The Birthday Party (18 page)

Tyger wiped away her tears sulkily and lifted hers too.

At the other end of the table, Genevieve caught Dickie’s eye and raised an eyebrow. He gave her a little grimace in return.
They were both fish out of water, and slightly embarrassed by the turn of events. Dickie cleared his throat, and got to his
feet to respond to the toast.

‘I’d just like to say how thrilled I am to have two British icons working together on this movie. It’s going to be … stupendous.
So let’s have a toast … to Genevieve and Raf.’

Everyone raised their glasses again. Then Raf stood up. Tyger rolled her eyes.

‘Oh for God’s sake. This is
worse
than a bloody wedding reception.’

Delilah fixed her daughter with a steely glare. Raf ignored the interruption.

‘There are probably only two people who could have persuaded me to get back on the horse, and they’re both here
in this room. I’m incredibly excited about working with them, and I just hope they bear with me if I’m a bit rusty. It’s been
a while …’ He held up his sparkling mineral water and watched the ice catch the light. ‘To Dickie and Genevieve.’

‘Dickie and Genevieve,’ everyone chorused, and Delilah breathed a sigh of relief. Crisis averted. For the time being, at least.

A
fter pudding, Delilah poured coffee for everyone and came to sit next to Genevieve. She was conscious that her guests had
been somewhat sidelined during the earlier drama. Genevieve had been very polite throughout the entire meal, dividing her
attention equally between the other guests. She was charm itself, and didn’t spend the whole time talking about herself. Delilah
was relieved. She had read a lot in the past about Genevieve being rather aloof and self-absorbed, so was pleasantly surprised
to find her quite the reverse.

She drew up her chair.

‘Thanks for chatting to Coco. I know she values your advice.
Critical but Stable
is her first big job …’

‘I think she’s going to be a star.’

Being one already, Genevieve could afford to say that.

‘Raf and I are so thrilled about the film, and about you. It’s going to be wonderful.’

‘Well, it’s an honour to be playing his wife. I’m a huge admirer of his work.’

‘He is of yours, too. We both are.’

The two women looked at each other, then laughed. They both sounded as sycophantic as each other.

‘Well, that’s the mutual appreciation over,’ said Genevieve. ‘But seriously – Dickie was a genius to bring him on board. It’s
going to be the most fabulous film. We’re going to have a ball.’

Delilah leaned in with an air of confidentiality. Those who knew her well would recognise it as one of her weapons – she had
a way of drawing people in, getting them on her side, so as
to make sure they were an ally. She took them into her confidence, made them feel special.

‘I think he’s quite nervous. After all, it’s been ten years. Though I wouldn’t expect him to admit it.’

Genevieve looked sympathetic.

‘It’s always frightening. No matter how often you’ve done it. We all get the jitters.’

‘Do you?’

‘Anyone who says they don’t is lying.’

Delilah looked thoughtful.

‘Would you do me a favour?’

Genevieve raised an eyebrow. What sort of a favour could Delilah want?

‘Of course.’

Delilah looked round the table to check no one else was listening.

‘I know I shouldn’t be worried. It was all years ago, and of course he’s given up the drink since. But … well, you must know
that Raf had a terrible reputation for affairs with his leading ladies …’

Genevieve started to smile. She was about to reassure Delilah when she carried on.

‘… but, well, have you seen Pandora Hammond?’

Genevieve had. The first thing she had done when she had heard who was playing the mistress was Google Pandora and look at
as many clips of her as she could. She was stunning, with porcelain skin and violet eyes. The last couple of films she had
done had received both critical acclaim and the thumbs-up from the public at large. She was currently on the cover of
Vogue
, dressed in a wispy chiffon dress and a garland of spring flowers. She was the darling of the gossip magazines, who were
all falling over themselves to find positive role models in these testing times. Pandora was the perfect English rose, who
preferred cucumber sandwiches to caviar, knitting to nightclubs and charity shops to Chloe – or so she said. Genevieve knew
spin when she saw it.

‘She is absolutely gorgeous,’ Delilah went on. ‘No man in his right mind could resist her. Obviously you’ll all be working
closely together. And I know how intense things can get on a film-set. Could you … keep an eye on him for me?’

Genevieve just about managed a gracious smile. Inside, she was seething.

Delilah obviously considered Genevieve no threat to her marriage whatsoever. Whereas Pandora Hammond was … Delilah couldn’t
have insulted her more if she’d recommended a good plastic surgeon. Didn’t she realise that every man Genevieve had ever worked
with had fallen under her spell? She’d had affairs with a lot of them, but for every one she had romanced, there were three
who had declared undying love but had found it unrequited. She could pick and choose her paramours, and Delilah needn’t think
that just because she was only four years off drawing her pension she didn’t still have the powers of attraction.

She didn’t show that she was rattled. ‘Don’t worry. He won’t put a foot wrong with my beady eye on him,’ she reassured Delilah.
‘I’m used to being Mother Hen these days.’

Delilah pushed back her hair with a nervous laugh. At close quarters, Genevieve noticed a few fine lines around her eyes that
didn’t show up on camera. She’d also spotted that Delilah seemed jumpy and nervy, unable to relax. Was the pressure getting
to her?

Genevieve could play ingenuous to perfection. She picked Delilah’s hand up and held it in hers.

‘Darling, you need to give yourself a break. You look exhausted.’

Delilah snatched her hand away.

‘I’m fine,’ she snapped, then seemed to remember who she was talking to. ‘I’m fine,’ she repeated with an unconvincing smile.
‘It’s just been a bit of a mad day, that’s all.’

‘Of course it has. You are only human. You’ve got a hell of a lot on your plate.’

Genevieve cast an eye around the room. She certainly had –
those three little madams, for a start. Totally self-interested, not remotely concerned about their mother. Not for the first
time Genevieve blessed her own foresight in not having children. A thankless task, if ever there was one.

For one awful moment, Delilah thought she was going to cry. It was seldom she let her guard down, seldom she elicited sympathy
from anyone. She was used to being the strong one. Genevieve’s sympathy suddenly made her feel vulnerable.

She stood up.

‘Excuse me. I must get the cheese …’

She walked out of the orangery, through the kitchen and into the larder where a huge maple board was waiting, laden with a
towering chunk of craggy, sharp English cheddar and a chalky wheel of Brie. She poured water from the butler’s sink into a
glass, pressing its coolness against her forehead before drinking it down. Why had Genevieve Duke rattled her? She had merely
been showing concern.

Damn. She’d let the woman see a chink in her armour. Delilah usually kept her true feelings in check – whilst coming across
as soft and warm and emotionally honest, of course. It was important the public thought she was human, like them, because
that was why they watched her on television and bought her books – they honestly believed they could live just like she did.
But of course, they couldn’t. Far from it. It was a constant battle to keep all the balls in the air.

Usually she was on top. Of everything. Work, family, marriage. But suddenly she was starting to feel it all slipping away.
She was relinquishing control, and not willingly. She’d been delighted at first about Raf’s new venture, but now doubts were
starting to creep in. And Tyger – bloody Tyger …

She wasn’t going to go under. This was a blip. She’d just have to get back on top.

Delilah put down the glass, picked up the cheese and walked back through to the orangery. The perfect hostess.

Polly surreptitiously sneaked a glance at her watch and sighed.

There was no way she was going to get away from The Bower before six o’clock. Whenever there was a crisis in the Rafferty
household, they sucked the life out of her. She supposed she should be flattered that they relied on her, Polly Fry, a mere
mortal, to give them moral support. She knew if she made to leave that Delilah would suddenly find a thousand things for her
to do – even though it was a Saturday. There would be lists, phone calls, people to chase.

It was ironic. Most people in the country would give their right arm to be sitting at this table, eating a Delilah Rafferty
meal. The last thing Polly wanted was food. She had promised herself that she would go to the swimming baths this afternoon
and do at least twenty lengths. There was fat chance of that now.

She turned to put a hand over her glass. Dickie Rushe was next to her, and was chivalrously filling it.

‘No – thank you. I need to keep a clear head.’

‘Whatever for? It’s a glorious Saturday afternoon.’

‘I’ll probably have to work later.’

He looked surprised. ‘You have to switch off every now and again. Trust me, I know. I’m the world’s worst for giving myself
a break.’

Polly giggled. ‘Reading scripts till four o’clock in the morning?’

‘As if I hadn’t read it seventy-four times already. But every time I read it I think of something new I could do.’

Polly cupped her chin in her hand and looked at him. He was sweet. Shy, but smiley.

‘So – how do you prepare for a film? I mean, I wouldn’t know where to start.’

As she said it, she thought this was probably the most banal question in the world. She should be chatting knowledgeably about
recent art-house films she’d seen. The last time she’d been to the pictures – she still called it the pictures, for
heaven’s sake – had been when she had taken her two nieces to see
High School Musical
3. Not exactly highbrow.

Dickie didn’t seem bothered.

‘I’m not sure I do. Sometimes it just … overwhelms me, thinking about the logistics. And the budget.’ He winced. ‘That’s the
tricky bit. It would be easy as pie if you didn’t have to worry about the numbers adding up. And I’m not awfully good at numbers.’

‘Don’t you have people looking after them for you?’

‘Yes. But their favourite word is ‘‘no’’. And I’ve already gone over my limit with the casting.’ He looked meaningfully at
Genevieve and Raf. ‘The cream of British talent doesn’t come cheap.’

‘Yes, but surely they’ll mean the film’s a success?’

Dickie sighed. ‘If only it was that simple.’

‘You’ll have to cut back somewhere else, then.’ Genius, Poll. He’ll be offering you a job as a consultant any minute.

‘I know. But the trouble is with stars like this on board, expectation is high. The supporting cast have got to measure up.
I need great locations so it looks good. I’m trying to find the perfect manor house to shoot in at the moment. If we’re going
to crack the American market, we need to make it look quintessentially English. Chocolate box.’

‘It sounds like fun to me.’

‘When you get it right, there’s nothing better.’ He grinned at her. His smile was wonky, but his eyes were kind behind his
glasses. Polly thought he was the nicest person she had met in ages. ‘You should come and visit when we start shooting.’

‘I’d love to.’

‘Let me know.’

‘You won’t want any distractions, surely—’

‘Room for a small one?’ A silvery voice cut through their conversation, as Coco sidled up and pulled her chair in the other
side of Dickie. Polly’s heart sank. Dickie wouldn’t pay her any attention now. Coco was ravishing, and an actress, and she
wouldn’t bombard him with inanities.

Dickie turned to her with a polite smile.

Polly pushed back her chair.

‘Excuse me. I must …’

Go and look at my three chins in the mirror? Go and think of some more spectacularly stupid questions to ask? Stuff in another
piece of cake in the kitchen while nobody’s looking?

She tried to slip out of the room unnoticed, but as she walked past Delilah she put out her hand to stop her.

‘You’re not going, are you, darling?’

‘Not yet …’ Bugger.

‘Good. Only I need you for half an hour before you slip off.’ Half an hour? Rafferty speak for two hours, at least. ‘We need
to make a list of possible venues for Tyger’s reception. And get on to Karen about clothes. And do a guest list – shit, do
you think we should email invitations, or courier them? Or maybe there’s something more interesting we could do?’

Get them hand-delivered by white doves? wondered Polly sourly, but she didn’t dare suggest this for fear of being taken seriously.

‘I’ll think about it,’ she reassured Delilah, then made her escape. Oh well. Richmond swimming baths probably didn’t want
their water displaced by a great big whale of a thing anyway.