The Troika Dolls - Miranda Darling [104]
Nadia Swarovski was there with her lover—a different one to the
one who was kidnapped the year before. She had obviously moved on.
There was Arik Joel over by the harp, head of the biggest movie studio in the world. Sandy hadn’t spotted him yet . . . and Melania Fourguet-Thomas, the much-married cosmetics queen from Belgium feeding her three Shihtzus (dressed in matching sheepskin coats) yellowfin tuna sashimi from ceramic spoons. There was a sheikh in his Saudi robes surrounded by young men in dark suits and eyebrows, and the Crown Prince and Princess of Greece were mingling with all five of their children.
Stevie felt him before she even saw him. She recognised the faded jacket in the middle of the finery: the frayed collar, the dark, curling hair. Panic and horror and a terrible thrill hit her—all mixed together— in a blast. It was amazing what the sight of the back of a head could do.
She felt suddenly sick.
There was a tug at her sleeve. A dwarf was offering her a glass of schnapps, painted with Yudorov’s face. She downed it in two large but discreet sips and felt a little better. Her hands, she noticed with much dismay, were trembling.
She prayed he did not notice her . . . he seemed absorbed in passionate conversation with Marvin Blackwaller, head of a media conglomerate. Stevie slipped further behind Sandy and removed her eyes from his back.
The harp player was wonderful.
‘Hello you,’ said the voice.
Stevie had to look up. Joss Carey was standing in front of her, smiling.
The unmistakable smell of him hit her—the linseed oil, the turpentine, old leather—and she felt her heart knock itself against her ribcage, as if wanting to commit suicide.
Don’t be ridiculous, Stevie. Handle this.
The accepted thing was to return the smile, to greet him, to ignore
the cruel things that had been said, done, as if it had all happened to another girl in another lifetime.
‘How lovely . . .’ Stevie replied vaguely, her smile watery. Still on autopilot, she kissed him on both cheeks.
The accepted thing was to show that he had meant nothing to her, just as she had meant nothing to him.
But that was a lie. How could she be indifferent?
‘I didn’t know you were a friend of Yudorov’s,’ she continued.
‘I’m here with Charlie.’
Stevie stared into her ex-lover’s face. He seemed so sure she would be happy to see him; his eyes were so guilt-free. Was this, too, an act?
She didn’t think so.
‘Oh. Well, say hello to him for me.’ She smiled again, but what she really wanted to do was stab Joss with an ice pick.
Fortunately, Sandy’s eyes suddenly seized upon HRH the Crown Princess of Greece, Marie-Chantal. ‘Oh,’ she beamed at Stevie, who was standing at her elbow. ‘I simply must say hello to the Princess of Greece.’ She headed off, then turned back. ‘Wait! Where’s KJ—give me KJ!’
The manny pulled the sleeping baby from the fur bag and handed him over to his mother.
‘She’s just going to love him—look at the cheeks!’ squealed Sandy.
‘How could you not!’
Sandy resumed her course for the princess, the minder close at her heels. She waved him away. ‘Marie-Chantal doesn’t have her bodyguards, I won’t have mine. It’s not like I’m going far!’
Stevie left all thoughts of Joss and sought Dovetail’s eye. He was watching Sandy very carefully but stayed put.
Stevie headed off cautiously, using her small size to her advantage in a room full of enormous sunglasses, huge coats and big egos.
She heard Sandy exclaiming, ‘Oh isn’t it just the most rewarding
thing you can do, Marie-–Chantal, be a mother? I just love it! And you have five—how fortunate!’ Sandy was all honey-coloured wattage. ‘I simply can’t wait to get pregnant again!’
It was amazing to watch Sandy shed skins, thought Stevie. Maybe that was what made a good actor,