‘No sign of Bowling Ball.’
‘Police?’
I look again. The few people passing by are the sort of poshos you get on the King’s Road at 10.30 on a Friday morning – trim, bored women click-clacking along, the occasional traffic warden.
‘We’re good.’
‘All right.’ Em opens the door and pops out. ‘Let’s find the Widow Harcourt.’
Charli’s friend Guggy’s new place is calledtrust, and it’s mobbed. I’m a bit surprised the opening is on a weekday morning – do none of these people have jobs? That’s unfair, I suppose, as my own job isn’t exactly office-based either. But the bar in the far corner is rammed and the volume is high. It doesn’t exactly scream ‘wellness’.
trustis … all right, I was going to say ‘ridiculous’, andthat’s not fair, because I have no idea by what standards these places are judged. But it’s certainly alot. The door from the street opens into the shop bit, the ‘newtique’. At the back of the room there’s a door that must lead to the rebirthing/tweakment rooms, with the wordstrust your selfin lime neon above it. The newtique is the sort of place where an entire table is devoted to a small black clutch bag, and if you turn over a price label it just reads ‘no’. The whole enterprise is in a converted King’s Road townhouse which clearly has no idea what’s hit it.
We had prepared an elaborate story for how to get in, but I think Em’s a bit disappointed when we realise nobody is checking names on the door. That would be a bit déclassé – the guests at these parties function as white blood cells, which can simply tell when someone’s not meant to be there. I may be a born liar, but even I find myself uncomfortable around people who are this confident.
Actually, I’m wrong. There is a clipboard, the unmistakable spoor of some poor twenty-year-old intern, but it has been abandoned. Em picks it up, ticks off two random names, and we head into the party.
I’ve decided to lean back and let Em run this. And I’m annoyed to find out she does exactly what I would have done. She is about to ace Rule 19:Lean in to whatever you think you should avoid. If you’re trying to get in somewhere and the neighbours have just spotted you, don’t skulk, go and introduce yourself. Stick your head into the lion’s mouth, and if you’re holding a dental mirror it will obediently say ‘aah’. Inshort: allay suspicion by courting it, and Em is doing her bit by sweeping the room for our hostess. After a minute she murmurs to me, ‘Bingo.’
‘Guggy’ is the place’s owner. I looked her up after seeing Charli’s post, and as far as I can tell, she’s a kind of ultra-blue-blood fashionista, the kind of old-school Cruella who used to be big in the nineties and whose tribe are now clinging to shreds of their former terrain after the rest of the world realised the money was good and muscled in, armed with confidence and cocaine.
Em approaches all six foot two of her and shouts up: ‘Guggy! My God, it’s been too long. Tiff, remember? I was on the travel desk atSnatchmagazine. Polly mentioned it, and then I heard Adrienne was coming and I just couldn’t resist. I hope you don’t mind?’ I should have guessed after her performance at Davy’s flat yesterday, but I had no idea how good Em would be at this. Rule 15:Don’t have one reference, have three.‘Who’s this?’ She caresses the upper arm of Guggy’s dress.
‘It’s Alok.’
‘LoveAlok. I haven’t seen him for ages.’
‘Well, he died two years ago. This is from his Posthumous collection.’
Em doesn’t flinch. ‘Mm.Tooawful.’
‘And who’sthis?’ Guggy is looking at me. I am suddenly aware how shabby I appear compared with most of the other men present.
‘This is Dom. Well, he’s more of a sub, actually.’ Em givesa little musical laugh. ‘My assistant. Dom, coat.’ She gestures to her shoulders, and I take her coat, while she pays me – and this is exactly how she should behave – no attention whatsoever. Having worked out my status here (zero), Guggy disregards me too, meaning I’m free to look around as Em continues. ‘Now. I need to know. Have you seen Charli Harcourt?’
‘She’s in there somewhere.’ Guggy sweeps a claw across the crowd.
‘Soawfulabout her husband. Just tragic.’
‘Ex-husband. But yes. Terrible. And shehateswearing black.’
‘She’s not doing that, is she? I mean … black? For an ex?’
‘Oh, they still saw a lot of each other. That’s co-parenting for you. She was despairing of him the other week. Said he was like a wardrobe that’s too ugly to look at but too big to get out of the house.’Interesting. ‘Still, it was bound to happen one day.’
Em leans in. ‘Really? Why’s that?’
‘Well, he was involved in all that … Ricca, you angel!’ Guggy breaks off as another guest – a woman who appears to be half puma – arrives behind us. ‘Get yourself a drink. Andbuy something!’
We melt into the crowd, and Em murmurs: ‘Well done, Dom. Mind that coat.’ I’m both impressed and annoyed at how impressed I am. What the hell was Davy involved in? We won’t get another chance to chat to Guggy now.
As we go, I try to take a little bit from the snatches of conversation all around me:
‘The guys in R&D keep telling us skiing as an industry is effectively defunct due to this climate nonsense, so we’re diversifying to beachwear. No, I know it’s all a hoax, but …’
‘… been trading about three months now. Our backer is Mac, do you know him? He’s my uncle, but only by marriage, so it’s all above …’
‘… one of the bigger islands. What was it called? Oh, I’m so annoyed, it’s on the tip of my tongue. Whatwasits name? Anyway, the hotel was gorgeous, so we didn’t see much of the …’
