Chapter Forty-One
The signs were all there from the outset that we were going into a nightmare. The room where we were holding the meeting for potential investors had that same neutrally coloured decor with gilded details, and highly perfumed air as the hotel suite we’d done the press conference in.
By horrific coincidence, there were even some lilies, reminiscent of the monster lilies that had streaked my outfit with pollen in London. This time, however, I was wearing black, so, while I sneered at them, I wasn’t as worried that they’d take me down.
Lilies. Jollies to Venice. Love-logoed merchandise. To think sustainability had been one of the headlines in my notebook at the beginning of the year.
I shook off my feeling of doom, filing annoyance where I could access it later.
I’d been receiving messages from Katrina, one of our receptionists who’d stepped in to cover Sasha’s role.
It had been thought prudent to use an internal person rather than a temp, considering all of the very confidential stuff that was happening.
Sasha had flown home and been granted a month’s sabbatical with minimal fuss considering that HR had bigger fish to fry.
We would have to sort out our issues when she was back.
Katrina was cheerful and efficient, and she messaged me now to say Esme’s speech would be livestreamed to EKArts and Resilience Needs; the technical set-up was complete.
I thanked her and, as the room started filling up, I went to see how Esme was.
Walking past security and into the room which had been commandeered as a dressing room, I found the make-up chair empty, Esme’s assistant looking wan alongside the make-up artist who was ready to refresh her appearance.
‘Where is she?’ I said.
Wide-eyed, the assistant pointed at the closed door to her left.
I went to the door, knocked, and opened it before she could call for me to stop. I stood in the doorway, and swallowed hard, feeling a wave of dread rise up in me.
Esme was sitting on a large button backed sofa, her head in her hands, her normally expansive posture imploded so that she suddenly looked tiny, despite her beautiful clothes and the long silk scarf, trailing on the floor.
The sight of her distressed reminded me of how she had been when I first knew her.
How, gradually, I – we – had pieced her back together; had made EKArts what it was.
How much I’d given to that process. Sorting other people’s problems was an instinct, so bone-deep I had never questioned it. I just couldn’t solve my own.
‘Esme,’ I said, as calmly as possible. ‘Are you okay? The meeting is due to start in twenty minutes.’ I walked slowly over and sat down beside her.
‘Just a touch of stage fright,’ she said softly.
‘You know what it’s like.’ She looked up at me, and my first emotion was relief.
She wasn’t crying, and there was no tell-tale smell of alcohol (as a young artist, she’d been well known for self-medicating with vodka before big appearances, all part of her wild child image).
I felt myself soften in sympathy. I sometimes forgot that although she loved being in the public eye, there were aspects of it which would always be alien to her, leaving her feeling exposed.
Speaking in front of finance people was one of those things; the nonchalance she had shown earlier was an act of bravado, a defence.
‘You’ve got this,’ I said, comfortingly. ‘These people are all here because they’re intrigued by the idea of Chroma. You’ve already sparked their interest. That’s half the battle.’
To my alarm, her eyes suddenly filled with tears. ‘It’s not the whole battle, though, is it? This was meant to be me, and Ajax, together. What if they ask me something technical?’ She put her hand on mine. ‘I don’t know if I can do it without him. And I… miss him.’
Cannot compute, my brain told me. Trying to align her sadness with the cool front she’d shown earlier.
Trying to calculate what she wanted, what she needed.
It was 1pm in London – if I put a call in to her therapist, perhaps she could speak to her this afternoon, but certainly not before the meeting, which was very soon.
‘We’ll have time to sort everything out when we get back to London,’ I said calmly, mechanically. ‘But for now, do you want to cancel this speech? We can do that, but we should do it now.’
‘No! No. Chroma needs this. I’ll do it, Lizzy, I promise. Just get Ajax on the phone. I need to speak to him. To clear my head.’ She wiped her face with her hands. ‘I’ll go and get my make-up done, but I need to speak to him before I go out.’
I watched her stride across the room and pull the door open, heard the soothing voices of the team outside as they greeted her.
For some reason, I felt like crying, too. Which was not how I usually rolled until Venice. I got my phone out, pulled up the contact I thought I’d never use again.
LIZZY: It’s me. Can you help me please?
He saw it immediately; when I saw he was typing I sat back down on the sofa, trying not to tremble.
OLLY: What do you need?
LIZZY: I’ve got Esme here and she’s melting down. She needs to speak to Ajax.
OLLY:… typing.
I pressed my lips together.
OLLY: Hold tight. Let me see what I can do.
I sat still. Tried not to drum my feet on the floor. The door opened and Esme’s assistant stuck her head round, a questioning look on her face.
‘Just waiting to hear,’ I said. She nodded and went again.
My phone buzzed.
OLLY: Hi, Lizzy. Ajax is at home at the moment, but I’ve spoken to him and he’ll call her now.
LIZZY: Can you tell him to call my phone? I’ll hand it to her.
OLLY: No problem.
I walked into the next room, where Esme’s face had been made up in record time by a Michelangelo of a make-up artist called Tania. ‘He’s about to call me.’
The phone started buzzing; I put it into Esme’s manicured hand. As she answered it her face softened, and she sprang up and went into the next room, closing the door behind her.
‘Would you like me to do your make-up, too?’ asked Tania softly. ‘Esme said you might also be speaking.’
‘No, thanks,’ I said, ‘I’m not speaking.’ I sat down on a chair nearby and looked at my phone. No more messages from Olly.
LIZZY: She’s talking to him now. Thank you, I appreciate it.
OLLY: You’re welcome.
He showed as ‘online’ for a single moment more, then he was gone.
We sat there for a hair-raising five minutes which felt more like fifty. It was now ten minutes before the meeting was due to start.
Finally, the door opened, and Esme emerged. I was relieved to see she hadn’t cried away Tania’s work, and she looked blissfully calm. I stood up, pocketing my phone.
‘Everything okay?’
Esme nodded and smiled. ‘Absolutely. Back on track.’
I felt a surge of relief. This was why I admired Esme. Yes, she was sensitive, raw, mercurial, but she was also strong. Capable of delivering when you needed her to. I’d seen it a hundred times.
‘Great,’ I said, smiling. ‘We’ve got ten minutes, so let’s just briefly refresh the points to cover. I’ve put notes out on the lectern, but it’s good to get them in your head, too.’
She came to me, placed her hands on my shoulders. ‘Lizzy.’
‘Yes?’
‘Ajax agrees that you need to go out there, rather than me. You tell them about Chroma. I’m really not in the space to face all the potential investors out there. And I don’t think we should cancel the event, not now that everyone is here.’
I felt the ground slope away beneath my feet. ‘What? No, Esme. They want to see you, not me.’
For a moment, I thought I’d reached her. I’d always been able to speak the truth to her; she had always been able to hear it.
Until now. ‘I don’t think that’s relevant,’ she said, and I could almost see it: her shining armour unfurling itself, that blissful, titanium-plated serenity protecting her from anything that didn’t fit with her point of view.
She glanced at her assistant. ‘Jay, can you order me a water taxi? I’d like to go and rest at the hotel.
I know you’ll do it wonderfully, Lizzy.’ She kissed me on the cheek, and I stood, frozen, trying to recalibrate my thoughts, with a sinking feeling as I did so.
A rich person’s plaything. Senior Director; convenient servant.
When I looked up, Esme had already gone, ushered out on a fragrant breeze with her assistant and security. Tania stood beside me, and she offered me a hesitant, empathetic smile.
‘Can I take you up on the offer of make-up now?’ I said.
She gave me a double thumbs up.