Лорен Вайсбергер – Revenge Wears Prada: The Devil Returns (страница 3)

‘Hello, Andrea. I just realized I never actually gave you the necklace. I was racing so frantically this morning trying to get everything organized that I ended up late for hair and makeup! I’m calling to let you know that it’s in a velvet box in Max’s room, tucked into the side pocket of that vile duffel bag of his. I didn’t want the staff to see it lying about. Perhaps you’ll be more successful in persuading him to carry something more dignified? Lord knows I’ve tried a thousand times, but he simply won’t—’

‘Thanks, Barbara. I’ll go get it right now.’

‘You’ll do no such thing!’ the woman trilled sharply. ‘You simply cannot see each other before the ceremony – it’s bad luck. Send your mother or Nina. Anyone else. All right?’

‘Of course,’ Andy said. She hung up the phone and headed into the hallway. She’d learned early on that it was easier to agree with Barbara and then go on to do what she pleased; arguing got her nowhere. Which is exactly why she was wearing a Harrison family heirloom as her ‘something old’ instead of something from her own relatives: Barbara had insisted. Six generations of Harrisons had included that necklace in their weddings, and Andy and Max would, too.

Max’s suite door was slightly ajar, and she could hear the shower running in the bathroom when she stepped inside. Classic, she thought. I’ve been getting ready for the last five hours and he’s just now getting in the shower.

‘Max? It’s me. Don’t come out!’

‘Andy? What are you doing here?’ Max’s voice called through the bathroom door.

‘I’m just getting your mom’s necklace. Don’t come out, okay? I don’t want you to see me in my dress.’

Andy rummaged around in the bag’s front pocket. She didn’t feel a velvet box but her hands closed around a folded paper.

It was a piece of cream-colored stationery, heavyweight and engraved with Barbara’s initials, BHW, in a navy script monogram. Andy knew Barbara helped keep Dempsey & Carroll in business with the amount of stationery she bought; she had been using the same design for birthday greetings, thank-you notes, dinner invitations, and condolence wishes for four decades. She was old-fashioned and formal and would rather have died than send someone a gauche e-mail or – horror! – a text message. It made perfect sense that she would send her son a traditional handwritten letter on his wedding day. Andy was just about to refold it and return it when her own name caught her eye. Before she could even consider what she was doing, Andy began to read.

Dear Maxwell,

While you know I do my best to allow you your privacy, I can no longer hold my tongue on matters of such importance. I have mentioned my concerns to you before, and you have always pledged to consider them. Now, however, due to the imminence of your upcoming wedding, I feel I can wait no longer to speak my mind plainly and forthrightly:

I beseech you, Maxwell. Please do not marry Andrea.

Do not misunderstand me. Andrea is pleasant, and she will undoubtedly make someone an agreeable wife one day. But you, my darling, deserve so much more! You must be with a girl from the right family, not a broken family where all she knows is heartache and divorce. A girl who understands our traditions, our way of life. Someone who will help shepherd the Harrison name into the next generation. Most important, a partner who wants to put you and your children ahead of her own selfish career aspirations. You must think carefully about this: do you want your wife editing magazines and taking business trips, or do you desire someone who puts others first and embraces the philanthropic interests of the Harrison line? Don’t you desire a partner who cares more about supporting your family than furthering her own ambitions?

I told you I thought your unexpected get-together with Katherine in Bermuda was a sign. Oh, how delighted you sounded to see her again! Please, do not discount those feelings. Nothing is decided yet – it is not too late. It is clear you’ve always adored Katherine, and it is even more clear she would make a wonderful life partner.

You always make me so proud, and I know your father is looking down on us and rooting for you to do the right thing.

All my love, Mother

She heard the water turn off and, startled, dropped the note to the floor. When she scrambled to pick it up, she noticed her hands were shaking.

‘Andy? You still here?’ he called from behind the door.

‘Yes, I’m … wait, I’m just going,’ she managed to say.

‘Did you find it?’

She paused, unsure of the right answer. It felt like all the oxygen had been sucked from the room. ‘Yes.’

There was more shuffling, and then the sink turned on and off. ‘Are you gone yet? I need to come out and get dressed.’

Please do not marry Andrea. Blood pounded in Andy’s ears. Oh, how delighted you sounded to see her again! Should she fly into the bathroom or run out the door? The next time she saw him, they’d be exchanging rings in front of three hundred people, including his mother.

Someone knocked on the suite’s front door before opening it. ‘Andy? What are you doing here?’ Nina, her wedding planner, asked. ‘Good god, you’re going to ruin that dress! And I thought you agreed you wouldn’t see each other before the ceremony. If that’s not the case, why didn’t we do pictures beforehand?’ Her constant, unrelenting talking drove Andy crazy. ‘Max, stay in that bathroom! Your bride is standing here like a deer caught in headlights. Wait, oh, just hold on a second!’ She scurried over as Andy tried to stand and fix her dress at the same time and extended her hand.

‘There,’ she said, pulling Andy to her feet and smoothing her hand over the dress’s mermaid skirt. ‘Now, come with me. No more disappearing-bride antics, you hear? What’s this?’ She plucked the note from Andy’s sweaty palm and held it aloft.

Andy could actually hear the pounding in her chest; she briefly wondered if she was having a heart attack. She opened her mouth to say something, but instead a wave of nausea came over her. ‘Oh, I think I’m going to—’

Magically, or maybe just from lots of practice, Nina produced a trash can at exactly the right moment and held it so tightly to Andy’s face that she could feel the plastic-lined rim pressing into the soft underside of her chin. ‘There, there,’ Nina nasal-whined, oddly comforting nonetheless. ‘You’re not my first jittery bride and you won’t be my last. Let’s just thank our lucky stars you didn’t have any splash-back.’ She dabbed at Andy’s mouth with one of Max’s T-shirts, and his smell, a heady mixture of soap and the basil-mint shampoo he used – a scent she usually loved – made her retch all over again.

There was another knock at the door. The famous photographer St Germain and his pretty young assistant walked in. ‘We’re supposed to be shooting Max’s preparations,’ he announced in an affected but indeterminate accent. Thankfully, neither he nor the assistant so much as glanced at Andy.

‘What’s going on out there?’ Max called, still banished to the bathroom.

‘Max, stay put!’ Nina yelled, her voice all authority. She turned to Andy, who wasn’t sure she could walk the couple hundred feet back to the bridal suite. ‘We’ve got to get your skin touched up and … Christ, your hair …’

‘I need the necklace,’ Andy whispered.

‘The what?’

‘Barbara’s diamond necklace. Wait.’ Think, think, think. What did it mean? What should she do? Andy forced herself to return to that hideous bag, but thankfully Nina stepped in front of her and pulled the duffel onto the bed. She rooted quickly through its contents and pulled out a black velvet box with Cartier etched on the side.

‘This what you’re looking for? Come, let’s go.’

Andy allowed herself to be pulled into the hallway. Nina instructed the photographers to free Max from the bathroom and firmly shut the door behind them.

Andy couldn’t believe Barbara hated her so much that she didn’t want her son to marry her. And not only that, but she had his wife chosen for him. Katherine: more appropriate, less selfish. The one, at least according to Barbara, who got away. Andy knew all about Katherine. She was the heiress to the von Herzog fortune and, from what Andy could remember from her early rounds of incessant Googling, she was some sort of minor Austrian princess whose parents had sent her to board at Max’s elite Connecticut prep school. Katherine had gone on to major in European history at Amherst, where she was admitted after her grandfather – an Austrian noble with Nazi allegiances during World War II – donated enough money to name a residence hall in his late wife’s honor. Max claimed Katherine was too prim, too proper, and all-around too polite. She was boring, he claimed. Too conventional and concerned with appearances. Why he dated her on and off for five years Max couldn’t explain quite as well, but Andy had always suspected there was more to the story. She clearly hadn’t been wrong.

The last time Max had mentioned Katherine, he was planning to call and inform her of their engagement; a few weeks later a beautiful cut-crystal bowl from Bergdorf’s arrived with a note wishing them a lifetime of happiness. Emily, who knew Katherine through her own husband, Miles, swore Andy had nothing to worry about, that she was boring and uptight and while she did, admittedly, have ‘a great rack,’ Andy was superior in every other way. Andy hadn’t thought much more about it since then. They all had pasts. Was she proud of Christian Collinsworth? Did she feel the need to tell Max every single detail about her relationship with Alex? Of course not. But it was a different story entirely reading a letter from your future mother-in-law, on the day of your wedding, imploring your fiancé to marry his ex-girlfriend instead. An ex-girlfriend he had apparently been delighted to see in Bermuda during his bachelor party and whom he had conveniently forgotten to mention.