Chapter Five
THE NIGHT OF the summer fundraiser ball arrived but Sylvie was in two minds whether to go or not.
Given that she had already made a hair appointment and had bought a stunning dress weeks ago, she talked herself into attending for the sake of raising funds for a worthy cause.
She decided she would make an appearance, buy something ridiculously expensive from the silent auction and hope she could keep her mask on the whole night.
Sylvie arrived at the luxurious hotel owned by Jack’s brother Jago and couldn’t help admiring the décor.
It was a grand style with lots of brass and marble and ankle-deep carpets in the bar area, but the ballroom was something on another level entirely, especially decked out for the Summer Fundraiser Ball.
The room was festooned with silver and white helium balloons arranged in weighted trees both on the tables and at various places around the room.
It gave the room a bridal atmosphere, especially with the whimsical flower arrangements adorning each corner of the room at various heights.
One was taller than Sylvie even though she was wearing her highest heels.
Garlands of silver and white satin ribbons adorned every chair and crystal chandeliers glittered and tinkled above the tables like delicate bunches of pendulous diamonds.
Most of the guests had already arrived and were either sipping champagne in the area outside the ballroom or making their way to the tables.
Sylvie hoped she would be sitting by someone who would do all the talking, because she didn’t feel like making conversation.
She wasn’t much of a social butterfly, and if anyone asked her to dance, she had already decided she would pretend she had sprained her ankle.
Everyone was wearing a mask, some more elaborate than others.
There were stage masks, Hollywood film characters, cartoon and superheroes and fairy tale characters, and a collection of Venetian masks, although none the same as Sylvie’s as she had bought a traditional mask that had cost a fortune, but she loved its dramatic look.
It was black and gold with a large black feather standing up high, surrounded by smaller ones that formed the headpiece from where a gold embossed veil fell with a drape of intricately woven black lace that entirely covered her face.
Her eyes were shielded by both the lace and the gold painted mask that perched on her nose, leaving just enough space for her eyes to see through.
Sylvie had teamed it with a black dress that was close-fitting around the bodice but then it flared in a circle of voluminous tulle that whispered around her as she moved.
She was channelling Cinderella on a bad mood day.
Everyone seemed to be there as couples or groups and Sylvie couldn’t help feeling left on the outside.
Story of her life. It reminded her of when she had won a scholarship to a fee-paying school and how for weeks, months even, she hadn’t fit in.
She had to change her accent, work on her manners and control her acid tongue to finally make a handful of friends, none of whom she had contact with now.
University had been a little better and her academic performance had garnered a level of respect that her birthplace and family lineage had not.
The master of ceremonies announced the opening of the ball and encouraged everyone to find a place to sit.
As it was a masked ball, there was not a board outside the ballroom with nominated seating arrangements.
The ball was designed to encourage people to mix, and try and guess who was sitting at their table.
It was all part of the fun and games of the masked event.
Sylvie took a glass of champagne off a passing waiter and then made her way to a table right at the back of the room and was relieved to find it was far enough away from the podium to avoid being asked to draw out spot prizes or call any attention to herself.
She took a sip of champagne, carefully lifting the lace of her mask to do so and surveyed the room, amazed at some of the masks people were wearing.
She wondered what Jack would wear, if indeed he even showed up.
He had probably decided his generous donation was enough, that turning up in person was unnecessary.
Or maybe he had a hot date with one of his leggy blonde bombshells that took priority over a charity fundraiser ball.
The rest of the table filled up, all but the seat beside her.
Sylvie kept sipping at her champagne, more out of nervousness than thirst. God forbid that some narcissistic bore would sit next to her and proceed to tell her the story of his life.
Why hadn’t she thought to bring her mum?
But this wasn’t her mother’s scene and besides, Sylvie was thirty-two years old and didn’t need to hold her mum’s hand to have a night out.
Finally, someone sat beside her and Sylvie couldn’t explain the dip in her spirits when she saw it was an elderly man who seemed to be on his own. Why should she have hoped Jack might find her and sit beside her? She was behaving like a teenager with a crush on her favourite movie star.
Sylvie found herself scanning the room to see if she could pick out anyone she knew in the crowd, but there were hundreds of people, and she didn’t feel like doing a circuit of the room to see if she could recognise anyone behind their mask.
Sylvie berated herself for her obsession with finding Jack in the crowd.
What was she thinking? The last thing she wanted to do was draw attention to herself or to be seen talking to Jack if indeed he had come.
She drank some more champagne and tried to identify some of her associates, solicitors, judges and interns she had worked with in the past but while some were easily identified in spite of their elaborate masks, she still found no sign of Jack.
Then her eyes landed on someone that looked eerily like him.
He was walking arm in arm with a beautiful brunette who was wearing a feathered mask a little like Sylvie’s except it was white and silver.
‘Jago Wilde, come over here and introduce me to your fiancée,’ the old man sitting next to Sylvie called out over the noise of the music and chatter of the crowd.
So, this was Jack’s middle brother, Jago.
No wonder Sylvie had seen a likeness—the same handsome features and tall rangy frame, the sensual curve to his mouth, the slash of ink-black eyebrows, the dark hair and unusual blue eyes, although Jago’s were a deep blue while Jack’s were the colour of an Artic ice floe.
Jago introduced his fiancée, Mollie, to the gentleman and after exchanging a few brief words, he gently guided Mollie to a table towards the front of the ballroom.
The old man sitting next to Sylvie leaned closer to talk to her. ‘You can pick a Wilde brother mask or no mask, eh? Handsome as the devil those three boys. Only one of them to settle down so far. I wonder who’ll be next?’
Sylvie stretched her mouth into a tight smile. ‘I’m sure it won’t be Jack.’
The man’s eyes took a keen interest in her, obviously trying to guess who she was. ‘Do you know him personally?’
‘Only professionally.’
‘Ah, well, you’ll know all about his reputation, then.’
‘I do.’
Something in her tone made the old man peer a little more intensely at her. ‘Don’t let his reputation intimidate you. He’s driven and fights hard to win but one day someone will teach him he can’t have everything go his way.’
Sylvie tried to identify the old man who was in his mid to late eighties. His courtroom voice was vaguely familiar and although his mask covered most of his face, his grey hair was thick and plentiful. ‘Are you by any chance Judge Cartleford?’ she asked.
His eyes glinted. ‘That I am, and you’re Sylvia Rathbone. I always knew you’d do well for yourself.’
Sylvie smiled, almost bursting with pride that one of her favourite lecturers recognised her after all this time. ‘Your lectures were the most entertaining of any I had at university.’
‘That’s kind of you but I’m fully retired now. I miss the students, bright and engaged ones like you most especially.’ He let out a sigh and picked up his glass in a toast. ‘But life goes on, eh? Let’s toast your success.’
Sylvie clinked her glass against his and smiled. ‘Thank you for your part in it.’
Judge Cartleford chuckled. ‘You did it all yourself, Sylvie.’
‘I don’t know about that.’
‘Don’t be so modest,’ Judge Cartleford said. ‘But may I give you a word of advice?’
‘Of course.’
He took a breath and then sighed. ‘I lost my wife two years ago.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
He gave her a sober look. ‘I gave my life to law. I spent too many hours at work and neglected other areas of my life. I left the raising of our children to my wife, and I hardly see them now, they all live abroad. I only see my grandchildren if my son and daughter can be bothered to bring them to me as I’m too old to travel alone now.
Law is competitive and all-consuming but don’t let it take everything from you. ’
Sylvie listened compassionately with a thread of worry weaving through her thoughts. Would she too look back on her life and wish she had done things differently?
‘Thank you for sharing your wisdom,’ she said. ‘I’m still figuring out the work-life balance.’
Judge Cartleford glanced at her left hand. ‘You’re not married?’
Sylvie screwed up her mouth. ‘Not even close. It’s not something I’ve got on my list of things to do.’
‘You can call me an old-fashioned old fool, but my advice is you can’t give your whole life to your career.
One day you’ll retire and in a couple of years no one will even remember you.
’ There was a poignancy to his tone. Sylvie’s eyes smarted with unshed tears for the old man’s loneliness and regrets over how his life had played out and the choices he had made.