Chapter 2
The spacious conference room of the Wilton Hotel was looking very grand indeed. The underlying dull as dishwater beige décor now boasted an imposing pink and black banner announcing the name of Zaftig Raven stretched around the entirety of its flaky emulsioned walls.
It was so good to see Charlotte and Morgan’s fashion brand up there loud and proud, for the whole world, or at least a small enclave of it in Yorkshire, to celebrate. There was also a makeshift stage area with a runway jutting out from the middle, where the models would strut their glamorous stuff in an array of outfits from the fashion brand.
My eyes darted furtively around the room. It was packed to the rafters with a sea of chattering folk from all age groups and social sectors.
There were smart ladies attired in elegant yet understated twin sets with sensible shoes, set against achingly hip types sporting countless piercings and fashions that screamed “I’m avant-garde and amazing.”
I grabbed a small flute of something bubbly from a side table as I spotted my friend poised in a corner talking animatedly to Morgan, her co-owner. I bounded over to them, keen to announce my arrival, yet cautious not to spill my drink.
“Lottie, Morgan, this place looks amazing, really amazing! You’ve done yourselves proud.”
I leaned in to kiss each woman flamboyantly on the cheek whilst leaving a faint smudge of scarlet Dior ? my Lila Glover signature greeting.
Lottie was looking fabulously chic in a fitted claret wool crepe dress cinched in with a wide silver belt, just perfect to show off her curves to their fullest. Damn it, my best friend had certainly reinvented herself fashion-wise. The sackcloth and ashes fashion of bygone Lottie was well and truly a thing of the past. This confident new creation was most certainly putting the old Lottie to shame. Her dress was a showstopper by itself, most definitely va va voom and hitting in all the right places.
It had taken my dear friend many months of soul-searching and rediscovery to get herself to where she was now. After her rat of a husband had cheated on her with the office floozie, her whole world was changed irrevocably, and it had been one hell of a bitter pill for her to swallow.
Initially upon discovering his infidelity, she had tumbled into a wave of tears, tea and tequila and not stopped until she hit rock bottom. But that was no longer the case. Now like a phoenix she was soaring high, and here today stood proudly, a more confident, beautiful version of my friend.
Of course she had always been beautiful, but until she had believed it herself, it had never truly shown.
I was so proud of Lottie: proud of her strength and her fortitude. Yes, Lottie Potts really rocked. She was finally where she needed to be: fierce and confident and doing it all on her own terms.
However, that being said, I knew that a certain old flame of Lottie’s, whose spark had fizzled out before it had ever had a chance to blaze, was soon to be back on the scene. One Leo Knight, entrepreneur and fine-looking specimen, was touching down on British soil from Canada any day now and would be entering Lottie’s life again from stage right.
Was he still looking to be Lottie’s leading man? And if so, what would that mean for Lottie? I just didn’t know. I suppose only time would tell.
It was a testament to Lottie and Morgan’s hard work that so many people had turned out to the event. It was a bitterly cold day, and the January sales were in full swing. And even though fewer people like to traipse physically around the stores these days, it would still be a perfect Saturday afternoon to cuddle up at home with a hot chocolate and some online shopping. That’s what I would be doing had I not been supporting my friend.
“We’re hoping to get the show underway in the next few minutes.”
There was a slight tremble to Morgan’s voice, revealing how nervous she was. If her voice hadn’t given her away, I would never have thought for a second that she could suffer from anxiety. She looked so self-assured and confident.
Like Lottie, her fashion sense was amazing. Her style was polar opposite but no less impressive for it. In short, she looked fierce and formidable, decked out in lace-trimmed black combat trousers and a hot pink vest emblazoned with large outspread raven wings sprinkled with diamanté. It was a head-turning outfit, and from the many young audience members dressed similarly, seated on the white leatherette chairs around the stage, I could see that her fashions were very popular indeed. I didn’t think she had anything to worry about, but from her furrowed brow I could tell she wouldn’t relax until the show was completely over and could be deemed a success.
“I’m just going to check on the models again, see if they’re all in their right places.”
Morgan strode off towards the back of the stage, a woman on a mission.
“Models, eh?”
I couldn’t help but tease Lottie a little. It was our thing to affectionately poke fun at each other.
“Who’s modelling your frocks today then, Charlotte, my most fashionable friend? Are we going to be graced by the presence of Gigi Hadid or Cara Delevingne perhaps? Or maybe you’re going a bit more old school and plumping for the OGs of the runway and it’s Kate Moss in a cagoule or Naomi Campbell in a nylon ensemble?”
Lottie laughed despite herself.
“No such luck, I’m afraid. Our models consist of a gaggle of nervous students from the local college and a few friends and acquaintances Morgan and I have managed to cobble together. At least we don’t have to pay them a million quid just to get them out of bed though. These girls are happy to do it for a few free glasses of supermarket plonk and a packet or two of pork scratchings.”
“I’m sure they’ll be fabulous.”
I rubbed Lottie’s arm confidently.
“You need an eclectic bunch anyway to show off the fabulously diverse range of fashions your brand offers.”
Lottie nodded her head in agreement.
“You’re right, Lila. And anyway, we’ve rehearsed and run through it so many times that I’m sure the poor things are sashaying in their sleep.”
She ran her hand through her shoulder-length blonde hair; it shone like gold under the harsh overhead lighting.
“I know what Morgan means, though; I feel like I’ve got an army of butterflies fighting in my stomach, I’m so flipping nervous.”
Lottie held her hand out so I could see it trembling slightly.
“Look, I’m visibly shaking; I could really do with a stiff drink to calm my nerves.”
I rummaged through my huge Mulberry tote.
“You can have a bit of my Allure, if you like?”
Lottie looked perplexed and shook her head.
“You’ve completely lost me, Lila. What do you mean, have a bit of your allure? I’m not suddenly going to achieve your level of charm and sophistication in the next five minutes; it’s taken you nearly fifty years of full-on feistiness, after all.”
I laughed and produced a bottle of scent from the depths of my handbag.
“No, I meant have a spritz of my perfume. I’ve no bottle of vodka on me, so a dab of Chanel will have to suffice. Unless you want to drink it, of course; but thinking about it ounce for ounce, it’s probably cheaper than the alcohol they’re serving behind the bar here. It’s bloody daylight robbery; they should be wearing masks.”
My daft humour seemed to be working a treat, as Lottie threw back her head and laughed. I was pleased that I had managed to calm her down a little. She held her wrists out for me to blast with a quick spray of the scent.
She lifted her pale wrist to her nose and inhaled the perfume deeply.
“Mmmm, that’s lovely. Well, I smell amazing now. Let’s just hope it’s a sign of things to come.”
I gave my friend’s arm a reassuring squeeze. It was time for a bit of a pep talk.
“It’s all going to go great.”
I reassured her with absolute certainty.
“You’re amazing and you’ve worked so hard; you must be really proud of what you’ve achieved. I know I am.”
Lottie looked up towards the large sign suspended just above the runway. It had gold backing and was rich and opulent looking with embossed letters in deep red standing out from the gold, as if each letter were suspended in midair. The colours were those of my solicitor’s firm, and the letters raised out from the fabric spelt out the names of the partners: Reginald Fluck senior partner, Sebastian Young or Seb as he preferred to be known, and me, Lila Glover.
“Thank you so much, Lila, for convincing Mr Fluck to sponsor the show. It’s made such a difference.”
“Don’t worry, he’s happy too. He’s found out that the press is coming, with the excuse for that decrepit old dinosaur to get his ugly mug in the paper.”
The words were barely out of my mouth when I felt a bony figure tapping me on the shoulder. I experienced the sensation of moving in slow motion as I turned around to see the aforementioned old dinosaur facing me with an unreadable expression etched on his cadaverous face.