Chapter Six #3
Replaying my conversation with her from last night, I feel a twinge of remorse. I thought she and her father were partners in crime but now it seems more as if she was just dragged reluctantly in his wake.
There is a click of heels. I turn and my brain blanks for perhaps a tenth of a second. I know I’m staring. I also know I am in trouble. Big trouble.
‘Hi,’ she says softly.
Hennessy is standing five feet away. I try to speak but instead I just nod because her beauty makes words irrelevant.
It makes the world and everything in it colourless and indistinct.
Her make-up is kind of natural, but also a little bit smudged and smoky round the eye, and there is a sheen of lip gloss on her mouth.
As for her hair… For days now, it’s been tamed into a variety of complex updos.
But this morning that signature mane of hers is loose and rippling down her back to her waist in a boho tangle.
And then there is the dress. Hennessy has worn any number of beautiful, vintage outfits over the last few days, all of them gifted to her by her late grandmother. But this dress… Our eyes meet and the usual current of electricity snakes through me as she bites the edge of her lip.
Stop staring, I tell myself, because it’s getting weird now, and I walk towards her slowly. ‘You look beautiful.’
‘You look pretty good yourself.’
Her eyes flicker over me, and I know it’s shallow and unprofessional, but I like how she looks at me.
‘Thank you for this. I do have suits but…’
She bites her lip. ‘Those are different. There’s nothing inherently wrong with them but this is much more you.’ She circles me slowly. ‘It fits beautifully.’
It does so, yes, I look good. But someone could set me on fire tonight and I’m pretty sure nobody would notice. Not if Hennessy is in the building.
The dress is made of some kind of buff-coloured organza.
It is close enough to her skin colour that it looks transparent, but it’s not.
It is flouncy, and yet not frilly. It is delicate and subtle, but also sexy as hell.
In short, it is the perfect dress for the enigma and temptation that is Hennessy Wade.
. ‘Is that one of your grandmother’s?’
She glances down at herself and nods. ‘It’s always been my favourite dress of hers, only I was always too skinny to fit into it, but I suppose I’ve been eating better.’ She gives me a faint smile. ‘Not this week, just generally.’
‘How are the nerves?’
‘Not so bad. I’ll be fine once it starts.’
‘You’re fine now.’ More than fine, I think. I feel dizzy, unbalanced. She unbalances me. ‘Don’t doubt yourself today of all days, Hennessy. And don’t assume that other people will doubt you either. You’ve had a rough time. But I think they’ll be wanting this—you—to succeed. And you deserve to.’
Her eyes jerk up to meet mine, and I can see that she is confused or shocked by my words, but I am telling the truth. I hold out my hand. ‘Let’s get this party started.’
Almost from the moment we walk into the huge, disused wool factory I know the party is going to be something people talk about for a very long time.
The space has been transformed into something that is nothing short of miraculous.
Every piece of decor is made up of upcycled material from the ateliers in the city and other Milanese businesses.
Emilia and Oshana have been here all night.
They look exhausted but the effect is startlingly beautiful.
There is no time for me to do more than tilt my head towards Hennessy in silent, private acknowledgement of her vision.
The guests are arriving. The sun is starting to filter through the windows, creating a chiaroscuro effect that is more beautiful than any artificial lighting.
Hennessy is standing beside me as we greet people.
It feels almost as if we are a couple, and this is our wedding.
We talk and mingle, and I find that I know where she is in the room without even having to look for her.
It’s an odd sensation but easily explained.
After all, we have spent days in each other’s company now.
Finally, it’s time for the DJ’s set.
The music is like a solid wall of sound.
But all I can hear is my heartbeat. Hennessy is dancing with Cassie.
They are dancing like women dance when they feel safe, their arms reaching for the stripes of sunlight cutting across the room, heads tilted back as if they are laughing, their bodies twisting like double helixes.
Our guests are all beautiful people. But Hennessy makes every other person here look ordinary.
I’m not the only one to think so. She draws the eye like the aurora borealis. Just then, she catches sight of me, and suddenly she is here. Her flushed cheeks and tousled hair remind me of that night in New York, and I have to blank my mind to an image of her fingers biting into my shoulder.
‘Are you having fun?’
Her eyes soften. ‘I am. Are you?’
‘Of course. It’s a great party,’ I say softly.
For the last hour or so we have barely been in the same part of the room, but somehow, we have moved closer together like planets passing in orbit.
‘My feet,’ she moans. ‘Would you mind?’ She takes my arm, and I feel that current jolt through my jacket and shirt as she bends over to massage her toes.
‘It must be nearly time for the finale.’ There is to be a display of giant bubbles. It is Hennessy’s idea. They’ll have the wow factor of fireworks but without the environmental damage.
‘It is. This is the closing song,’ she says, and seconds later the music fades out and people start to move past us to the deck that’s been built next to the factory.
‘Have you seen this?’ Two middle-aged men are walking past us, one showing the other his phone.
‘Take a look at this. Miss Illegally Blonde’s dad is with some woman in Rio!’
I am on the verge of turning and snatching away the phone, only I catch sight of Hennessy’s face.
It is a perfect blank. But I have a momentary glimpse of the shock and hurt in her eyes.
Then she turns, and there is a gap in the room where she should be.
Somewhere behind me, I am conscious of a hum of conversation.
I can feel the sidelong gazes pressing into my back and then I reach into my pocket and bring out my own phone.
Hennessy
The bathroom is empty because the party is over. I wish it had never started.
In the mirror, my face looks small and stupefied.
But then, I am stupid, beyond stupid, for thinking I could change who I am when I know that I can never change.
Like Sisyphus pushing his boulder, my efforts simply take me back to where I started.
My fingers tremble against the screen of my phone.
Sober or not, my past always sucks me back in.
I cower back against the hand dryer as the door to the bathroom bangs open and Renzo strides into the room.
I know from the expression on his face that he heard what those men said, and suddenly I am fighting panic and misery.
Because if he heard then other people will have too, and all I have done by hosting this party is make everything worse.
‘What are you doing? You can’t come in here,’ I say, spinning back to the mirror and swiping my face.
‘Hennessy…’ He hesitates. ‘You need to come with me.’
‘I can’t. I can’t go out there now.’
The door swings open again, and a couple of waitresses tumble into the room, giggling.
‘Could you give us a moment?’ Renzo snaps without turning round. His voice is a volatile combustion engine of anger and impatience. ‘We’re having a private conversation.’
‘We just need the—’
‘I said, we’re having a private conversation,’ he repeats, spinning round, his shoulders swelling outwards. ‘Don’t make me have to call security.’
They reverse back through the door but, as he turns to face me, his anger makes something snap inside me.
‘What are you doing? Isn’t it bad enough that this is going to be the story now? But I guess that’s what you wanted to happen, isn’t it? Now you can tell everyone I messed up and then you can buy me out.’
My breath catches in my throat as he grabs my hand and holds it tight. ‘You didn’t mess up. It was perfect, all of it.’
I want to believe him, but then I see my reflection—the smudges of mascara, the wildness in my eyes. No wonder Renzo abruptly lets go of my hand. He is looking at me as if he’s seeing me for the first time.
‘That photo. Do you know who the woman is?’
Renzo’s question makes me feel both exposed and unseen, and his words scrape against a wound that always feels fresh.
Of course I know. And soon the whole world will know.
And that neither of the people in the photo thought to tell me that they were meeting up is a reminder that I am, and have only ever been, a nuisance and an intruder.
‘Yes, I do. It’s Jade—my mother.’
I half-expect him to turn and walk away without looking back. It’s what Charlie would do. What he’s always done. But instead, he steps closer. ‘We need to go.’
I shake my head. ‘I can’t go out there like this.’
‘We’re not going outside. We’re getting out of here. There’s a helicopter waiting for us on the roof. We’re going to Amalfi.’