Chapter Thirty-Nine
‘Here she is . . .’ Lauren, the representative that Vespucci had entrusted my dress to, unzipped the garment bag. I held my breath. I’d seen it in various stages of its life, across three fittings at their London studio, but not the finished product. Until now.
‘No spoilers!’ Chloe covered her eyes and Lauren instantly stopped unzipping. Chloe peeked through her fingers. ‘I want to see it for the first time on Emily!’
‘It’s not my wedding dress!’ I protested, but secretly I liked her insistence on ceremony. This was the BAFTAs after all – not just my first as a guest, but my first as a nominee!
‘Some may say it’s more important than that!’
‘Thank you so much for bringing the dress,’ I told Lauren, who had hung it in its protective garment bag in the wardrobe of the suite at Claridge’s which was my base for the afternoon. ‘I’m just so in love with it,’ I said with a sigh.
‘I’m so glad,’ she said, graciously. ‘And Arianne Sharp will be arriving any min—’
Speak of the devil! ‘Darlings!’ The celebrity makeup artist swished into the room, accompanied by two assistants.
‘Mwah, mwah,’ she said aloud, swooping her mouth down towards my cheeks but managing to stay about a foot away from me.
‘Lauren, looking gorgeous as always. And you are?’ she asked Chloe.
‘I’m Chloe, Emily’s publicist,’ Chloe said, blinking at her, star-struck in a way I seldom saw Chloe. The assistants unpacked Arianne’s extensive kit, laying it out on the table in neat rows as she sipped from a takeaway coffee cup.
‘Absolutely gorgeous to meet you, darling,’ she said, holding out the coffee cup so she could shrug off her fur coat, which I am 99.
9 per cent sure was real, to reveal what seemed to be some kind of silk dressing gown-robe dress straight out of Moulin Rouge.
Fur coat removed, she held it up with one hand, clearing her throat.
Were we meant to take it? No, an assistant rushed to her and took the coat, hanging it on a coat hanger on the back of the door.
‘Now, Emily, please take a seat. I have the brief from Vespucci, assuming nothing has changed, Lauren?’ Arianne tossed her signature jet-black hair and fixed Lauren with an intense gaze.
‘No, you know what you’re doing!’ Lauren said, quickly, as if she didn’t want to linger too long now Arianne had swept in. ‘I’ll be on hand for dressing once Emily’s good to go.’
Arianne clapped in the air. ‘Right then! Take a seat.’ She pulled out the stool in front of the table by the window in my suite, and straightaway, without saying a word, one assistant was on either side of me, clipping my hair back from my face with protective tissues to stop foundation from smudging into my dark hair.
She got to work, massaging creams and potions into my skin to make sure it was completely optimised to receive the makeup she was about to bestow on it.
Her assistants – still unnamed, not introduced to us – would wordlessly hand her pots and bottles, as if they knew her needs so well they didn’t require further instruction.
‘You,’ she said, dabbing some thick, luxurious balm onto my lips that was heavy with the scent of honey, ‘have beautiful lips.’
‘Thank you!’
‘So many girls your age are already getting fillers but you have such a wonderful, natural look. And those eyes! Exquisite. Fascinating, even. Everyone tonight will know you have an Arianne Eye, they will be jealous, nobody but you will have this!’ A memory came back to me of Ben holding his hand over each of my eyes to see what I’d look like if I was ‘normal’.
God, I may be going to the BAFTAs without a hot date but I’d rather that than still being with him.
I realised Chloe was standing and staring at the whirlwind taking place in front of her, bewildered by the sheer presence of Arianne Sharp.
It took a lot to impress Chloe but Arianne was clearly enough.
Although we were joined by a manicurist and a hair stylist, Arianne was always the one running the show, everyone else manoeuvring elegantly around her like an elaborate dance.
She would click her fingers and an assistant would hand her a brush, or a palette, or some tweezers, or some eyelash glue.
The command she had over the situation was sort of magic.
The manicurist worked away on my nails, buffing and pushing back cuticles and filing to a pretty, delicate oval, while the hair stylist sprayed and blow-dried each lock of hair before braiding it into a loose fishtail, strands set free around my face.
I would periodically glance over at Chloe, who alternated between tapping away on her phone, a little smile creeping across her face, and staring at Arianne as she worked her magic.
Every time I opened my mouth to ask Chloe what she was smiling at, Arianne would start doing something to my face that meant I felt like I couldn’t disrupt her flow by talking.
Finally, Arianne stood back and admired her handiwork. ‘Darling, you look simply marvellous. You have the Arianne look but you make it your own.’
I turned around to face the mirror, the tabletop looking like a bomb had gone off in a makeup factory though the two assistants were hurriedly tidying up and packing away already.
She was right: I did look ‘simply marvellous’. The most subtle smoky eye, elegantly contoured cheeks, the perfect nude lip, utterly classy and luxurious but still kind of . . . sexy? Not just polished and pretty but grown-up, sort of steamy, definitely a new feeling for me.
Finally, it was time to step into my dress.
Lauren from Vespucci was on hand to ‘dress’ me, a task I used to think I was capable of doing myself until I entered the wild world of couture, all elaborate fastenings and hidden layers.
We disappeared behind the stylish folding screen that had been erected in the hotel room.
‘Oh, I can’t wait to see!’ Chloe called excitedly from the other side of the screen.
‘Ready for the zip?’ Lauren asked, and I nodded. As she drew the zip up my back, it didn’t matter there was no mirror back here. I could feel the way it fitted me like a glove.
It was time to step out. Lauren helped me slip my feet into my shoes – a pair of delicate-heeled sandals with criss-crossing silk straps encasing my foot – and turned the handle on the bathroom door.
Chloe’s gasp, her hand flying to her mouth, told me everything I needed to know. ‘Babe!’ She looked like she was about to cry. ‘I mean I’ve seen you look amazing before but . . . this is something else!’
‘You like it?’ I asked, hopefully.
‘I love it,’ she said, sounding like her heart was melting.
I stood in front of the full-length mirror standing in the corner and looked at myself.
The colour hit me like a punch in the face.
A vibrant cornflower blue so luminous it was almost neon.
I had no idea how Vespucci had achieved it, but it took your breath away.
At least, it took mine. It was strapless and figure-hugging, and snaking from the left-hand side of the straight neckline was a delicate row of silk flowers in the same blue as the dress.
They wound their way over to the opposite shoulder and down the back.
It was truly the most beautiful dress I had ever worn.
Yes, I thought, gazing at my reflection. This is it.
‘I really want to hug you but I don’t want to mess up your hair!’ Chloe wailed.
‘Oh, you can hug me! We can just be careful,’ I said, holding my arms out to her. ‘Thank you so much for everything you’ve done for me.’
‘We’re just getting started,’ she said into my ear. ‘Are you ready to head down? They’ve sent a fancy car!’
I held her by both hands. ‘I cannot believe I get to ride to the BAFTAs in a fancy car with you.’
She glanced sideways, as if she wanted to look out of the window at the waiting car. ‘I’ll . . . I’ll actually be following in a different car. I think. Depending.’
‘What? Why?’ I asked, a sudden sense of unease settling on me. Something was up. ‘Depending on what?’
‘You’ll see,’ she said, shrugging.
‘All right . . .’ I was wary and she knew it.
‘It’s . . . it’s nothing bad!’ Her tone was upbeat but there was a little catch in her voice, something holding her back slightly, and she was still typing away furiously.
I picked up my butter-soft gold leather clutch bag. ‘You’re being really weird.’
She looked up from her phone. ‘I’m just excited for you, that’s all! Shall we head downstairs?’
I nodded, took one last look at myself in the mirror, and headed out of the door. As we stood in the lift, I was so deep in my thoughts about the evening ahead that it took me a moment to realise we weren’t talking. We were both distracted, full of nerves.
When we emerged into the lobby, I passed two American teenagers giggling to each other.
‘I swear! He looked right at me! God, he is so gorgeous!’ one said to the other, and I couldn’t help smiling. I wondered if I would feel like that again, all fizzy with excitement over a cute guy. I wanted it so badly.
Just before we got to the side entrance on Brook Street where the car would be waiting for us, Chloe stopped short. ‘Uh, you go ahead, I’ll see you out there in a second, OK?’
‘Are you sure?’ I looked at her, confused.
‘Yeah, you go!’
I wondered what the hell she was up to. Surely even she couldn’t be arranging some kind of . . . romantic assignation here and now?! ‘Promise, I’ll be there in one minute!’