Chapter 6
An hour or so later, silver met cut-glass crystal and the conversations over the canapes were silenced by a spoon tapping a champagne flute.
All eyes went to the large stone fireplace festooned with classic, neutral festive décor – no gaudy reds and greens here – and Gabriella’s father, Martin Felix, stood in front of the flaming logs in the hearth.
Close, but not so close his Charles Tyrwhitt rust-coloured chinos caught alight. For now.
‘Thank you, everyone, for coming and for all your generous donations to the Lulu Foundation. As you all know, our beloved daughter had such a passion for the arts and your monetary gifts will go towards helping other young artistes achieve their dreams.’
The scores of people gathered in the drawing room all put their hands together in very respectful, restrained applause like it was a well-rehearsed mime and the three Baileys Gabriella had drunk began to curdle in her stomach.
The Lulu Foundation. The foundation Martin and Monica had set up in their daughter’s memory so they had something more palatable to focus on than the simple enormity of death and the hole left in their family.
The foundation supported up-and-coming dancers who needed a bursary.
Noble, yes, but not lifesaving. Not any of the mental health charities Gabriella had suggested should benefit.
‘Now, without further ado, I will let my charming wife say all the things she is much better at saying than I,’ Martin said, taking a step sideways as the fake people chortled.
If Gabriella hadn’t been in the centre of this farcical theatrical performance she might have been fisting popcorn into her mouth and delighting in watching the whole over-the-top ‘the great and the good’ act from her parents. But it was her reality and, as always, this was a test of endurance.
Enter stage right, her mother, the principle, the lead.
Gabriella watched Monica take her time, pause, look into the congregated group like she might be a vicar gazing out at his flock at Sunday morning worship. This was divine, posh person’s protocol at its very best, or, in fact, its very worst.
‘Friends,’ Monica said, arms outstretched as if she was a shaman – dressed in LK Bennett – reaching out with spiritual guidance.
And Gabriella could hold it in no more. A snort-cum-grunt-cum-bark flew from her mouth before she could do anything about it.
It was then time slowed like everyone was suddenly in The Matrix.
A brief look to Phoebe – horrified, embarrassed – and Gabriella knew she had to follow this up with something positive.
Before she could properly think anything through, she was clapping her hands together and nodding, moving swiftly towards the fireplace and her mother’s position.
‘Friends,’ Gabriella said, standing next to her mother and addressing the room herself.
‘Yes, we are. You chose exactly the right word, dear Mama. Please, you have done so much entertaining everyone here tonight that you should take the weight off your feet and go and sit down.’ She put her arm out, gesturing towards the antique green leather chair that was as ugly as it was uncomfortable.
‘What are you doing, Gabriella?’ Monica snarled in a stage-whisper.
‘Please, you don’t have to thank me,’ Gabriella said, putting a hand to her heart.
‘We are all here to honour my wonderful, gentle, soft-hearted sister and I would like to personally tell our friends about the book tour in New York. You’ve done so much; hasn’t she done so much tonight?
Let’s all give my darling mama a round of applause as she leaves the stage… I mean, fireplace.’
And, as people began to clap, she knew her mother would have to comply. The director and producer of tonight’s show wanted a standing ovation once the Advocaat had been finished, not a walkout before the roulade had been rolled out.
Gabriella steeled herself, gazed out at the guests looking back at her – most of them figures from her past when she had been an inmate of this mansion prison. But there was no time to dwell.
‘So, as you know, Phoebe and I are off to New York very soon for what I hope will be an amazing journey of discovery. Not just for us, but for the people of America who have embraced this book driven by my much-loved, much-missed sister, Lulu.’ She took a breath.
‘We are going to meet the readers who have made this book, this lifestyle, such a success.’ She smiled.
‘So, we are going to be on TV and radio and any place we can stick our Britishness to expand the reach even further and make sure that people live their best lives with the help of the book’s advice on wellness, fitness and habits to fit today’s hectic modern life.
Accompanied, of course, by my sister’s beautiful artwork and poignant poetry.
’ She picked up a random champagne glass from the mantle – possibly her father’s – and held it aloft.
‘And now, let’s toast, to the most important person in this room.
The person who gives me strength and perspective and a telling off when she thinks I need it.
’ Gabriella then mouthed the words ‘I don’t’ which earned her a ripple of laughter.
And then she watched her mother, mouth set in that permanent fake half-smile, fingers at the chain on her neck that held the initial ‘L’. The time for hesitation was over.
Gabriella raised the glass. ‘To Phoebe.’
And as her niece blushed, head dropping a little as she pressed the toes of her shoes together, the room full of people echoed Gabriella’s words.
‘To Phoebe.’