The Sister Swap by Fiona Collins

Author:Fiona Collins
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollinsPublishers
Published: 2018-08-21T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

Sarah

Fashion was an early business. Sarah’s alarm went off at five o’clock on Monday morning; she had to be at the venue at the old wine cellars for half past six to make sure everything was absolutely tip-top for designer John James’s 11 a.m. show: overseeing the laying out of chairs, making sure the front row was the correct front row – London’s top fashion people and a hand-selected contingent of click-baity celebrities – organizing the florists’ displays, the pre-show cocktails and canapés, the mini bottles of champagne for the models backstage – the list was endless. John James, the designer, had his own producer for the actual show, but Sarah was where the buck stopped for everything else and she was mildly terrified. The whole thing had to be perfect, on literal pain of death.

Which was why she was panicking now, at 5.20 a.m., whilst frantically going through the guest list for the hundredth time, because someone in the fashion food chain had just alerted her to the fact that a top blogger, who was, like, so now, apparently, might not be on it. Sarah couldn’t afford to make a single mistake. Things had been great at House for the past few days and she was determined to continue her good record.

Dylan had been right. There had been no great music to face on Sarah’s return to the office after Baroness Trott’s charity lunch last week – no blare of shame and blame, no drum crash of outrage. Michael had actually come up to Sarah and shaken her hand to thank her for a job well done.

‘Two million raised,’ he’d said. ‘And a more than happy client. Well done.’

‘Thank you, Michael.’ She had waited for more; was he going to mention the tragic cat bothering?

‘I’ve had Baroness Trott on the blower already, singing your praises. I’m very pleased with you,’ he’d added and Sarah had prayed he hadn’t noticed the massive sigh of relief slowly escaping from her being. She had got away with it; she wasn’t going to be fired for cooing ‘monster boy’ to a ginger moggy in full earshot of London’s finest society ladies.

Michael had called Felicity over to thank her too. Sarah hadn’t been able to bear to look at her saboteur as Felicity had nodded and said she was delighted and it was a pleasure. She had also said nothing. She could hardly start pointing fingers about what she thought Felicity had done, when Michael clearly knew nothing about it, and even if he had, Sarah was not one to tell tales, especially ones that would sound far-fetched and utterly ridiculous. Felicity had returned to her desk, where her blonde hair had flicked at her keyboard as she’d typed. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, Sarah had mused. Like butter wouldn’t melt. She had no idea what she was going to do about her.

It was 5.45. Sarah was running out of time. She couldn’t find the email from the fashion blogger, confirming her attendance. She checked the junk box of her personal email account.

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