Chapter Thirty-One Jade
Chapter Thirty-One
Jade
When Tori told me we were going to a New Year’s Eve party, I pictured a regular house party in a swanky detached home with a front drive and four good-sized bedrooms. Everyone tumbling out on to the patio at midnight to set off an Asda box of special-edition fireworks.
At most, I expected a nice hotel function room – fairy lights, cava, a DJ in a Santa hat, and a buffet table groaning with sausages on sticks and Kettle crisps.
What I didn’t picture was this multi-million-pound Victorian manor set in its own parkland.
The cabbie got lost twice on the driveway, and it was only when we passed a pair of stone griffins and a fountain that I realised I wasn’t just out of my depth – I was out of my postcode, my league, maybe even my species.
Apparently, Tori and I went to school with the owner, Madeleine Fairfield.
And apparently, we don’t like her. According to Tori, Madeleine is a stuck-up cow.
According to a recent Tatler article, which I speed-read during the cab ride over, she’s now an influencer and philanthropist. And according to Tori’s radar for free drinks, Madeleine and her husband, Monty, throw New Year’s Eve parties that are basically legendary, and Monty himself is ‘a top bloke, absolute sweetheart, would literally give you the Gieves & Hawkes shirt off his back’.
As my gaze sweeps over the lavish display of fairy lights, cascades of champagne, and the clique of minor celebrities vaping near the entrance, the nerves kick in even deeper.
It’s the kind of mansion whose rooms are named after dead poets, where the windows are taller than most people’s houses, and the guest list comes with a pre-approved social pecking order.
The moment we step on to the checkerboard marble of the vast, double-height entrance hall, Tori goes full extrovert, tossing out compliments with the speed of a machine gun.
‘Mel, you look fucking incredible! Cara, that dress is criminal, hand it over!’ She does a round of air kisses while I hover at the edge, trying to smile at all the right moments and not betray that I literally just googled ‘posh party small talk’ in the cab on the way over.
‘Bells! Tori!’ We both turn, and I’m proud of myself for reacting to Bella’s name so instinctively.
Tori drags me into a reception room where a cluster of former netball captains, now repurposed as glossy magazine editors and tech-startup founders, are propped on velvet armchairs, swapping gossip at a decibel level that makes my head ring.
I try to keep track of the names, but the room is a blitz of perfect teeth, power brows, and names that sound like luxury skincare brands.
The music – something house-y and relentless – vibrates up through the antique carpet, and I realise immediately that if I don’t get a drink soon, I’m in danger of having a full-blown panic attack.
‘Hey guys,’ I say, aiming for cheerful and almost getting there. ‘Everyone looks amazing. Sorry, I just need to—’ I mime a drinking gesture and start to slip back towards the entrance hall, hoping no one noticed how my hand is shaking.
‘Hey, Bella, where’s that fit boyfriend of yours?’ A petite brunette with a snake-like expression asks before I can make my escape. I can tell her type straightaway. Predatory. Wants my boyfriend for herself.
I discovered, through Bella’s phone messages, that his name is Reece Kernan-Jones.
From scrolling through their chat, I can already tell he’s self-obsessed, and that Bella was a doormat in their relationship.
My online search confirmed that he’s a bit of a dick, albeit a rich, handsome one.
I can’t deny I’m a bit nervous about meeting him in the flesh.
What if he gives me the ick? They’ve been together a while, so he’ll probably be able to tell that something’s different.
But Tori was fooled, so maybe Reece will be too.
Anyway, I’m committed to pretending to be in love with him for the next five hours, and then ghosting him forever.
‘He’s not here yet,’ I respond coolly to snake-woman before turning on my heel in search of the bar.
‘Wow, boss, you look hot.’ I look up to see a youngish lad with floppy hair and a cheeky grin.
‘Hey . . . Ben.’ I recognise him from the ‘Meet Our Team’ photos on Newbury’s website. Although this evening he’s wearing a tux, like most of the other men here tonight. ‘Thanks, liking the James Bond look.’
He waggles his bow tie in response.
‘Where’s the bar?’ I ask.
‘They’ve never had a bar.’ He gives me an odd look and signals to a waitress, who comes over with a tray of champagne flutes.
I take a glass. ‘I really can’t remember.’
‘You’ve been here plenty of times,’ Ben says. ‘Thought Maddie and Monty were good friends of yours.’
‘I have, they are,’ I reply. ‘Just a little out of it. Knackered and a bit . . . squiffy.’
He continues, ‘If you want the good stuff, there’s single malt in the library.’
‘Which way is that?’ I say before I can stop myself.
Ben points. ‘Just follow the sound of grown men pretending they know how to play chess.’
‘Actually, this will be fine.’ I wave around my champagne, feeling like an idiot for asking for directions in a ‘friend’s’ house. I hope Ben will just put it down to too much alcohol.
Behind me, a plummy voice purrs, ‘Haven’t seen you in ages, Bella! So glad you could make it.’
I turn to see a tall, slender woman in a floor-length cream shift dress and an emerald necklace that looks like it’s the real thing. I recognise her from a quick, earlier online search. It’s our host, Madeleine.
‘Maddie! You look absolutely drop-dead gorgeous.’ I think my accent is getting better by the minute. Being around all these public-school types is rubbing off on me.
‘Thanks, Bella, darling. So do you.’ She gives my outfit a cursory up and down glance, her expression saying she isn’t impressed. ‘But you know I hate being called Maddie.’ She gives me a mock glare.
Oops. I’ve already fluffed the first test. ‘Sorry, Madeleine, too much champagne.’
‘You can never have too much champagne,’ she drawls. ‘Oh, and Monty’s looking for you. He’s in the kitchen trying to beat Richard H in an arm-wrestling match. He’ll never do it.’
‘I’ll go and find him,’ I say, before adding: ‘Beautiful party, as always.’
‘You’re sweet,’ she replies.
I head left, and Madeleine calls after me. ‘I said he’s in the kitchen, Bella.’ She points in the opposite direction.
I flush. ‘Silly me.’
As I make my way towards the kitchen, I wonder how much longer I can keep this up. Hopefully, everyone will start to feel the effects of the alcohol soon, and I’ll be less conspicuous. The way that everyone is surprised to see me, it seems like Bella might have been a bit of a recluse.
I navigate the crowded hallway, trying not to initiate eye contact with anyone. There are doors leading into various beautiful living spaces – a dining room, a study, TV lounge, formal lounge, and is that a . . . yes, a ballroom set up with the DJ at one end, the volume slowly cranking up.
Finally, I find myself in a massive kitchen-diner with limestone floors and a barrel-vaulted ceiling. Since doing all my research into the world of estate agents, I have a whole new repertoire of property terminology. Makes me feel quite clever, and I like it.
A slightly overweight guy in shirtsleeves, with curly brown hair, waves and comes over. He’s panting, and there’s a sheen of sweat on his face. ‘Happy New Year, Bella. How’s tricks?’
‘All good, thank you. How about you?’
‘Oh, you know, same old, same old. Bloody Richard H is unbeatable. I just lost two hundred quid.’
‘No go on the arm-wrestling?’ I ask, feeling quite proud of the fact that I can spit out something other than a vague greeting.
‘Absolutely humiliated me. Took less than twenty seconds. And I’ve been practising all year.’
‘You need a personal trainer, Monty.’
‘I do, don’t I! Clever girl! Right, watch out, Tricky Dicky, I’m coming for you next year.’
I grin back, feeling as though this is the first proper connection I’ve made since arriving here. I think I’m genuinely warming to Monty.
‘Now,’ he says, growing more serious. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you, Bella. Calista’s interested in getting into the property game. What’s the likelihood of an internship at Newbury’s next summer?’
‘Um, I’m sure we could sort something out.
’ I think back to my months of desperation when I was trying to get some work experience, and no one would give me the time of day.
Now here’s this rich guy with the right connections, and he gets his sister, or niece, or whoever, an internship after one brief conversation at a party.
‘Call me when I’m back in the office, and I’ll check my diary. ’
‘Super, will do. You’re an angel. An angel.’
‘I try,’ I reply with a smile.
A woman in her forties taps me on the shoulder. ‘Bella, darling, so lovely to see you out and about. We haven’t chatted since Miranda’s birthday party in the summer.’
‘Hi.’ I attempt to summon another smile from somewhere, tuning out as she starts rambling on about yachts and how some stupid idiot wore heels on deck and ruined the floor.
I’ve got to get out of here, I can’t deal with this.
I could probably cope with two or three conversations, but with everyone wanting to talk to me, one after the other, I feel out of my depth.
Like I’m going to mess up and everyone will realise I’m an impostor.
But, more importantly, how can I escape this terminally boring woman? She’s barely stopped to draw breath.
I reach out to place my glass on the black quartz island, but purposely let it drop on to the floor to distract from her relentless drone. The glass smashes, having the desired effect, jolting her from her monologue.
‘Oh, I’m so clumsy,’ I say. ‘I’d better find a dustpan and brush.’
The woman tuts. ‘One of the staff will do that.’ She beckons over a waiter and points to the floor without so much as a ‘please’ or ‘thank you’.
‘Now, where were we?’ She moves away from the broken glass, taking hold of my elbow in a vice-like grip to drag me with her.
‘Hey, Bells, there you are! Been looking for you for ages.’
I turn to see a stunningly handsome guy with dark hair and a strong jawline. It’s Bella’s boyfriend, Reece, and my heart flips with nerves. His timing is impeccable, though. ‘Excuse me,’ I say to the boring woman and take Reece’s arm, steering him out of the kitchen.
His eyes rake over my body. ‘You look incredible.’
My cheeks heat under his gaze. ‘Thanks.’
‘But how on earth did you manage to get stuck with Minty?’ he adds.
Minty? Monty? Jeez. ‘She pounced when my defences were down.’ I mime strangling myself. ‘Got me in a chokehold.’ Reece laughs, and I thrill at the sound. I’m not sure if I’m more excited about having fooled him or having made him laugh. ‘Honestly, the most boring conversation I’ve had in my life.’
‘Well, duh,’ he replies. ‘They don’t call her Monologue Minty for nothing.’ He bends and kisses my lips, a light brush, nothing more, but it sends shivers down my back.
Interesting. Maybe Reece isn’t going to be a fly in the ointment after all. I don’t think I’ll be rushing to ghost him.
With my boyfriend by my side, the night suddenly takes on a different hue.
He’s handsome and witty, and we laugh all night.
He keeps giving me these funny looks, and I know he senses that there’s something different about me, but I also know he likes it.
I feel strangely powerful and confident, and I still can’t quite believe that this is now my life.