Page 97 of Break the Ice

‘It’s a ball,’ Inga informs her.

‘Oh, in England this is not a ball. It’s lovely, but this is a party, a very elegant party though. So elegant.’ God, how is she so goddamn calm? But looks are exchanged that tell me battle lines have been drawn. I think Phoebe might be enjoying this.

‘Well, we better be getting round to all the guests. Again, Joshua, so glad you’re here. Phoebe,’ Inga says, the fakeness of her tone and smile shining through.

‘Thanks, guys.’ They take their leave as Phoebe and I stand there, holding on to our glasses of champagne, frozen to the spot. I swear if you poked me now, I’d fall over from the tension.

‘You OK, Americano?’ she asks me. ‘Breathe.’

I exhale deeply. ‘You’re a posh paediatrician now?’ I ask her, laughing.

‘And why not? Am I allowed to say I’m also so fucking glad they are not your in-laws? You must meet Hank. He’s the chief of Richshitz and Sons. Great guy…’ she says, mimicking Jed’s accent. I feel the tension suddenly leave my body and I laugh. ‘Seriously, you OK?’ Phoebe says, trying to catch my eye.

‘Well, it was going to happen. Thank you.’

‘For what?’ I don’t reply. Just for being here, for stepping up, for making all of this bearable. I watch the glow of the lights reflect off her dress. It was not a lie; she looks spangly, like a human disco ball. ‘Well, I think we need to drink more of their fancy champagne, and I need to chase down the man with that wagyu so I can rinse Jed of his fancy Bells Fargo money,’ Phoebe tells me, downing her champagne.

‘It’s Wells Fargo.’ But she doesn’t seem bothered. She just laughs, takes my hand and leads me through the crowd.

FORTY-FIVE

PHOEBE

I saw a show once where this woman ate too much shrimp and got iodine poisoning, and as I stand here now next to this shrimp tower I wonder if it was made-up or if that sort of thing really happens. Maybe I should google it. Is ten shrimp too much? It smells fresh. Fact is, I’m going around this place eating the most expensive things I can find because I’m so damn angry at Jed and Inga and how they stood there and made Joshua feel like absolute shit. How can people do that to another person, let alone someone who was once prepared to marry their daughter? And so I followed that man with the wagyu around, I’m ten shrimp down and am tempted to engage in some sabotage. Like pull the fire alarm and let off the sprinklers. Let’s see how your white chocolate fountain would deal with that, Inga.

‘And so you’re related to the royal family then?’ a lady asks me and I forget who I am, quite literally. Every other couple of people we meet, my accent and story changes. It’s fun but the alcohol is making me forget what I’ve said to whom.

‘Oh yah. It’s actually we’re second cousins once removed to the Marquis of Salisbury, so on the family tree it’s all related, but we borrow his castle in Scotland and we summer there occasionally,’ I say, looking for Joshua, who’s escaped into the crowd to fetch us more drinks.

‘How wonderful. A castle! It’s like we have a real princess here,’ she says. ‘I’m so jealous. I’ve always wanted to go to England.’

‘Well, you must come. Look me up. I’d love to host you, Cynthia. Phoebe de Montfort. We also own a university.’

And maybe because I’ve had a touch too much champagne, I take her hand and curtsey again. If only my mum could see me now! The ballet lessons from my youth are really paying off. The lady giggles before wandering off. I don’t even know who she is but I know one thing, this is not a ball and most certainly not a party. It’s a strange pissing contest of rich people, most of whom aren’t even dancing even though there’s literally a swing band, led by the closest thing to Sinatra I’ve ever heard. Live a little, no? I think. Have some more shrimp before I eat the lot.

‘May I?’ someone suddenly asks me to my left. I seem to be blocking the Thousand Island dipping sauce.

‘You may. Apologies for hogging the sauce,’ I say.

‘British?’ he says.

I realise I’ve reverted to my normal accent. What tall tale can I spin now? However, when I look up I see a handsome Asian gentleman in a white tuxedo with black lapels. I know you. Shit, you’re Naveen, Avery’s new fella. ‘Yes, I’m Phoebe. Nice to meet you,’ I say, extending my hand.

He offers his own, balancing his plate at the same time. ‘Naveen Sharma. And what brings you to this evening, Phoebe?’ he asks.

‘Oh, I’m a plus one of one of the guests. Visiting for New Year’s and they invited me along. Yourself?’ I say, pretending to sip my champagne when my glass is actually empty. I am also pleased at how right I was, there is a slappable quality to this man’s face. Mr Wanker Banker. My Joshua beats this guy hands down.

‘So my girlfriend is Avery Patton, the hosts’ daughter,’ he tells me.

I look around for Joshua. I’m not sure what he’d want me to do in this particular situation. Do I big him up? Do I sully Avery’s name? But it also seems like an opportune time to mine this man for information. I can be subtle and spy-like when the situation dictates.

‘Wow. I think I’ve seen her. The red hair, very Jessica Chastain-looking,’ I say.

He laughs. ‘I guess so.’ He starts working on his shrimp, politely, with a fork. I’ve just been using my hand. Is that not the done thing? ‘What do you do, Phoebe?’

‘Oh, I’m training to be an educational psychologist,’ I tell him, and realise I’m not lying for once. I’m not quite there yet but it is somewhere in my future.

‘That sounds very worthwhile,’ he says, nodding. That’s code for saying you think something is a poor person’s endeavour. I hope he has a bad shrimp and gives himself the runs.