everyone?'
Amy shook her head, looking around nervously. Giselle needed no further encouragement than this. Leaning in towards Amy – a challenge given their diverging heights – she used her eyes to signal towards a group of older ladies in the corner.
'Over there is Lady Fenella and her friends. She is like a hundred years old and totally crazy. Completely nuts, but you know she comes from one of the oldest families in the country. Although I’m pretty sure there’s no money left. I’ve seen her house. Giant but falling apart.'
She turned here and there, subtly laying out the field of play. 'Most of the women are the wives and daughters of aristos. Like Lady Arabella over there.' She indicated a graceful looking forty-something with determinedly blond hair and a youthful complexion. 'Super wealthy. Husband owns half of Dartmouth or Portsmouth or something,' she whispered with a wave of her hand.
'Those are two quite different places,' Amy said with a smile. Giselle ignored her and carried on.
'Titles are important. The older, the better. They don’t like new money. They let it in because they have to.' She made the word 'new' sound like poison. 'Unless you’re a celebrity, but you never see them at meetings. You’ve got your country folk like Harriet Feather-Smalls. Horsey as they come. And your city people. Irina Barachovsky is a good example. You can’t walk down Bond Street without bumping into them. But the one group you want to avoid is the- Oh crap, here she comes. Look normal.'
As if out of nowhere, Amy’s whole view was eclipsed by that of the face of an almost maniacally smiley Olivia Hollingcroft. It took Amy a second to focus on Olivia’s features. With her straight bob of blond hair and large blue eyes, makeup applied to perfection and a row of sleek, white teeth, she should have been pretty. However, it was all just a bit too big for her face, lending her a bulging quality that made her appear permanently alarmed.
A family friend of Harry’s who knew him since childhood, Olivia was a constant presence at the parties and events Amy and Harry attended. She and Harry never seemed close, but Olivia was simply an undeniable force. She made it her business to know everyone and everything about them. Like a gravitational pull, Amy always dreaded being drawn into Olivia’s orbit for fear of her probing questions and candid judgments, always delivered in the form of the most unsubtle of back handed compliments.
'Amy!' she cried, quickly enveloping her in a cloud of Chanel No. 5 before issuing a brief hello to Giselle. 'I heard you were finally joining the gang.' She snorted in a way which was almost a punch on the arm. 'Let me introduce you around. Get you in with a good crowd.' Amy felt her hand being clasped by Olivia's and persuaded on a straight course towards the drinks table. She looked back at Giselle, who shrugged and just managed to mouth the word, 'sorry'.
Approaching their destination much as the Titanic might have a rather large block of ice, Amy directed a polite smile at the two women she now saw were awaiting their arrival. Still being towed along by Olivia, Amy's face froze into what she imagined was a grimace as they drew closer to their mark. It couldn't be. Could it? Surely if there was a shred of mercy on this whole planet or at least in leafy Hertfordshire then the slim blond in front of her wasn't-
"Binky!"
Oh look, an iceberg.
Binky Hijinx was standing before her, looking carefree and effortlessly beautiful in a simple jumpsuit, her hair in beachy waves. Binky of the Hijinx Hotties. Binky, whose history was so inextricably intertwined with Amy's. She waited for a reaction. A slap in the face. Perhaps Binky's Martini thrown in her face. But Binky's face was blissfully blank. Amy’s muscles relaxed as she assured herself that she was not about to be outed as the worst trainee solicitor of all time and she refocused on the group. Within two minutes, she had learned the
Amy shook her head, looking around nervously. Giselle needed no further encouragement than this. Leaning in towards Amy – a challenge given their diverging heights – she used her eyes to signal towards a group of older ladies in the corner.
'Over there is Lady Fenella and her friends. She is like a hundred years old and totally crazy. Completely nuts, but you know she comes from one of the oldest families in the country. Although I’m pretty sure there’s no money left. I’ve seen her house. Giant but falling apart.'
She turned here and there, subtly laying out the field of play. 'Most of the women are the wives and daughters of aristos. Like Lady Arabella over there.' She indicated a graceful looking forty-something with determinedly blond hair and a youthful complexion. 'Super wealthy. Husband owns half of Dartmouth or Portsmouth or something,' she whispered with a wave of her hand.
'Those are two quite different places,' Amy said with a smile. Giselle ignored her and carried on.
'Titles are important. The older, the better. They don’t like new money. They let it in because they have to.' She made the word 'new' sound like poison. 'Unless you’re a celebrity, but you never see them at meetings. You’ve got your country folk like Harriet Feather-Smalls. Horsey as they come. And your city people. Irina Barachovsky is a good example. You can’t walk down Bond Street without bumping into them. But the one group you want to avoid is the- Oh crap, here she comes. Look normal.'
As if out of nowhere, Amy’s whole view was eclipsed by that of the face of an almost maniacally smiley Olivia Hollingcroft. It took Amy a second to focus on Olivia’s features. With her straight bob of blond hair and large blue eyes, makeup applied to perfection and a row of sleek, white teeth, she should have been pretty. However, it was all just a bit too big for her face, lending her a bulging quality that made her appear permanently alarmed.
A family friend of Harry’s who knew him since childhood, Olivia was a constant presence at the parties and events Amy and Harry attended. She and Harry never seemed close, but Olivia was simply an undeniable force. She made it her business to know everyone and everything about them. Like a gravitational pull, Amy always dreaded being drawn into Olivia’s orbit for fear of her probing questions and candid judgments, always delivered in the form of the most unsubtle of back handed compliments.
'Amy!' she cried, quickly enveloping her in a cloud of Chanel No. 5 before issuing a brief hello to Giselle. 'I heard you were finally joining the gang.' She snorted in a way which was almost a punch on the arm. 'Let me introduce you around. Get you in with a good crowd.' Amy felt her hand being clasped by Olivia's and persuaded on a straight course towards the drinks table. She looked back at Giselle, who shrugged and just managed to mouth the word, 'sorry'.
Approaching their destination much as the Titanic might have a rather large block of ice, Amy directed a polite smile at the two women she now saw were awaiting their arrival. Still being towed along by Olivia, Amy's face froze into what she imagined was a grimace as they drew closer to their mark. It couldn't be. Could it? Surely if there was a shred of mercy on this whole planet or at least in leafy Hertfordshire then the slim blond in front of her wasn't-
"Binky!"
Oh look, an iceberg.
Binky Hijinx was standing before her, looking carefree and effortlessly beautiful in a simple jumpsuit, her hair in beachy waves. Binky of the Hijinx Hotties. Binky, whose history was so inextricably intertwined with Amy's. She waited for a reaction. A slap in the face. Perhaps Binky's Martini thrown in her face. But Binky's face was blissfully blank. Amy’s muscles relaxed as she assured herself that she was not about to be outed as the worst trainee solicitor of all time and she refocused on the group. Within two minutes, she had learned the
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