Page 42 of The Bridesmaid
‘I’m an old school friend of Dri’s,’ she explains. ‘But,’ she lowersher voice, glancing at Petra, who is using her phone as a mirror, ‘I never really fit in with the family. I was a scholarship girl at the school we all boarded at. Not old money or connections like all the others.’ She rubs her eyes and scratches at her arm distractedly.
I take this in. She might look the part, but Silky is less of an insider than I first assumed.
‘What’s down there?’ I squint out of the window at some dark shapes in the jungle, mostly hidden in foliage.
‘That?’ She glances. ‘That’s the old schoolhouse. No one goes there anymore. The ground is unstable for building.’
Silky flips her sketchpad and adds some detail to a previous image. Three sad-faced little girls in school uniform stare dolefully out of the page.
‘My therapist told me to sketch my dreams,’ she explains, glancing up to see me looking at the haunting sketch.
‘Oh, Silks! You’re notstillgoing on about our boarding school?’ Adrianna, now awake and retuning to the main cabin, cuts across cheerfully. ‘We all went through it, we all came out of it. That’s just what boarding school is.’
Silky snaps the pad shut and stares straight ahead. She twitches as if she can’t keep still.
‘How long until we fucking land?’ she mutters as the fasten seatbelts sign flashes.
‘Twenty minutes until landing,’ announces Georgia. ‘A few hours before sunset, local time. Plenty of time to get to the house before dark.’
I chew my lip. That doesn’t leave us nearly as much time as I’d hoped, to get to the hot springs.
As the plane descends and hits the runway with a gentle bounce a few minutes later, Silky stands quickly, clearly anxious to be offof it. She moves toward the doors, and I notice Georgia moves to speak with her, and Adrianna pointedly shakes her head. Georgia drops back, and as we ready ourselves to leave the plane, the other girls ignore Silky entirely.
Chapter Thirty-Two
HOLLY
We exit the airplane into the soupy tropical Caribbean air. It’s late afternoon, and the sun is a gentle blast of golden heat. The airport is nothing more than a landing strip, with a cinder-block hut attached, and thick jungle behind. A line of bright-blue crabs are scuttling across the far end of the runway, making for the coast in a waving army formation.
In readiness for the island weather, I’d already put on my favorite strappy summer dress before boarding. It’s white cotton, screen-printed with black skull outlines, and black piping to give a slight bodice effect. I’m already regretting my silver-buckled leather slingbacks, which feel heavy on my feet in the tropical heat.
Fitzwilliam moves to my side on the tarmac. ‘I think we have an hour until sunset,’ he says. ‘Might be enough time to get to those hot springs, if we can slip away.’
I shift from foot to foot impatiently. The women all seem to be disembarking very slowly, in new outfits for landing. Adrianna is still out of sight, deep on the private jet.
Ophelia has continued the high color theme. Her orange hair inside a bright tropical-print turban is matched with heart-shaped shades and a halterneck turquoise jumpsuit splashed with large pinkorchids. She seems to feel no fatigue from the flight whatsoever, talking in bright rapid sentences, as the rest of us blink in the sun. As Ophelia’s high shoes navigate the steps she treads awkwardly and her phone tumbles onto the asphalt. She stoops quickly to pick it up, and I notice pictures of Adrianna open on her screen. She sees me looking and stashes the phone rapidly.
Petra has donned a fishnet bodystocking that reveals large panels of her lean white body, silver heels and narrow little sunglasses that match her stern expression. I notice Georgia taking in Petra’s outfit with obvious displeasure. Looks like Adrianna was supposed to steal the show, but Petra is making a bid for the lead.
Georgia steps forward. I’m wondering how anyone can look so immaculate after a long flight. Large sunglasses sit cooly above perfectly made-up brows. There’s not so much as a crease on her white silk blouse.
‘We’re just waiting for Adrianna, so we can get a few pictures,’ she says.
My heart sinks. How long will that take?
‘No unauthorized photography or communication equipment is allowed on the island,’ continues Georgia, her voice ringing with natural authority. ‘You’ll need to deposit your cell phones, and anything else that takes pictures on the other side of the runway. You can pick them up when you fly out.’
Silky catches my expression. ‘You can’t be too careful when the right picture of you is worth hundreds of thousands of dollars,’ she explains.
As we deposit our phones, Adrianna finally emerges from the jet.
Her face looks tired from the flight, but as soon as her feet hit tarmac, she rearranges her features into a dazzling smile. Shewears a long sundress in vivid red, with a crochet cut-out effect that suggests snatches of tanned skin underneath, and a slit to mid-thigh. Her narrow feet are set in vertiginous wedge sandals, with glittering black jewels decorating the straps and soles.
She stands patiently as Ophelia darts forward and begins powdering and adjusting her make-up, fluffing her hair. Petra starts taking pictures.
My stomach growls. The sun is blazing down overhead, and none of us have eaten a thing for the entire flight. I look across to Adrianna, standing passively as she’s pulled about like a piece of meat. Do none of these girls get hungry?
Adrianna turns to address us, pausing for Petra to swing the camera in her direction. Tossing her glossy curls over her shoulder, she breaks into a broad smile. She hesitates then frowns and signals to Georgia. After a moment we’re all furnished with filled champagne glasses.
