in the years they’d lived together. She was a dear friend. But she’d be a babe in the woods in the company she’d be keeping tonight.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ Joy piped up in what she hoped was a casual-sounding voice. ‘You’re going to have the devil of a time getting a taxi home after midnight on New Year’s Eve. What say I come back and pick you up around one o’clock?’
Violet looked taken aback by the offer. ‘I couldn’t ask you to do that, Joy.’
‘Don’t be silly. I won’t be asleep; I’ll be staying up to watch the fireworks, as always. I could leave straight after they’re finished. I’ll give you a ring once I get here. You have your phone with you, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Violet said. ‘In here.’ And she lifted the silver clutch bag she’d bought for the occasion.
‘That’s settled, then. Off you go, now, before you start having second thoughts again.’
Violet opened the car door and got out, after which she bent down to give Joy a shaky smile. ‘Thanks for everything, Joy.’
Joy stifled a groan as she took one last look at Violet’s impressive bosom spilling out over the tightly laced bodice. ‘I, er, might be a bit earlier than one o’clock,’ she said hurriedly. ‘It shouldn’t take me too long to get from Newtown to here at that time of night.’
‘Whenever you can get here will be fine. So what’s the time now? I’m not wearing a watch.’
Joy glanced at the clock on the dashboard. ‘Nearly eight-thirty.’
Violet frowned. The invitation had said any time after eight, but everything seemed very quiet. She would have expected the guest car park to be full by now and people to be arriving every few minutes. She knew Henry had asked around sixty people, because she herself had emailed out the invitations, of which at least fifty had RSVP’d that they were coming.
‘Do you think I’m too early?’
‘Maybe. Do you want to get back in the car and wait a while?’
Violet knew if she did that she might never get out again. Her stomach was beginning to churn again. ‘No. No, best I go inside. Thanks again, Joy, for driving me. And for offering to pick me up.’
‘No trouble.’
‘Off you go, then. I’ll be fine. I know the way.’ She’d been to Henry’s apartment a couple of times, once before he bought it and once a few months after, Henry having wanted her to see what he’d done with it. Despite the place coming fully furnished, he’d added quite a few touches of his own to counter the starkly modern decor. He’d put some turquoise and silver cushions on the white leather sofas and warmed all the white walls with some brightly coloured paintings, mostly seascapes done by local artists.
There was no doubt it was a spectacular looking apartment with a spectacular view of the harbour, but it wasn’t the sort of place Violet would have felt comfortable living in. All the walls facing the harbour were glass without a single curtain or blind to provide privacy. Violet knew she would feel very exposed living there, like a fish in a glass bowl.
Not a bad setting for a New Year’s Eve party, however.
Violet frowned again as she stared up at the still-empty driveway. Where was everyone? It did seem strange that no one had driven in since her own arrival. Maybe they were already inside. Maybe she wasn’t early; maybe she was late.
There was only one way to find out, she supposed. Squaring her shoulders, she turned and made her way over to the glass-walled foyer of the building. Inside, a security guard sat behind a large curved reception desk. The design of the building was big on curves; all the glass walls facing the harbour were gently curved, as well as the balconies which fronted the entire length of each apartment.
A buzzer rang when she pushed open the door, bringing the guard’s head up from whatever he was doing. Probably reading. He looked around sixty, a jovial-faced fellow with a ready smile.
‘You’ll be here for Mr Wolfe’s party, by the look of you,’ he said cheerily.
‘Yes,’ she said, trying not to feel foolish in her Snow White costume.
‘Name, please, miss?’ the guard enquired.
‘What? Oh … er … Violet Green.’
His head dropped, presumably to check Henry’s guest list.
When he looked up again, he was still smiling. ‘You can go on up, Miss Green.’
‘Thank you. Has … um … anyone else arrived yet?’
‘Only the caterers, miss. You’re the first guest.’
She sighed a deep sigh. ‘Oh dear.’
‘I’m sure it won’t be long before the others get here. Mr Wolfe’s parties are always very popular. Ah, look, there, didn’t I tell you? There’s someone else arriving now.’
Violet glanced over her shoulder just in time to see a white stretch-limousine slide down the steep driveway before being expertly manoeuvred to stop reasonably close to the foyer door. A smartly uniformed chauffeur alighted and strode round to open the back door, standing to attention as Henry the Eighth climbed out followed by one of his wives; impossible to guess which wife. One with her head still on. Whatever, the costumes were extremely elaborate and expensive, making Violet feel instantly ill at ease in her home-made outfit.
Not that it wasn’t well made; it was. And very close to the picture most people had in their head of what Snow White had worn. It had an ankle-length gathered skirt made in a pale-blue silk, the same pale-blue silk used in the puffed sleeves. The fitted bodice was made in red velvet which matched the red velvet band in Violet’s hair, hair which she’d had dyed black for the night and styled in a shoulder-length bob.
Her shoes were black patent pumps with small heels and diamante-encrusted bows on the front, the closest she’d been able to get to the shoes in the picture of Snow White she’d printed off the Internet. The stiff stand-up collar which wrapped around her neck and framed her face was white. The only major difference in her own costume was the laced-up front, a necessity to make the costume fit.
She’d actually felt very happy with her costume … till now.
‘Is there a ladies room down here?’ she quickly asked the security guard before the swish new arrivees swept into the foyer. ‘I’d like to freshen up a bit before going upstairs.’ Despite Henry’s apartment being number one, it was located on the first floor of the building, the ground floor taken up with the owners’ car park.
‘Just down that corridor, miss,’ he indicated. ‘Right next to the lift.’
‘Oh, yes, I can see it. Thank you.’
Her hand was actually on the powder-room door when Joy’s voice popped into her head.
You’re not going to be a wishy-washy, lily-livered little nincompoop, are you?
Shame and anger revived her determination to have done with her silly shy self once and for all. With her bag clutched tightly in one hand, she moved on to firmly press the lift button
