don’t worry about us,’ Roxanne said quickly, feeling buoyed up already by the jovial atmosphere. ‘We can sort ourselves out, can’t we, girls?’
‘We sure can,’ Kate chuckled, indicating the stunning young waiter who was gliding towards them.
‘See you in a little while, birthday boy.’ Roxanne kissed his cheek and stepped away, leaving him to welcome the stream of newcomers, and accepted a glass of champagne from the waiter gratefully. Naturally, Sean would be busy playing host tonight, which was fine by Roxanne; she was used to them each doing their own thing whenever they were at parties together. She could hold her own in social situations and had no desire to cling to him, limpet-like.
With Serena and Kate at her side, she milled around the studio in a flurry of kisses and hugs; Sean’s crowd were an affectionate and demonstrative bunch, forever greeting each other with cries of delight. As Roxanne had expected, she knew almost everyone here. ‘Daniella, hi! Sadie, hi, sweetheart! Angelo – so lovely to see you …’
‘Oh, you look stunning, Roxanne,’ enthused Jarek, a hairdresser she worked with regularly on shoots. ‘What a fabulous dress! Is it vintage?’
‘It is, yes …’
‘You always find the most perfect thing …’
She thanked him and moved on. Make-up artists, hairdressers, models, photographers, stylists, PRs and agents … they were all out in force, filling the studio with chatter and boisterous laughter as the music grew louder and more champagne was swigged. It wasn’t long before Roxanne began to feel quite light-headed. She was drinking too quickly, trying to shake off the stress of her meeting with Marsha. She really needed to slow down. One more glass wouldn’t hurt, though, and she’d be sure to eat plenty and drink some water.
She took another glass of champagne from a tray and went in search of food to soak up the fizz. Bypassing the seafood bar, where piles of oysters glistened on ice, she made her way to the Indian street food stall where a glamorous young woman with her hair tucked into a crisp white hat was handing out paper cones of puffed rice. ‘This is bhel puri,’ she explained. ‘Would you like some?’
‘Ooh, yes please – it looks delicious.’ Roxanne tucked into her cone with a wooden fork, noting that the light and spicy rice was proving especially pleasing to the fashion crowd, most of whom tended towards the determinedly skinny. Roxanne, who had settled at around a size twelve, feared for their bones sometimes. Sean’s agent, Britt Jordan, looked as if she might snap. Even her back – which was entirely visible in a tiny grey sheath of a dress – looked starved, with all the nodules visible. You could actually count the vertebrae. Roxanne was sick to death of carb-avoiding these days. She tucked into a second cone of bhel puri and washed it down with her champagne. Who could blame her? It had been a horrible day, the sort that needs its rough edges smoothed by something chilled and delicious, and this particular vintage was doing the job extremely well.
‘Hey, Rox, you’re looking good, darling!’ Britt had glided over towards her.
‘Thanks, Britt. So are you. Isn’t this great? I hear you had quite a hand in the organising …’
‘Oh yes, I had to, or we’d have been sitting in the pub with a dish of dry-roasted nuts.’ She laughed huskily. ‘But he’s loving it, isn’t he?’
The two women glanced over to where Sean was holding court with a group of younger men and women by the DJ booth. Everyone was laughing and sipping champagne. ‘I think he is,’ Roxanne said with a smile, genuinely happy to see him enjoying himself.
Britt turned to her. ‘All that not wanting a big fuss … it’s all show, isn’t it? Who wouldn’t want a gorgeous party like this?’
‘Yes, you’re right,’ Roxanne said, surprised that Britt was spending time with her. A notorious networker, she usually flitted from one potential client to another, eager to make contacts that might benefit her roster of fashion photographers. Roxanne booked Sean regularly, as she had before they were seeing each other, so there was no need for any schmoozing where she was concerned.
Britt’s expression turned serious. ‘Um, I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I’ve just heard your news …’ Roxanne frowned, uncomprehending for a moment. ‘About Tina Court being brought in over you,’ she clarified.
Oh, right, cheers for that! ‘It’s not really like that,’ Roxanne said quickly, trying to take a sip from her glass before realising it was empty.
‘Isn’t it? Because Sean said—’
‘No, it’s just a sort of restructuring,’ she explained, prickling at the fact that they had discussed it at all. Of course, they were friends; Britt had represented Sean for many years. But, still, Roxanne wasn’t thrilled at the thought of being gossiped about.
‘Really? Why are they doing that?’
‘Erm, I guess Marsha wants to bring in someone with a strong fashion background as hers is more, er …’ Roxanne trailed off. What was Marsha’s area of expertise again? Diets. Celebrity diets, at that. All made up, of course; Roxanne knew from inter-office gossip that she used to harangue her interns into writing any old tosh. ‘She’s more health-focused,’ she added carefully.
‘But she has you to produce the fashion pages,’ Britt was insisting now. ‘Oh, it’s awful, Roxanne. So insulting. Everyone’s gutted for you—’
‘Everyone?’ Roxanne’s face seemed to freeze as Louie, Sean’s assistant, landed beside them clutching a large glass of red wine.
‘Yeah, we can’t believe it, Rox,’ he said, glancing around as they were joined by Johnny, a make-up artist who was also clearly in the know.
‘I admire you, I really do,’ he announced, enveloping Roxanne in a hug.
‘I don’t know what for, Johnny,’ she said with a tight laugh, disentangling herself and grabbing another glass of champagne as a waiter glided past.
‘For putting on a brave face tonight,’ he exclaimed.
‘Oh, I’m not being brave – I’m fine, really. I’m having a great time—’
‘We’re all amazed you’re here at all!’ added Dinny, a fashion editor from another magazine who had popped up seemingly from nowhere. She clamped a hand around Roxanne’s wrist. ‘If it was me, I’d probably go into hiding …’
‘Or throw myself off a bridge,’ quipped Johnny.
What? ‘Honestly, it’s not a big deal,’ Roxanne said, a shade too loudly as the DJ had misjudged the end of a track and the music stopped abruptly. ‘And of course I’d be here for Sean’s birthday.’
‘Well, you’re very stoical!’ Louie gushed.
‘You show them, Rox,’ Britt added. ‘You poor, poor thing. It’s so demeaning for you …’
‘Erm, would you excuse me for a minute?’ Roxanne hoisted a rigid smile, still catching snippets of conversation as she strode away. She really had to escape from this group, before she drowned in a pool of pity.
‘She should get her CV out pronto …’
‘D’you
