Beach Combing (5 page)

Chapter Eleven

Dressing up was so much easier for men, reflected Lara. All they had to do was bung on a suit and slick a bit of gel in their hair. Whereas she’d tried on every single dress she’d brought to Cornwall and nothing seemed right. All the other female guests were bound to be wearing designer outfits and dripping in jewels while virtually all her clothes came from Topshop or Primark.

It
was seven-thirty on the evening of Jago’s party and she still couldn’t work out what to wear. Finally, after another five minutes had ticked by, she picked out a zingy yellow prom dress she’d bought for a song on eBay and had worn loads of times over the summer. She flung it on and added a silver heart necklace her mum had given her, silver hooped earrings and a pair of sky-high sandals that elevated her from a tiny 5ft 4ins to a towering 5ft 8ins. She only hoped that she’d be able to get down two flights of stairs in them without breaking her ankle.

By
the time she made it to the drawing room the party was in full swing. The room looked like something out of
House
&
Garden
magazine, with white flowers everywhere and delicately scented Diptyque candles glowing on the mantelpiece. The French windows had been flung open to the night air and scores of guests had wandered on to the terrace to admire the Atlantic views.

Lara
spotted Benedict Campbell and his wife Rosanna deep in conversation with Jago on the far side of the room. They were the hottest acting couple in the world right now and she couldn’t believe she was standing just ten feet away from them. Benedict looked every bit as urbane and enigmatic in real life as he did on the screen while flame-haired Rosanna was the most beautiful woman Lara had ever seen. Her dazzling white gown had a tightly cinched waist and plunging neckline that showed off her flawless skin and toned body. No one else in the room could match her – she made every other woman seem insipid in comparison.

‘You
look lovely, Lara,’ said a familiar voice. ‘Can I pour you a glass of champagne?’

Lara
forced herself to stop gawping at Rosanna and spun round. Her jaw dropped when she realised that the waiter standing in front of her was Ed. He was wearing a white shirt and well-cut black trousers, topped with a stylish long black apron. In his hands he held a silver tray with a bottle of vintage Bollinger and a dozen crystal champagne flutes.

For
some unknown reason Lara’s heart did a back flip at the sight of him. She checked herself crossly, reminding herself that he was just a friend. That was all.

‘How
come you’re working here?’

Ed
grinned. ‘God knows,’ he said. ‘It’s all Billy Burton’s fault. Have you met him? He’s the landlord at the Turtle, the bar on the quay. I work there on and off over the summer and he rang me in a right old panic a couple of hours ago. Jago’s party planners asked him to provide waiting staff for the party and a couple of the blokes didn’t bother to turn up. I must be soft but I said I’d help him out.’

‘That
was kind of you,’ murmured Lara.

‘Or
stupid,’ said Ed. ‘Just depends on how you look at it. I mean, how come I’m grafting away serving drinks and my little brother is living it up as one of Jago’s guests. It’s the story of my life. I don’t know how he gets away with it. I really don’t…’

Lara
picked a glass of champagne from the tray and took a sip.

‘Mmmm,
that’s delicious,’ she said appreciatively. ‘But what do you mean your brother is one of Jago’s guests? Which one is he?’

Just
as Ed opened his mouth to reply, one of the party planners tapped him sharply on the shoulder and told him to go and serve a group of newly arrived guests.

‘Sorry,’
mouthed Ed as he hurried away. ‘I’ll try and catch you later.’

As
Lara glanced round the room she realised that quite a few of the guests weren’t behaving any better than the students she usually mixed with. The party had only been going for forty minutes and loads of the younger men were rip-roaring drunk already. A petite woman with jet-black hair had climbed on to a small table and was reciting a passage from
A
Midsummer
Night’s
Dream
while a middle-aged man with a large paunch was berating one of the waiters.

Feeling
completely out of place, Lara hung around on the sidelines. The only people she knew were Jago, of course, and Marcia, who was holding court as if she was the lady of the manor. Which, realised Lara with a flash of insight, was exactly what Marcia aspired to be.

At
that moment, however, someone she
did
know hove into view. Ollie Baker, looking suave in a sharp-cut suit and winkle picker shoes. Oh God, thought Lara, she’d completely forgotten about Ollie. And he was supposed to be her guest for the evening.

‘Wotcha
Lara,’ grinned Ollie, sauntering across with a swagger. He looked very pleased with himself, although she had to admit he scrubbed up well.

‘Hi
Ollie,’ said Lara, smiling back. She didn’t know what it was about Ollie, but he was impossible to dislike.

‘Fancy
seeing you here,’ he continued. ‘I bet you’re wondering what I’m doing up at the big house, aren’t you?’

Lara
stifled a giggle. ‘Well no, not really. I know why you’re here.’

Ollie
checked his cuffs, then loosened his collar a fraction.

‘Er,
well maybe you can tell me,’ he mumbled. ‘I nearly fell off my chair when the invite arrived.’

‘Why?’
smiled Lara mischievously. ‘You’re one of St Grace’s big characters. Why shouldn’t Jago invite you?’

‘Because
he bloody doesn’t know me from Adam, that’s why. I went straight across to say hello when I arrived and he looked straight bloody through me…’

Lara
felt a bit sorry for Ollie. He’d clearly been slighted by Jago’s lack of recognition. Maybe he wasn’t as confident as he liked to make out.

‘It
was me, Ollie.
I
invited you. Jago’s PA asked me to bring a guest so I gave her your name. I thought she would have explained it all in the email.’

All
of a sudden everything made sense to Ollie. ‘Of
course
,’ he said. ‘Of course it was you.’

He
threw his arms round Lara theatrically and kissed her on the cheek. ‘You darling girl. It was you all along. I’m an idiot. I should have realised.’

Lara
stepped back awkwardly. ‘Look Ollie, we’re just friends, you know that. There’s nothing more to it than that. I just thought you’d be pleased to be invited, that’s all.’

Ollie
grinned. He liked Lara a lot, but as his mum would say, there were plenty more fish in the sea.

‘You
can’t blame a bloke for trying, can you? But no worries, Lara. And no hard feelings. Now shall I introduce you to some of the other guests? I’ve chatted to loads of people already. And between you and me, I’ve got my eye on this girl called Francesca. She’s the daughter of Jago’s agent and she says her dad’s going to get her a part in Jago’s new movie. I told her that while he’s about it he can get me one too.’

Ollie
put his arm around Lara’s shoulders and led her outside. Serving drinks on the other side of the room, Ed watched them disappear from sight and felt a stab of fury. Why did the girls he liked always fall for Ollie?

Chapter Twelve

The guests on the terrace gazed in wonder at the dramatic sunset. As Lara and Ollie joined the chattering throng she had to pinch herself to believe that this was really happening to her. A few weeks ago she’d been eating cold baked beans out of a tin and slaving over her university exams and now she was a guest at the most glamorous party she’d been to in her life. Not only that, she was surrounded by actors she’d only ever seen in movies. A TV newscaster was gossiping with a fashion designer just a couple of feet from her while on her other side two well-known actresses were admiring each other’s teetering Manolo Blahnik heels. But the star of the show was definitely the sunset. Lara had never seen such a beautiful sky. It was golden, with streaks of violet and scarlet shot through it. Jago couldn’t have choreographed it better if he had tried.

Lara
and Ollie joined a small circle of Jago’s celebrity friends who had flown to Newquay by private jet that afternoon. Jago had sent two drivers to pick them up and they had all booked into The Indigo, St Grace’s poshest hotel. Lara felt shy about muscling in on their conversation but Ollie wasn’t cowed in the least. Confident as ever, he quickly introduced her to Jago’s agent, who was regaling the others about the day he first met his star client.

‘He’d
only just graduated from drama school and he was a real rough diamond,’ said Bertie Brown, waving his hands about theatrically. Short and round with a pale face and a droopy black moustache, he reminded Lara of a circus ringmaster. ‘But that’s the thing about star quality of course. You find it in the most unlikely places. I signed him up on the spot and as you can see, it paid dividends. Best thing I ever did.’

As
he spoke, Bertie wrapped a protective arm around the young girl next to him. She was as delicate as a china doll, with alabaster skin, flashing blue eyes and a head of dark corkscrew curls. Her silver mini dress was covered in tiny silver beads and looked as though it had been sprayed on.

‘That’s
Francesca,’ hissed Ollie at Lara. ‘Do you think I’m in with a chance?’

Judging
by the way that Francesca’s eyes were following Jago’s every movement, Lara sincerely doubted it. But she nodded brightly all the same.

‘Of
course you do,’ she whispered. ‘A good-looking boy like you? She’d be mad to turn you down. You can charm the birds off the trees so I’m sure Francesca will be bowled over by you.’

As
Ollie edged nearer to Francesca, Lara slipped quietly away. Back in the drawing room, her eyes scanned the crowd looking for Ed. There were plenty of waiters around and the champagne was flowing like water, but she couldn’t see him anywhere. Disappointed, she strolled down the hall and into the kitchen. A chef in immaculate cooking whites was arranging canapés on a huge oval serving dish and bellowing instructions to the underlings around him.

‘Have
any of you seen Ed?’ she asked tentatively. ‘He’s one of the waiters…’

She
had barely got her words out when the chef glanced up and roared at her. ‘Get out of my fucking kitchen. I don’t care who you are. Get out…’

There
was no point in arguing with him. Lara backed out of the kitchen nervously. As she did so, she crashed straight into Marcia, who was in clipboard mode again.

‘What
are
you doing, Lara? You haven’t got any business loitering around the kitchen tonight. Your only responsibility is to look after Alfie during the firework display. Now, if I’ve made myself clear, I need to check on the canapés. We’ve had the goats cheese and avocado crostini so the filo baskets with crab and rocket should be up next…’

Lara
stifled a giggle and disappeared back down the hallway. She suddenly felt weary of the lot of them, Marcia most of all.

Hurrying
upstairs, she found Alfie curled up beside Jessie, the long-suffering cook at The Captain’s House. Jessie had been born and bred in St Grace and had taken major umbrage at Jago’s decision to hire a team of outside caterers. She’d refused to set foot in the kitchen while they were there, although she’d agreed to look after Alfie for the night.

‘Watching
The
Jungle
Book
again, Alfie?’ smiled Lara. ‘You must know the film backwards by now.’

‘I
know it backwards
and
forwards,’ said Alfie proudly.

‘You’re
a very clever boy,’ said Lara. ‘Are you ready for the fireworks? Your dad says you can come down and watch them.’

It
was cooler now and some of the guests had retreated inside to watch the fireworks from the drawing room but Alfie insisted he wanted to join Jago on the terrace. Lara grabbed a woollen blanket and wrapped it around him, then let him go to his dad.

The
fireworks had already begun and Queen’s
Bohemian
Rhapsody
was blasting out of massive loudspeakers on the terrace. Lara marvelled at the kaleidoscope of multicoloured lights shooting across the dark sky and knew she would remember this moment for the rest of her life. Flashes of red were followed by explosions of green, yellow and gold, each rocket bigger and better than the last. As each firework soared into the night the guests roared their appreciation at the tops of their voices. None more so than Alfie, whose eyes were as big as saucers at the spectacle unfolding in front of him.

‘Can
the whole world see this?’ he demanded, turning briefly to Lara.

‘Well
maybe not the whole world. But I bet everyone in St Grace can. And St Ives too. And you never know, maybe as far away as Land’s End as well.’

Finally,
as the last rocket died away, the party burst into a spontaneous round of applause. Jago gave a brief nod of thanks to his guests, then tenderly lifted Alfie into his arms and carried his son up to bed.

Jago’s
exit signalled the end of the party and the guests gradually started to drift away. Just as Alfie had hoped, the party planners had arranged party bags for everyone. Marcia and a coterie of staff stood at the door, solemnly handing out exquisitely wrapped parcels to one and all – Jo Malone scent for the women and bottles of malt whisky for the men.

A
few partygoers lingered on the terrace, drinking and smoking and gossiping about their host.

‘It’s
so touching to see an alpha male like Jago looking after his little boy like that,’ said a middle-aged actress admiringly. ‘I can’t for the life of me understand why Camille didn’t hang on to him. I wouldn’t kick him out of bed, that’s for sure…’

Her
words were interrupted by a shout from below the terrace. Some of the guests surged forward to see what the commotion was and Lara followed them, wondering what was going on.

Two
men were arguing furiously at the top of the cliff path. She saw one of them throw a punch at the other, then watched in horror as the second man picked the first up by the scruff of the neck and shook him hard.

‘Leave
her alone,’ yelled the first man at the top of his voice. ‘You’ve screwed around with every other girl in St Grace but I won’t have you messing her about. I know what you’re like. You’ll promise her the earth and then cheat on her the first chance you get.’

The
second man had taken off like a rocket by now and was running hell for leather down the path but after a minute or so he stopped and screeched back at the first. ‘You’re talking bollocks, Ed. Just like you always do. So just shut the fuck up and go home.’

Jago’s
guests, gripped by the uproar, watched the scene like hawks. ‘Trust Jago to lay on some theatrical entertainment,’ joked the man with a paunch and knocked back the rest of his champagne in one go.