from hell in Mayo. All that stuff about being a hollow man had alarmed her. Back then, she’d decided they were going to have some alone time, right? To get to the bottom of whatever was up with him. But as soon as the decision was made, the Hagen Klein disaster had blown up. Next thing she was on a plane to Lebanon, then to Switzerland, trying desperately to persuade another chef to take Hagen’s place at very short notice, all the while running interference from a hundred punters, as pissed off with her as if she’d been personally buying the wraps of crystal meth and standing in Hagen’s kitchen forcing them on him.
In the end, Mubariz Khoury from Beirut had jumped in. It had all gone ahead last weekend, without ultimately causing too much damage to the PiG brand.
But the drama had taken up all her time, focus and every scrap of energy. It was only now that she was surfacing from the mire of panicky planning back to the rest of her life – to discover that Johnny was still being weird.
FIFTY-NINE
Micah approached, carrying a tray of cocktails. ‘Ah, Miss Rosamund Childers, you’re looking well tonight.’
As a secretary, Jessie hadn’t been given much leeway with her outfit. That was another thing! Johnny should have pushed for something more fun as her alias – a showgirl like Saoirse in a short, shimmery halterneck or a woman of mystery like Nell. Instead, she was done up as Dowdy Central in a wool skirt, lace-up brogues and a twin-set, accessorized with pince-nez glasses, fake pearls, a leather-bound notebook and fountain pen to keep details of all MP Timothy’s appointments.
‘Please take any glass,’ Micah said. ‘Except the pink one. That is the special drink of Lady Ariadne Cornwallis, Argentine heiress.’
‘Right so.’ Nothing like signalling ahead that Lady Ariadne Cornwallis, whoever she was, was not long for this world.
Next to arrive was Rionna, as Phyllida Bundle-Bunch, a ‘world-renowned’ opera singer, dressed in an extravagant taffeta evening gown, an elaborate wig and a giant bejewelled choker. ‘Y’okay?’ she asked Jessie.
‘Faking it to make it. I’m going to enjoy myself if it kills me.’
‘Good woman. Here’s Hanging Judge Jeffries.’
It was Kaz, in a voluminous black cape and a long, yellowish, itchy-looking judge’s wig. ‘This is fantastic.’ She waved her gavel about, flapping fabric everywhere. ‘I feel I could take flight.’
As more people began to flood into the drawing room, it was a relief that they’d made an effort with their costumes. There was a lord in a frock-coat, fob-watch and mutton-chop sideburns; a lady do-gooder in a drop-waisted shift and a cloche hat; a ‘mysterious beauty’ in a floaty frock and veil.
Nell, as always, was magnificent as some sort of socialite con-woman, in a champagne-coloured figure-hugging satin dress.
A pair of buck-teeth loomed at her. ‘Have you opened your heart to Jesus Christ, our Lord and Saviour?’
‘Feck off.’ Jessie managed to laugh, but truth be told, she’d soured on Liam, since she’d heard about his caper with Sammie.
It had been blind good luck she’d been up so early that Sunday morning last month, had never got to sleep, in fact. When she’d heard noises from outside the ‘young persons’ house’, she’d opened the front door – and there was Barty, flinging rucksacks into Liam’s car. She’d called, ‘What’s happening, Barty?’
He’d been quite happy to spill the beans. No ability to keep his mouth shut, that lad.
‘There’s an apology going down in there right now.’ He’d nodded at the house. ‘But Liam is a shithead.’ Then, ‘Sorry for the language. He’s not a shithead.’
But Jessie wondered if Liam actually was a shithead. Men acting the arse because their wives’ careers were going well weren’t her favourite people – and especially not tonight.
… Oh, God, here came Johnny, looking stressed, holding a porn-star moustache to his face.
‘I can’t get my moustache to stick. Could you …’
… Jessie pivoted towards Annette and her horrible husband Nigel, presenting Johnny with her shoulder.
‘For the weekend, become your alter ego,’ Micah called, for the millionth time. ‘Expect the unexpected – no! The pink drink is for Lady Ariadne!’
‘Holy shit!’ Kaz exclaimed.
‘Wow,’ Rionna agreed.
Jessie turned around to see Ferdia, tall and lean, in a white dinner jacket, a black dicky-bow and black dress pants. For once his dark hair was slicked back tidily. He looked groomed and glamorous, and her chest bloomed with love. You’d be so proud of him, she told Rory.
‘I’d turn for him,’ Rionna said.
‘So would I,’ Kaz chimed in.