The missing Madonna

Extract

“Ready?” asked Susan with a hint of aggression in her tone, causing Eric to start, for he much preferred ogling a skimpily dressed starlet struggling to master her high heels across the red carpet.
“Ready when you are, O Captain, my Captain!" he replied and winked at her.
Susan sighed. “Then let’s make a move.” She checked her hair one last time. Her friend Karen had painstakingly transformed Susan’s light blonde hair into an elaborate pinned-up style, taking a whole hour and using copious amounts of hairspray to hold it in place. It felt stiff and sticky as a result, but at least it would survive the evening unscathed. The dress that Karen had procured from a designer also fitted perfectly, as though it had been specially made for Susan. Well, perhaps it had been. By now the creative souls from the independent labels were well aware that Susan knew all the important people – namely those who could drive people forward. And perhaps she would be instrumental in a breakthrough for one designer or another – if she wore the right outfit.
But that wasn’t very high on her agenda. If at all possible, she would have worn faded jeans and a lumberjack shirt like Eric, instead of trying to fit her problem zones into the red number that sparkled like a kiosk at a funfair, because the entire fabric, from bodice to train, was decorated with small beads and diamanté. She’d rather not think about the cost were she to incur damage to that little treasure tonight. And on top of that, the gold strappy sandals were cutting into her feet. Why on earth had she agreed to wear sandals one size too small, just because they didn’t have her size? Now she’d spend half the evening limping through the hall at the gala evening, and in the end her feet would bleed just like Cinderella’s stepsisters’ feet.
Resolutely, Susan stepped onto the red carpet that was lined by a numerous spectators and journalists, closely followed by Eric. She walked briskly towards the entrance guarded by two sinister looking security types with broad shoulders, who took their time to check Susan’s invitation before allowing her to enter. They scrutinised Eric disparagingly, as he followed Susan with his camera over his shoulder. But they said nothing. The days when anyone would impede Susan Strathmore were long gone. And somehow, thought Susan on entering the imposing mirrored hall, that wasn’t actually a bad thing. All right, she was here to work, but was there a better job than having to mix and mingle with high society and then to drive home in the middle of the night and spend the next nine hours or so working on her society column without a break?
Naturally, there were nicer things. Sitting in the library of her villa with a good book and a glass of red wine, watching her Labrador cross Trotzki dreaming could be just as appealing - or even better. But she had a job. And she loved it.
“So, who’s on the list today?” asked Eric. He wasn’t one for reviews or briefs before going to these parties. He much preferred being surprised on site as to what Susan had in store.
“I must definitely talk to Sara Stern. There are rumours that she’s planning on marrying.”
“Yes, those rumours have been doing the rounds for a while, but I’m not convinced," replied Eric without being asked. “She’s put on a lot of weight, don’t you think?” He pointed to a group. Sara Stern stood between two men and looked so content that the few additional pounds faded into insignificance.
“Yes, she has put on weight," confirmed Susan. “Which is why it’s going to be a shotgun wedding.”
But before Eric could ask any more questions, Susan made her way towards Sara.
“How come you always know all these things?" mumbled Eric before following her.
The red dress had a signal effect. Everyone acknowledged Susan with a nod, and a few celebrities even greeted her graciously, despite the fact that she belonged to the ‘journo’ clique. But nobody ever forgot anything in these circles. And they especially didn’t forget that Susan had once belonged to them, because she was ever present.
“Sara!” Susan joined Sara Stern and her long-term fiancé Christian, who gave Susan a sideways look, not altogether approvingly. He owned a thriving advertising agency in London. “Susan!” Sara Stern threw her arms around the journalist’s neck with overstated enthusiasm and breathed kisses to the right and left of Susan’s head. “My goodness, it’s been a long time! Do you know Martin? Baron Martin de Burgh only returned from the States a month ago. He worked for a private bank there, isn’t that right Martin? And now he’s come back to save his parents’ business. But all this business talk is way above me.”
Only then did Susan glance at the second man standing with Sara. She was fascinated by the way he beamed at her. He was tall, had dark brown hair, and his brown eyes examined Susan both in a friendly and interested way. She lowered her glance, a little embarrassed, as she felt strangely shaky in his presence.
“Now why didn’t I think of introducing you two earlier! Martin’s also single, did you know that? No, of course not, how could you?” Sara simply carried on babbling.
“Pleased to meet you, Miss…” Martin de Burgh extended his hand to her.
“Susan Strathmore," she said softly.
“Strathmore, is it?” He wrinkled his eyebrows as though in thought, but Susan quickly withdrew her hand and turned back to Sara and Christian. “And who would have thought that Christmas would come again so soon!” called Sara. “Here we are once more at the Christmas dance. Just where is the time going?”
Susan smiled. She knew how to take the celebrities. Allow them their exuberance – that was her motto. Leave them to it and then they’ll tell you everything you want to hear. “Yes, it’s been a long time. Can I have a word now, Sara?”
Sara nodded enthusiastically, placed her hand on Christian’s arm and whispered something in his ear. He lifted his Susan to a quieter spot in the hall.
“No champagne today, Sara?” Susan pointed to the orange juice filled champagne flute Sara was holding primly with her fingers splayed.
“Well…”
“So, you’re pregnant after all?”
“Oh, you already know.” Sara sounded distinctly disappointed. “I was going to tell you this evening, so that you could publish it in the Christmas issue of your gossip rag…”
“Now, now," threatened Susan with a grin. “You shouldn’t underestimate me. I know you Sara, and that smile on your face either means that you’ve been nominated for an Oscar or that you’re pregnant.”
“Do the others also already know?”
“My colleagues?” Susan was unable to suppress a smile. “No, they don’t know. At least, not from me.”
“Well, then you’ll be the first to report it.”
Susan pulled a ballpoint pen and a Moleskine that she used as a notebook from her small evening bag, which was also red and decorated with diamanté. “So, tell me!”
And Sara began to tell her. With beaming eyes, she talked about the new chapter in her life, that Christian could hardly wait any longer, and, above all, how excited she was about becoming a mother soon. “And…" she began secretively.
“Yes?” Susan probed. “Where will you get married?”
Sara pulled a sulky face. “Sometimes I ask myself why you’re actually still interviewing me. You always know everything anyway!”
“Because I don’t want to go about it like my dear colleagues do. They simply suck anything from their thumbs and are surprised to find an injunction on their desks three days later, and their editor furious with them because they have to issue a counter statement. You know, I could also have been wrong.” Susan winked at Sara.
“Amazingly, that hasn’t happened often in the past," noted Sara.
“Tell me everything!” requested Susan, rather than replying.