Unfortunately, I’m not the only one he’s let down.
The success of tonight and the future success of the castle kind of depends on it. If we don’t provide what we promised on the tickets, no one will ever trust us to deliver an experience again. Huxley’s reputation is relying on this. Thankfully, I have a super successful events planner in my corner.
‘How could he just…’ Tears threaten to flood my face again but I don’t even have the luxury of grieving right now.
Chloe folds her arms over her chest and blows out a weighted breath. ‘There’s no point in dissecting it today, Sasha. I feel your pain. I mean that literally. I’m your sister. We share a bond so powerful that my body aches with yours. But right now, we have a job to do. Starting with finding someone to perform at tonight’s event. Someone even bigger, better, more successful than that spineless twat, Ryan-Runaway-Cooper. Or else we’re going to have a tonne of disappointed guests and a lot of media fallout to deal with.’
‘Hate to be a Negative Nellie here, ladies, but where on earth are we going to find someone like that? In a matter of hours? And even if we did, how will we entice them to perform here?’ Megan chimes in, the voice of realism.
She’s right.
Chloe’s tongue clicks the roof of her mouth in a thoughtful tutting sound. ‘The only positive about the whole goddamn awful situation is we have cash. Lots of it for once. Didn’t he name you as a co-songwriter for the first album?’
I can practically feel the spinning of her brain as she tries to formulate some sort of plan.
‘Money isn’t a problem.’ For now. If we have to refund the tickets and cancel all the bookings we received on the back of Ryan’s visit, it might be. There’s only so long you can plug the holes in a leaking ship.
Chloe extends a hand and plucks me from my woeful position on the couch. ‘I know the pain you’re feeling. But today, I need you in survival mode. Because that’s what this is. Distraction is the best technique until you can process, and we have the biggest distraction known to man – an unbelievable amount of work to try and save this shit show of a ball tonight.’
Yet again, she’s right.
‘We’ll get tonight over with and if tomorrow you want to get out of here, get away from it all, we can hop on a plane to Dubai, or anywhere else in the world you like. Megan can manage the New Year’s Eve wedding. I just need you to hold it together for a few more hours.’ Slim manicured fingers grip my shoulders as she pulls me into a tight hug. ‘Do you think you can manage?’
Nodding, I take a step back from my sister, careful not to spill the coffee I’m still clutching like a lifeline. Downing it, I nod at both Megan and Chloe who peer at me like I’m a wounded bird.
The caffeine and sugar crusades through my blood. ‘Ok, let’s do this.’
Work’s been my saviour for the past ten years. It’s all I know. I can get through one more day. But after that, I don’t know. Maybe a change of scenery is exactly what I need.
‘What do you mean, you’ve tried everyone?’ Hiding behind the only armour I own; my trademark pencil skirt and impressively ironed blouse is the only way I can face the staff. However, no amount of foundation will conceal my blotchy face.
Chloe shakes her head, her usually tanned face washed out with worry. ‘I tried every contact I have, both in this country and abroad. I figured we have time to fly someone in but that’s rapidly running out. She glances at the clock in our father’s office.
‘Even Victoria is stalking every celebrity she’s ever come across on Instagram and TikTok in an attempt to convince someone to help us. Fuck, Sasha, I hate to say it but I think we might be screwed.’
This morning’s flicker of optimism has well and truly gone up in smoke, along with every other hope and dream I’d harboured for the future. Megan’s in the marquee overseeing the final touches. I couldn’t face it, or anyone to be honest. Easier to work in here where no one can voice the same question that continues to plague me –what happened to Ryan?
A powerful knock sounds on the office door. I turn to Chloe as she turns to me.
‘Come in.’
Even the sight of James’ genial face does nothing to raise my spirits.
‘Sorry to interrupt, ladies.’ A wince crinkles his kind eyes. ‘One of those journalists is here. Miriam. She’s in the reception area screeching about Ryan being caught fleeing the country. She’s causing a riot out there, disturbing the other guests, rallying up a witch hunt. Your Aunt Evelyn’s in the thick of it too. There are at least sixty restless women in the reception area, all demanding to know where Ryan is and if he’s still performing tonight.’
My head falls to my hands. ‘Just what we fucking need.’
James steps into the room, closing the door behind him. In a hushed tone he says, ‘Do you want me to escort her from the premises?’
‘What I want and what I can have are two totally different things, unfortunately.’ Drumming my fingers on the table, I rack my brains for some sort of solution. One that won’t involve being named and shamed in this year’s final edition ofTatler.
Another forceful knock lands on the office door. James steps away from it, gesticulating if I want him to open it. A shrug slips from my shoulders. Welcome to the spectacular shit show of my life.
Conor barges in wearing his chef whites and a thunderous expression on his face. ‘Is it true? Has he gone?’ Rage palpably ripples from him in relentless waves.
All I can do is nod.
‘That spineless shit of a man.’ He flies across the floor landing on his knees beside my desk. ‘Sasha, I’m so sorry. Tell me what I can do to help.’
