This one won’t do,” Sonia Khan tutted, tossing a black pashmina back into Farah Assadi’s face. “Look, there’s a hole in it.”
“What hole?” Farah rifled through the luxurious material. Not that she really gave a toss. This was the only pashmina she owned, and she hardly ever wore it.
“Right here. How can you miss it?” Sonia demanded, pointing.
It was Saturday morning, and Sonia was sitting at a long table in Tudor House’s common room, flanked by Tally and Alice, and taking the final inventory of costumes before tonight’s show. She had a pad of paper in front of her, together with dozens of colored pencils, and was marking everything on a chart. It was essential that all the pashminas coordinated, that they didn’t repeat any pastel shades too many times, and, above all, that the quality remained impeccable.
“But it’s tiny.” Farah was squinting at the five-pence-sized gap next to Sonia’s curving, red-painted nail. “It’s not like anyone’ll see it from the audience.”
Sonia glared at her. “This is a fashion show,” she pronounced. “It’s not Oxfam.” She glanced at Alice with a smirk. “You’ll have to borrow one from the general pile.”
Farah snatched her wrap. “Power trip,” she muttered to no one in particular, barging out the door.
Sonia nudged Alice. “Good riddance. Some people think they’re too alternative to follow rules. I hate people who pretend they’re poor when they’ve got more cash than the Pope.”
“Sone, the Pope doesn’t have cash,” Tally pointed out.
“Whatever.” Sonia had always distrusted Farah, who went out of her way to rebel against her wealthy Persian family—cutting her hair short, wearing loads of rocker-style makeup, and dating flagrantly inappropriate boys. Rumor had it she got one of the men who sold roses at the motorway junction out of London. “He gave me free flowers,” she’d apparently told people. “I had to thank him somehow.” Pretentious slag.
Alice picked up her Diet Coke can and sipped nervously, nodding at what Sonia was saying but hardly listening. She was practically shaking with nerves. Her parents and Tristan were due any minute now.
“Do you think I should have worn a skirt?” Alice leaned across Sonia to Tally, looking down at her drainpipe jeans. She’d paired them with Miu Miu peeptoes and a vintage silk blouse that she’d picked up at One Of A Kind Too in Portobello. “I don’t know if this is sexy enough. Do you reckon I should show off my legs?”
“No way.” Tally shook her head. “I mean, those Superfines make your ass look fab. Plus, you don’t want to seem too available.”
Alice nodded. Unavailable. Right. Reaching back, she checked that her crystal-studded hair clip was still holding her half ponytail in place. Her arms looked as tanned as if she’d just walked off the beach. Earlier this morning, she’d snuck out to an appointment at Hasted’s one and only spa, where she’d let herself in for the works. Her skin was buffed and sprayed to a smooth honey color, her legs were totally hairless, and her face shone with adorable dewiness thanks to Marla the makeup artist’s handiwork.
“Yeah, you look totally hot,” Sonia chimed in, determined not to be outdone. “I love your teeth. Did you have them whitened?”
Alice recoiled. “Have you lost the plot? My teeth have looked like this for as long as I’ve known you.”
“Oh.” Sonia shrugged. “I guess I never noticed how sparkly they were before.”
Tally stifled a guffaw.
“What?”
“Suck up,” Tally coughed under her breath.
At that moment, Arabella Scott appeared, carrying an armload of bright pashminas, which she dumped onto the table with a grunt. “Here’s my haul, girls. I don’t care which ones you use.”
Sonia perked up, tweaking a hot magenta one from the bottom of the pile. “Oh my god, isn’t this the one you wore to the BAFTAs last year?”
Bella shrugged. “I s’pose.”
“That. Is. So. Cool.” Sonia shivered. “Maybe I should wear it for good luck, as I’m the compère. Hey, have you heard from your dad? Have you spoken to him today? Is he still coming tonight?”
“Yes.” Bella rolled her eyes in exasperation. “For the nine-hundredth time, yes. But please don’t pester him all night. Sometimes he likes a few hours off.”
Sonia looked wounded. She was about to make a retort, when Alice’s phone rang.
“Shit. It’s them.” Alice went white.
“Oooh! Good luck.” Tally kissed her on the cheek.
“I fucking need it.”
“Be back at six!” Sonia called as Alice swayed on her heels out the door.