Chapter Eight
Thanks to my experience of working for rich people, I know money doesn’t buy happiness.
But it does hire a function room in the most exclusive hotel in town, with dusky pink silk wallpaper and vases of lilies so big they look as though they were grown in a fairytale kingdom peopled by giants.
Against all the odds, we had pulled together a press conference in a week; both Olly and I had done a lot of sweet-talking (read, begging) to get a decent number of people in the room. And what a room it was.
‘There’s a wedding reception here this evening,’ said Carl, Olly’s assistant, blank-eyed with trauma, as we arrived.
‘I had to promise we would not spill anything on the carpet or damage anything. Anything. Plus, they kept saying no so I ended up offering them double the normal rate to secure the room.’
I narrowed my eyes. This was getting more ridiculous by the minute.
Also, wedding? The lilies were giving me funeral parlour vibes.
When Olly started sneezing, I gazed at the enormous orange stamens releasing their powdery pollen.
‘Killer lilies,’ I muttered to him. ‘Don’t get near them in your nice suit, you’ll end up coated in orange like a cheese puff. ’
‘I think you’re the one in danger, and ruining that outfit would be a crime,’ he said, and I blinked at the idea he’d properly clocked what I was wearing when he seemed oblivious.
I had changed into a white shirt dress with a wide white fabric belt, paired with nude high heels and (fake) moonstone earrings.
White was the colour I went to when I wanted to feel strong and confident in front of cameras: out of the black trousers and the black blouse, into the white.
I was also wearing red lipstick and just enough eye make-up to make it a disaster if I touched my face.
I’d dressed up just before I’d left The Hexagon, mainly because the longer I was in the fancy get-up, the more chances there were it would be ruined by a bird shitting on me or by me forgetfully swiping a hand across my face.
‘Let’s both stay away from the lilies,’ I said.
We positioned ourselves at the back of the room as Carl hurried off to supervise the making of high-quality coffee.
We’d written a dull, straightforward statement announcing the union of Ajax and Esme – or A&E as I now preferred to think of them, because their presence together in anything tended to set off blue emergency lights and sirens in my head.
Sasha was arranging monogrammed notebooks and pens on a table, her face the picture of excitement and anticipation. She waved cheerily at me and mouthed ‘so glamorous’. Once she had finished preparing the display, she stood there, taking in the scene as the journalists arrived.
This would mainly be a photo opportunity.
Cameras were already set up at the front, focused on the raised dais which would later be hosting a bride and groom.
Esme and Ajax were sufficiently famous that, if it was a quiet news day, they might get thirty seconds on the main news programmes.
The room was filling up quickly. As the excited babble reached annoying levels, I sent the ‘go’ message to Esme.
When she and Ajax emerged onto the dais, I found myself looking at the floor.
It was the way she was clinging to him, her hands entwined around his arm as though she was surrendering all of her strength to him.
Yes, he was clearly besotted, too, but he didn’t look weak.
And of course, it was him moving towards the front of the platform, ready to read the speech.
‘God,’ I muttered under my breath. When I looked up there was a man staring at me, his familiar bright blue eyes fixed on my face. I willed myself to keep my gaze steady even as my heart thudded with apprehension. Counted to three before I looked away.
‘Who’s that?’ Olly whispered in my ear, having clocked him at the same time as me.
‘Jack Dillane,’ I whispered. ‘He edits – and writes for – Skirmish.’ It was a celeb gossip site. ‘He wasn’t invited but somehow he’s found his way in. Typical of him.’
Olly turned his focus back to Ajax.
I kicked myself. If Jack had heard me voice my frustration, he would make a drama out of it. A single word was enough for him to spin a whole story.
I forced myself to focus on Ajax. And to be fair to him, he pretty much stuck to the script, with the exception of adding ‘my soulmate and I’ to the last line. I cringed inwardly, trying to keep my poker face poker enough to avoid attention.
‘When’s the wedding, then?’ called Jack Dillane.
There was a force field of tuts which prevented any need for an answer. Most of the journalists we’d purposely invited were polite, old-school ones. Shouting out was very bad form. But Ajax recovered, pinning a calm smile to his face.
‘Soon,’ said Ajax. ‘But spiritually, we feel like we are already married.’
I braced myself not to show emotion, not to look at Olly, and definitely not to fake-gag as a ripple of laughter moved through the room.
Olly and I had instructed Ajax and Esme, and the journalists, that there wouldn’t be any questions apart from a couple of pre-agreed ones, which now went ahead.
But Jack’s interjection had upset the balance and made the group restive.
‘Just a couple more questions, Ajax?’ called Phil from The Times in a hopeful way.
I shook my head, half to myself, half in a reminder to Ajax not to allow it, although being at the back of the room it was unlikely he could see me.
‘Yeah, why not?’ said Ajax.
This was like herding cats. Before I could do anything, Phil fired the first salvo.
‘Congrats and all, you guys. However, you’ll have a lot going on over the next few months, with the launch of Chroma and planning your wedding. Esme, will you still be pursuing B Corp status for the business side of EKArts, and Ajax, will your company be going for that, too?’
I could feel Olly freeze next to me even as I stiffened. EKArts had been working towards B Corp status for the last year, to prove the company was ethical, transparent and accountable. It was a huge plank in our company strategy, and we were almost there.
Ajax took a breath. ‘I think I speak for both of us when I say that gaining B Corp status is important,’ he said. ‘But this’– he glanced back at Esme, who smiled encouragingly at him – ‘is more important.’
I was up off the blocks like an Olympic sprinter.
Without a glance at Olly, I hurled myself down the centre of the room, with complete tunnel vision, ignoring all obstacles, just as I heard Jack Dillane say, ‘So your relationship is more important than the environment, than any ethical considerations, and even the planet?’
I skidded to a halt in front of Ajax. ‘That’s all for today, everyone. That last comment was off the record – so do not report it. Please help yourself to coffee, biscuits and monogrammed notebooks at the back.’
A hubbub broke out: slightly grumbly, but also accepting that everyone had been a bit naughty. Only Jack Dillane stayed motionless, his eyes fixed on me. ‘Nice dress, Lizzy,’ he called. ‘What’s the label? Symphony in orange and white? Or funereal florals?’
A couple of people sniggered, and I looked down. In running to get to Ajax I had inadvertently brushed against the gigantic lilies and was covered in a powdery streak of orange pollen.
‘Thanks, Jack,’ I said sharply. ‘Off we go, everyone.’
‘You look good in it, though,’ Jack called. Then I saw Olly pass him and say something, and Jack’s face shuttered. I watched him lazily walk over to the table and collect his merchandise from Sasha, smiling charmingly as he did so.
‘Twat,’ I murmured under my breath, fruitlessly attempting to brush pollen from my dress.
‘I quite agree,’ said Olly, arriving at my side. ‘Let’s go.’