Twenties Girl - Kinsella Sophie (читать книги бесплатно полностью без регистрации сокращений TXT) 📗

It’s a printed sheet with details about the fashion show, together with a laminated card on a chain, reading VIP Backstage Pass. Wow. I’ve never been a VIP before. I’ve never even been an IP.

I turn the card over in my fingers, thinking ahead to this evening. Finally we’ll get the necklace! After all this time. And then-

My thoughts stop abruptly. Then… what? Sadie said she couldn’t rest until she got her necklace. That’s why she’s haunting me. That’s why she’s here. So when she gets it, what will happen? She can’t…

I mean, she won’t just…

She wouldn’t just… go?

I stare at her, suddenly feeling a bit weird. This whole time, I’ve only been focused on getting the necklace. I’ve lost sight of what might happen beyond the necklace.

“Turn,” says Sadie impatiently, her eyes avidly fixed on an article about Katie Holmes. “Turn!”

In any case, I’m resolved: I’m not letting Sadie down this time. The minute I see this bloody necklace, I’m grabbing it. Even if it’s around someone’s neck. Even if I have to rugby-tackle them to the floor. I approach the Sanderstead Hotel feeling all hyped up. My feet are springy and my hands are ready to snatch.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” I mutter to Sadie as we walk through the bare white lobby. Ahead of us, two skinny girls in miniskirts and heels are heading toward a pair of double doors decorated with swags of pink silk and butterfly helium balloons. That must be it.

Nearing the room, I see a babble of well-dressed girls milling around, knocking back glasses of champagne while music thuds gently. There’s a catwalk running through the center of the room, with a net of silver balloons strung above it, and rows of silk-swagged chairs.

I wait patiently as the girls ahead of me are ticked off, then I step forward to a blond girl in a pink prom dress. She’s holding a clipboard and gives me a chilly smile. “Can I help you?”

“Yes.” I nod. “I’m here for the fashion show.”

She scans my top-to-toe black outfit dubiously. (Pencil trousers, camisole, little cropped jacket. I chose it especially because all fashionistas wear black, don’t they?) “Are you on the list?”

“Yes.” I reach for my invitation. “I’m Diamante’s cousin.”

“Oh, her cousin.” Her smile becomes even more frozen. “Lovely.”

“In fact, I need to talk to her before the show; do you know where she is?”

“I’m afraid Diamante’s tied up-” the girl begins smoothly.

“It’s urgent. I really, really do need to see her. I’ve got this, by the way.” I brandish my VIP backstage pass at her. “I could just go hunting. But if you could locate her it would help…”

“OK,” the girl says after a pause. She reaches for her teeny jewel-encrusted phone and dials a number. “Some cousin wants to see Diamante; is she around?” She adds in a barely concealed murmur, “No. Never saw her before. Well, if you say so…” She puts her phone away. “Diamante says she’ll meet you backstage. Through there?” She points down the corridor to another door.

“Go ahead!” I instruct Sadie in a whisper. “See if you can find the necklace backstage! It must be easy to spot!” I follow a guy with a crate of Moet down the carpeted corridor and am flashing my VIP backstage pass at a bouncer when Sadie reappears.

“Easy to spot?” she says, her voice trembling. “You must be joking! We’re never going to find it! Never!”

“What do you mean?” I say anxiously as I walk in. “What are you-”

Oh no. Oh bloody hell.

I’m standing in a large area filled with mirrors and chairs and hair dryers blasting and the chatter of makeup artists and about thirty models. They’re all tall and skinny, slouching on their chairs or milling around talking on their mobile phones. They’re all wearing skimpy diaphanous dresses. And they’re all wearing at least twenty necklaces piled high around their necks. Chains, pearls, pendants… Everywhere I look there are necklaces. It’s a necklace haystack.

I’m exchanging horrified looks with Sadie when I hear a drawling voice.

“Lara! You came!”

I wheel around to see Diamante teetering toward me. She’s wearing a tiny skirt covered in love hearts, a skinny vest, a studded silver belt, and patent stiletto shoe boots. She’s holding two glasses of champagne, and she offers one to me.

“Hi, Diamante. Congratulations! Thanks so much for inviting me. This is amazing!” I gesture around the room, then take a deep breath. The important thing is not to seem too desperate or needy. “So, anyway.” I aim for a light, casual tone. “I have this huge favor to ask you. You know that dragonfly necklace that your father was after? The old one with the glass beads?”

Diamante blinks at me in surprise. “How d’you know about that?”

“Er… long story. Anyway, it was originally Great-Aunt Sadie’s, and my mum always loved it and I wanted to surprise her with it.” My fingers are crossed tightly behind my back. “So, maybe after the show I could… er… have it? Possibly? If you didn’t need it anymore?”

Diamante stares back at me for a few moments, her blond hair streaming down her back and her eyes glazed.

“My dad’s a fuckhead,” she says at last, with emphasis.

I stare at her uncertainly until the penny finally drops. Oh, great. This is all I need. She’s pissed. She’s probably been drinking champagne all day.

“He’s a fucking… fuckhead.” She swigs her champagne.

“Yes,” I say quickly. “He is. And that’s why you need to give the necklace to me. To me,” I repeat, very loudly and clearly.

Diamante’s swaying on her shoe boots, and I grab her arm to steady her.

“The dragonfly necklace,” I say. “Do-you-know-where-it-is?”

Diamante turns her face to survey me a minute, leaning so close I can smell champagne and cigarettes and Altoids on her breath.

“Hey, Lara, why aren’t we friends? I mean, you’re cool.” She frowns slightly, then amends, “Not cool, but… you know. Sound. Why don’t we hang out?”

Because you mostly hang out in your massive villa in Ibiza and I mostly hang out in the wrong end of Kilburn? Maybe?

“Er… I dunno. We should. It’d be great.”

“We should get hair extensions together!” she says, as though seized by inspiration. “I go to this great place. They do your nails too. It’s, like, totally organic and environmental.”

Environmental hair extensions?

“Absolutely.” I nod as convincingly as I can. “Let’s definitely do that. Hair extensions. Great.”

“I know what you think of me, Lara.” Her eyes suddenly focus with a kind of drunken sharpness. “Don’t think I don’t know.”

“What?” I’m taken aback. “I don’t think anything.”

“You think I sponge off my dad. Because he paid for all this. Whatever. Be honest.”

“No!” I say awkwardly. “I don’t think that! I just think… you know…”

“I’m a spoiled little cow?” She takes a gulp of champagne. “Go on. Tell me.”

My mind flips back and forth. Diamante’s never asked me for my opinion before, on anything. Should I be honest?

“I just think that…” I hesitate, then plunge in. “Maybe if you waited a few years and did all this on your own, learned the craft and worked your way up, you’d feel even better about yourself.”

Diamante nods slowly, as though my words are getting through to her.

“Yeah,” she says at last. “Yeah. I could do that, I suppose. ’Cept it would be really hard.”

“Er… well, that’s kind of the point-”

“And then I’d have an obnoxious fuckhead of a dad who thinks he’s bloody God and makes us all be in his stupid documentary… and nothing in return! What’s in it for me?” She spreads her skinny tanned arms wide. “What?”

OK. I’m not getting into this debate.

“I’m sure you’re right,” I say hastily. “So, about the dragonfly necklace-”

“You know, my dad found out you were coming today.” Diamante doesn’t even hear me. “He called me up. He was, like, what’s she doing on the list? Take her off. I was like, fuck you! This is my fucking first cousin or whatever.”