‘How do you know them?’
He waves a hand dismissively. ‘Business. Seb’s done his fair share of events here. And Allegra and I used to see them socially.’
Did they, now? ‘Will there be celebrities there, then?’
‘Probably. They have a pretty loyal fan base.’
‘Do you know what the dress code is?’ I’ve been low-level stressing about this since I looked up Sorrel Farm last night, and that stress is rapidly rising.
He frowns. ‘From memory, it’s outdoors first and then indoors for food. So a smart dress, but wrap up warm. And wear boots. That okay?’
‘That’s fine,’ I squeak. Great. That sounds like two totally different events with separate clothing requirements.
Fuck.
I’ll have to wear my old but safe black wrap dress, probably. Unless one of my flatmates has something better. I’ll figure it out.
Bea and I spend the afternoon at The Playroom, using acrylic pens and tiny star stickers on old jars to create festive tea light holders. Bea does a great job. Her jar is so pretty. She definitely has artistic flair. At five o’clock, just as I’m thinking about getting her upstairs to tidy up before tea, I have a text from Miles.
How soon can you get back to the room? There’s someone I want you to meet.
Hmm. I type back.
Up in five.
My curiosity is piqued. But when I open the door to the penthouse, I’m unprepared to see Miles standing in the middle of the living room, holding a glass of champagne. He looks as animated as I’ve ever seen him, probably because he’s talking to the most immaculate blonde.
She’s dressed head to toe in cream silk, and her platinum hair is coiffed to perfection. She’s like a creature from another era, and she’sstunning. Miles says something to her and she throws her head back and laughs. She’s vaguely familiar. Is Miles dating her? Is shefamous?
I’m aware of a flush coming up my body. I stand there like an idiot for a second before the woman turns and throws us a dazzling smile, opening her arms.
‘Bea!’ she says. ‘Come here! Justlookat you!’
And Bea runs into them for a hug.
Miles is still grinning. ‘Saoirse. Meet a very old friend of mine, Astrid Carmichael. Astrid, this is our nanny, Saoirse.’
Oh. Of course. She’s Astrid Carmichael, the fashion designer. I follow her on Instagram. She’s amazing, and right now she’s every inch the face of her luxury brand.
Another of Miles’ friends? Dear God.
But as Astrid comes to shake my hand, I’m practically blinded by the flash of diamonds on her fingers. Oh, good. They look like engagement rings. Wedding rings.
‘I asked Astrid to come over.’ Miles sticks his hand in his pocket. ‘I. Um. I hope you don’t mind, but I didn’t want you worrying about the dress code for tomorrow. You seemed a little stressed about it earlier. I thought maybe you could borrow a sample from Astrid.’
A sample? From Astrid Carmichael’s collection of zillion-pound dresses? Oh, shit. I back away.
‘Oh, no. Oh, no. You don’t need to do that. Honestly. It sounds like it’s going to be muddy, and…’
‘Don’t stress.’ Astrid puts her glass down on the coffee table. ‘They’re samples. They hang on a rail in my studio, being ignored. It’s no hardship for me to have someone who looks like you walking around in my dresses.’
Someone who looks like me?
Astrid turns, and I become aware that there are some bulky black garment bags lying on the sofa.
‘You were so right, Miles. Scarlet is the perfect colour for her. She isgorgeous.’
Miles told Astrid that scarlet would suit me? This is getting weirder and weirder. I turn and gape at him.
