CHAPTER 14
Katie
It looked like the heat wave was about to end. After a week of glorious summer sunshine—or stifling, swollen-ankle-inducing heat, if you were in your third trimester of pregnancy—the clouds were building over London. Radio 4’s morning weather forecast was predicting thunderstorms across the south.
As Katie prepared Maria’s lunchbox, talk on the radio turned to Andrew Morton’s new biography of Princess Diana, including claims of her depression. Poor Diana. Katie had met her several times and had liked her very much.
She called Maria down for breakfast. She was glad her daughter was now capable of dressing herself. Already the day was too hot for unnecessary stair-climbing.
As Maria appeared, Katie reminded her she’d have a babysitter tonight, because it was Daddy’s important party at the palace.
“I wish I was going,” said Maria, carefully pouring milk onto her cereal. “Will the Queen be there?”
“No, she lives in a different palace, darling. Buckingham Palace. But I think there might be a duke and a duchess there! I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.”
Katie dropped Maria off at nursery school and headed home. Cassandra was coming over later, and they’d be getting ready together, like a couple of teenagers before the school disco. As she let herself in the front door, she glanced at the sky. Cumulus clouds were piling up, and there wasn’t a breath of air. It looked as if the forecasters were right.
“Sure you won’t have a teensy one?” asked Cassandra, popping the cork. She held a glass under the fizzing bubbles, which raced up and spilled over the sides. “Oops. No, don’t answer that. Bad Cassandra for even asking. Cheers, anyway.” She took a sip, leaving a bright red lipstick mark on the rim.
“Here, have some nibbles,” said Katie, pushing a plate of cheese and biscuits toward her.
“Thanks. I won’t sit down. Might rip the dress. It’ll be a bloody miracle if it makes it through the evening without splitting. What was I thinking?”
Katie laughed. Cassandra was poured into an electric-blue satin dress and, despite a miracle-working undergarment, there had been a sticky moment when it looked as if the zip wasn’t going to make it up. She’d worn the dress to a function at Charles’s bank a year ago, and apparently he’d been so taken with it she thought she’d give it another whirl tonight. She hadn’t realized that, in the space of a year, she’d gone up a dress size.
“How can this be?” she’d said. “I don’t eat any more than I used to, and I go to the gym twice a week.”
Katie hadn’t wanted to dampen Cassandra’s pre-party mood by pointing out the number of calories in a glass of wine. She knew a talk with her friend about her relationship with alcohol was long overdue, but tonight wasn’t the night. Cassandra was hell-bent on having fun.
“Hottest day of the year, and I’ve got to wear constricting underwear so as not to look like the Michelin Man,” said Cassandra. “Would you credit it?”
“Makes me glad to be in my tent,” said Katie, sipping an orange juice. “At least the wind can waft up it.”
“What wind?” They’d opened all the windows in the kitchen, but there was no breeze to encourage through.
Katie checked her face in her handbag mirror and patted at a few beads of sweat on her brow with a tissue.
“You look really lovely,” said Cassandra. “That color’s perfect on you.”
The dress was made of deep green silk that trickled like water through her hands. It was gathered beneath the bust and then fell in soft folds. Trevor had put subtle highlights in her hair. She’d worried that the long diamond earrings were too much—after all, it was a summer party, not a ball—but they did look good against her auburn hair.
Harry had asked her to arrive at Hampton Court by a quarter to six, to greet the first guests. “Better get going,” she said, sliding slowly off her barstool.
“One for the road, then!” said Cassandra, pouring herself a third glass. It had gone by the time Katie had said goodbye to Maria and the babysitter.
Harry
Harry put down the car phone as his driver neared Hampton Court. He’d been checking with Megan that everything was going to plan. It had been a big gamble, letting her organize this, but he was confident she could do as good a job as any of the event management companies out there. If anyone knew a thing or two about parties, it was Megan.
The car swept through the gates and into the car park, where a banner pointed the way to the launch party. Proudly sponsored by McCarey’s fine wines, it said, and Harry smiled to himself. Merry had given Rose a great deal on their new range.
He stepped out into a wall of warm humid air, a shock after the Jaguar’s air-con, and looked up at the sky. It was clouding over, but the cover brought no relief from the stifling heat that had been building through the day. The sun was tracking west, and beams were slicing through a gap in the clouds, hitting the brick walls and Tudor chimneys of the palace, making them glow a fiery red.
He stood looking at the magnificent building for a moment. If its walls could talk . . .
He hoped Katie was feeling more positive about the party, now that she’d bought a new outfit and had had something expensive done to her hair. He was confident she could put her best swollen foot forward on this important night. He’d asked Megan to keep an eye on her, though she’d no doubt be rushing about the place.
Just as well. If Megan was busy, she wouldn’t be able to chase Charles. It was clear she still had that girlhood crush on him—since their reunion, she’d kept finding reasons to talk to Harry about him. He thought it rather odd. Megan could have her pick of much younger, unmarried men. Perhaps it was a father substitute thing.
He was also confident Merry wouldn’t be a problem. Will was coming, too, and this was a big night for them as London’s movers and shakers had their first taste of McCarey’s new French wines. She’d be far too busy schmoozing to cause any raised eyebrows.
As he strode toward the marquee, Harry had a good feeling. This was going to be the party of the season.
He reached the covered walkway, and his eye was caught by the floral arrangements sitting on pedestals at intervals along it. Black roses, arranged with pale trailing greenery that spilled down the columns. He’d never seen anything like them before.
Entering the enormous marquee, he spotted Megan and members of the PR department talking with the catering staff.
Where was Ana? He couldn’t help himself scanning the room for her and wondered again at the strange goings-on in his head . . . and heart. He’d made a concerted effort to put any thoughts of Merry’s sister to one side following the compelling attraction he’d felt toward her that evening at tennis. He’d resisted the constant temptation to visit the Rack’s art department, only dropping in when it was unavoidable. He’d tried so hard to put her out of his mind.
But the images in his head refused to go away. Ana with her long ponytail flying, firing volleys at him, her tennis skirt flipping up as she brought the racquet down. Those lean, tanned legs . . .
“Hello, Harry.”
“Ah, Zadie.” Rose Corp.’s public relations manager had appeared at his side. “Everything’s looking great. Well done. Those black roses are spectacular.”
“Yeah, the roses were . . .” Zadie caught sight of Ana, who was entering the marquee at the opposite end. “Ana!” she called, waving her over.
Ana didn’t seem at all self-conscious of the attention she was receiving as she walked, tall and straight-backed, across the wooden floor. The velvety material of her beautifully cut black dress clung to her slim figure. The neckline plunged in a deep V, and her golden shoulders were bare. Her raven hair was arranged in a high bun with a band of tiny pearls around it, adding to her already considerable height, and there was a matching pearl choker around her long neck. Artfully applied eyeliner made her dark eyes look feline.
Zadie wolf whistled. “Ana, I think I’ll set you loose on our biggest advertisers. You’ll have us booked up until Christmas!”
Ana smiled. “Thank you. You don’t think it’s too much black for June?”
“No way, it’s a great look. Oh yes, and the boss likes the roses.”
Ana turned to Harry. “Hello,” she said, looking at him warily.
Harry couldn’t remember what he was about to say. All coherent thoughts had fled.
“The roses?” prompted Zadie.
“Ah yes. Roses. The black ones. Fabulous. Do I take it you’re responsible?”
“Megan wanted roses; Terri wasn’t happy with red.” Her tone was cool. “I just suggested a less conventional color.”
“Well, they look perfect. I can see we did the right thing getting your design skills on board. I hope you’ll bring that flair into the pages of the Rack.”
“I’m glad you like them. I should . . .” She waved her hand over at the group Megan was talking to.
“Of course, you have things to do.”
Ana turned to go, and Harry saw that there was a cutaway section in the back of her dress, all the way down to just below her waist. He itched to trail his fingers down her golden skin.
“Down, boy,” teased Zadie. “Though I gotta say, I reckon I’d turn for her.”
Harry was shocked out of his trance. “Zadie, I can’t believe you just said that.”
She winked. “Don’t worry, Harry. I won’t tell if you won’t.”