well, although she still couldn’t believe that she had actually had to sing for the Broadway producer in the basement studio of his brownstone townhouse. She hadn’t had to do that since when she was in the dramatic society at school. But Ed had made all the right noises about her not just getting a role in Fin de Siècle, but the role of Letitia Dupont. It was a killer part in more ways than one: Letitia was a Vegas showgirl with a murderous side, as glamorous as Nicole Kidman’s character in Moulin Rouge and as sassy and spiky as CZJ’s Oscar-winning role in Chicago. And, on top of that, only yesterday her agent had called to tell her she’d been asked to do a screen test for a big action thriller; a big action thriller rumoured to be starring Tom Cruise, no less.
Serena stretched her legs out and wriggled her toes around in her cashmere socks, more than satisfied with her progress. An Oscar nomination could be hers in eighteen months, she smiled smugly. Who needed Tom Archer, anyway?
‘Hi darling, it’s me!’ cooed Serena, wafting through Cate’s front door and looking around with a slightly displeased look on her face when she saw the size of Cate’s mews house. ‘Tell me my luggage has arrived or I will just die!’
Cate, wearing her Saturday-night uniform of Juicy Couture tracksuit and no make-up, came over to give her sister a hug.
‘It’s arrived, but why did you need to FedEx it over? It’s only two small bags,’ she asked, pointing at the two Goyard cases in the corner. ‘Could you not struggle through customs with those?’
‘Darling, everyone pre-sends their luggage these days,’ said Serena. ‘Anyway, those cases might be chic but they’re a little heavy. I don’t want to strain anything.’
Serena wafted past Cate into the living room. Cate’s house was a slender, three-storey mews painted a pale pink and tucked away off the Portobello Road. It wasn’t big, but Cate had turned it into a light, girly space full of cream carpets, neutral walls and huge vases brightening every corner, overflowing with sweet peas and peonies.
‘I’m cooking a roast, hope you’re hungry,’ said Cate, pouring them two big glasses of mineral water. ‘I know you like to sleep rather than eat on the plane.’
‘That’s sweet, Cate, but I really do feel a bit icky,’ said Serena, rooting through her bag to pull out a big box of face cream.
‘There you go,’ she said, thrusting the package into Cate’s hands. ‘Some sort of anti-ageing cream: thought it would be right up your street. Apparently it’s the latest thing; got diamond dust in it, although why on earth anyone would want to send me products for mature skin, I don’t know.’
Serena took a tiny sip of her water and followed Cate into her stylish walnut and marble kitchen.
‘Are you sure you don’t want any of this?’ asked Cate, sticking a knife into the beef.
Serena shook her head and patted her stomach. ‘I’m on a funny diet at the moment.’
‘What is it?’ asked Cate, arching an eyebrow. ‘The Not Eating diet? You’ve gone so thin!’
‘It’s OK for you,’ said Serena, looking her sister up and down, showing off her curves in her velour tracksuit. ‘You don’t work in fashion any more – and anyway, you’ve got your big, happy personality. You don’t need to be a size four.’
Cate smiled and shook her head, reminding herself that, in Serena’s mind, that was a compliment. There was no point in complaining anyway, as her sister had moved on to a more important subject: Serena’s Fabulous Life. According to Stephen Feldman, Serena’s new manager, word was that she wasn’t just going to be the British and European face of Jolie Cosmetics, but was going to become the worldwide face as well. That was, she said, a deal which had to be worth in excess of four to five million. And, she added, it wouldn’t do her Hollywood prospects any harm to be on every billboard and magazine in the known world, either.
As Serena gushed out the gossip, Cate began to notice that Serena hadn’t mentioned Michael Sarkis once. There was the constant referral to ‘we’, as in ‘When “we” went to the Save Venice Ball’, ‘When “we” were invited to Henry Kissinger’s duplex’, or ‘When “we” were scouting real estate in the Hamptons’. But nothing about ‘him’ or ‘them’. And she never referred to Michael by name. Cate was curious, but she knew there was no point in asking. Everything was always glittery and right on Planet Serena; she never bitched about her own Wonderful Life, only other people’s. But Cate couldn’t help thinking it was strange. It had been a long time since Cate herself had been in that position, but she remembered well enough that the first three months of a new relationship were so full of excitement, passion and fun, it just spilled over; you wanted to tell the world.
As if reading Cate’s thoughts, Serena abruptly changed the subject.
‘Anyway,’ she said, kicking off her Stephane Kélian heels and stretching out on the long beige sofa, ‘I want to know what’s happening with you. I’m sure someone told me you had the hots for that Nick Douglas? Don’t get me wrong, honey, he’s very cute. God knows I fell for those rough Northern-boy charms with Tom, but Nick’s really not right for you.’
Cate smiled softly. ‘No, no. We’re just business partners and that’s all. Nick and I get on really well and we’re good as a team. I know he’s Tom’s friend and that’s bound to make you biased towards him, but honestly, Sin, he’s really a good guy.’
‘And Venetia?’ asked Serena, checking her reflection in a gold compact she had taken from her bag. ‘I can’t believe she went to Spain! The first time I’m back in ages, and Venetia’s swanning around in Seville, Camilla’s on some management weekend – and I have to camp out here!’
‘Well, I’m sorry you find my house so distressing,’ said Cate, finally annoyed now. ‘Perhaps you should go to Claridge’s, or somewhere where they understand your special needs!’
Serena looked up from her compact mirror vaguely. ‘Mmm? Sorry darling, I was miles away. What’s Venetia doing again?’
Cate sighed, seeing that her rebuke had not even registered on her sister. ‘Van’s doing a big job renovating some guy’s farmhouse in Andalusia. It sounds wonderful out there and she really needed to get away, what with all the trouble.’
‘Trouble?’ asked Serena, snapping her compact shut. She was faintly aware that her older sister had seemed worried and distracted at her farewell party weeks earlier, but she had thought it was just the pressure of throwing a super bash for Serena.
‘Did she not tell you?’ asked Cate. ‘She’s having a premature menopause or something. It’s really weird.’
Serena looked at Cate blankly, as if once again she’d failed to absorb the information. ‘Oh,’ she said finally, her voice almost a whisper.
Cate frowned and looked curiously at her sister. Serena was very rarely lost for words. ‘Anyway, apparently Van’s ovarian reserves are so low that she has to get pregnant in the next few months, or that’s it. She’ll be heartbroken if she can’t have children.’
The room welled up with silence. Cate looked up, waiting for some response. Serena swung her legs off the sofa and walked towards the kitchen. ‘Is it all right if I get something to drink? A Diet Coke or something?’ she asked distractedly over her shoulder.
‘Sure,’ said Cate, ‘but I was just about to open a bottle of wine. There’s a nice Sauvignon Blanc in the fridge.’
Serena shook her head, ‘No, no. I think I’ll have tea,’ she said as she opened the fridge. She definitely looked shaken by Venetia’s news, thought Cate. Maybe she does have a soul, after all.
‘Are you OK?’ she asked, following Serena into the kitchen and putting her plate on the marble worktop.
‘Of course I am!’ snapped Serena, slamming the fridge door shut.
‘I know it’s upsetting about Venetia,’ said Cate, putting