A Summer Fling (47 page)

A wisp of a woman in the tallest heels Anna had ever seen in her life gushed at Leonid and did a left, right and left again cheek kiss. Anna recognized her immediately from magazines although she couldn’t quite put a name to her.

‘Leonid, how majorly marvellous to see you,’ said Sticky-Thin Woman, smiling with a set of white teeth that would have made a crocodile pig-sick with envy.

‘This is Oona Quince,’ introduced Leonid.

‘Yes, I know,’ said Anna. ‘Wow!’

The Supermodel nodded as if it was normal to hear such flattering exclamations attributed to her. Which it probably was. Anna felt obliged to say how beautiful she looked, which again seemed expected.

‘Excuse me, please,’ said Leonid, waving at someone and then disappearing. Anna watched him head towards a man wearing a silver tuxedo and greeting people very flamboyantly. When she turned around to Oona, it was to see a much colder-faced woman than the one who had been draped around Leonid not two minutes ago.

‘So you’re Vlad’s little pet project,’ said Oona spikily, taking a swill from her champagne glass. Obviously not her first of the evening.

‘I beg your pardon?’ said Anna, smiling politely still. She wasn’t sure if Oona had put that clumsily or was being an outright cow. She would give her the benefit of the doubt. She needn’t have bothered being so kind.
Moo.

‘You’re Vlad’s temporary fixation. His
plat du jour
.’

‘Am I?’ Anna answered, trying not to rise to the bait. If Oona carried on bitching, she’d give her one good push and send her careering off her shoes. Funny, she looked gorgeous in photographs. Close up, her face had more spots under all that make-up than a teenage Dalmatian.

‘Enjoy it while you can,’ Oona said, her eyes glittering with malice. ‘He’ll suck you dry and then discard you like a used diaper. You’ll be back to your cleaning job in no time.’

And with that, Oona expertly turned on her killer heels, switched on her charming barracuda smile and went off crying ‘dahling’ at someone across the room.

Anna closed her agape mouth and started to giggle. Wow, she really must be getting up some noses! Fancy, Oona Quince bitching about her! How good was that? Anna took another sip of her champagne. She would need to take it slow. She suspected there would be a lot of drunks at this party shortly and she owed it to Vladimir to stay sober and dignified. Plus she could observe so much more that way. This was surely
the
place for people watching.

The room next to the great open reception hall was booming out disco music. A live band was playing at eleven million decibels. Leonid was heavily involved in conversation with Silver Jacket Man and Vladimir was chatting merrily to some people. She saw him glance over at her and wave. He made some tiny gesture that she knew meant, ‘Are you OK?’ and she nodded heartily back. She grabbed a canapé for something to do with her hands and ate and looked around. She spotted a few celebrity people, some of whom she could name and some of whom she couldn’t. There were lots of tall, stunning women, who looked as if they had just stepped off glossy mag covers, and men with stretched, Botoxy faces and hair dyed too dark for their skin tone. Plus a few orange people who made Malcolm look like an albino. There were also a lot of drop dead gorgeous hunks too, with classical aquiline noses and Kirk Douglas chins. But none of them had the effect on Anna’s knees that Vladimir Darq did when she caught sight of him in the crowd. She had so much difficulty keeping her eyes from searching him out that she wondered if she’d been glamoured.

Oona had snatched another champagne flute and was hanging around Vladimir now and trying not to sway. She appeared to be trying to monopolize his attention and he rather expertly wasn’t allowing that to happen. Her lower lip was petulantly pouting out five inches in front of her cleavage because he clearly wasn’t one of the ‘isn’t-Oona-amaaazing’ brigade. That explained a few things, Anna thought with a wry smile.

By the time Dawn alighted from the minibus at Blegthorpe in her ‘Last chance to shag me – I’m the Bride’ T-shirt which she was pressured into putting on over her new dress, she was the only one of the thirteen sober. Demi, Denise and their group of friends were all in various stages between half-blasted and completely blotto. It was the wedding rehearsal tomorrow at 1 p.m. She dreaded to see the state of her future sisters-in-law then.

Demi’s best mate, Sherideen, was the worst hit so far and had already vomited on her ‘Little Hen Seeks Big Cock’ T-shirt. Luckily, there were some spares on the bus that Demi had brought just in case anyone was sick on themselves – how well she knew her crowd. Sherideen slurringly explained to Dawn that she’d been drinking on an empty stomach and went straight off the bus to the nearest chip shop to put a lining on her tum before hitting the bars of Blegthorpe. Dawn checked her watch. Given the choice between this evening and root canal surgery without anaesthetic and a blind dentist, the latter would have won easily.

They weren’t the only hen or stag party there. The town was heaving with groups of women bearing L plates and veils seemingly made out of net curtains. Dawn tried to look jolly only because she didn’t want Denise or Demi scoffing at her for being miserable, but she could think of better ways of enjoying herself than carrying a giant inflatable knob around with her in a place she didn’t like, with people she didn’t know.

Bette and Muriel were wearing big summer frocks that showed off their bingo wings to best effect. Apparently Empty Head didn’t have T-shirts large enough for them. Dawn didn’t even want to think what Bette would look like in a white T-shirt. There would have been avalanche warnings as she walked down the hill to the pubs. Bette couldn’t stand up for very long, given her bulk, so she and Muriel found a cosy corner to sit in with their pints of lager and lime. Luckily, most of the party were too far gone to even remember Dawn’s existence, something at least for which she was grateful. Dawn pushed herself into the background and watched her ‘hens’ dancing on tables and flirting with ‘cocks’. She pressed her fingernail hard into the inflatable willy and heard the air sigh out of it. There was a cheer to the side of her and she turned to see that Demi had taken her T-shirt off and was jumping up and down with her bare breasts bobbling. The bouncer came over and told her to put her top back on, but he was very slow in pushing through the crowd, considering what a huge, flabby bloke he was.

Two of the women were virtually unconscious by 2.30 a.m. and Denise asked Dawn if she would mind ringing for the bus driver to pick them up now instead of 5 a.m. Dawn didn’t mind at all; in fact she was ecstatic, but she made a lot of ‘Aw!’ sounds for effect. She clambered on the bus with them all and did a convincing job of saying what a fantastic night she’d had and feigned being well tipsy. Even Bette and Muriel were too drunk to notice that Dawn was stone cold sober and playacting her little heart out.

Demi fell asleep halfway through her kebab on the bus. The meat hung from her lips, giving the impression that she had just ripped it from the back of an animal. Dawn was scared of Demi, if the truth be told. She thought of the years to come pussy-footing around her, fearful to upset her at family gatherings. Then Al Holly and his proposal pushed through to the front of her thoughts. But how could she just up and leave her whole life to chase a dream? What if it all soured? She could never come home because she would always be looking over her shoulder for a scary Crooke sister. It would be something always to keep in the treasure box section of her head, but people like her didn’t up and cross the Atlantic with just a guitar and a few pairs of clean pants with a man they barely knew on the strength of a few conversations about Gibsons and Stratocasters. They did nine-to-five jobs and married men who never put their dirty washing in the laundry bin and worried about the bills and had a perfunctory bonk on Saturday nights and dreamed of lives they weren’t ever brave enough to chase.

Dawn wished she had got drunk after all. Madly and totally drunk, so that a hangover drove all thoughts of guitars and weddings and dresses and old hallucinating ladies from her head. She was so tired, so very, very tired.

Anna also was stone-cold sober. A few times she had seen Vladimir about to come over to her, only to be snatched back by someone. He was a victim of his own success, tonight more than ever. At least she had the big dog, Luno, for company. He had wandered over when she flashed a miniature Yorkshire pudding canapé at him. Surprisingly, he had stayed hanging around her when he had eaten it, settling at her side with his big head on his shaggy paws.

Anna’s portrait seemed to be attracting attention, but she herself was superfluous. She was a mere extension of Vladimir and the man himself was in this room, so why would anyone want her – the mere clothes horse?

‘You’re the girl on the poster, aren’t you?’ boomed a raucous voice in her ear. She turned around to see a presenter from the
Morning Coffee
breakfast show. Someone they used as a stand-in when Drusilla Durham and her husband, Gerald ‘The Man’ Mandelton, were off gallivanting.
What the hell was his name again?

‘Tony Barrett,’ he offered, right on cue, holding out a big meaty hand. Of course:
Tony.
How could she forget? ‘I had to come over. I think you look absolutely fantastic.’

‘Oh, thank you,’ said Anna, relieved to be talking to someone, even for a few minutes.

‘And you’re even nicer in the flesh!’

He was sniffing a lot. And his eyes looked glassy, she noticed on closer inspection.

‘I don’t think Vlad could have picked anyone more perfect,’ said Tony, leaning in a bit too close and looking down her top. It seemed he had the same charm offensive as the other Tony. He’d probably cut to the chase and ask her for a shag with his next breath.

‘Well, that’s very kind of you to say so,’ said Anna, pulling back to give herself some personal space.

‘I’d like to have you on the show. Are you up for that?’

‘Sounds great!’ smiled Anna, as he fell forwards onto her and knocked the remainder of her drink down her dress. Luckily there wasn’t much in her glass and it was stain-free champagne, but it gave Tony the excuse to wipe his hand down her front apologetically. It felt like the unadulterated grope it was. Anna stepped away from his hand politely.

‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry.’

‘Come and have a dance,’ said Tony, gripping her arm.

‘Maybe later,’ said Anna, her smile tighter now.

‘No, come on, we can talk about the show. I’ve got a lot of power, you know. I can get you a big slot.’ She didn’t like the way he said ‘big slot’ – he gave it a very sexual tone.

‘Anna, come, I need you,’ said a welcome voice at her side. Leonid. ‘Tony, go away. She has no time to dance, she has to come with me.’

Tony shrugged his shoulders and moved off, knocking into the lady with the canapé tray and sending a couple of miniquiches Luno’s way.

‘He’s been on the sniffy-sniffy stuff,’ said Leonid. ‘I had to rescue you. He’s a horrible man. He tries to get anything into bed.’

‘Flattering!’ tutted Anna.

‘Vladimir sent me to say he’s so sorry you are on your own so much. You are such a great success.’

‘No, he’s the success,’ said Anna. ‘I’m just the shop-floor dummy.’

‘He will be with you shortly,’ said Leonid, tutting at her self-denigration and giving her a gentle slap on the bottom. ‘Don’t move.’

He replaced the empty glass in her hand with a full one, deftly swept from the tray of a passing waiter, and then he moved off himself.

She looked at her watch. It was eleven o’clock. Tony would be at her house in an hour. She thought of how much she had wanted him back, but now she felt nothing at the prospect of his return. Was that because she was anaesthetized by the shock that it was actually going to happen at last?

She looked across at Vladimir in his gorgeous suit and starched white shirt again and something definitely happened to her heart that wasn’t supposed to happen. It seemed to flood with warmth and smiles and sighs. He was engaged in conversation with a rotund older actress from
Emmerdale
. He was so charming and at ease with his crowd. But this was his world, after all, and not hers. He was glitz and glamour and chauffeur-driven Mercs. She was a Barnsley woman whose idea of exciting fashion before she met Vladimir Darq had been a sale on in Dorothy Perkins. She was his
fait accompli
. The words of that vermicelli-thin Oona woman thumped back into her head. Bitchy, but true. Yes, Vladimir had made her feel beautiful, as he swore he would. He delivered to her a corset covered in tiny beads that her body was so proud to wear for him. She, Anna Brightside, aged forty from Courtyard Lane, was
worth the effort, worth the time, worth the trouble
. And women all over the world would soon be in touch with their own Darq sides because this inspiring man thought they should be valued as much, if not more, than his A-list clients.

Her work here was done. She belonged in Ordinary World and she needed to get back to it sooner rather than later because complications were already setting in. She was in mortal danger of falling in love with his tender ways and reverence for her, and could only get hurt. Yes, he had awoken her inner siren. The trouble was, that siren wanted him. He had lifted her so high she wasn’t sure if normal life was possible any more.

It was time to go home and face Tony. She would listen to what he had to say and then decide what she wanted. What
she
wanted.

She took a last look at the beautiful room decorated with giant moons and stars against black velvet drapes and buzzing with music, chatter and stunning people. She raised her glass in Vladimir Darq’s direction and took a long sip of champagne.

Good luck, Vladimir. I wish you everything that makes you happy.

Anna patted Luno’s big head, then slid out through the front door where the complimentary taxis were waiting. She thought no one noticed she had gone.

The taxi driver took a wrong turning. He tapped his Satnav fiercely and gave the excuse that he had only been doing the job a week. He didn’t take much of a detour but, as they rounded the corner for Courtyard Lane, Anna saw that Vladimir Darq was standing by her front door, so pale in the moonlight that he looked like a visitor from another world.