Direct Action. J D Svenson
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the things Peggy had chosen. Even Alessa wasn’t going to make her feel tense today, she decided. That was the game they always played with each other anyway – who could be the more offhand, the more detached, the more smoothly critical of the other, while affecting a demeanour of total innocence. To date it was a game that Alessa always seemed to win.
Looking in at the marble ground-floor bathroom though, Cressida felt anything but serene. Thankfully there was no actual physical contents in the toilet bowl, but the water was up to the rim. Did plumbing fail during a blackout?
‘I’ll deal with that when I get back,’ she said. ‘Helena, it’s really better if I go get Felipe on my own. Alessa, how was your flight?’
‘It was a flight,’ said Alessa with flat humour, subsiding into the white reproduction Eames chair next to the kitchen. The lushly upholstered fifties icon with its moulded plywood framework and matching Ottoman, on which her sister’s mauve painted toenails currently reclined, had been her father’s favourite, and Cressida was surprised to feel a fizz of resentment to see her sister sitting in it. It didn’t help that the chair’s curved white headrest was reminiscent of the fancy Partner chair Cressida had seen in Alessa’s office when she’d videocalled her at work in Singapore.
‘They even had a decent wine list,’ Alessa was saying, scrolling distractedly through her phone. ‘Of course you never know with Qantas. I always fly Emirates, but they’ve cut their direct to Sydney. Not a big enough market in Australia apparently.’
‘How tiresome for you,’ Cressida said, finding two glasses in the cupboard. ‘You know I’d turn that off if you want it charged when you need it. Helena, sit down and I’ll make you a drink. Oh. Does anyone realise there’s a pond around the refrigerator?’
‘Oh!’ said Helena. ‘I cleared it out last night! Must be from the freezer defrosting. Damn …’
‘It’s alright, I’ve got it.’
Cressida found two towels in the pool ensuite and threw them on the floor to soak up the water. ‘Helena, have you got any fruit? Oh.’ Beside the kettle was a thick, textured envelope, an ampersand brand name scored on one corner in pale, embossed lettering. ‘The samples arrived.’
‘Yes!’ Helena said, smiling. ‘I thought I’d leave that for you to open.’
Cressida glanced at Alessa, weighing it up. To open them now and risk her sister’s reaction, or hold on until later when she could open them in private? She swallowed. ‘You got the esky out,’ she continued, picking up a bottle of soda and opening it with a fizz. ‘What a good idea.’ She poured two glasses and added ice.
‘I know, can you believe it? I got the last bag of ice at the service station this morning,’ Helena said, getting up. ‘It was bedlam. People were queuing for petrol halfway down the block. Quick, open it.’ She grinned, with clear excitement. ‘I want to see them.’
‘See what?’ said Alessa, still looking at her phone.
‘Cressida’s …’ Helena began, but Cressida silenced her with a look.
‘Just some paperwork,’ said Cressida, delivering the drinks. Alessa eyed her for a moment, but returned to the screen in her hand. Back at the kettle, with careful nonchalance Cressia sliced open the envelope and tipped it up. The contents fell out successively into her hand: invitation, wishing well insert, RSVP, place card, bridal registry card. All white with wide pink stripes, layered with embossed black print and a silver love-heart motif. The sample invitation was triple folded and sealed with a double layer of real wax. So crisp and flawless. Expensive. Behind her Helena had come to stand at her shoulder. On seeing them she let out a sigh.
‘Oh,’ she breathed. ‘They’re lovely.’
They were. Brimming with the promise of all things sought for. Perfection. Love. Wealth. Children. Despite what she’d said to the Partners, and even Felipe. Cressida glanced behind at Helena and saw that her eyes were damp.
‘This would never happen in Singapore,’ Alessa was saying. ‘There are blackouts all the time and people just cope. Cressida, your laptop?’ she said, getting up. ‘I have to send an email before 10am.’
‘It’s in my bag,’ Cressida said. ‘Don’t you have a spare battery?’
Too late though. Alessa was at her shoulder.
‘Yes, I have a spare battery. Yes, it’s also flat. Oh God, Cressida, pink. That’s so two years ago.’ She returned to her seat. ‘It’s all Tahitian seafoam at the moment, didn’t your wedding stylist tell you? God I’m parched. I can’t cope with this dry air.’ She held her face up to spritz on something from a small silver canister, then fanned her face with the boarding pass.
‘I’m surprised to hear you know anything about it,’ Cressida said, quietly. ‘I don’t see you getting married any time soon.’
Alessa looked at her, deadpan, and Cressida held her gaze.
‘Cress …’ said Helena.
‘And what the hell is Tahitian seafoam, anyway?’
‘You know, blue. Bluey green,’ Alessa said, eyes still locked on Cress’s. ‘Tiffany colour.’ She sighed, then looked down at the phone again. ‘You do have a wedding stylist, don’t you?’
A stylist? thought Cressida. It’s eighteen months out from the wedding and I don’t even have a dress. Her stepmother kept making jokes about her getting cold feet. It wasn’t that; there just hadn’t been time to look at designs, much less get one made. It was a crucial decision. At least the honeymoon was sorted. She’d finally managed to persuade Felipe to do something a bit interesting – he’d wanted a month in Europe looking at architecture, followed by skiing in Switzerland, but she’d convinced him to build in two weeks in Fiji. There was an orphanage Helena helped sponsor there and she was going to volunteer. She was really looking forward to that part, at least.
‘Alessa, hush,’ Helena said, giving Cressida’s shoulder a squeeze. ‘They’re lovely. Cressida, you wanted fruit? There’s some on the sideboard. Don’t you think it’s just awful?’ she said to Alessa, perching on the Lexington two-seater opposite. ‘What were these people thinking? Oh thank you, what’s this?’ She took the canister from Alessa. ‘Elderflower water. What, do I just spray it on like this?’ She squirted it cautiously, then laughed as some landed in her eye. ‘Cressida, here, have some of this, it’s wonderful!’
‘No thanks,’ Cressida said, wrestling the laptop out of its bag. ‘Here you go,’ she said, dumping it on Alessa’s lap. She inspected the bowl of fruit on the table. Of what was there, apples were the lowest GI. She took one and bit into it, closing her eyes and savouring the crunch. Fibre really had something going for it, she thought, wishing she didn’t let Alessa get her so riled.
‘Where’s the “on” button?’ Alessa said, peering at the keyboard.
‘Oh sorry,’ said Cressida, flicking it. ‘I thought you’d know.’
‘Mine has biometrics.’
‘Oh you two, it’s too hot,’ Helena said, flapping her hand in front of her face and holding the drink to her cheek.
Cressida flipped open her backpack, pulled out the transistor radio from the top and turned it on. Still music. I guess they can only say the same thing so many times, she thought.
‘Alessa, what are you doing sending an email anyway?’ Helena continued. ‘You’re meant to be on holiday.’
‘Yeah tell that to the Americans,’ Alessa said, rolling her eyes and finding the wireless hotspot function on her phone. ‘We’re doing the carve-out of Weibo in an IPO and I’ve got to get this to the board of directors before they meet at ten.’
‘The what of what? Hey I don’t think the internet’s working, you know.’
Alessa rolled her eyes. ‘What’s known as a corporate