exotic ingredients, the fashions as outrageous as they were expensive and the interior design shops as inspirational as a genie’s bottle full of crazy dreams. It could hardly be more different from her home town with its unedifying mix of tired terraces, fish-and-chip shops and donkey rides. On the other hand, she was ready to concede that Kesterly had its charms too, just not enough of them to have kept her there past her eighteenth birthday, when she’d launched herself with high excitement and yes, some trepidation on London. Being in the capital had been her goal for as long as she could remember, so too had been studying hard and working her way into a high-powered job that would open doors to all kinds of other worlds, and make her feel as important and accomplished as she’d always longed to be.
It was happening every day, sometimes in small ways, other times in great significant bursts. The headiness of success was as intoxicating as the champagne she and her friends cracked to celebrate it while the satisfaction of knowing she’d bested a rival, or helped seal a long-fought-for merger, was perhaps the greatest kick of all. Though she wasn’t particularly aware of how much everyone valued her as a colleague or friend, the way she was greeted as she entered the bustling, airy bar of Beaufort House made her swell with pride and pleasure.
‘About bloody time!’
‘Happy birthday!’
‘Champagne’s on you.’
‘Someone get the goddess a glass.’
The other five GaLs were already there, grouped around their usual table next to the window, and as a flute was thrust into Vivienne’s hand it seemed the entire room joined in a rousing chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’.
It was exhilarating and hilarious as perfect strangers bowed or raised glasses, and a couple of bar staff shimmied about with more champagne.
As the fun died down and Vivienne sank laughing into the chair they’d reserved for her, she gasped and laughed again as Trudy pointed her to the pile of gifts at the end of the cushioned bench seat.
‘All for you,’ Trudy declared exultantly.
‘All for one, one for all!’ Sachi sang out, her engaging French accent resonating even in those few simple words.
Saanvi, whose stunning black hair and exquisite features made her as exotic as the Indian divinity she was named for, began passing the gifts along. Saanvi’s much older husband ran a global macro hedge fund, where Saanvi had recently been promoted to head up the quantitative risk management team.
‘How many carats did Greg manage?’ Shaz, their Australian derivatives lawyer, wanted to know. Though Shaz mainly worked out of Frankfurt, she was back and forth to London all the time.
‘I’m sure it’ll be at least seven,’ Vivienne shot back, causing another raucous uplift of glasses to toast the prediction.
They’d shared so much during their time at uni that sometimes it felt as though they hadn’t had a life before. They never judged one another in negative ways; they did everything they could to support each other, because they understood who they were and what power their friendship gave them.
These GaLs were her family away from home, the rock that kept her safe and strong; the exclusive network that made everything possible.
‘Are you in Singapore on Thursday?’ Trudy wanted to know.
‘I leave on Wednesday,’ Vivi told her.
‘Saanvi, did you hear that?’ Trudy demanded. ‘She is going to Singapore on Wednesday.’
‘Brilliant,’ Saanvi responded triumphantly. ‘Email me your details and I’ll make sure I’m on the same flight. Where are you staying?’
‘I’m not sure yet,’ Vivienne replied, ‘but I’ll put it in the email. Oh my God, what’s this?’ She pulled the softest, palest pink something from a satin-ribboned box with velveteen stripes and diamanté studs. ‘Oh, you’re kidding me. Myla silk pyjamas. I’ve always wanted a pair …’
Trudy threw out her hands. ‘How on earth did I know that?’ she demanded in amazement.
Vivienne pressed a hand to her chest as she laughed, then leaned forwards to embrace her friend. She coughed to try and clear the tightness in her lungs and sat down again to open more presents.
From Saanvi there were two tickets for a day full of treatments at the Thermes Marins spa in Monte Carlo. ‘Oh wow!’ Vivienne cried, completely blown away. ‘We haven’t been there since we graduated. This is amazing.’
‘Open this one next,’ Shaz insisted, pushing a small silver-wrapped packet into Vivienne’s hand.
Vivienne’s eyes widened with astonishment when she found more tickets, this time for a helicopter transfer from Nice to Monaco.
‘And in this one,’ Sachi told her, ‘you will find a voucher for two return flights to Nice – and a little something else to go with it.’
The something else turned out to be a night at the Hotel de Paris.
‘Now all you have to do,’ Trudi pointed out, ‘is decide which one of us you’re going to take with you.’
‘Oh for God’s sake,’ Vivienne protested. ‘How on earth am I going to do that? Can’t we get our diaries together and work out a time for us all to go?’
‘Best idea I’ve heard all day,’ Shaz concurred, refilling the glasses.
As Vivienne watched and joined in the bubbling excitement she pushed at her chest again, as though the pressure might disperse the ache. She really ought to eat something before downing the champagne, or she’d have another dizzy spell. She reached for a smoked salmon hors d’oeuvre and popped it into her mouth. Delicious, heavenly, so she tried another.
Shaz was asking her something, but for some reason Shaz’s voice seemed to be coming through water. It bobbed back to the surface with sudden clarity as she said, ‘Vivi! Are you all right?’
Vivienne laughed. ‘Of course,’ but the room was dipping away and lurching back as though she were on a ship in a storm, and when she tried to lift her glass she found she couldn’t move her arm. Everything hurt, she realized, her whole body, and the pain was clenching so hard into her chest …
‘Vivienne!’ someone shouted. She thought it was Saanvi.
‘Oh my God!’ Hands were closing around her arms. ‘She’s fainting. Get her some air …’
Vivienne’s face contorted as she tried to breathe. ‘I don’t … It’s …’ she gasped.
‘Her lips are blue … Oh Jesus! Vivienne!’
‘Help! Someone. We need help.’
Vivienne was still trying to breath.
‘Let me through. I’m a doctor, clear some space.’
A man’s face came into view, blurred and dark and moving close.
‘Call an ambulance,’ he barked. ‘Do it now. What’s her name?’
‘Vivienne.’
‘Vivienne,’ he said urgently. ‘I’m going to lie you down …’
She was trying to listen, even to laugh, because this was funny wasn’t it, or embarrassing … It couldn’t be real, but it hurt so much …
‘Deep breaths,’ he was saying, moving her roughly to the floor. ‘Come on Vivienne, you can do it. In, out. In, out.’ His fist was banging into her chest.
She tried. In … The noise was awful. Rushing, ripping, breaking … ‘Mum,’ she murmured weakly.
‘In, out.’ The world was going black. He was still banging her chest … ‘Stay with me,’ he shouted angrily. ‘Vivienne. Stay with me.’