Pierre starts turning me around. “At least the base is good, I have something to work on. If she had been fat, I would have refusedtout de suite.”
“Cécile, your tailor looks a little unstable,” I remark.
“He’s not my tailor,” my friend replies.
“So why am I standing here being insulted by a stranger?” I ask, forcing myself to remain calm.
Cécile comes closer and takes my hands. “Remember our talk the other day? Don’t get angry, I just took the liberty of calling Pierre. He owns one of the most exclusive salons in Paris and he’s a real genius with hairstyles and make-up. You won’t regret it. If you don’t like the result, I promise that you’ll have your pink hair and your six mile long green nails back,” she smiles hopefully.
I look at Cécile, then Pierre and Cécile again. “This is on you, though.”
“With much pleasure!” She claps her hands enthusiastically, jumping up and down.
*
It’s evening by the time I’m ready to put on a spectacular dress, and I notice an unbelievable number of missed calls from Ashford, concluded by a cold text message that reads: ‘I’m already at the ball, you’re on your own.’ Of course I am, dear Ashford, as usual. I have long since realised that I’m the Prince Charming in this story.
50
Ashford’s Version
Neville Manor is crowded with guests wearing the most astonishing masks. My mother is as euphoric as I haven’t seen her in years: she has never been invited by the duke before and she can’t believe what she sees. She came back from Bath just to boast about this. Luckily, I lost track of her a moment after she arrived and joined all the other shrews dressed up as Elizabeth I. You can see them from a mile away: red wigs, three layers of white greasepaint, ruffs around their necks and skirts of gigantic dimensions. Needless to say, the men are divided into two teams: Henry VIII, thin version and Henry VIII, fat version. The fat version, for obvious reasons, has got many more adherents.
These parties are so predictable.
In contrast, given my lack of inspiration for a complicated costume, I opted for the Phantom of the Opera: white mask on half of my face, morning coat and red lined cape. Simple and handy.
“Who the fuck are you? Batman?” Harring takes me by surprise. How do I know it’s Harring? Because he’s dressed as himself, in his Formula One uniform and helmet.
“I’m the Phantom of the Opera,” I explain.
“You only have half a mask, do you know that?” He asks, pointing at my face.
“Yes, that’s part of the costume. And you? It’s not carnival, it’s supposed to be an elegant evening. Didn’t you know?”
“Yes, but then I thought: hey, I’m a legend, I’ll wear my uniform and helmet!”
“Admit it, you forgot it was a costume evening and you put on the first thing you found,” I say, cutting things short.
“Yes, that’s it,” he admits, lowering his voice and then changing the subject. “Hey, are you alone tonight?”
“So it seems. Jemma vanished in the early afternoon to go visit that Loxley freak, and I haven’t seen her since.”
“Wow, sleepover party for girls only!” He says enthusiastically. “What are we doing here? Let’s go and join them.”
“In your twisted mind you probably picture them in a pillow fight, wearing sexy underwear on a bed with goose feathers floating around, right? Well, those two are witches, and if they get their claws into us it’s more than likely that we will get our balls cut off during one of the their Satanic Sabbaths. No sleepover, my friend!”
“Ashford, tell me why you feel the need to destroy my fantasies every single time.”
“If you tell me why your fantasies include Cécile Loxley more and more often.”
“It must be the aspirin I took with a Margarita earlier on. Three Margaritas.”
“The thing is, if Jemma doesn’t show up, I won’t be forgiven. For some strange reason, His Grace the Royal Duke finds her adorable, and has expressly requested her presence at this evening, but where is she? As usual, she left on her own, saying nothing to anyone, and now I’m here pretending she’s gone to the toilet.”
“You’re being paranoid. Shall I get you some champagne? It will help you relax.”
“A whole bottle, thank you.”
