My energy levels match my enthusiasm for attending this dinner, with all the predatory eyes I know will come with it. Gregory takes himself to the shower whilst I set about fixing my hair and finishing my make-up. I slip into a black lace thong and strapless bra then ponder how the devil I will get this Diane von Furstenberg over my head and face without unravelling everything I’ve just fixed.
I’m grateful that Gregory is tucked in the bathroom as I fumble my way, not at all gracefully, into my one-shoulder gown. I adjust the one long sleeve at the wrist, untwisting it all the way up to my shoulder. The gown hugs every curve of my body, the front sweeping the floor even in my heels, the back trailing slightly. I touch up my red lips and spray myself in Coco Mademoiselle, then carry out a final once-over in the floor-length mirror.
‘You look unbelievable.’ He’s leaning against the doorframe, his hair slicked back, his three-piece dinner suit impeccable. He quite literally takes my breath away. We stay locked in a heated stare until my lungs cry out for oxygen.
‘Shall we go?’ He lifts an elbow for me to slide an armthrough and leads me from the room, his strength preventing my trembling legs from giving way beneath me.
The whispers and scrutinising eyes of both men and women are even more uncomfortable than I’ve been imagining they would be. There’re more people for dinner than were here this morning: at least eighty, maybe more. As we walk into the grand reception room, we’re presented with a tray of full champagne flutes. Gregory releases my arm to take two glasses, giving me a chance to absorb the majesty of the old room. Red satin drapes across the large, arched windows, drawn back in the middle by gold rope ties. A concert harpist is playing an almost gothic melody as the log fire roars beside her. Whilst most people stand in their finery, snacking on canapés and sipping champagne, I see Florence talking to a silver-haired man with a matching beard and moustache, a hefty middle, both sitting on tall, wooden thrones. The thrones are upholstered in thick, red linen and match variations of the same chairs scattered around the perimeter of the room. I’m handed a glass of champagne on a reassuring smile before Charlotte and Williams make their way towards us. We have a chance to quickly exchange greetings and gush about dresses before the Duke and Duchess are announced to the room. The poor Duchess really looks beautiful in her royal-blue two piece but she shuffles in clear discomfort. The Duke guides her subtly by the elbow, bending his lanky frame a little to give her support. He thanks the hunt for returning for a fifty-third consecutive year, reminisces about tales of his father, then on completion of his speech, announces dinner.
We make our way into another, even grander – if that’s possible – room. A nudge in my side knocks me into Gregory. His arm flies up protectively and I lean into him, thrilled that Stella is scowling.
‘Ever so sorry, Sarah.’
‘Scarlett,’ Gregory growls at her, a reaction that pleases me immensely. She flashes my delectable gentleman a dazzling smile that isn’t returned, then narrows her focus on me before continuing her strut to her table.
I’m relieved to be perched between Gregory and Williams for dinner. After the Duke says grace for the room, game terrine is placed in front of me. I spread a thick layer over my oat cakes and waste no time settling it into my empty stomach. It really is scrumptious.
‘Good?’ Gregory asks.
‘Delicious,’ I say, after clearing my mouth.
He’s stolen away from me during our main course to indulge another affected woman in conversation. This one is Adriana, the pretty and much younger wife of Francis, the private equity investor Gregory seemed to dislike when he introduced us in the Shard. Francis studies me a little too closely as I eat my venison, whilst Adriana throws her head back on a fake laugh and touches Gregory anywhere she can reach despite the fact he hasn’t said anything funny.
By the time my crème brûlée arrives, I’m too full to even attempt it. Gregory’s now in a business conversation with Francis but Adriana’s hungry eyes continue to watch him. I’m beyond fed up.
A different loud, flirtatious laugh makes me lift my focus from the piece of thread I’m playing with on the table. Charlotte is clearly tipsy and behaving as though she’s overly interested in a middle-aged man who’s admittedly quite handsome in a silvering fox kind of way but far too old for her. It’s actually a little creepy if I’m honest, the way he’s touching her hair and feigning interest in a story about her watch, which she got forher eighteenth birthday. That it was just three years ago doesn’t seem to faze him.
‘Want to get some air?’ Williams is leaning in, his hushed tone for only my ears. He seems as truly pissed off as I am.
‘Love to,’ I admit with the first genuine smile I’ve offered this evening.
As I make to stand from the table, Gregory’s hand clamps around my wrist, his face filled with concern. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes.’ My tone is sharper than I intend. I force my lips into a soft smile for the other eyes around the table but speak through my teeth. ‘I’m fine. I’m going to get some air with Williams.’
‘I’ll come out in five minutes.’
‘No rush.’ And I mean it. He’s ignored me long enough; why change his attitude now? Christ, he has me up and down like a yo-yo. One minute, I’m high on life and him, feeling like I have everything I’ll ever need and want. The next, the possibility of a break, an opportunity to get my head straight in Dubai, doesn’t seem like a bad idea. But I’m afraid. Afraid of what I could lose if I go. Those highs. My reason. My sanity. The reality that we’re on day seven of the countdown to the ballistics report comes crashing to me. We’re on borrowed time until those findings.
‘How do you stand this every year?’ I ask Williams.
The cold air feels nice on my hot, irritable skin.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on the wall of the veranda. ‘It drives me half-insane but we’ve got some good business contacts here.’
‘Charlotte’s sweet.’ I fold my arms across my chest, the cold beginning to bite.
He shakes his head then drops it to look at his feet. ‘She’s the reason I’m out here.’
‘The flirting?’
‘I don’t know what’s got into her this last year or so. It’s like she’s found sex.’
I smirk, knowing the feeling.
‘I was going to bring Amanda,’ he says, flicking a questioning eye to me. ‘I didn’t want to bring Charlotte after last year.’
I don’t know which statement to respond to first. I want to dig a little about my best friend and what happened last year sounds quite intriguing too. I resolve to tackle both. ‘What happened last year?’
