“You’re back early from your holiday, Miss Goh,” said the concierge, as Renee entered her building.
Renee didn’t respond. Dragan took one look at her face, then discovered something on his computer screen that required urgent attention.
Renee lived in an apartment complex on the southwestern edge of Hyde Park, a severe-looking structure of white stone, black metal, and glass. Inside, the ambience was that of an upscale hotel someone had, for reasons best known to themselves, set up in a warehouse. A good fifty percent of the flats were unoccupied for most of the year, purchased by Russian oligarchs and Middle Eastern oil barons as pieds-à-terre.
It wasn’t exactly where she would have chosen to live despite its amenities—a private gym, swimming pool, and health spa, as well as the right to claim Kensington Palace as a near neighbour. But she knew she was lucky. Though the business was doing well, she could never have afforded somewhere like this on the salary she paid herself.
And she loved her flat itself. The rooms were airy and light-filled, ridiculously spacious by both London and Singaporeanstandards, with large windows looking out on quiet residential streets. The flat had been a princely graduation gift from her great-aunt, bestowed partly for affection, but mostly as a blow in her baroque years-long quarrel with Renee’s parents.
Over the years Renee had made the place her own, decorating it with vivid batik fabrics sourced from Indonesia, tropical plants whose carbon footprint equalled that of most celebrities, and rattan chairs that sent her Instagram following into joyful spasms of nostalgia. The fact she didn’t spend all that much time in the flat was beside the point. She liked knowing it was there and beautiful, a haven when she needed it.
Right now, though, the flat seemed abandoned, the light filtering through the windows grey and deadening. Renee poured herself a glass of water and drank it standing at the kitchen counter, shivering. She’d told the smart thermostat she wouldn’t be home for two weeks.
By the time she set her glass down on the counter, her mind was made up. She unzipped her suitcase, grabbing her toiletries bag without looking at the sad, hopeful collection of clothes folded under it.
Her face was a mess. Her eyes were puffy, dried tear-tracks tacky on her cheeks, and her nose was an auspicious, but not especially attractive, shade of bright red.
Jason was probably relaxing in his suite, relieved to have got an awkward conversation over with. Renee snatched up a facecloth, burning with humiliation, and set about repairing the damage.
She took a keen professional interest in her appearance. She worked in fashion; it made good business sense to be beautiful. Her features were all right—apart from her jaw, which was becoming as square as her father’s. But getting her skin under control required the help of a dermatologist, as well as the daily application of an elaborate multistep regime, arrived at after years of painstaking experimentation. The regime was nonetheless vulnerable to being undermined at any moment by hormonalvariations, atmospheric humidity, pollution, stress, or the random vagaries of fate.
Her skin was a bloody metaphor for her life, Renee thought ruefully. On paper, her life looked perfect—at least, until this morning. But even before then, had she been happy with Jason? How could you be happy with a boyfriend who lived thousands of miles away; who refused to be pinned down for regular calls; who left your messages on read while plastering selfies with gorgeous starlets all over social media?
She’d kept working at their relationship, because everyone knew that was what relationships needed—hard work. Renee had never lost out on anything for lack of trying. And yet here she was.
It would probably be some comfort to the randos who left mean-spirited comments on her Instagram if they knew how miserable she felt. The thought prompted Renee to take a sparkling selfie when she was done with her face and post it.
Can’t WAIT to share what I’ve got in store for you guys. Just one final push from all of us at @VirtuLabel!
And then she went to work.
Louise looked up, startled, with the expression of a PA who was definitely browsing Vinted.
“Oh hey, Renee,” she said. “Did you forget something?”
Renee didn’t talk much about her personal life in the office. Secrecy outside their immediate family circles had been a precondition of her relationship with Jason. Even though most British people had no idea who he was, Louise talked about watching East Asian dramas, and Renee suspected her of being BTS ARMY.
But Reneehadsaid she was going on holiday with her boyfriend and would only be available in the event of an emergency. Her reappearance called for explanation.
“Plans have changed,” she said brightly. “We’ve broken up.”
Louise looked as though she couldn’t decide whether to be more worried or intrigued. “Oh no! Are you OK?”
Renee had to be OK. It was Louise’s job to manage her diary, not her feelings. Besides, she had things to do: bowls to launch, collections to develop. She’d been so preoccupied with Virtu at Home that their Chinese New Year collection was running behind schedule, and that was their biggest season, when people were buying new clothes to visit their families in, generating the bulk of their annual revenue.
“It’s fine. It was mutual,” lied Renee. “I thought I’d take the chance to catch up on stuff, since my diary’s empty for two weeks. Maybe we’ll even be able to roll out Virtu at Home early.”
This summoned up a hollow rictus on Louise’s face. The team were all feeling the strain of gearing up for the launch. Renee reminded herself to give everyone a bonus. It was looking as though the figures would justify it this year.
“Joke,” she added. But before she could escape to her office, Louise said:
“About your diary—are your evenings free now?”
Renee paused at the door to her office. “What is it?”
“You know the Dior exhibition at the V&A?” said Louise. “I know you said you couldn’t make the private view, but the Selfridges buyer rang this morning to ask if you were going to be there. Her boss is attending and wants to meet you. I wasn’t going to bother you about it, but since you’re in…”
“Louise,” said Renee sternly. “If something like that comes up in the future, I want you to text me. I don’t care if I’m on a beach in the Maldives, or pushing out a baby, or whatever. I’ll make it work.”
