Strolling out of the enclosure towards the marquee area, she immersed herself in a sea of vibrant colours and extravagant fashions. A stunning kaleidoscope of outfits and aristocratic elegance that seemed almost too perfect to be real surrounded her. Everywhere she looked, women were dressed up to the nines in stunning outfits, their hats adorned with feathers and flowers and delicate, intricate designs, standing around looking fabulous. Cally lapped up the atmosphere and marvelled at someof the hats. She was enjoying the spectacle of the niceties of life more than she thought she would.
Making her way to one of the refreshment stands in a marquee, a smartly dressed attendant greeted her with a polite smile and a nod. ‘What can I get for you?’
‘Just a cup of tea, please.’ Cally gestured to the rest of the marquee, ‘Can I sit anywhere here?’
The attendant looked at Cally’s badge and chuckled. ‘With that you can go just about anywhere you like and get someone to serve you whatever you want.’
Cally smiled, ‘Ha, okay, thanks. I’m going to take a pew somewhere over there.’
‘I’ll bring your tea over. Go and find yourself a nice spot.’
Cally liked the treatment. She could get used to it in her life. ‘Thanks.’
A couple of minutes later, she sat at one of the only empty tables waiting for her tea. Right next to her, a group of older women had their heads bent together in conversation. Dressed in elegant, timeless pieces that spoke of old money and aristocratic breeding, their hair swept up into intricate, perfectly coiffed styles, Cally vacuumed up the people watching. The women dripped wealth in an understated, quiet way; one in a pale, buttery yellow, another sported a hat adorned with a spray of pale lilac roses, another in a dress of deepest, richest blue, the colour so intense that it seemed almost to vibrate with energy. Another with a gigantic cream hat nearly as big as the table chuckled as she sipped on a flute of champagne.
As the attendant bustled over with a tray and handed Cally a cup of tea in a delicate china cup, she settled back into her seat, felt her shoulders drop, and let her gaze wander over the whole colourful, animated scene playing out before her. She sat and soaked it up as if she’d stepped into a dreamy, fantasy world where everything was perfect, elegant and impossiblybreathtakingly happy. No bed hoists, money worries, liquid diets, early morning laptop shifts, just a frothy world full of pomp and spectacle. Sheadoredit.
After another cup of tea, which had been delivered with a plate of tiny miniature pastries, Cally continued to sit, ostensibly watching the racing going on outside the marquee but really earwigging the conversation going on at the table beside her and gawping at the various outfits walking past. Just as she was thinking about getting up and heading back to where she’d come from, her attention was suddenly caught by someone approaching the table of women beside her. She peered for a second, racking her brain about where she knew the person from. Then she realised. Oh. Her heart skipped a beat as recognition dawned. There, just a metre or so away was no other than Cassia Allegra Brommington in the flesh. And boy, was she an eleven out of ten.
Cally's breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight of Logan's ex-wife. Cassia was, if possible, even more regally beautiful in person than in the photographs Cally had obsessively looked over. Tall and graceful, her posture perfect as she laughed at something the woman in the gigantic cream hat said. The light caught Cassia's hair, styled in an effortlessly elegant sweep of an updo that made Cally's own carefully crafted bun-by-Alice feel heavy and overdone by comparison. Cassia's hat was a work of art, a wide-brimmed creation in a soft blush pink that complemented her complexion perfectly. Delicate silk flowers cascaded down one side, their petals seeming to flutter as she talked. Cally's eyes travelled down, taking in Cassia's outfit. Her bespoke creation fit her slender frame like a glove. Pale pink silk shimmered in the sunlight, the cut somehow modern and classic at the same time with a slash neckline and three-quarter-length sleeves. Everything about her was justright: a string of tiny pearls, flawless makeup, little studs, and nude nails. Understated elegance.
Cassia bent down to air-kiss a couple of the women at the table, pulled over a spare chair, and sat down. Now so close that if Cally had moved to the next chair on her table, she’d be able to touch her, Cally couldn’t get enough. A tidal wave of inadequacy topped off with pure envy engulfed her. She reached up to feel her hat self-consciously and suddenly felt all wrong.
Her inner monologue rattled on like crazy.If it isn't la-di-da Cassia Allegra Brommington herself.
Cally watched as Cassia laughed at something one of the older women said. Even the way Cassia sat seemed elegant, one hand resting lightly on the table while the other held a flute of champagne, poker straight back. Cally shifted her weight, sat up straighter, and lifted her chin. She sighed; she wasn’t even on the same planet, let alone in the same league.
A distinguished-looking older man approached Cassia, bowing slightly as he greeted her. Cassia's face lit up with a dazzling smile, and she engaged him in what appeared to be an animated conversation about the upcoming race.
Of course she knows everything about horse racing,Cally thought, rolling her eyes internally.
Whipping her phone out of her bag and shoving the carton of blackcurrant further inside, she tried to work out how she could get a photo without being caught. Her mind was going nineteen to the dozen as Cassia and the man chatted.
I bet she was born on a thoroughbred stud farm and learned to ride before she could walk. Probably has her own stable of championship horses hidden away somewhere.
Cassia laughed and the flowers on her hat ruffled. Cally half-expected to see a miniature rainbow appear and unicorns dance around Cassia’s head. Sitting upright, Cally tortured herself further by staying rooted to the spot and listening toeverything that was being said. The only good thing about the whole situation was that Cassia and everyone at the table had no clue who Cally was. Her anonymity and not being part of the tight little upper-class world meant that she could overstare and earwig as much as she liked. She fully indulged and continued to watch and listen. Cassia chatted with the older woman in the gigantic cream hat.
‘Darling, you simply must come to visit us in St. Tropez this summer. The weather is divine, and the yacht parties are not to be missed.’
The woman in the cream hat nodded. ‘Oh, I have no doubt. But I'm afraid I'll be spending most of the season at the estate in Scotland. You know how Hugo gets when the grouse shooting begins.’
Cassia laughed. ‘Ah, yes. The call of the wild. I do envy you, Margaret. There's something so invigorating about tramping through the heather, rifle in hand.’
Cally nearly choked on her tea. Rifle in hand? She tried to picture Cassia, with her perfect hair and delicate features, tromping through the Scottish moors in pursuit of game. It seemed about as likely as Cally herself being invited to one of the yacht parties in St. Tropez.
Margaret lowered her voice. ‘Well, between you and I, I'm looking forward to a bit of a break from the social scene. All these parties and polo matches can be rather exhausting, don't you think?’
Cassia replied, ‘Oh, absolutely. Sometimes one just needs to escape to the country, to reconnect with nature and recharge the batteries.’
Cally bit back a snort. Escape to the country? More like escape to a sprawling, centuries-old estate complete with a full staff and every luxury imaginable. She couldn't even begin to fathom what it must be like to have so many options, to be ableto jet off to the French Riviera or the Scottish Highlands on a whim.
As the conversation continued, Cally’s mind drifted to the stark differences between her own life and the lives of the women around her. She thought about her tiny flat, with its cramped kitchen and creaky floorboards, and compared it to grand mansions and estates. She thought about the long hours she spent at the chemist's, dealing with carton after carton of drugs and always having been on a budget. Cassia and the women around her had no idea about any of that. No doubt they whiled away their days at garden parties and charity galas. She was so lost in her own thoughts that she almost didn't notice when Cassia turned slightly in her chair, her gaze drifting in Cally's direction. For a quick second, their eyes met, and Cally felt a jolt of panic run through her. But Cassia smiled politely, not even remotely interested and turned back to her conversation with Margaret.
Cally glanced down at her phone, realising with a start that she had been sitting there for far longer than she’d intended. Logan would probably be wondering where she’d gone, and the last thing she wanted was for him to come looking for her and find her eavesdropping on his ex-wife's conversation like some kind of creepy stalker. She watched as the older women started to gather their things and she heard one of them say that they were going out to watch the next race as the clouds had darkened and it might start to rain. Cassia said that she’d got chilly standing by the racetrack and stayed put, took out her phone, and sat scrolling with her head bent down.
Draining the last of her tea, Cally gathered her things with the intention of popping to the loo before heading back to where she’d left Logan and the Henry-Hicks contingent. She stood up, smoothed down the front of her dress, and with a nod of her head, decided that she wasn’t going to allow Cassia to botherher. She wasn't about to let some posh toff with a fancy hat and a trust fund make her feel like she was not worthy. The surprising thing that was emerging from the races was that Cally overall felt okay, not flick the switch okay butreallyokay. Yes, she felt a bit unsure, but at least she was honest, knew a day's hard work when it hit her in the face and had always looked after herself. She was no longer prepared to let things from her past, or lack thereof, define or diminish her. In a funny way, being dressed up to the nines and having to hold her own had shown her she was no different from anyone else. That she could do it. On top of that, it had shown her that she was happy with who she was. It was a revelation that had been a long time coming.
23
