All that Glitters, page 1
Aita Ighodaro read modern languages at Oxford University. Alongside studying for her degree, she also worked as a fashion model in Europe, where she attended shoots in glamorous locations like Saint-Tropez and Cannes. As her experience of life with the rich, the beautiful and the jet set became ever more extraordinary, Aita began collecting the stories that would eventually work their way into her fiction.
Since graduating from Oxford, Aita has worked for a documentary film producer and as a freelance journalist, and is now a full-time writer.
Also by Aita Ighodaro
Sin Tropez
Published in paperback in Great Britain in 2012 by Corvus, an imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd.
Copyright © Aita Ighodaro 2012
The moral right of Aita Ighodaro to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities, is entirely coincidental.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Trade Paperback ISBN: 978 1 84887 664 4
Paperback ISBN: 978 1 84887 665 1
E-book ISBN: 978 0 85789 711 4
Printed in Great Britain
Corvus
An imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd
Ormond House
26–27 Boswell Street
London
WC1N 3JZ
www.corvus-books.co.uk
I’d like to thank everybody at my publisher, Corvus, for helping put this book together, particularly Laura Palmer whose advice was invaluable. Likewise thanks must go to Maddie West, Sara O’Keeffe, Corinna Zifko, my agent Sallyanne Sweeney and the many other talented members of the team who have worked hard on this.
I’d also like to thank all of my friends for contributing in different ways, from making me laugh and keeping my spirits high as I wrote to supplying scandalous stories and anecdotes. You know who you are. A special thanks must go to GC – who is nothing like Mr Sweet! – for that boat trip along the Amalfi Coast which provided so much inspiration. And to Ladi for lots of courtroom info – any inaccuracies are my own.
I must stress that this book is, if you hadn’t already guessed, a work of fiction, and none of the characters is based on anyone, except when they are so famous they appear, fictionally, as themselves! Most of all, I ’d like to thank my brilliant family for the love and support they’ve always shown me.
Contents
Prologue
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Part Two
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Part Three
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Part Four
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Epilogue
Prologue
First there had been the training.
‘Open your mouth,’ she said. ‘No, really open your mouth and your throat, just like I showed you.’
Eventually Evita let the carrot pass right down her throat without gagging, and then she removed it.
‘ You’re ready.’
‘Really? You’re sure?’
She didn’t want to believe she was ready. She didn’t feel ready. But then she looked in Gabrielita’s eyes and felt choked with emotion. She knew she would do it.
‘You are everything to me,’ Evita said.
Gabrielita took Evita’s hand and placed it on her own stomach. ‘This love is real.’ A tear rolled down her sunken cheek.
The darkened room smelled of damp and sweat. The furniture was a rickety table and two wooden chairs, upon which they both sat. On the table lay a Bible.
The next week she met the man. He didn’t speak. Just sat there, filling the little balloons. Then he watched as she doused each one in oil and opened her throat the way she’d been taught. She swallowed one little parcel. And then another, and another, until before she knew it she had consumed fifty miniature latex parcels filled with crack cocaine. Her tiny stomach felt hard and bloated.
‘That’s enough,’ she told him.
‘More.’
‘I can’t.’ She shook her head.
‘Why? You did much more last time.’
She panicked. ‘OK.’ She opened her mouth again. She felt this one more keenly, as though she was suffocating as it passed through her oesophagus, and then a release when it reached her stomach. She wondered whether she might die on this trip.
He handed her the passport. ‘Your name is Isabel Suarez-Octavio. You are eighteen.’
It didn’t matter that she was fourteen; she could pass for eighteen.
He slid a piece of paper across the desk. ‘This is your address.’
Then he handed her a bag filled with clothes and a pair of dainty high heels.
‘Wear these clothes and these pearls, brush your hair and tie it back with this ribbon. You will wear no make-up except for mascara and concealer to hide the bags under your eyes. You’re a posh girl. Elegant.’
The flight was the longest flight she had ever been on. And the only flight she could remember. She’d heard people say that her mama and papa had had a plane of their own but she’d been far too young to remember flying in it.
She closed her eyes as soon as she boarded the aircraft. She could not risk being drawn into conversation with anyone. But she also knew she must be seen to eat. They kept a special eye out on flights from South America. When the trolley approached her aisle seat she accepted her lunch and asked for a can of Coke. She took her first bite of the cheese and ham sandwich and chewed while the air stewardess was still within eyeshot. Then she coughed gently into a napkin; a more hearty cough would unsettle her stomach. Nobody knew that the mashed up sandwich was being transferred into the napkin as she did so. She rolled up the tissue and slipped it surreptitiously into her handbag. She took larger bites of the sandwich and coughed some more until it was finished. Then she slipped the can of Coke into her pocket. After a while she went to the loo and emptied the Coke down it. She slid the can back into her pocket and returned to her seat. When the stewardess returned to collect her tray, her food was mostly gone and the can of Coke was empty. Nothing unusual to report.
When the plane touched down she said a quick prayer under her breath. Then she disembarked and went through customs. She saw a security guard watching her. She assumed he was just like the men at home who watched her for no other reason than they liked what they saw. But she couldn’t be certain. She made the decision to approach him.
‘Hello,’ she said loudly. ‘Please advise me on the best way of getting to Bond Street. I’m wondering whether the Underground will be faster or whether I should stick to a trusty taxi?’
She was thankful for the countless English books she’d read and films she’d watched. They were her escape and they were her teachers. She’d known from an early age that if she wanted to learn then it would be up to her. Nobody would help her.
The distraction worked. The guard clearly figured that nobody with anything to hide would be stupid enough to approach him. So taken by her was he, in fact, that he personally escorted her all the way to the train, past the ‘nothing to declare’ signs and right past the two men holding out a sign saying ‘Isabel Suarez-Octavio’. The men spotted her immediately but she walked right past them and they did not try to attract her attention while she was with the burly guard. One of the men had a knife in his pocket and had spotted the guard’s metal detector. The other man had a face that was on the wanted list of every police department around the world and despite the plastic surgery he had had, he did not want to draw attention to himself. They would not follow her. Experience had taught them that if circumstances deviated from the plan then you cut your losses. It was dangerous to d o otherwise. The ‘accounts department’ made allowances for this type of thing – mules who somehow slipped through the net. Often they died when a balloon or two split in their stomach, corroded by the acid. A few managed to escape. One or two misbehaved and had to be taken care of. They could lose somebody every now and then and still be in profit. They were never bothered by the ones who got away, as long as they did not step foot back in Bolivia. But they never came back to cause trouble because they were too frightened of what would happen to them, and they never went to the police because they knew that the police liked them little more than the men they worked for.
Evita smiled a small, triumphant smile and prepared for a life being Isabel Suarez-Octavio.
Part One
Chapter 1
‘You are chosen.’ The voice echoed around the ancient building. ‘From the moment we select you, we begin teaching you to excel in life. From the Earl of Wilmington back in 1742 to Margaret Thatcher, Tony Blair and beyond, this university has produced more prime ministers of Great Britain than any other. We select you because we believe you are the best.’
Chloe Constance felt a mounting sensation of doom. Sweat trickled down the insides of her thighs, dampening the tops of her suspenders, worn to be sophisticated for her first day at Oxford. The woman’s voice was giving her the creeps. And what’s more, Chloe had a terrible suspicion she was far from the best. Looking left and right at the rows of attentive students, heads so full of knowledge they seemed to throb, Chloe felt sure she was about to find that out the hard way.
She was in the Sheldonian Theatre. The vast, circular building with its high domed roof was one of Oxford’s architectural jewels. She gazed up at the painted ceiling. It was said to show truth descending upon the Arts and Sciences to expel ignorance from the university. Hastily lowering her eyes again she took a closer look at the people who were to be her contemporaries for the next three years. Lines of teenagers in their newly purchased formal academic dress for matriculation. The girls wore long black skirts and white shirts with black gowns over them. A black velvet ribbon was tied about their necks and they clutched at their mortarboards. The boys were also in black gowns and white shirts but with bow ties. Studying the row of earnest faces opposite her, Chloe reflected that none of the other girls would be wearing anything as risqué as suspenders beneath their gowns. As for the boys, they probably thought suspenders were things found in the science lab beside the Bunsen burner.
She brushed a flyaway strand of light blonde hair out of her face and tugged at the waistband of her skirt. She’d bought it too small in the vain hope she could lose a dress size before term started. Still, looking around, it didn’t seem as though anybody would be on hand to pinch her extra inch.
The lecturer stopped speaking and everybody took their seats so Chloe followed suit. Noticing a couple of disapproving looks in her direction, she glanced down at her shirt and was mortified to see she was spilling out over the top buttons. She sighed at her attention-seeking curves. She couldn’t help wishing she was taller and thinner and tanned.
Then, as if to taunt her, she spotted a girl in the row behind who was all those things and more. The girl stared back at Chloe before seeming to dismiss her with a haughty flick of her dark hair, averting her huge eyes to regard the lecturer with a curious, almost reverent stare. Chloe swivelled around to face the front. With a furrowed brow, she tried to pay attention but it was too late. She’d completely lost track of the ceremony and couldn’t work out what was now being chanted in Latin, despite having been taught it at school since the age of five. She sighed and was heartened when her neighbour pointed to their place on the programme.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
Mercifully, slow organ music began playing to signify the end of the ceremony.
‘Thank God! I’m dying of thirst,’ Chloe said to no one in particular as she rushed out of the Sheldonian and into the glorious sunshine.
‘Champagne, please!’ she said to the bartender of the first pub she came to, a quaint cottage-like place with ivy growing up the walls and a pretty garden. She carried out her glass to a wooden table that overlooked the cobbled street. The other students streamed past, a sea of white and black. Shrugging off her gown and tossing it aside she savoured her first sip of chilled Moët. Mmm, she thought, enjoying the fizzy sensation in her mouth.
‘A little toast to the city of dreaming spires? Or should that be dreamy esquires?’
Chloe jumped at the sound of the husky female voice. It was the girl from the row behind and she was holding up her glass for Chloe to clink. Chloe did, speechless.
How could this girl possibly be a fresher when she looked so confident and sophisticated? Chloe felt dumpy and woefully uncool in her presence. She was sure the heat was making her complexion even more flushed and the suspenders, which had seemed like such a good idea earlier, only made the problem worse. The newcomer had ignored the strict rules and worn neither tights nor stockings under her skirt. She now crossed a slender, bare leg gracefully over the other as she took a seat beside Chloe. Her long dark hair fell in a silky curtain over one shoulder, almost reaching her waist.
‘I’m Isabel Suarez-Octavio,’ the girl announced, turning to face Chloe with an amused expression, giving her the full benefit of her fine-featured, olive-skinned beauty.
‘How lovely and exotic, a lovely name for a lovely girl,’ Chloe rambled. ‘I’m Chloe Constance, not as exotic as you, not really exotic at all.’ She laughed. ‘Yes, I’m very English – as English as this Oxfordshire pub …’ Chloe knew she sounded ridiculous but felt a desperate, irrational need to keep talking.
‘I think we two were the only ones with our priorities right in there,’ said Isabel. When she smiled her face lit up and her dark eyes flashed so brightly that for a moment Chloe was silenced.
‘Wh-what do you mean?’ she asked eventually.
‘Come,’ Isabel ordered, jumping up. She grabbed Chloe’s hand and strode onto the cobbled street. ‘We were looking for boys in there, so let’s continue.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘The Club.’
‘What’s that? OK, well then, hang on a minute.’ Chloe pulled Isabel to the side of the street and into a secluded area behind a wall. She checked nobody could see them before hoisting up her skirt, unhooking her suspender belt and rolling off her stockings.
‘That’s better – I was about to melt.’
Isabel laughed. ‘Yes, much better. Put your hair down too; it’s very pretty.’
Chloe let her hair fall out of its loose knot and cascade down her back, flicking it over one shoulder the way Isabel had.
‘Right, now we’re ready,’ Isabel said, slipping on a pair of vintage sunglasses. ‘This way.’
They glided past historic colleges, pausing to peer at Lincoln College, with its manicured, lush green front quad and scarlet creeper winding up the medieval stone walls, before reaching the high street. There they passed the Examination Schools – a huge building in the style of a Jacobean mansion, where many of their lectures were to take place. They stopped again at a bridge, catching their breath at the sight of Magdalen College. The pale-stone building was set on the banks of the River Cherwell. Palatial in scale and with its Gothic Great Tower, it was resplendent in the light of the setting sun. From there they raced through fields of the brightest blues, reds and purples of the luscious plants in the botanic garden.
‘I feel as though I’m in a dream,’ Chloe said, eyeing a pretty fuchsia and bending to inspect it more closely. ‘Everything’s just …so lovely!’
‘Come on,’ said Isabel with a grin. ‘Here’s a bit of reality for you.’
They’d left central Oxford behind and were veering towards Cowley Road on the eastern outskirts of the city, a happy bustle of noise, dirt and the din of customers dining at cheap restaurants serving food of every nationality. Most of the people here weren’t students and the imposing, ancient buildings of the centre were nowhere to be seen.
‘It’s like we’re in a different country all of a sudden!’ said Chloe, eyes widening. ‘How do you already know where everything is?’
‘I came prepared.’
A homeless man staggered towards Isabel and fixed her with a drunken leer. Isabel sauntered past him and stopped outside a graffitied building.
