‘You’ve got Suzie Grazer the film director and one of the advertisers, I think.’ Amy had made sure she’d seated him between two happily married sixty-something intellectuals who wouldn’t have the slightest interest in flirting over petit fours.
A guard in a peaked cap blew his whistle and half a dozen conductors opened the dark-green-and-gold doors of the carriages, helping the eager guests inside.
‘Showtime,’ said Amy, moving forward.
Stepping through the doorway, she almost gasped. She turned to watch David’s reaction and saw that he was equally impressed: the interior designers deserved their reputation as wizards. It was wonderful, like stepping into a classic 1940s black-and-white movie, only here, everything was in gleaming Technicolor: deep-purple velvet upholstery, white linen tablecloths, polished walnut wall panels. And the guests were as glamorous as the surroundings: ball gowns in peacock shades of blue, green and gold, furs and pearls, tie pins and spats.
‘Wow, is that who I think it is?’ muttered David from the side of his mouth. Amy just laughed and shrugged as they threaded their way along the corridor from one carriage to the next. He could have been referring to any of the guests crowding the train. A film star here, a model there, a racing car driver laughing with them both. Clearly everyone had forgotten the faux-pas of Miranda Pilley. Never let a little thing like fake outrage get in the way of a good party, thought Amy. And this was a great party – and they hadn’t even set off yet. She smiled. Even if she didn’t get the Mode job, she knew this would impress the top brass.
‘Whoa!’ A cry of delight rang up and down the train as it jerked into motion. Wavering on her high heels, Amy fell sideways only to feel David’s strong arms around her. She leaned against him gratefully, catching the grin on his face before they bounced apart again.
The journey to Oxford would take less than an hour, and Amy was determined to enjoy every minute, knowing that it would pass almost as quickly as she could click her fingers. She passed Janice deep in conversation with her old flame, rock musician Cody Cole, surrounded by a huddle of edgy pop stars she could barely name. She grinned as she saw Juliet approaching from the other direction.
‘Amy, this is just fabulous,’ Juliet said, air-kissing. ‘You’re fabulous.’
She had clearly pulled out all the stops herself, slinky in a sequin-covered silver sheath, her hair a cascade of curls.
‘I’m glad you’re here,’ said Amy honestly. The two friends hadn’t spoken since their heart-to-heart in New York, and Amy hadn’t been sure if she would come. ‘Maybe we can talk later on.’
Juliet gave a small shake of the head. ‘Not tonight,’ she said. ‘Tonight is your night. Everything else can wait.’ She glanced away, a chink in her confident, unflappable aura, and Amy wondered what had gone on in the week since she had told her about Peter.
‘You look like a hot mermaid,’ said David, taking a glass of champagne. Juliet slapped him on the arm, but Amy could see she was pleased.
‘It seems funny to be going back to Oxford.’
‘I’ve never really thought of it like that,’ Amy admitted.
‘Seriously, though, this is a master s
troke,’ said Juliet. ‘Everyone is on this train. How have you pulled it off? There can’t be anybody at the E-Squared dinner.’
‘Hard bloody work,’ said Amy with a rueful smile. ‘It helped that we invited the E-Squared CEO as well. Apparently he’s coming by helicopter later.’
‘Look at him go,’ smiled Juliet, watching David moving easily around the carriage, shaking hands, making jokes, the handsome, cheeky life and soul of the party.
‘He’s always good in these situations,’ smiled Amy, watching him. ‘Hard to be impressed by the world’s most successful designer or supermodel when you’ve never heard their name before.’
‘So you’ve patched things up?’
Amy nodded. ‘It’s been horrible living in such a toxic atmosphere, avoiding each other.’
‘You’ve forgiven him?’
Amy looked at her friend, not wanting to get emotional. ‘What’s the alternative? Divorce?’
And that was when the train stopped abruptly with a screech of brakes, metal on metal.
With a crunch, the entire carriage lurched forward, then back, people flying in every direction. Amy crashed against a window, her fall mercifully cushioned by the heavy drapes. She held onto the back of a booth, just missing hitting her head. There was a pause of perhaps a second, then uproar. Squeals turned to screams, a cacophony of pleading voices, cries and wails.
‘Attention, ladies and gentlemen, please!’ A commanding baritone voice drew everyone’s attention. Even Amy looked up in surprise as she recognised her husband’s voice. ‘Please don’t panic, we have everything under control. The train has simply had to make an emergency stop because the driver had a report of an obstruction on the line. It will just be a few minutes and then we’ll be on our way again.’
He paused, and immediately there were calls for more information, cries about injuries, pleas for help.
‘I know a few of you have had a bump, so if you could look around at the people immediately next to you and see how you can help them, I will be back in two minutes and we’ll get you sorted.’
There was more shouting, questions, general hubbub, but Amy could tell the panic had subsided. Clearly the VIPs had bought David’s bluff, and as she helped Jasmine Craig, the supermodel, to her feet, she could hear him already moving through the next carriage spreading his message of authority and calm.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Jasmine, her big eyes wide. ‘That was pretty intense, wasn’t it?’ The girl next to her, a celebrity chef, echoed the sentiment, and nervous laughter began to bubble up as people suddenly began discussing what had happened. It was quickly apparent that no one had suffered any lasting injuries, and relief turned to amusement, then a sort of jovial Blitz spirit of shared adventure. It was almost as if they were treating the accident as part of the entertainment.