What a Girl Wants (37 page)

‘No,’ I said, slightly concerned that Al had gone mad. ‘He started telling me a story about Princess Diana and a bomb threat, though.’

‘Ah, yes.’ Al laughed out loud. It felt out of place with the quiet of the garden. ‘Such an ambitious boy, could have done anything; but he never wanted to put in the work to earn the things he wanted. Entirely mine and his mother’s fault; little to be done about it now.’

‘What are you going to do?’ I stood up and let Nick take my hand again. Al beamed at the affectionate gesture between the two of us and clapped Nick on the back.

‘I’m very glad that this is working out.’ He nodded at the two of us and then adjusted his tie until it was perfect. ‘I knew right away. Sometimes, you do just know.’

‘Then you’re better at this than I am,’ I replied, glancing at Nick and then back at Al. ‘We’re a bit rubbish.’

‘Oh, all the best people are,’ Al said, waving us out of the garden with both hands. ‘That’s part of the fun. If you don’t fight, you can’t make up and where’s the fun in that? Nothing like a good argument to clear the air, it keeps you both on your toes. But you two are good for each other, I think.’

Nick didn’t say anything, just smiled and squeezed my hand. Shaking my head at myself, I squeezed back.

‘Nothing worth having was ever won easily,’ Al summarized as he closed the door to the garden behind us. ‘A lesson my son is about to find out for himself.’

‘This is going to be brilliant,’ Nick whispered as we sped up to chase Al back into the palazzo. Seventysomething or not, he had quite a sprint on. ‘Make sure that camera is ready.’

‘I don’t think these are the photos I’m meant to be taking,’ I said, wishing I already knew what as going to happen next. ‘Are they going to fight to the death?’

‘If they were guinea pigs, Al would kill and eat his young,’ he said, hurrying me along as fast as my shoes would carry me.

I gave him the most disgusted look I could muster. ‘Have you been hanging out with Amy or something?’ I asked. ‘Eww.’

I couldn’t share Nick’s thirst for blood. No matter how determined Al seemed to be, this had to be painful for him. It was definitely making me reconsider ever having children of my own. I would be damned if I was going to sacrifice my vagina for a tiny demon that would only grow up to try to destroy my life’s work. I’d googled an episiotomy after reading it in one of my mum’s book years ago and that shit was no laughing matter.

When we all arrived back at the ballroom, it was even busier than when we left.

‘
Ciao
, Chiara!’ Al was immediately caught up in a human tumble of air kisses and elaborate noncontact hugs. ‘And Stefano, so glad you could make it.’

‘Tess, over there …’ Nick nudged my attention over to the corner of the room where Artie and his handlebar moustache were busying themselves at the bar with a woman in a dark blue dress. And not just any woman.

‘Oh bloody hell, he’s talking to Amy.’ I pressed my right hand to my temples, trying to shove a burgeoning headache right back to wherever it came from.

‘Had we better go and save her?’ Nick asked, casually throwing around the term ‘we’ and expecting me not to notice. I did a tiny, silent squee and nodded although I was certain it was far more likely that Artie would be the one that needed saving from her before the night was out.

‘Amy!’ I descended on my friend with multiple cheek kisses, ignoring her confused expression and acting as though we always greeted each other this way as opposed to punching each other and shouting ‘All right, slag!’ across a crowded room. ‘We’ve been looking for you everywhere. And Artie, so good to see you again.’

‘Ah, Vanessa,’ he took my hand in his and kissed it, his eyes twinkling up at me. ‘Or did we decide on Tess in the end? I forget.’

‘Shouldn’t worry about it,’ I said, digging my fingernails into my palms. Now I thought about it, killing him with a shoe would actually tie everything up nicely. ‘It’s so lovely to see you.’

‘Couldn’t miss the big party, could I?’ He looked so sickeningly pleased with himself. ‘And here’s my favourite journalist. Good to see you, too.’

‘My favourite monkey,’ Nick smiled through gritted teeth. ‘I was chatting with the organ grinder. Have you seen your father this evening?’

There were few things I loved more than being in the middle of an alpha male-off and since I was sleeping with the man who was winning this one, it was even more fun than usual. Amy gave me a quizzical look but I just smiled happily.

‘It’s fine,’ I mouthed. ‘It’s all OK.’

‘Your lovely friend, Amy, was just telling me how she’s never been to New York,’ Artie explained as Nick took two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handed one to me. This time I took it happily. I had a feeling I was going to need more than one before the evening was over. ‘I told her she must visit.’

‘And you promised to be my tour guide,’ Amy reminded him with a light giggle that I knew must have been like razor blades in her throat. ‘Have either of you seen Kekipi on your travels?’ she asked.

‘No.’ I gave the room a once-over but he was nowhere to be seen. ‘Al’s here, though. He’s really looking forward to everything.’

‘He is?’ Amy’s big blue eyes seemed to understand my overactive eyebrows and unnecessary emphasis. Nick and Artie looked a little bit lost but that wasn’t their fault, they hadn’t been reading between my lines for the better part of the last three decades. Hopefully Nick would catch up eventually. Hopefully I’d never see Artie again as long as I lived.

‘I see someone I must speak to …’ Artie excused himself with a shallow bow. ‘It was lovely to make your acquaintance, Amy. And a delight to catch up with yourselves.’

‘We are charmed,’ Nick said, his voice ruffled as Artie walked away. ‘I never fucking liked him.’

‘But you were perfectly happy to let him shaft his dad for your story,’ Amy said in a quiet voice, adding a short sharp punch to his gut to make her point. ‘I knew I was right to give you that slap when I met you.’

Nick winced, not expecting the blow. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘But it was totally uncalled for. Next time I deserve it, remember you’re one-up, OK?’

‘Not here, not now,’ I warned the pair of them, all of my attention on Al. ‘Where is Kekipi?’

‘Over there.’

Amy pointed across the room where my favourite middle-aged Hawaiian estate-managing gay man was engaged in a furious argument with my least favourite middle-aged Italian estate-managing sneaky bastard, Domenico.

Amy was not the only person to spot the disagreement. Everyone in the room had stopped what they were doing and turned to watch. Skirts swished and crystal clinked but no one was saying a word. No one except Kekipi and Domenico. They were saying all of the words. Most of them were in Italian but there were a few in the universal language of swearing and I was more or less fluent in that.

‘What are they saying?’ I looked to my multilingual lover for answers but he looked as nonplussed as the rest of us. ‘Why don’t they teach Italian in schools?’

‘Because they didn’t anticipate you needing to translate an argument at a millionaire fashion magnate’s Italian palazzo at the age of twenty-eight?’ Amy suggested. ‘Or because you were shit at languages anyway and they wouldn’t have let you take it even if they offered it?’

‘This is insane.’ Nick looked to the floor to cover a grin. ‘You’re not going to believe this.’

‘I’m not going to believe what?’ I whined, turning to look up at him. This was so unfair; everyone at the party knew what was going on but me. I was not built to withstand such agony. ‘Tell me.’

‘I don’t think you need to speak Italian to get what’s going on right now,’ he said, grinning from ear to ear.

He was right. There was another international language that I understood perfectly and that was the language of sticking your tongue down someone else’s throat. In the middle of Kekipi’s impressive rant, Domenico, looking so sad and desperate, grabbed hold of the other man and laid one on him, right there in the middle of the party.

‘I did
not
see that coming,’ I said as Kekipi turned into a ragdoll in Domenico’s arms and the smooch continued. ‘What is happening?’

‘My Italian isn’t brilliant,’ Nick said with an edge of false modesty. ‘But from what I can gather, Kekipi was accusing Domenico of trying to shaft Al, Domenico was defending himself and then Kekipi said something like “how could you do this to me? I’m so stupid, you’re such a liar, yada yada yada” and then Domenico said that he would never lie to him and that he loved him and then, well, you saw what happened next.’

‘I am freaking out right now,’ Amy took the half-empty glass of champagne out of my hand and necked it. ‘Big time.’

‘I mean, they look happy enough,’ I said, unable to tear my eyes away. ‘They look really happy.’

‘They look like they need to get a room,’ Nick replied. ‘I’m an open-minded man but really, this is a fancy party.’

‘Because two men kissing is worse than two men screaming at each other over the hors d’oeuvres?’ Amy asked sweetly. ‘Kekipi is hot, Domenico is hot, I say let them go for it.’

‘Domenico wasn’t in on it?’ I was still keen to get to the bottom of what exactly was going on. ‘I’m confused.’

‘He said not,’ Nick confirmed. ‘And given the look on Artie’s face, I’d say he’s not happy about this.’

The empty stage at the end of the ballroom was bathed in a pale golden glow from the chandelier above, casting a long shadow from the microphone stand. Artie was glowering beside it, prowling up and down in front of the stage in his jet-black tux like a really pissed-off panther. Only, his elaborate facial hair made him look a little bit more like an angry goat wearing a nice jacket – considerably less intimidating. I watched, every nerve on end as Al broke away from his army of well-wishers and headed for the stage, clapping his son on the back as he hopped up the steps with the easy grace of a man half his age. I really had to find a way to take up surfing if I wanted to be so spry in my seventies. Or at least find a way to retire to Hawaii; I imagined that helped too.

‘This seems like as good a time as any to say a few words,’ Al said into the microphone as a spotlight appeared from nowhere to light him up. The almost silent crowd broke into a flurry of murmurs, reluctantly turning away from the new couple, who were still going at it, and giving their attention to their host. ‘I would like to start by saying thank you to my very good friends Kekipi and Domenico for putting this bash together so beautifully.’

Everyone clapped politely. Amy whooped and gave a very supportive fist-pump.

‘As you all know, it’s a long time since I’ve been to Milan but I couldn’t think of a better place to start my new venture,’ he continued. ‘I have been involved in the fashion world for a long time, longer than a I care to remember, really, but I’ve never been one to stand still for too long and so I’m very happy to announce the realization of a long-held dream of mine and my dear wife, Jane. Next season will mark the debut of AJB, our own collection.’

The room bubbled into life with more clapping and considerably more murmuring. The only person who looked less than delighted about the news was Artie. I took Nick and Amy’s hands and pulled them through to the front of the crowd before taking my place at the side of the stage and prepping my camera. Through my lens, I could see the touch of sadness behind Al’s smile. Sadness for the loss of his wife or for whatever was about to happen with his son, I wasn’t sure.

‘I couldn’t be more excited to confirm whatever rumours have been running amok,’ Al went on, waving to someone in the shadows at the side of the stage. ‘AJB will be a collaboration between Bennett inspiration and the unparalleled creativity of Edward Warren, without whom, none of this would be at all possible.’

Warren mounted the stage in one huge step, his scarlet velvet dinner jacket looking a whole lot more confident than the man himself. He embraced Al awkwardly and then waved to the crowd.

It was hard to sneak around unnoticed in a ballgown but I managed to get myself onto the side of the stage without too much rustling to take a few photos of the rapturous crowd. The only person who didn’t look happy was Artie. He flicked his blazing eyes from Al to Warren and back again, his beautifully manicured hands balling into tight, angry fists.

‘Just leave,’ I whispered, clicking a couple of pictures of him to send in to the Oxford English Dictionary just in case they ever needed a visual definition of ‘fucking furious’. ‘Just go away.’

But clearly that wasn’t going to happen.

‘And where will you be selling these clothes?’ Artie shouted out from the foot of the stage. ‘And where will you be manufacturing them’

‘As much as I love giving a speech, I don’t think anyone wants to listen to me rattle on with my business plan,’ Al said, smooth as anything. ‘Thank you, everyone.’

I watched Kekipi and Domenico sidle around the stage, until they were a few feet away from Artie. I was an aunt to three children and, admittedly, I didn’t get to see them that often but I knew a child on the verge of a tantrum when I saw it. Artie’s face was bright red and he was shaking with barely restrained rage. Either he was teething or he was about to lose his shit.

‘No!’ he shouted. ‘You don’t have a retail location and you don’t have a manufacturer.’

‘Arthur, do you really think this is the right time to have this conversation?’ Al leaned away from the microphone to admonish his son, keeping his calm exterior in place. But that didn’t seem to help. In fact, it seemed to make things worse.

‘Don’t patronize me!’ Artie said, spitting as he spoke. ‘You walked away from all of it when my mum died and left me to deal with everything on my own and now you want to start again and expect everyone to help you but I won’t. Why can’t you just retire?’

Every single one of Al’s guests looked mortified. Well, everyone except for Nick; he looked delighted and already had his iPhone out, recording the entire exchange. Baby steps, I told myself, baby steps. I shuffled backwards away from the stage and over to my friends. Whatever Nick thought, I did not feel like capturing these moments with my camera. I wouldn’t sully the lens with Artie’s sulky mug.