days when she got to go to the best parties in town, back when she rubbed shoulders with celebrities on a daily basis, living on Bollinger and canapés, a regular in 3 a.m. columns, and frequently and knowingly tagged as ‘overtired and emotional’. She’d left behind all the glamour and glitz that she’d taken for granted, and then quickly forgotten how it felt in the sleepless nights and shitty nappies that followed. She’d certainly never imagined she would be trapped in South London with a gambling, lying bastard of a husband. There was so much more to life than the little world she was living in, and Coco was a part of that realisation. She might have two kids, but she still had many options and no one was going to walk over her ambition. No one. No more. Something in her had switched. She felt like she had years of life to catch up on, all in one night, and an enormous future ahead of her. She’d show Jake.
‘Stella, are you with us?’ shouted Dixie, looking back. ‘Come on!’
‘Yes, out of the way,’ she said, as she grabbed another glass from a tray. She was already feeling a bit light-headed, and there was a tiny little voice in her head wondering if she should look for something to eat, just to line her stomach, but there was a much louder voice which was actually shouting out of her mouth ‘Beyoncé! All the Single Ladies!’ and without a second’s hesitation, she was dancing, hands on knees, crumping like it was carnival. In her mind at least, she was the spitting image of Beyoncé. There may be a few extra pounds hanging around, but fundamentally the move was identi-equivalent. She was just starting to really feel her rhythm, when she felt a hand on her arm. It was Ana saying, ‘Erm, party girl, looks like the dancing hasn’t quite kicked off yet, shall we go and do some mingling?’
Ana guided her towards the house as onlookers watched. Stella noticed for the first time that no one else was dancing. Not that she really cared, had anyone really even noticed? Who were these losers anyway?
‘I was just warming up, you know, getting ready for later. Just checking I still had the moves, you know…’
‘Sure,’ said Ana patiently. ‘So, who do you fancy approaching? Do you remember when we were younger we used to each pick out someone we wanted to talk to, guess what they did, if they were single or not, and who their partners might be… So, what about those two women over there?’
Stella gave Ana a suspicious look. ‘We’re looking at women now, are we? Has there been some change? Something you want to say?’
‘No, what do you mean?’ Ana smirked, perhaps knowingly. ‘No! They look interesting. They are stylish, look like they could own this place. Have they just met or are they old friends? What do they know about Freddie? Who are their men? Come on, we can’t just get pissed and dance. What would Dixie think!’
And they both belly-laughed.
‘Come on,’ said Ana and dragged her over to the two women.
Stella could see they’d both been hitting the botox pretty hard. They looked very serious. The tall blonde tried to smile, but only succeeded in revealing her lower teeth, which looked like milk teeth. Laughing and smiling were clearly not their thing. As they approached, Stella saw that everything from their freshly highlighted hair, to their tight glowing skin and immaculate manicures shouted expense… and age. They stood like waxworks, either in their late thirties and badly damaged by shoddy cosmetic work, or in their late fifties and shockingly preserved. The short, dark-haired one was wearing a silver couture Chanel that Stella estimated at over $10,000, topped off with a diamond tiara. A little OTT. Stella was irritated, and thought a little less of Freddie if this was the company he kept. These were not Dixie’s people. Although she was flouncing around in her off-the-peg red Gucci like it was made-to-measure, so maybe you never really know anyone? Stella only had to look at her own life to realise that.
As they neared them, Ana reached out her hand and said, ‘Hi, we just wanted to introduce ourselves. We are friends of Dixie’s and we don’t really know anyone here tonight. I am Ana and this is Stella, so, yeah, hi!’
‘Dixie?’ said one of the women in a strong Southern accent, ‘I’m sorry, should we know her?’
‘Well, you would think so,’ blurted Stella, ‘she’s the birthday boy’s girlfriend. She pretty much lives with him here in New York.’
She tried to shake a gnarled and liver-spotted hand that felt like a piece of taxidermy, but struggled – it was too cold and brittle. She did a catch-and-release and then warmed her hand against her side as subtly as she could. She now knew how it would feel to shake hands with the dead.
‘Oh,’ replied the tall blonde with half a sneer, in a slow, considered way, ‘Oh that’s who she is.’ This did nothing to endear her to Stella. She found herself staring at the woman’s forehead and mouth in fascination. In fact she might have got too close as they both took a step backwards.