5

Lizzie: Present Day

Bill had barrelled into the tent about a minute after Dudley’s call came through, surrounded by a phalanx of security in dark suits. He’d cut Lizzie off in mid-call and taken her phone away from her, saying that it was imperative that she didn’t speak to Dudley or anyone else until they had spoken to the lawyers and come up with a story. Lizzie hadn’t a clue what he meant but it felt bad. Bill had ushered her out of the back of the tent to where a car waited, anonymous with blacked-out windows. On the way out, Lizzie had caught a glimpse of the packed marquee; two hundred people, the girls all dressed up in red wigs with sparkles in their hair to look like Celia Jones, clutching books and silver pens. They looked so happy and excited that she had felt ashamed. In a moment some flunkey would get up on the stage and tell them that Lizzie Kingdom wasn’t going to be able to come after all and there would be tears and complaints and none of it would touch her because she would be miles away by then, cocooned in the world that Bill had created for her, protected and adrift at the same time.

She wanted to talk to Dudley. She wanted it so badly she was on the edge of screaming at Bill to give her the phone back. She felt a brief, vicious flash of anger that Amelia had done this to him. Stupid cow, how could she be so careless as to fall downstairs? And how had she managed to kill herself? If she’d broken her arm, she could have done an interview for a magazine or two, all brave and smiling through the pain, and made herself some cash so that she wasn’t always leeching off Dudley. As soon as the thought was formed, she felt ashamed all over again. Amelia was dead. It was horrific. She remembered Johnny in his pageboy’s outfit ten years ago. He would be sixteen now and his sister was dead.

Lizzie dug in the pocket of her jacket and took out a bag of marzipan fruits. The rich smell mingled with that of Kat’s nail varnish and filled the back of the car. Fortnum’s had seen her snacking on some of their sweets during a documentary behind the scenes at Stars of the Dance and sent her a bag every week now. She’d never been able to resist sugar in whatever form it was presented, even though her dentist told her she would have false teeth by the time she was thirty. It was comfort eating, she supposed, and that meant extra time in the gym.

Amelia. Lizzie bit hard into the marzipan centre. She had always disliked Dudley’s wife even though she hadn’t met her often. Their paths crossed mainly at parties and premieres; Amelia had been a pretty, waiflike blonde who had never really found a role for herself. She’d tried modelling and had some auditions for TV, or so she had confided to Lizzie, and she had featured in a number of celebrity magazines. Periodically there were articles about her latest project, pictures of her posing at Oakhangar Hall, looking glamorous in the gardens or baking up a storm in the kitchen, but none of her plans seemed to come to anything. Lizzie, who could not remember a time when she had not been working, had always thought Amelia was lazy. Everyone else seemed to feel sorry for her. Even Bill, tougher than old boots, had once said he thought Amelia was as fragile as a butterfly. Lizzie had thought she was a different sort of insect, a parasitic one.