The Vow (5 page)

‘
Always power dress to power shop,’ she had told her.

Pausing to look at an exotic creation of black lace and leather she heard Ellen’s sweet singsong voice calling,
‘Come away from there this instant, Lucy. How many times do I have to tell you, not black!’

Another assistant who was tidying glossy magazines on a low table looked up and immediately recognised the beautiful woman whose face adorned the cover of the copy of
Vogue
she was holding. She swooped down on them and between her and Ellen they had Lucy in and out of a dozen gowns over the next hour.

Silver, blue, red, green but never black. Knee length, full length, high necked, low necked and off the shoulder, she tried them all. They pushed and pulled her, told her to stand up straight, breathe in, strike a pose. They paid scant attention to her comments or opinions but when, at last, she was looking at her reflection wearing their final choice she knew they had got it just right. The full length drop of jade green shot silk hung in soft flattering folds, high necked at the front it plunged dramatically to her waist at the back.

‘Perfect,’ Ellen and the assistant said in unison.

‘
Now for shoes, a bag and, of course, lingerie,’ announced Ellen.

‘
I don’t need lingerie, no one’s going to see it,’ protested Lucy.

Ellen gave her a puzzled look but continued,
‘Whether it’s seen or not is irrelevant, Lucy. The right underwear is fundamental to being well dressed, it can make or break an outfit. Isn’t that right, Sally?’

The assistant nodded in agreement and swept them along with her. Very soon Lucy had the perfect underwear, a bag by Jimmy Choo and the most wonderful shoes with heels shaped, unbelievably, like the
Eiffel Tower.

When Ellen asked hopefully,
‘Jewellery?’ Lucy said very firmly, ‘No! I have some of my own pieces which will be perfect.’

‘
Very well then, we’re done. Lead this woman to food and drink immediately!’

Over lunch they discussed Ellen’s latest lover, an Italian male model he was she said, very beautiful, great in bed, but becoming increasingly possessive. She doubted whether he would last long enough to be her guest at Kit and Sarah’s wedding. This event they discussed with enthusiasm, agreeing that Kit may well have finally met his match.

‘Divinely civilised to invite all of one’s previous wives,’ purred Ellen. ‘So, will we get to meet your Mr Delacroix? Tell me about him.’

‘
Well, I don’t know him awfully well yet but I do like him. Of course he’s not like anyone I’ve been out with before, much older, much richer!’ Lucy began.

‘
Rich is always good,’ interrupted Ellen. ‘And personally I have always liked older men – I married your father after all – especially if they are successful too. It gives them an air, an assurance, it can be very attractive.’

‘
Marcus is certainly sure of himself, charming too, but I get the feeling it wouldn’t be wise to cross him. Catherine says he has a reputation for being very ruthless in business. She’s desperate to interview him, apparently he never gives them.’

‘
Well, let’s hope she doesn’t do her Lois Lane bit at the wedding.’ Ellen’s voice was honey sweet.

‘
Ellen, don’t be naughty!’ Lucy had to laugh at the innocent expression on her lovely face.

‘
Moving on then, are you going to tell me what happened in France?’

Lucy had been expecting the question but could not express her feelings any better to Ellen than she had to her parents or Amy.

‘It just didn’t work out and I really, really, thought it would. I think perhaps we were just too alike. The sad thing is that I still love him, I think I always will.’

Ellen looked sympathetic but said,
‘Love is awfully overrated you know. Stick with your rich man, there lays the path to contentment. In fact I’m going to give Angelo his marching orders and find one myself!’

They both laughed.

~

They were stuck in traffic. It would mean being late for the meeting which irritated Marcus intensely. He would be the most important player there, no one would mind waiting for him, but that wasn’t the point to a man for whom punctuality was like a religion.

‘Saule, can’t you turn off somewhere and take another route?’ he asked impatiently.

‘
Sorry, Marcus, there’s no other way, we’re stuck with it.’

Marcus had opened his briefcase and sat back to look over some files when his mobile phone rang.

‘I thought you were going to call me this week?’ The caller sounded peevish.

‘
Yes, I’m sorry, it’s been a busy week.’

‘
We were supposed to have dinner.’

‘
I know, never mind, we’ll go somewhere nice at the weekend.’

‘
Why don’t we meet at Graylings tomorrow evening instead of Saturday morning, make the weekend longer? We could eat at the golf club, it’s always good.’

‘
I can’t make tomorrow, I have this charity “do”. Sorry.’

‘
Are you taking anyone?’ The question was loaded.

Marcus hesitated before replying,
‘Yes, Lucy Weston.’

‘
Oh Marcus, what are you playing at?’

‘
Look, we can discuss this when we meet. I’ll be there mid-morning, the usual sort of time. I have to go now, I have a meeting.’

He rang off before any
more could be said.

~

‘Wow!’ exclaimed Alex as Lucy came down the stairs dressed for the ball. ‘You look a million dollars. Doesn’t she, Amy?’

‘
A million dollars of someone else’s money,’ Amy replied sourly.

Lucy’s hair was rolled into a high chignon, a very long silver chain dotted with jet beads was wound twice around her throat and then fell to the small of her back, and a heavily engraved amulet was clasped around her upper arm. She had been so pleased with herself and now, deflated by Amy’s words, her face dropped. Her smile returned when Alex told her,
‘Don’t take any notice of Miss Nasty Knickers, she’s just jealous. Give us a twirl.’

Giggling with girlish glee, she lifted her skirt a little and pivoted on her
Eiffel Tower heels. Alex wolf-whistled in appreciation.

‘
You’ll be the belle of the ball, he’s a lucky man. Is that jewellery you’ve made yourself? It’s great.’

‘
When you’ve rolled your tongue back in we’d better be going, Alex.’ Amy couldn’t resist one last jibe. ‘Not all of us have the benefit of chauffeur driven cars.’

Alex turned to smile and wink conspiratorially at Lucy as he followed the retreating figure of his girlfriend.

As they walked away from the house he said, ‘You were a bit hard on her, Amy.’

Her tone was exasperated.
‘Don’t tell me you approve of what she’s doing? And how did you dare say I’m jealous!’

Alex sighed and answered,
‘She’s thinking of marrying for money, she’s not the first and she won’t be the last. At least she’s not trying to dress it up as anything more.’

Amy stopped in her tracks and almost shouted,
‘She’s selling her body to a man old enough to be her father, it’s disgusting!’

‘
Oh Amy, get down off your high horse! Marcus Delacroix is rich, powerful and not a bad looking guy. The way you’re talking he could be some dirty old man. As for the age difference, I actually think it could be just what Lucy needs, someone to look after her.’

He had said the wrong thing.

‘Oh yes, that’s it, poor little Lucy!’ She spat the words out. ‘So fragile and vulnerable. She’s made a career out of that, and let’s face it she hasn’t exactly worked hard at anything else since leaving college.’

Alex was taken aback at the venom in this outburst; he’d never heard her speak badly of Lucy.

‘Be careful, Amy,’ he warned. ‘You and Lucy have been best friends forever, friendships like that don’t grow on trees.’

~

The ballroom was decked with ribbons and flowers, the huge revolving mirror balls illuminating the throng of richly dressed women and dinner-suited men. Voices rung out in greetings, hands were shaken and cheeks kissed. Waiters circulated with trays of aperitifs and the orchestra played in the background.

When he had first seen her Marcus had said,
‘Well look at you! A vision of loveliness!’

She hadn’t been quite sure if he was mocking her.

‘Yes, I’ve scrubbed up rather well haven’t I?’ she retorted. ‘I’m glad you’re impressed because I hit your account pretty hard.’

No apology, he liked that. He smiled and offered her his arm.

‘Worth every penny. Come on then, let’s get this romance launched. I love those shoes by the way.’

‘
Scrummy, aren’t they?’ she slipped her arm through his. ‘Marcus, I want to get my story straight. What do I say if anyone asks how and when we met, stuff like that?’

‘
Just tell the truth, don’t embroider, then you won’t trip yourself up.’

‘
Oh, right. So will I mention you paid for every stitch I have on and how we are planning a large family?’ She struggled but failed to keep a straight face. Marcus laughed despite himself.

‘
Just try to behave yourself, Lucy.’

Making their way through the crowd Marcus stopped to greet a great many people introducing Lucy each time. She began to feel a little overwhelmed. Looking around she recognised politici
ans, actors, sportsmen and showbiz personalities. It was certainly an A-list occasion.

Arriving, finally, at their table she somehow wasn’t surprised to find it was the best placed and their fellow diners included a very senior government minister, an Oscar winning actress and a not so minor royal. She shot Marcus a nervous look and he smiled encouragingly.

‘Don’t worry, they won’t bite!’

He was right, everyone was charming, friendly and out to have a good time. She soon found herself swept along on the tide of their conversation. The actress’s husband, a mild scholarly looking man, told of how at Easter they had found their small grandson trying to peel off what he thought was gold foil from the treasured Oscar statuette, taking it for a chocolate figure. The elderly Duchess entertained them with a rather wicked impression of an
East End soap opera star she had recently met and the minister’s wife, rather unflatteringly dressed in puce lace, was delightfully indiscreet about the flatulence problem of an unnamed Opposition MP. The condition was, apparently, responding well to a homeopathic remedy.

Amidst the laughter the Duchess’s partner for the evening, not the long dead Duke but a septuagenarian of military bearing, snorted and announced,
‘Homeopathy, hah! Bunkum, sheer quackery!’

The conversation changed to alternative medicine, everyone with an opinion. Talking at length with the minister Marcus cast Lucy a glance from time to time and was well satisfied to see her chatting and laughing, completely at ease.

Towards the end of the meal the actress, who was sitting opposite her, said, ‘Lucy, that’s a lovely necklace, so unusual, where did you find it?’

Lucy’s hand went to the intricate links of the chain.

‘Actually, I made it. I’m a silversmith.’

‘
How interesting! And is this chain typical of your style? I’d like to see more, do you have a shop?’

‘
Not exactly, a unit in a craft co-operative in Camden. I’ve only recently returned to London, but I’ll be up and running again in about a week. Would you like the address?’

Lucy reached into her bag and produced a tiny notepad with a silver case. The actress asked to see it.

‘You made this too? It’s charming. I shall certainly come to see you.’

Pleased, Lucy jotted down the address for her, well aware of the value of a potential customer such as this.

Between dessert and coffee Lucy excused herself and made her way to the cloakroom.

As a child she had been rebuked by her mother, catching her listening at doors, with the warning,
‘Eavesdroppers never hear well of themselves’. Trapped in a cubicle she had no choice but to hear the conversation of two women powdering their noses at the mirror.

‘
Do you know who the young woman with Marcus Delacroix is?’ asked the first.

‘
A Ms Lucy Weston apparently.’ The second voice, like the first, was cultured and, Lucy guessed, middle-aged. ‘Very stylish, did you see those shoes?’

Her companion replied dryly,
‘Well, she’s certainly a very different stamp to poor Helena! But rather young for him don’t you think? I assume they are an item?’

‘
One would suppose so, yes. This will put Lydia Fanshawe’s pointy little nose out of joint, she’s been on the catch for Marcus almost since the day of poor Helena’s funeral!’