CHAPTER 15

Ana

Ana, Megan, and two girls from the events company were arranging goody bags on the table at the marquee entrance. The black bags, made of luxuriously thick paper, were printed in gold with the Rose logo and the words Are You Ready to Rack? The goodies included a box of gourmet chocolates, a half bottle of McCarey champagne, and a single-use camera.

Souvenir issues of the Rack were in sealed boxes in a locked van outside and would be put out after the cover reveal had taken place.

As Terri had pointed out more than once, they were paying the events people a substantial fee to make sure everything ran like clockwork, so Ana didn’t need to be doing this. But until Percy arrived (he’d been invited as an advertiser), she’d stay here as moral support for Megan.

She noticed Harry’s eyes on her. Again. It was making her uncomfortable. She suspected Harry Rose was something of a ladies’ man. He was charming, witty, and intelligent, but there was something about him that left her cold. She couldn’t put her finger on it.

Nobody else seemed to have a problem. Everyone at Rose thought he was the bee’s knees, with the possible exception of Terri (who, Ana suspected, hated everyone who’d grown up south of Watford on principle, especially if they were well-spoken).

“Action stations,” hissed the girl next to her. “Guests!”

A party of three had appeared on the red carpet. Ana recognized Charles Lisle, her tennis partner. He was between two women, one blond and the other with dark red hair. The blonde was wearing a too-tight dress in a loud shade of blue and was clinging to Charles’s arm. Her free arm kept flying out to the side as if she were trying to regain her balance. If Ana wasn’t mistaken, she was already half-cut.

As they approached, Ana saw that the auburn-haired woman had a baby bump below her gorgeous green dress. She was attractive, in an understated way, and looked a little nervous.

Megan hurried over to them. “Hi, guys! Ohmygosh, Katie, you look gorgeous! You’re absolutely blooming!”

Katie. This was Harry’s wife. Now Ana remembered Megan saying she was going to be an auntie again.

Megan turned to Charles, who was looking down at her with affection. Ana watched his eyes rove over her lacy midnight-blue dress, cut low across her bust, then move to the red-gold curls piled on top of her head, before returning to her face, framed by corkscrew tendrils. Under his scrutiny, Megan turned slightly pink. Then she playfully punched him in the stomach. “Hello, old bean.”

His smile spread into a grin, and he pulled one of her curls straight, letting it spring back up. “Looking good, Nutmeg.”

The blond woman gave a not very subtle cough.

“Sorry, ladies,” said Charles, not taking his eyes from Megan. “Forgetting my manners. Megan, this is Cassandra. Cassandra, meet Harry’s baby sister, Megan.”

“Enchantée,” said Cassandra. “I hear you’ve been in France. Must be nice to be back in the bosom of your family.” Her eyes traveled to Megan’s obvious cleavage.

Charles spotted Ana and came across, ushering the two women with him.

“Ana, we meet again. Ladies, this is Ana Lyebon, also recently returned from la belle France. She has a fearsome volley. You look très chic, Ana.” He kissed her on both cheeks. “Ana, this is Cassandra—Mrs. Lisle—and Katie Rose.”

Ana was about to compliment Katie on her dress, when Harry appeared by his wife’s side.

“Harry!” said Cassandra, rather loudly, and helped herself to a glass of wine from a nearby waiter’s tray.

“Hello, Cass.” Harry kissed her cheek, then touched Katie on the arm. “You look lovely, sweetheart. How are you managing in this heat?”

“Not too bad, but I don’t think I’ll be doing much dancing.”

“Would you like a glass of water?” asked Ana. Without waiting for a reply, she waved the waiter back and handed a mineral water to Katie.

“Thanks.” Katie smiled, but Ana detected a wariness.

“Ah, here comes your sister, Ana,” said Harry.

Merry was sashaying down the red carpet toward them in a white 1950s-style dress, on the arm of Will, who looked a little gaunt. Ana felt a niggle of worry. Given Will’s lifestyle . . .

“Oh, it’s her,” hissed Cassandra.

Ana was used to other women’s reactions to her sister.

Harry frowned. “VIP guest and major sponsor, Cassandra,” he said in a low voice. “And Ana’s sister.”

“Darlings!” called Merry.

Ana didn’t miss the way she squeezed Harry’s arm when he kissed her cheek. Once again she had an inkling Merry might be supplying more than Harry’s wine.

“Wilsky, old chap,” said Charles, shaking Will’s hand. “How’s the booze business?”

“Whisky’s doing welski, thank you, Lisle. Jury’s still out on the wine—we’re hoping Merry’s efforts are rewarded tonight.”

Cassandra took a very obvious sip of hers. “Not bad. Notes of Tesco chardonnay.”

There was an awkward pause, then Ana said, “The caterers were saying it has a lovely crispness, just right for a summer party.”

“Ana, darling,” said Will. “I see you’re channeling Hepburn. I adore the look.”

And she adored his soft Scottish accent.

“While everyone else is wilting,” he said, “you manage to look cool as a cucumber, as always.”

More guests were now arriving. Harry took Katie’s arm and went to greet them.

Cassandra was swaying slightly as she sipped her wine, and her eyes kept sliding over to Megan. Ana watched her, feeling uneasy, wishing she’d ease up on the drink—they didn’t want any dramas to spoil the smooth running of the evening.

“Megan,” she said. “Can I just check with you about . . . our special guest?” She twitched her head toward the area behind the tables.

Thankfully, Megan remembered the real reason she was there, and followed Ana.

“Doesn’t Charles look utterly gorgeous in a suit?” she said, gazing across at him.

“Don’t, Megan. His wife’s already looking daggers at you. Do you want to cause a scene at your first big event? Get professional.”

Megan pouted. “OK, sorry. I’ll behave. Ah, here’s Percy. At least one of us will be getting some tonight.”

Ana’s fiancé was looking dapper in a Paul Smith suit. He shared a few words with Harry, then came over. “Ana, you look incredible. Hi, Megan. Dig the corkscrew curls. Hey, I finally got to meet your famous brother! He seems really nice.”

“He’s the best,” said Megan. “Right, I’d better make myself useful. Ana—you’re off the hook now. Go have fun with Percy. Party on!”

Ana smiled. They’d recently been to see Wayne’s World, and Megan had adopted the battle cry.

The trickle of people turned into a steady stream, and the marquee started to buzz.

“So who’s who, then?” said Percy. He looked around with interest.

Ana pointed out a few people.

“That’s Katie Rose? I thought Harry would be married to someone more glamorous. And she’s got to be quite a bit older than him.”

“She’s pregnant, in case you hadn’t noticed,” said Ana. “How could anyone look glamorous lugging a subcutaneous baby around in this heat? I think it’s brave of her to come at all. And has it occurred to you Harry might love her for her brain?”

Percy looked taken aback. “Sorry, yes, of course. Mustn’t be mean about the boss’s wife.”

“What’s the time?” said Ana suddenly, scanning the room for Megan. She spotted her coming back with Terri.

“You’re not needed,” said Terri, waving Ana away.

Percy’s eyes widened. “Cruella?” he muttered.

“How did you guess?”

Megan touched Harry on the arm and whispered something in his ear. He murmured a few words to the minor royals he’d been talking to and guided Katie over to the red carpet.

Ana couldn’t help but gasp as David Bowie and his statuesque new wife, Iman, entered the marquee. Bowie wore a sea-green jacket over beige trousers, and a spotted red tie. Suddenly every other man in the room looked exceedingly dull.

As everyone craned their necks for a better look, Ana noticed Lizzie, the art editor, peeling the overlay off the huge poster to one side of the stage. It was a blowup of the Rack’s first cover, and until now there was a question mark where the image should have been.

The black-and-white photograph showed a different Bowie from the affable man on the red carpet—unsmiling, challenging, those famous eyes dominating the cover with their direct gaze. The (Pantone Rose Red) typography read, IS IT ANY WONDER? BOWIE ON FAME, LOVE, AND LIVING IN AMERICA.

The crowd parted as Harry ushered the couple to the stage, a few feeble flashes firing as guests attempted a snapshot with their goody-bag cameras. Terri had bollocked Megan for including them, wondering why they’d banned press photographers if “every Tom, Dick, and Harry” at the party was going to be given a camera.

“I don’t think a blurred Fuji freebie developed a week after the event will be a threat to our professional,” Megan had replied.

Of course, Terri had known that; she just liked having a go at Megan—who’d really pushed her luck by adding, “And I don’t think you’ll find Harry bothering with his disposable, even if Tom and Dick give it a whirl.”

Harry introduced a couple of VIPs to Bowie and Iman along the way, all the while keeping things moving. He was a natural at this. Finally they were on the stage, and Harry tapped the microphone. The talking died down.

“My lords, ladies, and gentlemen. Welcome to the launch of the Rack.”

He had almost (but not quite) as much onstage presence as Bowie.

“Back in the fifties, my father, the late Henry Rose, started work as a reporter on a small newspaper called the Lancaster Chronicle. Ten years later, this exceptional man was head of the most dynamic print media company in England, with a stable of groundbreaking newspapers and magazines.

“When I started at Rose, I took a good hard look at our titles and asked myself, ‘What would Dad have done?’ And it was as if he answered, No one believes what they read in the press anymore, Harry. You should change that. Give the British people the truth. Decide who matters, and ask them the tough questions.

“And so, ladies and gentlemen, the Rack was born . . .”

He thanked Bowie profusely for being their “first person on the rack” and then concluded, “Before I let you all get back to the serious business of partying, I’d like to introduce you to our editor.” He beckoned Terri onto the stage. “Or as I like to call her, Torturer in Chief.” There was a ripple of laughter. “Terri—short for Terrifying—will be writing our lead features herself. I think David’s still talking to her?”

Bowie chuckled and nodded.

“Terri has brought to life my vision, and I’m sure you’ll agree that the Rack is a triumph. So thanks to Terri and her team”—his eyes met Ana’s—“for creating what will be Britain’s coolest read. Thank you again for coming along, everyone. Now, as they say, party on!”

He must have got that from Megan.

Harry led David and Iman to a table at the edge of the dance floor, where Sting and his wife greeted them.

Now that the official part of the evening was done, staff moved the DJ’s equipment forward. Waiters with platters of finger food began circulating, and the noise in the marquee rose again.

So far, so good, thought Ana. Everything was going beautifully.