‘Exactly. We’ve just got wind that E-Squared are throwing a dinner on the same night.’
‘The tech people?’ Amy covered her mouth. It couldn’t have been much worse. E-Squared were major players in the digital world and in recent months had been moving into media and fashion. They had money and they were hot; a deadly combination. ‘We always knew that there was going to be some overlap,’ she said hopefully. ‘It’s Fashion Week after all.’
‘Yeah, but it sounds like they’re throwing the kitchen sink at it. They’ve invited half our guest list already. They haven’t announced a venue yet – apparently it’s a pop-up – but it’s going to be big and it’s going to be in London.’
‘Oh shit,’ whispered Amy. It wouldn’t matter if Verve was the hottest magazine on the planet; if it was a choice between Soho and a two-hour drive into the country, celebrities were going to choose close to home every time. She rang off and went back to her sunlounger.
‘Everything okay?’ said Juliet.
‘That was work,’ said Amy distractedly.
‘Don’t let David hear you say that,’ said Claire, her smile fading as she saw the serious look on Amy’s face.
‘What’s up?’ asked Juliet, sitting up and placing her book on her lap.
‘E-Squared are throwing a dinner on the same night as the Fashion 500 gala. And it’s in London.’
‘Ah,’ said Juliet, immediately grasping the gravity of the problem. ‘Do we know what they’re doing? Is it just a dinner or a big party?’
‘Doesn’t really matter, does it? They’re inviting the same fashion people, and fashion people are fickle.’
‘But your party’s going to be enormous, isn’t it?’ said Claire. ‘Surely people won’t miss out on that.’
Juliet shook her head. ‘It’s the distance, darling. It could be a visit to the Hanging Gardens of Babylon; people get jumpy when they have to leave Zone Two.’
‘Can’t you fly them there in helicopters?’
Amy smiled. ‘I think you’ve spent too long in Max’s orbit, honey. And no, it’s too expensive and too intrusive for that many people.’
‘Well you can’t cancel now,’ said Juliet. ‘We’re just going to have to find some way of getting them all there.’
‘What about a cruise?’ said Claire.
Amy groaned. ‘Serious ideas, please. We can’t move Blenheim to the coast.’
‘No, I meant like a river cruise. Max and I went on one on the Nile a few years ago. It was gorgeous, all ball gowns and silver service, so chic.’
Juliet pouted thoughtfully. ‘Blenheim’s just north of Oxford, isn’t it? Could you cruise up the Thames?’
But Amy wasn’t listening. She’d swung her legs off the sunlounger and reached across to Juliet, picking up the Agatha Christie novel she’d been reading. ‘What about this?’ she said, holding up the cover. ‘Not Death on the Nile, like Claire’s cruise, but Murder on the Orient Express!’
‘Murder?’ said Claire dubiously.
‘We get one of those old steam trains and ask everyone to dress up in 1920s glam. Butlers with white gloves, and beaded dresses and fur coats and . . .’ She looked up, her eyes sparkling. ‘Don’t you think that’d be amazing?’
Juliet stared at her for a moment, then a smile drifted across her face. ‘It’s perfect,’ she said. ‘Absolutely perfect.’
Chapter 12
Max groaned as he dropped a cardboard box on the table. ‘Christ, this is the hardest I’ve worked in ten years,’ he puffed, using the tail of his garish shirt – bright blue parrots today – to mop his brow.
Amy looked up from her lounger. She had spent the hour since lunch furiously making notes about the Blenheim Express, as she was now thinking of it, and felt more energised than she had in ages.
‘What are you doing, Max?’ she called.
‘Oh, haven’t you heard?’ Max tore open the box and held up a dress. ‘We’re doing a photo shoot.’
That piqued Amy’s interest, and she put down her notebook and walked down the steps from the terrace. To her surprise, she found a young man in shorts crouching at the far end of the pool fitting a long lens to a camera on a tripod.