The high society season is almost over, but tonight we are invited to the umpteenth event: a light installation in the Kew Gardens conservatory.
I phoned Cécile to ask what she would wear, and ask her for advice on what I could wear, but she didn’t sound very interested and simply said that she wouldn’t even be there. She’s been rather distracted lately, but her mood swings are one her distinctive features, so I don’t ask myself too many questions.
A few months ago, knowing that she wouldn’t be there to keep me company in the snake pit would have really upset me, but it’s no longer like that.
Then, I spent my time avoiding Ashford, but now I’m really attracted by the idea of spending the whole evening on his arm.
*
The Kew Gardens are stunning, look at all these colourful plants under the glass domes! I’ve spent my whole life in London, but I admit I’ve never been here before. With my eyes wide open, I try and capture every detail, every petal, every shade.
“You’re radiant tonight,” Ashford whispers.
“You’re seeing me in a different way,” I reply.
“Maybe, but you’re shining.”
“Like radioactive waste?”
“Stop teasing me, you know I can bite if I have to.”
“I wanted to make sure you haven’t lost your edge.”
Ashford comes close to my ear with his lips and whispers: “I’ll show you later,” and he touches my ear lobe lightly with his teeth.
I freeze, seeing a familiar profile. I’ve seen her only once, but that face is carved in my mind.
“Portia. There’s Portia, over there,” I announce in a flat tone while nodding towards her.
As if she had perceived my attention, Portia turns towards us. She’s on the other side of the conservatory, behind exotic bushes, yet she returns my look with a smile which cuts like a blade.
“There’s no reason to be so tense,” Ashford whispers.
“Mmm,” I groan, unconvinced.
“It is inevitable that we will meet her at these events, but you don’t have to hang around with her.”
“Do we have to stay here for long?” I ask, struggling to ignore that glacial look.
“No, Jemma. We can go back to Denby whenever you want,” he replies, understandingly.
76
Ashford’s Version
“And so, she was petrified when she saw her.” I’m in the stables at the polo club and, as I prepare my horse for the final match, I tell Harring about the evening at Kew Gardens.
“I can’t blame her. Portia has an extraordinary power to turn people into stone with a single look, like Medusa.”
“Jemma reacted as if she were facing an exam she can’t pass, as if there were a rival she’s not up to. But all I want is to be with her, I don’t even look at other women.”
“Are you sure you didn’t give her a different impression?” Asks Harring, without taking his eyes off his mobile.
“No, never!” Then I think about it for a moment. “Well, maybe at the beginning I didn’t go easy on her, I often pointed out that her attitude and appearance were inadequate, but it’s different now! She’s perfect, she’s strong and charismatic, and she’s worth ten of those skinny broomsticks! Portia included!”
A third shadow stretches across the floor of the stable block. “You didn’t think like that until a few months ago.”
Shit.
