“Imp… impressive,” I stutter, losing all the assurance I had up to a second ago.
And I don’t know if my ‘impressive’ referred to the ballroom or to Ashford; the more I think about it, the more I doubt I was referring to the ballroom.
“It’s not an amusement park, though.” Ashford sounds as if he were apologising for that.
“I’ve been to a lot of amusement parks, I won’t miss them this year. But I’ve never had a ball of my own.”
Ashford offers me his elbow and leads me towards the entrance where the guests are starting to gather; my heart rate accelerates. “It might disappoint you to find out that this ball is my mother’s, rather than yours. She decided to bury the hatchet and use you as a battering ram to penetrate into the Royal Family.”
Before I can say anything, my parents join us; they’re dressed to impress, and I’ve never seen them like this before. My mother is all jaunty. “Hey cutie, look at us! I haven’t been this dolled up since my eighteenth birthday!”
“You look amazing, Carly,” Ashford says.
Well, I can’t deny that, although she’s approaching sixty, my mother still sports a remarkable body, probably thanks to her healthy diet and all the yoga she practices.
“Guess who’s coming to your birthday party?” Dad cuts in.
“Who?” I ask.
“Yes, who?” echoes Delphina, in her usual ice cold tone of voice.
“Amjad!” My parents announce in unison.
“Are you serious?!” I shout, surprised.
“Aye, he was passing through town, so he gave us a phone call and we happened to tell him it was your birthday. You were ten the last time he saw you and, since he wanted to wish you a happy birthday, we told him to stop by at Denby Hall.”
I’m amazed. “That’s awesome!”
Delphina doesn’t seem to agree and asks: “Would you be so kind as to tell me who Amjad is?”
“He’s an old friend of my parents, from the days of the commune in Wadi Jalal.”
“He’s got a natural talent for playing thesantoorand his falafels are pure magic,” my father adds.
“Is he coming here now?” Delphina starts getting nervous.
“He was in London an hour ago, I’d say that he’ll be here any minute. He’s with his brother Mansour!” My mother informs us.
“We invited very select few guests exclusively, everything was arranged with surgical precision. Ashford, we can’t let a Bedouin tribe ruin everything!”
Lance approaches our group with his usual impassive expression. “Lady Delphina, we have just received a call from the orchestra. Their bus suffered an engine meltdown near Winchester, therefore they won’t be able to join us.”
“You know, mother, I reckon that the Pears’ friends are the least of your problems.” Ashford looks more amused than worried.
“Margaret!” shouts Delphina while walking away. “My smelling salts!”
“Don’t worry. Your friends will be more than welcome tonight,” Ashford reassures us.
The guests are arriving one after the other, so Ashford and I wait for them at the door. As I receive their birthday wishes, Lance and the other servants are busy distributing lots of champagne, hoping to make the lack of an orchestra go unnoticed.
“It will be a disaster,” says Delphina appearing behind us as we’re welcoming the Davenports. “I called every orchestra in London, but none are available. We must cancel the evening.”
“Mother, that’s impossible, can’t you see that the hall is already full of guests? If you’re looking for a disaster you can send one hundred and fifty people home,” Ashford replies through clenched teeth. “That gentleman over there looks like Neville, why don’t you send him home first!”
“What in the name of God are those?” Asks Delphina, indicating the driveway.
Ten shiny black Maybachs with flags on their bonnets are pulling up outside. As they draw to a halt, just as many uniformed valets prepare to open the car doors and escort a group of elegant and exotically dressed people towards us.
