Page 130 of Kiss Heaven Goodbye

a as the dessert was brought around. ‘And to think I practically gave her wedding dress to her.’

‘Don’t let my father know you’re giving dresses away at cost.’

Grace detected something in Sasha’s expression. Discomfort? For a moment she entertained the idea that Sasha had spent the last decade being plagued by memories of the island too, then dismissed the thought. Stupid, she scolded herself. If that was the case she would hardly have taken Robert Ashford’s investment in her company, would she?

‘You should come into the Bond Street store yourself while you’re in the UK,’ said Sasha quickly. ‘Our silk jersey wrap dresses will look incredible on you. You have an amazing figure now.’

Now? Is that a backhanded compliment I hear? thought Grace. ‘Well, I’d recommend a divorce and an assassination attempt to anyone as a diet plan,’ she said.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ said Sasha, touching her hand. ‘I had heard; I didn’t think . . .’

‘Don’t be silly, I’m kidding. I’d love to come and try a few things on, but my mum’s convinced me to stay with her in Oxfordshire for the week.’

‘Then you must come to my thirtieth,’ said Sasha with enthusiasm. ‘It’s at my friend Iftaka’s house in Berkshire and I think your mum and dad are coming anyway.’

‘It’s lovely of you to offer, but . . .’

‘Alex Doyle will be there,’ said Sasha with a sly smile.

‘You mean Al Doyle,’ said Grace. She actually hadn’t seen Alex since his visit to Ibiza. It didn’t surprise her, given the way his career had taken off. Every now and then she would get a postcard sent to the farmhouse, postmarked Las Vegas, Sydney or Tokyo, with some sweet or cryptic message. Olivia was always very impressed.

‘I didn’t know you and Alex were friends,’ said Grace.

‘Darling, in my business I have to touch base with everyone. This party is an excuse to see everyone important in one fell swoop.’

‘Mummy, Mummy! Come and dance!’ said Olivia and Joseph in unison, bouncing up and down and pulling at her hand as the ceilidh band began to play.

‘I’d better go and strut my stuff,’ she said, excusing herself. ‘And then I’d better get these two to bed before they have any more sugar.’

Sasha nodded and touched her on the arm. ‘You know, we should have spoken earlier,’ she said softly.

‘Yes, I know,’ replied Grace.

‘And you will come to the party?’

Part of her desperately wanted to say yes. Twelve years of being haunted by the memory of what happened on Angel Cay was far too long; she wanted to move on. But she still wasn’t sure if she could handle all four of them being in the same place at one time.

‘Is Miles going to be there?’

Sasha shook her head. ‘I don’t see him. And I don’t think he’d want to come, to be honest.’

There was a look of understanding between them. A secret nod of support from woman to woman.

‘Sure, I’d love to come,’ said Grace. ‘Thirty, eh?’ she added as she was hauled towards the dance floor. ‘We’re almost grown-ups now.’

And it was time to start acting like one.

43

February 2002

Alex wasn’t entirely sure where he had heard the phrase, but in the world of celebrity, it was certainly true that one and one made eleven. Before his relationship with Melissa had finally leaked in a three-page National Enquirer story called ‘Beauty and the Beat’, the tabloid press had only a passing interest in him. Yes, he was a platinum-selling artist, but he was a serious musician, not a red-carpet regular. Interesting to music geeks and teenage girls, but not the sort of star who could shift millions of newspapers. Melissa was a bigger celebrity, of course, but she was not in the same league as Catherine, Julia or Jennifer. Together, however, Alex and Melissa created a strange alchemy that had sent the paparazzi crazy and turned their world upside down. Wherever they went, photographers were there. Leaving the house, at the airport, visiting a restaurant; they were mobbed going in and coming out and the paps would crowd around the windows trying to take pictures of them – shock! – eating noodles or – hold the front-page! – popping to the loo. Not a week went by without front-page splashes about their relationship – in love, splitting up, sometimes both in the same paper – or speculation about an imminent elopement or secret love-child.

Alex was still struggling to make the adjustment, both to his new relationship and to his new mega-stardom. Some days were good, some days horrible, but today had been one of the good ones – one of the best, in fact. Alex lay back on the four-poster bed in his favourite London hotel, Blakes, feeling happy and relaxed. For once, he and Melissa had managed to spend the entire day together, doing exactly what they wanted; no interviews, no phone calls, just them. Melissa was in London waiting to start filming at Pinewood Studios. Alex had just finished recording at Abbey Road. At his suggestion, they’d spent the day doing all the touristy things Alex never did when he lived there. Suitably disguised in sunglasses and baseball caps, they had strolled around London Zoo, gone boating in Regent’s Park, then taken a black cab out to Hampton Court, where they’d gone for a long walk down the Thames towpath all the way to Richmond. Alex didn’t know when he’d felt happier.

‘You know what’s great?’ he said, watching Melissa strip out of her jeans and sweater. In the low light, with the cream voile drapes fluttering behind her, she looked like an angel.

‘I don’t know, tell me,’ she smiled, crawling up the bed towards him. As she leant over to kiss him, he could smell her; a delicate blend of raspberries and vanilla he had always loved.