“There’s everyone out there.”
“Is there anything else you want to tell me?” After years of friendship, I understand when Harring isn’t getting straight to the point.
“Everyone but Portia,” he adds.
I raise an eyebrow and I’m frankly surprised. “Seriously?”
“I’ll tell you this: it seems that, as soon as the news of your wedding started spreading, she packed her stuff and went to South Africa to visit some relatives of hers.”
“To South Africa?”
“It’s obvious that it was the farthest place where she knew someone,” Haz replies.
“I find it hard to believe—”
“What? That she’s got relatives in South Africa?”
“No, that she left because of me!”
“Wait. The official story is that she’s going to take part in a census of the lions living in the Shamwari Reserve.”
“What’s the unofficial story, then?” I ask, sceptically. Portia an animal lover? Since when?
“There are several, but none are favourable to you.”
“Okay, let’s get this straight: Portia and I were not together and I never made her believe I would marry her.”
Harring raises his hands. “Hey, I believe you, it’s not to me you have to set the record straight.”
“And to nobody else. I’m in control of my life and my decisions, and I’ll go to hell the way I choose.”
“You know you’ll be in good company, Parker.”
I reach out my gloved hand towards him. “Off to hell?”
“Off to hell,” he replies. It has become our motto.
23
Jemma’s Version
There was great excitement in the house for my first public event: the first match of the polo league Ashford’s team plays in. And by ‘Ashford’s team’ I mean that he’s no less than the captain. Could he ever play another role? Of course not, I’m not surprised that a person like him is always in the most important position.
I will be there as a loving wifey who follows from the front row.
“Just like Victoria when she went to David Beckham’s matches?” I asked at breakfast.
“Of course not! You will not dress up like a vulgarparvenuewho gained a title overnight!” Delphina replied in disgust.
I didn’t mean to offend anyone, I was just trying to get an idea!
“I had a perfect tailored suit made for you, and of course we will try to style your hair so as to conceal those fuchsia strands as much as possible.”
And here I am, in the ‘perfect tailored suit’: it’s at least two sizes too big, and it features all the colour variations of porridge! Yuck!
They even gave me one of those cross-bandage minimiser bras. Heaven forbid that anyone notices I’m a woman.
The shoes are terrible: a pair of flats which would be perfect for the members of any religious order.
