Midnight Girls (25 page)

‘Well, there’s my answer,’ Allegra said caustically. ‘So much for our eternal friendship.’

‘All right then. All right, I’ll come. But only to keep you company and talk to Xander, if he’ll listen. I’m not going to drink anything or stay out late.’

‘Great!’ Allegra smiled broadly. ‘That’s settled then. Now all we need is to decide what we’re going to wear.’

Chapter 21

New York
2003

MUFFY HAD THE
most adorable jewel box of an apartment on the Upper West side that was now full of pretty young American girls, fluttering about like bright butterflies in their silk tea dresses and satin high heels. Romily was guest of honour, Muffy’s glamorous European friend with the famous name and the vast fortune.

Some of the girls she already knew from skiing trips in Gstaad, Megève and Verbier: she kissed Carolyn Makeheart who was married to a press baron’s son, and Annie Schaupman, whose father had made a fortune in Duty Free shops. The others were part of Muffy’s circle, and she’d invited them because she was sure they’d all be fascinated by Romily’s new venture.

The minute she’d arrived in New York, she’d felt enlivened and interested in life again. Perhaps it was the bustling crowds, the traffic, the way the place was always open for business, always buzzing. Perhaps it was that American girls seemed to have so much energy, and so much to do. Romily knew for a fact that Muffy got up at seven a.m. every morning to begin her regime: first, a swim in the pool followed by an hour’s Pilates. Every other day she ran in Central Park and had an hour’s yoga. Then it was
time
for the serious stuff of life – her masseur or facialist or manicurist would arrive for treatments, and last of all her hairdresser came to her to tend her locks. Then, at last, it would be time for breakfast – an omelette and some supplements, along with herbal tea and a wheatgrass concoction. Then Muffy was ready to begin her day.

While the dedication this required was impressive, it seemed like a lot of hard work to Romily, who preferred to feel a little more pampered. She was awakened at nine a.m. by her maid with a tray containing a tiny but delicious breakfast: a boiled egg and some warm brioche with strawberry conserve was a favourite; or rye toast with Marmite, a substance she had learnt to love at Westfield but that seemed to revolt everyone but the British. Then, while she breakfasted, she read several papers:
The Times, Le Monde
and the
New York Post
, checked her emails, read her letters, did some correspondence, made telephone calls and flicked through her diary, trying to keep on top of her busy life. There were always more invitations to accept or decline, more travel arrangements to make, endless appointments and shopping trips to fulfil.

She was lucky if she was out of bed by lunchtime, but felt as though she’d put in a morning at the office before she’d even got up. Then it was time for her constitutional: she preferred to get her exercise in a less prescribed way than Muffy, and liked to wander through the park or go skating rather than visit a gym or an exercise class. She was lucky – she never seemed to put on weight.

Perhaps that’s because I avoid confections like these
, she thought, regarding the pretty cake-stand piled high with cupcakes that Muffy had ordered in from a local bakery that was the social favourite of the moment. The cakes were smothered by huge pastel swirls of buttercream icing and topped with little jelly diamonds.
Why do American and
British
girls eat between meals? It’s something I don’t understand at all
. The other girls were eyeing them greedily and denouncing Muffy for bringing such temptation into their orbits, when carbs and sugar were strictly forbidden, but nibbling away at them all the same.

When everyone was supplied with herbal tea or sparkling water, Muffy clapped her hands for quiet.

‘Now, girls, I’ve asked you all here because I want to tell you about Romily’s new idea. As you know, she’s the granddaughter of Vincent de Lisle and she’s inherited his artistic eye. As you can see by the gorgeous Chanel dress she has so cleverly teamed with those Prada sandals, Romily has impeccable style. And she’s decided to open a boutique, right here in New York, bringing us all an exclusive taste of her Parisian chic. Isn’t that wonderful?’

There was a general chorus of approval. Everyone knew how hard it was for well-brought up girls to find a suitable occupation. The cleverest and most ambitious ones went into law, finance or politics, but they were rarely seen because of their strenuous working hours. Others headed for the media world – high-class fashion magazines were an excellent choice: well-paid and giving the inside track to the latest designers, beauty products and best surgeons in town. More artistic society girls became painters, sculptors or interior designers. Others opened galleries or got jobs in the big, glamorous auction houses. And a few started their own clothing lines, which was considered respectable. A boutique would be perfect: someone else would do the hard work of designing and making the clothes. One could simply concentrate on the fun of stocking the shop and then having one’s girlfriends come in and try everything on.

‘Oh, how perfect,’ sighed Annie Schaupman. She looked enviously at Romily’s dress. ‘I’d love to steal your style.’

‘I’m flattered you’re all so keen,’ she said, delighted that her venture was being so warmly welcomed.

‘It would be so cute!’ cried Stella Al Rijan, a beautiful dark-skinned half-Egyptian girl who had recently started a jewellery designing business. ‘Imagine what fun you’ll have –
everyone
will come. Muffy will see to that. Perhaps you could stock my new topaz line.’

‘Wonderful idea,’ cried Muffy. ‘I want you girls to be Romily’s source of inspiration for the things we’d all like to buy.’

Everyone was hugely enthusiastic and a lively conversation ensued in which the boutique grew from a simple clothes shop to a vast emporium selling everything anyone could think of.

‘Wait, wait!’ cried Romily, laughing. ‘I’ll need a shop the size of Bloomingdales at this rate. We’ll have to be more focused, that’s all.’

‘We’ll all help,’ declared Muffy. ‘I’d just love to play shop! You’ll do it, Romily, won’t you? Say you will!’

‘You know what? I think I will.’

At last there was something to occupy her time. Romily and Muffy went looking for suitable premises for their shop and found a place they both adored on a slightly ramshackle street on the Lower East Side. It was on one of the more run-down streets and most of the shops around them sold second-hand clothes, vintage trinkets, or cut-price electricals and junk, but the area was on the up. Not quite as trendy as the East Village but on its way.

‘I love this!’ cooed Muffy. ‘It’s so funky, isn’t it?’

‘It’s cool,’ agreed Romily, looking about. Across the street was a place selling artists’ materials. ‘I love the vibe. Is this the place?’

They looked at each other.

‘Go for it,’ said Muffy.

‘I will.’

It didn’t take much to persuade Charles de Lisle to allow Romily to invest in her shop; perhaps it was because her mother had reported their conversation about boredom, and her parents felt that some money invested in a boutique in New York was preferable to her hotfooting it off to the world’s trouble spots to start clearing mines, or whatever it was she had in mind.

The family’s attorneys organised all the boring paperwork. Romily went to their New York office, explained to them what she wanted and asked when her shop would be ready for her. A week later, she was taking a designer round the rundown old space and they were sharing their vision of what it should be like.

‘Oh my Gaaahd, how fabulous!’ cried Stefan, as they went round the shop together. It was a very basic layout – one large room at the front, a stock room, small kitchen and washroom at the back. Everything was grimy and shabby. ‘I can see it now. We’ll make it fresh and clean, with lots of light, lots of fantastic steel, chrome and concrete.’

‘I like white,’ Romily said. ‘And mirrors.’ She’d had lots of ideas for how she wanted it and had spent many happy hours flicking through design magazines and browsing in expensive shops, looking at fittings and colour schemes. ‘I’m thinking of a minimalist/Baroque hybrid.’

‘We can work that, we can
definitely
work that.’ He made some quick sketches on the notebook he carried. ‘Rails
here
. Display
here
. Fitting room
here
.’

Romily nodded. ‘Oh, yes, that’s exactly how it should be.’ It all looked perfect so far. Stefan was obviously exactly right for the job – he shared her vision. ‘How fast can we do it?’

He frowned and thought for a while. ‘Well, there are first designs to be drawn up, consultation, costing, fitting … I
guess
we could be ready to go in six months, if we really hurry.’

‘Six months! That’s far too long. I want it done in three. Max.’

Stefan looked doubtful.

‘Money no object,’ Romily added.

The designer’s face cleared. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

Cherub opened three months later almost to the day, looking a little different from Stephan’s original concept once Romily, Muffy and the others had all had their say. It was now a mix of modernist industrial, with a polished concrete floor and exposed pipework, plus more girly pink and gold touches. And now that it was called Cherub, the angelic motif had been worked into the shop wherever possible, from the golden angels flying across the walls to the hooks in the dressing rooms that were cute little pairs of wings.

Opening night was a glamorous affair, with all of New York’s finest young socialites making an appearance, looking polished and glossy and altogether unlike anything seen in a rather down-at-heel street on the less salubrious side of the East Village.

Romily turned out for the evening in a wonderful Dior gown, in keeping with her angel theme: a long white flowing goddess dress that showed off her gleaming olive skin, graceful arms and silver sandals. Her brown hair was pulled back into a loose bun, clasped with a fabulous piece of wrought gold, an actual Roman antique, and she had gone for New York style nude simplicity in her make-up. The rest of the girls were dressed like Gwyneth Paltrow, who was their idol, with straight blonde hair and the crisp cool colours of Ralph Lauren and Donna Karan.

‘Oh my God,’ breathed Muffy, who was wearing a
Michael
Kors maxi-dress with a scarf halter-neck, ‘it’s all so beautiful.’

It was. Romily had taken elements of everything she admired from her favourite Paris boutiques and put it all into one place. The effect, she decided, was unusual and very creative. Velvet pouffes in harlequin colours sat on the polished concrete. Plaster angels with trumpets and harps hung over unusual modern ceramics: vases bursting with fists, or plates with china thorns all over them. A collection of vintage lamps – something Romily had a particular passion for – stood on a shelf over a row of dresses, scraps of bright chiffon and silk from a designer friend of Annie’s. On another modern chair was a pile of sweaters in cobweb-fine cashmere in a variety of styles and colours. Stella Al Rijan’s jewellery was displayed in original butterfly-display cases that were once in the Natural History Museum in London. A row of hats sat on fairground clown heads, the kind with an open mouth for balls to be tossed inside.

The crowd wandered about, sipping their champagne and ‘oooh’-ing over all the lovely things in the shop. Society reporters and photographers snapped the beautiful crowd and asked them for their thoughts on the new de Lisle incarnation.

Romily was delighted. She had loved the whole process of pulling the shop together. She’d never been so absorbed and happy. ‘Now I understand why people work,’ she said to Muffy. ‘This is fun!’ She had loved sitting down with Stefan to look over his designs and then going with him to warehouses and trade outlets, to look at fittings and swatches and tiling effects and all the other things she had to choose. She could understand now how her upbringing had affected her and influenced her taste and style: she had gravitated towards the most expensive of everything as though by instinct. Even the staff washroom was tiled in the
most
costly Milanese mosaic marble and featured a designer toilet that self-flushed.

When it came to stocking the shop, Romily had decided that several heads were better than one. Although she was able to stock one or two of her favourite young designers, she was not going to be able to sell her cherished haute-couture labels. The licensing arrangements did not permit it. That didn’t matter – she would make a virtue of it and break new names. So she formed the Cherub Committee, on which all her friends had a place if they wanted, and took their advice as to what she should sell in the shop. After all, if her stylish, rich New York girlfriends liked it and wanted to buy it, it would surely fly off the shelves, like the little angels flitting above them.

‘Do you like it, Mama?’ Romily went over to where her mother, immaculate as usual in a Givenchy black and white suit and daintily heeled white pumps, was chatting to Muffy’s mother.

‘Darling, it’s wonderful,’ she said, kissing Romily on each cheek. ‘You’re so clever! I’m so proud of you.’

‘Do you like what I’m selling?’

‘Oh, yes!’ cried her mother, looking about. ‘It’s all beautiful. But … what exactly are you selling? Are those sweaters for sale?’

‘Yes. I think it’s rather new and different to display them on a chair like that. That way, you can imagine them stacked on a chair in your bedroom.’

‘I see now – yes, that’s very clever. And is the chair for sale?’

‘Of course. Just about everything’s for sale! It’s a kind of …’ Romily frowned, looking for the right word. ‘A kind of
lifestyle
shop. The things in here are all about taste and individuality.’

‘Of course, of course.’ Athina de Lisle nodded. ‘There is
just
one thing, my darling. The area is rather … well, rather
déclassé
, is it not?’

Romily rolled her eyes. ‘Mama! You really don’t know anything. This is a very chic part of town! Just a few blocks over there are new hotels opening, old buildings being developed into fabulous apartments. I promise you, this place is at the forefront of where everyone will be in just a few months.’