Chapter Thirty-Two Holly
Chapter Thirty-Two
HOLLY
We exit the airplane into the soupy tropical Caribbean air.
It’s late afternoon, and the sun is a gentle blast of golden heat.
The airport is nothing more than a landing strip, with a cinder-block hut attached, and thick jungle behind.
A line of bright-blue crabs are scuttling across the far end of the runway, making for the coast in a waving army formation.
In readiness for the island weather, I’d already put on my favorite strappy summer dress before boarding.
It’s white cotton, screen-printed with black skull outlines, and black piping to give a slight bodice effect.
I’m already regretting my silver-buckled leather slingbacks, which feel heavy on my feet in the tropical heat.
Fitzwilliam moves to my side on the tarmac. ‘I think we have an hour until sunset,’ he says. ‘Might be enough time to get to those hot springs, if we can slip away.’
I shift from foot to foot impatiently. The women all seem to be disembarking very slowly, in new outfits for landing. Adrianna is still out of sight, deep on the private jet.
Ophelia has continued the high color theme.
Her orange hair inside a bright tropical-print turban is matched with heart-shaped shades and a halterneck turquoise jumpsuit splashed with large pink orchids.
She seems to feel no fatigue from the flight whatsoever, talking in bright rapid sentences, as the rest of us blink in the sun.
As Ophelia’s high shoes navigate the steps she treads awkwardly and her phone tumbles onto the asphalt.
She stoops quickly to pick it up, and I notice pictures of Adrianna open on her screen.
She sees me looking and stashes the phone rapidly.
Petra has donned a fishnet bodystocking that reveals large panels of her lean white body, silver heels and narrow little sunglasses that match her stern expression.
I notice Georgia taking in Petra’s outfit with obvious displeasure.
Looks like Adrianna was supposed to steal the show, but Petra is making a bid for the lead.
Georgia steps forward. I’m wondering how anyone can look so immaculate after a long flight. Large sunglasses sit cooly above perfectly made-up brows. There’s not so much as a crease on her white silk blouse.
‘We’re just waiting for Adrianna, so we can get a few pictures,’ she says.
My heart sinks. How long will that take?
‘No unauthorized photography or communication equipment is allowed on the island,’ continues Georgia, her voice ringing with natural authority. ‘You’ll need to deposit your cell phones, and anything else that takes pictures on the other side of the runway. You can pick them up when you fly out.’
Silky catches my expression. ‘You can’t be too careful when the right picture of you is worth hundreds of thousands of dollars,’ she explains.
As we deposit our phones, Adrianna finally emerges from the jet.
Her face looks tired from the flight, but as soon as her feet hit tarmac, she rearranges her features into a dazzling smile.
She wears a long sundress in vivid red, with a crochet cut-out effect that suggests snatches of tanned skin underneath, and a slit to mid-thigh.
Her narrow feet are set in vertiginous wedge sandals, with glittering black jewels decorating the straps and soles.
She stands patiently as Ophelia darts forward and begins powdering and adjusting her make-up, fluffing her hair. Petra starts taking pictures.
My stomach growls. The sun is blazing down overhead, and none of us have eaten a thing for the entire flight. I look across to Adrianna, standing passively as she’s pulled about like a piece of meat. Do none of these girls get hungry?
Adrianna turns to address us, pausing for Petra to swing the camera in her direction. Tossing her glossy curls over her shoulder, she breaks into a broad smile. She hesitates then frowns and signals to Georgia. After a moment we’re all furnished with filled champagne glasses.
‘Don’t actually drink the champagne,’ warns Silky, as I take a sip, and wince. ‘It’s lemon-juice and baking soda, to give it sparkles in the pictures.’
Adrianna smiles, waiting for all eyes to fall on her. ‘It’s so incredible to have you all here,’ she says. ‘I am just so grateful you could be with me at this special time in my life. Thank you all so much.’ She clasps her hands to her heart, still beaming.
Wow. You’d actually think she knew and liked all these people.
‘Here’s to Elysium!’ She raises her glass.
I move to touch mine against Silky’s, who stands the nearest to me, but Fitzwilliam subtly holds my arm and shakes his head.
‘Just raise it,’ he whispers. ‘Never chink.’
‘We’ve got so much to show you,’ gushes Adrianna.
‘The whole island has been rebooted for the new generation. There’s a beach gym, a whole new restaurant and bar at Fortune House.
Ophelia has also masterminded a brand new detox lounge, called Daybreak.
So we can get over our little indulgences.
’ She smiles mischievously. ‘It’s equipped with vitamin drips, detox juices, steam rooms, an oxygen bar, and everything you need to get ready for another big night.
’ She brings her pink nails together. ‘Then. Our new secret bar. Sepulcrum.’
Is it just me, or did Adrianna’s voice just catch?
‘Every Kensington club has to have a secret room, right?’ She fixes Petra’s lens with a beaming smile, then clears her throat and readjusts her sunglasses.
Fitzwilliam and I exchange glances: we can still make it.
Adrianna’s manicured hand closes around her own undrinkable prop. She checks the camera is on her. Turns to her bridesmaids.
‘Welcome to Elysium. We’re going to send out a clear message.’ Adrianna’s voice is raised, but the key is slightly off. Forced. ‘I am Adrianna-fucking-Kensington! I am getting married this week! Murderers are not invited!’
Petra snaps away furiously.
There’s a smatter of uneasy laughter. Adrianna lifts her glass to uncertain light applause, and I notice her hand is shaking. Seems the speech is over, but it’s a strange moment to stop. It takes Petra a few seconds to realize she can lower her camera. Adrianna’s smile falls with it.
Ophelia smoothes the awkwardness by whooping enthusiastically, and the clapping intensifies, but the sour edge to the atmosphere lingers.
‘Time to go.’ Georgia gathers up the undrunk glasses.
Finally.
‘A little housekeeping,’ adds Georgia. ‘We’re two days early, so there are some things that are unfinished.
We’re going to have to travel the first part on foot, since the road isn’t ready for vehicles yet so I’m afraid we’re going to have to walk.
And there’s still construction work happening in places, so stay on the grounds.
Luggage will go straight to your rooms.’
‘We’re walking?’ Petra demands. My eyes drop to her high-heeled shoes.
‘Yes, and it’s very important we stay together,’ Georgia’s slim brown hand is raised for our attention, a discreet scatter of diamond and ruby rings catching the golden sun.
‘The island is still being developed. Please don’t go exploring past the main grounds. There are armed guards protecting the island and they can be a little … unpredictable. We don’t want anyone getting shot by mistake.’ Her perpetually anxious expression tightens further at the thought of this.
‘You’re not seriously suggesting your guards would shoot a guest?’ scoffs Petra.
‘I wouldn’t take the risk,’ says Georgia, her owlish eyes earnest. ‘They’re armed mercenaries Dad rustled up last minute from Colombia. Not the nicest of men.’
‘Leopold got an armed guard here, but no transport to the house?’ demands Petra. I’m guessing her silver high heels are already killing her.
‘We’re Kensington Manor School girls,’ says Adrianna lightly. ‘We can handle a little hardship, right? Fine metal withstands great heat.’ But I detect a slight hint of pleasure as her eyes tack to Petra’s stricken face.
There’s a strange, loaded pause.
‘OK,’ Adrianna trills, ‘let’s get walking.’