‘Oh my God!’ she exclaimed, wide-eyed, hand to chest, just like she had rehearsed in the car, looking at the crowd of beaming faces. ‘What? How …? You guys!’
A live band started playing as Felix stepped forward and slapped a kiss on her cheek. ‘Happy birthday, baby sister!’ He wore a tux shirt, but his sleeves were rolled up and his bowtie hung untied around his neck as though he was on his way home from an all-nighter. His long blond hair was tied back in a ponytail. Somehow, he pulled it off. He pushed a glass of bubbles into her hand.
‘Thanks, Felix.’ She clinked her glass against his, then turned to the friends who were waiting to greet her.
‘Darling!’ Nadia Westerway air-kissed Issy’s cheeks then took her hand to twirl her around. ‘Stunning! Prada?’ She put an arm around Issy’s tiny waist and pulled her in close, holding her phone aloft. ‘Smile!’ she said, snapping a series of selfies in rapid succession.
Released from Nadia’s hold, Issy spotted her father’s head above the crowd by the bar and squeezed her way through, nodding to acknowledge the birthday wishes bestowed as she passed.
‘Look at this gorgeous creature!’ Malcolm said as she reached him.
She dipped her head coyly. ‘Hi, Daddy.’ Even in heels, she had to stretch up on her tiptoes to kiss him.
Her mother stood beside him, impeccably dressed in emerald-green Carolina Herrera. ‘Happy birthday, Isobel,’ Heather said, aloof as always. She leaned in for a quick embrace with a waft of hairspray and Chanel No. 5. ‘Although there must have been some sort of mistake. You can’t possibly be thirty!’
Issy’s birthday was always confronting for her mother, who had been almost forty when Issy was born. Heather seemed to view it as an annual insult, reminding her of her encroaching age. She would be seventy in the new year, although she looked a decade younger, thanks to exceptional cheekbones and subtle three-monthly cosmetic procedures.
Spencer stood behind them, with Helen by his side. ‘Isobel,’ he said with a businesslike nod. Still pissed, clearly. Helen wore a navy suit and sensible mid-rise heels, as though she was going to court rather than a party.
‘Did the girls come?’ Issy asked Helen, deciding to ignore Spencer altogether.
Helen shook her head. ‘Daisy’s still out celebrating the end of her HSC, although given she barely opened a textbook, I’m not convinced such protracted celebrations are justified.’ Issy’s oldest niece aspired to a career as an influencer. She’d already used the Ashworth name to amass a strong following on TikTok, so she didn’t see the need for a university degree, much to her mother’s horror. ‘And Olivia’s on an immersion program in Vanuatu, building mud huts for poor people. Honestly, the things these schools do these days. It’s just fabulous.’
‘Avruga caviar and crème fraîche?’ A rotund waiter offered a tray of tiny spoons to the group. Spencer and Helen took one as Felix and Hugh joined them.
‘I’m good, thanks,’ Felix said, glancing at the tray with one eyebrow raised. ‘Can you send over the real food?’
‘It’s quite a party,’ Heather said. ‘Are you sure you had nothing to do with it, Isobel? It’s got your stamp all over it.’
‘Who me?’ Issy said. ‘Of course not! It was all Hugh. I knew nothing about it.’
The look in Heather’s eyes suggested she didn’t believe a word.
Felix spotted a waitress with a tray of arancini. ‘Ah, this is the good stuff!’ He waved her over and put one in his mouth, then took another. ‘Keep it coming,’ he said with a wink.
Malcolm gestured for a middle-aged man to join them. ‘Derek! Come and meet my daughter.’
Issy recognised the man’s jowly face but couldn’t place him.
He extended a hand. ‘Derek Palmer. Happy birthday.’
‘Lovely to meet you,’ Issy said.
‘Congratulations on the election,’ Spencer said, shaking Derek’s hand. ‘It was a landslide!’
Ah, a politician. Invited by Malcolm. Or Spencer. They never missed an opportunity to leverage a family event for business purposes.
It must have been about nine o’clock when the music stopped and the ding, ding, ding of a knife on a wine glass cut through the room. Issy looked up to see Hugh standing at the lead singer’s microphone. A chill went down her spine. Speeches were not part of her plan.
Hugh tapped the microphone and cleared his throat as the last of the chatter dwindled to silence.
‘Can I ask the beautiful Isobel Ashworth to join me?’ he said, eyes scanning the room for her.
Heads swung in Issy’s direction. She swallowed, suddenly nervous.
‘Come on, baby,’ Hugh said. ‘I have something I need to ask you.’
‘Wooo hooo!’ someone hooted.
