Page 87 of Hearts of Stone

“A charity auction?” I said, once the kettle had boiled and I’d filled our cups and put out milk and sugar.

“I know. It seems all terribly frivolous, but it’s actually an excellent opportunity to network. And as the head of the Whiteley estate, you’re automatically entitled to a ticket.”

“I’m not sure I’m the charity auction type,” I said, clinging to my mug of coffee. A few sips in and my head was starting to clear, but my stomach had that grumbling acidic feeling that came from not eating enough and drinking too much.

“Perhaps, but some of the heads of the more prominent charities will be attending. There are some that focus on domestic violence, others that are involved in women’s shelters—”

“OK,” I straightened up. “I’m interested. I’m gonna have to go stag though. Daniel’s… otherwise occupied.”

When Mellors raised an elegant eyebrow, I wasn’t sure if that was in curiosity or condemnation, but then he just smiled.

“Well, if you require an escort, I’m happy to step in at a pinch.”

“Yeah?” I set my mug down. “So what does one wear to an event like that?”

Uncomfortable clothes, that became clear. The requirement was for formal day wear, whatever that meant, so I flickedthrough the wardrobe that kept on giving and finally pulled out something that I hoped would work. The main component of the outfit was a pink and grey tweed jacket that looked like it was inspired by classic 1960s Chanel suits. I’d found a black blouse and a tailored skirt that complemented the jacket beautifully. I accessorised with a length of what I assumed were real pearls and felt that at least I had suitable armour to get me through whatever might befall me.

As I took Mellors’ arm to walk into the charity auction, I forgot about tugging my skirt hem or readjusting my jacket, because the place where it was being held was amazing. It was like a huge birdcage. We stepped through two glass sliding doors featuring swirling brass designs into a wide circular ballroom. A huge round skylight let the sun filter through onto tall tropical plants in large pots set out in groups of two and three all around the parquet floor. Brightly coloured birds flitted between the plants, drawing my eyes as we entered the room.

“Mellors!” exclaimed a beautiful older woman with iron grey hair as she walked towards us. “And this must be Jade Whiteley. I’m Deidre Draper.”

“Deidre,” Mellors said, with an amused nod of his head.

“Lovely to meet you, Deidre,” I responded, as the manners Mum had tried so hard to instil kicked in. “And it’s Jade Barlow, actually.”

“Keeping your old name, are you?” Deidre said, taking the hand I’d held out to her and squeezing it genteelly. As she continued speaking, she kept hold of my hand, deftly transferring it to the crook of her elbow and giving it a couple of pats. “Well, good for you. Now, Mellors spoke with me on the phone this morning and he mentioned you are interested in getting involved in charity work?”

“Ah, yes, I—”

“Good, good! It’s important that we use our positions of privilege to help the less fortunate. Now, I’ll introduce you to some of the ladies. The kind of work you’re interested in is right up their alley.”

I had a sinking sensation, although I kept a polite smile on my face as Deidre led me off to sit at a formal dining table surrounded by elegantly-dressed women. I’d hoped to be introduced to the actual CEOs of several charities. I didn’t doubt that they would be just like the ones running the supermarket chain I’d worked for, but it’d be a foot in the door for me to feel them out, see which organisations were actually helping people and then start funnelling money there. Instead, I’d ended up with a bunch of high society matrons.

The table was exquisite, covered by a snowy white tablecloth which was set with elegant glassware that looked like it was spun from sugar, and porcelain plates with a sky-blue glaze, edged in gold. I stared at the pattern, seeing tiny satyrs and fauns capering around the edges as the women chatted around me.

“And who are you?”

I turned to my right at the sound of those posh tones and saw a perfectly coiffed and made-up woman smiling tightly at me.

“Jade Barlow,” I said, offering her my hand.

“Barlow?” She seemed unaware that I was waiting for her to reciprocate. Instead, she stared off into the distance. It appeared as if she was trying to frown, but the muscles didn’t seem to respond, making her look slightly constipated instead. After a moment, she said, “I don’t believe I know of a Barlow family.” I realised that she’d been going through some sort of mental Rolodex, unable to work out why she couldn’t find my family name in the B section. I pulled in a breath, ready to explain, but I didn’t get the opportunity. She already had her back to me and was directing a question elsewhere. “Meredith. Meredith, do we know anyone named Barlow?”

Meredith turned away from the woman she was chatting to, with a slight frown. “Barlow? No. That is not one of the First Families.” Her eyes found mine and I resisted the urge to shrink down in my chair. This was like high school all over again. The queen bee had me in her sights and that was never good. She pursed her lips before turning back to the woman on my right. “Jade is the heir to the Whiteley fortune.”

I’d never met this Meredith, and I knew nothing about her other than her first name and the fact she was wearing the most amazing shade of crimson lipstick, one that made her look fierce and fabulous, all at the same time. The fact she evidently knew all about me set my teeth on edge. But then I quickly found out that while the mysterious Meredith was keeping her thoughts about me under wraps, the rest of these ladies who lunched had no such qualms.

“Whiteley…?!” A woman with stark white hair turned her head around to look at me so quickly that I was scared she might have whiplash.

“So, this is the Whiteley girl?” queried an ancient-looking woman, who was dressed in what was definitely an original Chanel suit. Peered across the table at me, she continued to address her neighbours, rather than speaking with me. “Good child-bearing hips by the look of her. And are those Madeline’s pearls?”

“You’ve inherited the Whiteley estate?” asked the woman beside me, her manner completely different now. An acquisitive light danced in her eyes, and I found myself pulling away from her and positioning myself firmly against the back of my chair. “That must’ve been a wonderful surprise. Tell me, which university did you attend?”

“I… didn’t?” Once the words were out of my mouth, I realised I should’ve spoken with much more confidence. Most people didn’t go to university, so it was nothing to be ashamed of.But, apparently, the women of the First Families hadn’t got that memo. Eyes widened and pearls were clutched, while a few of them audibly gasped. I continued a little more strongly. “I mean I got 94 on my ATAR—”

“Oh, well, there’s still time then, isn’t there,” the woman beside me said, finally offering me her hand, with another tight smile, and I realised that, whatever her anti-aging routine was, it had rendered her unable to show expression. “I’m Corinne, by the way. I’m a Draper by birth, but a Savoy by marriage.”

“And I’m still trying to work out what the hell that all means,” I said, leaning over to shake her hand. It was like a mannequin’s, stiff and immobile, so I pulled away. “I only just found out—”

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