“Er…wow!”
“Great, isn’t it?” He beams at me.
To be absolutely truthful, I gasped because I look so stupid. You can hardly see my head for feathers. I look like an enormous, pregnant feather duster.
But I mustn’t be narrow-minded. This is fashion. People probably thought skinny jeans looked ridiculous when they first saw them.
“Amazing,” I breathe, trying to get the feathers out of my mouth. “You’re a genius, Danny.”
“Let’s go and have that drink.” Danny is flushed with animation. “I’m in the mood for martinis.”
“Can you put these boas on my account?” I say to Jane. “There’s eight of them. Thanks!”
We head out of the shop on a total high, and I lead Danny round the corner into Portman Square. The street lamps are on, and some people in black tie are coming out of the Templeton Hotel. They eye me weirdly as we pass and I hear a couple of giggles, but I just hold my head higher. If you’re going to be at the cutting edge of fashion, you’re going to get a few strange looks.
“Shall we go to the bar here?” I suggest, coming to a halt. “It’s a bit dull, but it’s right here.”
“As long as they can mix a drink…” Danny pushes open the heavy glass doors and ushers me in. The Templeton Bar is a very beige bar: beige carpet, plushy chairs and waiters in beige uniforms. It’s crowded with business types, but I can see some space by the piano.
“Let’s nab that table over there,” I say to Danny — and then I stop dead.
It’s Venetia. Sitting in the corner a few yards away, her hair glowing under the lights, with a suited guy and another smart woman. I don’t recognize either of them.
“What?” Danny peers at me. “Is something wrong?”
“It’s…” I swallow and jerk my head discreetly toward her. Danny follows my gaze and gasps theatrically in delight.
“Is that Cruella de Venetia?”
“Shut up!” I squeak.
But it’s too late: Venetia’s turned. She’s seen us. She’s getting up and coming across, an impossibly elegant figure in a black trouser suit and heels, her hair as immaculate as ever, a wineglass in her hand.
It’s fine, I tell myself. Calm down. I don’t know why my heart is pounding and my fingers are sweaty.
Oh. Well…maybe because in my bag is a folder containing ten long-lens pictures of Venetia. But she doesn’t know that, does she?
“Becky!” She smiles and kisses me on both cheeks. “My favorite client. How are you? Only four weeks to go now, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. So…um…how are you, Venetia?” My voice is jerky and my face has turned red — but other than that I think I’m acting quite naturally. “This is my friend, Danny Kovitz.”
“Danny Kovitz.” Her eyes light up in recognition. “It’s an honor. I bought one of your pieces in Milan recently. In Corso Como. A beaded jacket?”
“I know the one!” says Danny eagerly. “I’ll bet you look fabulous in it.”
Why’s he being nice to her? He’s supposed to be on my side.
“Did you buy the pants?” he’s saying now. “Because we did them in two styles, a capri and a boot cut. You’d look great in the capri pants.”
“No, I just bought the jacket.” She smiles at him, then glances at me. “Becky, you seem hot in all those…feathers. Are you OK?”
“I’m…fine!” I blow a couple of feathers off my lipstick. “This is Danny’s new fashion concept.”
“Right.” Venetia gives my giant feather boa a dubious look. “Only, you know, it’s not healthy for you to overheat during pregnancy.”
Typical. Bossing me about again. Telling me fashion’s unhealthy. But the truth is, I am starting to sweat in all these layers, so reluctantly I unpeel the boa and take off my coat.
There’s a weird silence. For a moment I’m not quite sure why Venetia is staring at my chest. Then my stomach plunges as I realize I’m wearing Danny’s T-shirt. I glance down, and there it is, clear as day.
SHE’S a REDHAiRED BiTCH and I HATE HER
Shit.
“Actually, I’m quite cold!” I clamp the boa round my neck again, trying desperately to cover up the words. “Brrrrr! It’s freezing in here. Isn’t it freezing, for the time of year?”
“What does that say?” Venetia says in a peculiar voice. “On your T-shirt.”
“It’s nothing,” I say, flustered. “Nothing! It’s just a…joke! I mean, obviously it’s not you. It’s another redhaired bitch. Er…woman. Person.”
This is not going well.
“Good work, Becky,” says Danny in my ear. “Tactful.”
Venetia is inhaling deeply, as though trying to control herself. She looks pretty annoyed, now I come to notice it.
“Becky,” she says at last. “Might we have a little talk?”
“Talk?” I echo nervously.
“Yes, talk. The two of us. Speaking to each other alone. If you wouldn’t mind?” She glances at Danny.
“Sure. I’ll get us some drinks.” He disappears off to the bar and I feel a quailing inside as I turn to face Venetia. There’s a frown line between her eyes and she’s tapping her fingers against the stem of her glass. She looks like a young, glamorous headmistress who’s about to tell me I’ve let down the whole school.