Guilty Pleasures (25 page)

‘And is Ruby enjoying herself?’ asked Astrid, watching the girl trying to sip a glass of champagne in a very grown-up fashion.

‘Urh,’ groaned Cassandra, ‘she told me on the way over here that she now wants to be an actress.’

‘What happened to her wanting to be an archaeologist?’

‘That was last year’s little fad. She kept trying to persuade me to do a shoot at the Hanging Gardens of Babylon so she could come with me. It actually sounded like a rather good idea until I found out it was destroyed in an earthquake 2,000 years ago.’

Astrid giggled. ‘Whenever did something like that ever stop you? I’m surprised you didn’t tell Giles to
make it happen.
’

Cassandra rolled her eyes.

‘Anyway, where are we on the exhibition?’ she said. ‘I know we have a lunch on Monday but you might as well give me the broad strokes.’

Cassandra and Astrid had begun to organize a grand charity dinner dance to rival the Met-Gala in New York. The theme was the works of the great couturier Charles Worth, the British designer who moved to Paris and kick-started couture and the modern day fashion industry as we know it. However, as vice-chair of the organization committee, it was Astrid’s responsibility to arrange a venue and she had hit a solid wall. The plan was to have the exhibition-cum-dinner immediately after couture week in January but the Chambre Syndicale, who governed the biannual couture shows had yet to announce the dates, which made it impossible for her to confirm a venue.

‘I’ve been tearing my hair out, darling, I really have,’ said Astrid. ‘I have another meeting with the V&A tomorrow and Karoline Braun has been a real find in drumming up corporate sponsorship, but…’

‘Who is that stunning girl with Johnny?’ interrupted Cassandra, surprised that she did not know every good-looking and important person in the room. ‘Is she a model?’

‘That’s Stella Chase. I think she’s Johnny’s date tonight.’

Cassandra opened her grey eyes in surprise. ‘Stella Chase the designer at Milford?’

‘The same. She’s a very pretty girl, isn’t she? Too small to model but lovely all the same. The photographers have been having a field day with her tonight.’

Cassandra nodded unconsciously. Yes, she certainly had a certain something.

‘How on earth did Johnny meet her?’ she asked.

‘He did some shoot for Milford the other day.’

Cassandra looked sharply at her friend.

‘Johnny modelled for
Milford?’

Astrid pulled a face and looked away.

‘Now, darling, don’t go all funny just because you’re still pissed off about your cousin. I never told you because I knew you’d react like this and frankly, Johnny could do with a high-profile advertising campaign.’

‘High-profile? I doubt that,’ snorted Cassandra. But she felt her
good mood evaporate as she thought of Emma Bailey.
Just what is that little bitch up to now?

‘Can you believe people are talking Oscar-buzz already? Best fucking supporting actor! Can you imagine if I got it?’ laughed Johnny when he had steered Stella into a quiet corner. Stella smiled politely, but she was not in the best of moods. Johnny had taken over an hour to come over and find her. Of course, he had been snowed under with journalists, producers and celebrities telling him what a fabulous performance he’d given. Buoyed by their attention, he was even more funny and charming than he had been at the Milford shoot, but still…

‘If I was on the Academy I would vote for you,’ smiled Stella, doing her best to sound witty.

Johnny took a flute of champagne and downed it in one.

‘Can I just tell you how incredible you look tonight?’ he said putting his hand on her shoulder. ‘You could be having an Elizabeth Hurley moment in that dress.’

‘Does that make you my Hugh Grant?’ she said, suddenly feeling flirty.

‘Something like that,’ he said in a low voice, looking straight at her. His ice-blue eyes were incredible. ‘So how about we get out of here?’

Stella nodded, her earlier annoyance melting away.

‘I heard a few people are going to Bungalow 8?’

‘What? And get mobbed again?’ smirked Johnny, taking her hand. ‘Come on, it’s about time we made this into a proper date.’

‘So it
is
a date?’ she replied, feeling in a much better mood.

He smiled and lifted her hand to kiss her palm. It was an intimate, sexy gesture and Stella shivered.

‘Well, maybe you should go first,’ she said quickly, not wanting to ruin his image so soon.

‘Oh no, you don’t get away that easily,’ he laughed. ‘Shall we? He cocked out his arm playfully and she slid hers through.

The cameras went wild as they left the party. For Stella, it was ten times more frightening than having to walk the red carpet on her own three hours earlier.

They dashed through the flashbulbs and into the car which was waiting for Johnny.

‘Westbourne Grove,’ he ordered before settling back into the leather seat.

He put his hand on her bare thigh and watched as the London streets slipped by. They hardly spoke, just enjoying the tension that was crackling between them.

A thought nagged at Stella that she shouldn’t be going back to his flat so soon – they had barely spent an hour in each other’s company – and yet here she was with the hottest guy in London.
Correction,
she smiled, quoting one of the
Time Out
journalists at the party,
the hottest new guy in film.

The car slid to a stop outside a white stucco-fronted mansion block. Johnny took her by the hand and ran up the front steps, hastily pushing open the front door.

Once inside, his hands cupped her face, his lips stroking hers, the kiss growing deeper and deeper in intensity until their hands were caressing each other’s neck, cheeks, hair.

She was swept away in such a violent surge of lust that she could barely speak.

‘Which floor?’ said Stella, her breath already ragged.

‘Top,’ he whispered. Now she grabbed Johnny’s hand and pulled him towards the staircase, racing up the steps, laughing as they ran. When they reached the final flight, Johnny caught up with her, grabbed her hips, pulling her down. She was on her hands and knees, looking up at his front door, giggling, when she felt his hands reach under her dress. His fingers rested momentarily on her hips, before they hooked into the top of her panties, peeling them down. Johnny smoothly flicked her panties over her shoes and pushed the chiffon skirt up to the small of her back, leaving her lower half completely bare. She arched her back in desire as he caressed the curve of her ass, then gasped as she felt his tongue lick the length of her dark crease.

‘I’ve only just started,’ he whispered, climbing two stairs so he was right on top of her, pressing his hard cock against her. Leaving her panties on the step, he pulled her upright and pushed her gently against the door, his lips caressing her neck as he rattled the key in. The door swung open. Not bothering to turn on any lights, he urgently pulled at the dress zipper, but the vintage fastener was stuck.

‘Just get it off,’ panted Stella, almost blind with desire. She heard the faint tear of fabric before it floated to the ground. Standing in
only her heels, he pressed her back against the wall, their lips smashing against one another’s in their urgency. Then suddenly Johnny pulled away and, looking her in the eye, slowly licked two fingers and lowered them onto her warm belly. She was already wet between her thighs before his fingers dipped and curled, pushing inside her, massaging her ripe clitoris until she groaned. She moved her feet apart and lifted her arms above her head, where she grabbed onto a light fitting on the wall.

He curled his fingers, damp from her juices, around her right breast and almost took it whole into his mouth, before pulling back to bite her brown stud-like nipple so soft and sweetly, that she arched her back in pleasure.

‘I didn’t know pretty boys were so good at sex,’ she whispered, the words gasping out. Her skin felt as if it was burning, sexual heat firing up every nerve ending.

‘Only good? I can do better than that.’

They both laughed as Stella began unbuttoning his shirt, while Johnny lifted her into his arms and into the bedroom, tapping the door behind him with his foot so it closed with a gentle click.

The wedding of Laura Hildon, fashion editor of
Rive
magazine, and Max Carlton, one of the hottest young investment bankers in the City, was held in Hildon Castle, a stately pile set against the stunning backdrop of the Welsh mountains. As Laura was Henry and Eleanor Hildon’s only child and they were one of the wealthiest families in Wales, they were both determined to do her proud. Forty-eight hours of celebrations had been planned, kicking off with a themed party on the lawns tonight, but that was just the appetizer. Over the course of the weekend there would be the wedding ceremony itself followed by a black tie dinner for six hundred, then a midnight firework display rumoured to have cost a quarter of a million pounds. It would all come to a polished finish with a brunch for all the guests still left standing on the Sunday. For such an event, only the very best wardrobe would do, so Laura’s Lacroix couture bridal gown, made and modified under Cassandra’s guidance, had arrived from Paris the day before in the back seat of Henry Hildon’s Bentley which had been specially sent to collect it. At Laura’s request Cassandra and Giles had been the first guests to arrive at Hildon Castle to oversee a private dress rehearsal with the hand-picked hair and make-up artists. The two of them had spent the last hour walking around the grounds, supposedly to get some fresh Welsh air before the preparations began; but in actual fact, Cassandra was desperate to do a full inventory of the estate. Yes, Hildon Castle was absolutely in the middle of nowhere. Cassandra had chartered a helicopter to take them there, which she had intended to write off against a location scout fee, but apart from its distance from the metropolis –
any
metropolis
– she was unable to find fault with it. The castle was surrounded by beds of lupins, peonies and delphiniums which softened its hard granite and slate edges. There was a crystal-clear lake and a thick pine forest that melted into the foothills and the house itself was dramatic with towers and narrow windows, and open and welcoming too.

‘Love is in the air, darling,’ said Giles dramatically, picking up a pale pink rose that had fallen to the ground and handing it to Cassandra. ‘Perhaps tonight will be the night when we both find love.’

‘For God’s sake, Giles, you sound like the fool from a Shakespeare play.’

‘A fool for love, methinks,’ he smiled taking a sip of the fresh, iced lemonade he had been carrying around. ‘As for you, my dear, you haven’t had a decent relationship since last year’s Spring/Summer collections. You’re one of the most eligible women in the country and you behave like a nun.’

‘I would be a very naughty nun,’ smiled Cassandra, taking off her sunglasses and fixing them on her head.

There was nothing like a wedding to make a person reflect on their own love life and Cassandra was no exception. She had quietly turned thirty-six the previous weekend and had chosen to spend it alone at the Grove Spa just outside London. Most people assumed that because Cassandra threw and attended a lot of parties in the name of work she was a party animal, but away from the office and the catwalk she was a very private person, preferring to rely on herself and her own company.
It was better that way,
she thought.

As they walked across the manicured pea-green lawns in front of the castle, they saw Laura and her mother Eleanor waiting for them at the grand entrance. Tall and slender, Eleanor Hildon was wearing long grey slacks, a cream georgette blouse and a long string of pearls that fell across her flat chest.

‘Did you enjoy the grounds?’ she smiled, revealing a set of blinding white teeth, slightly too large for her mouth.

‘Oh, they’re splendid,’ replied Giles. ‘They remind me of the Butchart Gardens in Canada.’

‘And, Cassandra, how have you settled into the gardener’s cottage? Laura said you might be sensitive to noise and I thought the castle might get a little rowdy later on. We have 40 people staying here just tonight.’

Cassandra smiled politely. She had no desire to be painted as a delicate flower – she’d have to have words with Laura about that later – but if it meant she could slip away from the party unnoticed, it was worth it. Six hundred well-oiled revellers laughing and shouting inside the castle’s stone walls would be an acoustic hell.

‘I’ve had a complete nightmare with the seating plan,’ continued Eleanor. ‘According to Laura, everybody seems to hate somebody. Thank goodness tonight is a more casual affair. I thought the Wild West theme would be such fun, don’t you?’

Cassandra smiled again, slightly less warmly. Laura caught the expression and quickly intervened.

‘Well, you’re just in time to meet Max. He called me a few minutes ago to say he’d arrived – Ah! Here he is now.’

They all turned to face the drive as a powerful car thundered towards them and skidded to a halt in front of the house. A tall elegantly-dressed man jumped out, pushing his dark hair off his face as he did so. Wearing a Euro-Sloane uniform of polo shirt, chinos and Tod’s loafers, his body was lean and fit and moved with a confident swagger. To her great surprise Cassandra felt a stir in her groin. Max Carlton was not the most handsome man she had ever seen, but he had a presence, a sensual aura she could feel herself responding to. Max kissed both his bride-to-be and his mother-in-law on the cheek before fixing Cassandra with a smile.

‘And you must be Cassandra,’ he said, putting out a huge hand. ‘I’m Max.’

‘I can’t believe you two haven’t met,’ said Laura, flushed with pride.

‘We have spoken on the phone,’ said Cassandra calmly. ‘I have been trying to extract details about the honeymoon, but it was a hopeless cause even when I told him I was coordinating your trousseau.’

‘Well, I wish he’d tell me,’ said Laura with coltish exuberance. ‘I hate surprises.’

‘Talking of honeymoons,’ said Cassandra. ‘Remind me when you’re back in the office?’

‘A week on Monday,’ said Laura. ‘We couldn’t be away for too long: Max has a new job.’

‘Atlantis, the Private Equity group,’ he replied, locking his gaze on Cassandra.

‘It’s a partnership, so it’s brilliant for him,’ said Laura, rolling her eyes.

‘I’m so happy for you,’ Cassandra said quickly.

‘Now that everyone’s been introduced, let’s go indoors for some lunch,’ said Eleanor clapping her hands together. ‘Marshall, our chef, does a wonderful pork with sloe-berry sauce made from fruit grown in the grounds. With a bit of luck we’ll all be able to get to know one another much better.’

‘Yes, that would be lovely,’ said Cassandra. And she could feel Max’s eyes boring into her.

‘Rob, are you insane?’ shouted Emma. ‘How can you expect me to go?’

When Rob had casually revealed the identity of the bride halfway up the motorway, Emma had gone berserk. This was supposed to be a break, a stress-free weekend. But instead, Rob had invited her to the wedding of Laura Hildon – the fashion editor of
Rive.
That meant Cassandra would almost certainly be in attendance and that most definitely meant there was going to be a confrontation of some description. Cassandra’s betrayal of Milford still stuck in Emma’s throat and while she had resisted the urge to call Cassandra after Cameron had told her of her bad-mouth campaign, she couldn’t –
wouldn’t
– let the incident pass if they met face to face.

‘I’m sorry, Em, I really didn’t know,’ said Rob, slowing his sports car to only slightly over the speed limit. ‘Listen, if you really don’t want to go, I’ll take you home again. I had no idea it was going to be a problem.’

It was true of course. While Rob could be insensitive and immature, there was no way he could have known about her problems with her cousin – he would have assumed Cassandra would be a welcome friendly face for Emma. Taking a deep breath, Emma decided that if this weekend was about relaxing and enjoying herself, then that was what it was going to be. Besides, Rob had been charming and amusing company for the entire journey, during which they had talked about everything from music to politics, art to religion. It was a refreshing change for Emma, who spent the bulk of her time having conversations about work with either her family or colleagues. Emma had also spent the journey quietly taking in the magnitude of Rob’s wealth. The supple cream leather in his gunmetal
Aston Martin told her that it was a top-of-the-range prestige vehicle. There had been a call to his mobile from the pilot of his family’s private jet, making arrangements for Rob’s trip to New York on Sunday night – no queuing at Heathrow for Rob. And when they had called in to the country house hotel to drop off their bags, the hotel concierge had spoken to Rob as if he was visiting royalty. Emma had to admit it made her a little uncomfortable.

‘So how do you know Laura again?’ asked Emma as the castle loomed into view. Even from a distance it was a spectacular place. As the rich orange sun sank behind the hills, it showered the grounds with golden light and turned them the colour of spun gold. She could make out the festivities on the long lawns in front of the castle in the deepening dusk: a bonfire was glowing and strings of red and yellow lanterns hung from the trees.

‘Old family friend,’ said Rob. ‘I’m really here as a proxy for my dad who’s doing some deal in China. My dad and Laura’s dad, Henry, met travelling round Europe when they’d both finished university. I think they ended up in Greece, skippering sailboats for rich tourists, or some such. Henry met Laura’s mum out there, I think she was working in a bar. Anyway, they’ve all stayed friends ever since, so us kids occasionally got thrown together on holidays and visits.’

Rob pulled up in front of the castle.

‘Wow! This is wonderful,’ smiled Emma, climbing out of the car and standing on tiptoes to look at the party on the lawns. The air was scented with the smells of roasting food and the heavy smoke of the bonfire. Guests wandered around in fancy dress, weaving between the neon-lit sideshows – a rifle range, a coconut shy and a bucking bronco – while waiters dressed as cowboys handed out cones of nachos, smothered in sour cream and peppers. Three more pseudo ranch-hands were manning a huge hog roast and pouring cider into tankards from large wooden vats while somewhere in the distance, a country and western band was playing. She turned towards Rob, grinning.

‘It’s such a holiday atmosphere, isn’t it?’

Rob laughed.

‘Ah, so she knows how to have fun!’ he teased. ‘She has holidays!’

‘Of course I have holidays.’

‘Going to the library doesn’t count.’

She slapped him on the arm.

‘I do have holidays. In fact I’m thinking of going to Costa Rica in August actually. Apparently August is fashion’s holiday month, but the shop launches in the second week of September so I can’t be gone for too long.’

‘Costa Rica. Nice,’ said Rob, as they moved across the lawn towards the party.

‘I have a friend who lives out there running a cave-diving operation.’

‘A friend?’ he said, eyebrows raised.

‘Yes, a
friend,’
said Emma. ‘Honestly, all you ever think about is sex.’

Rob chuckled to himself as he took a glug of cider from the stall.

‘So there’s no significant other?’

‘No,’ said Emma quietly. ‘I had my fingers burnt at the start of the year, so I’m giving relationships a wide berth for a while.’

‘And you go cave diving instead.’

She gave him a puzzled expression.

‘How does that compare with having a boyfriend?’ she asked.

‘Because everyone has a reckless streak, even you. Most people use sex and relationships for excitement and – strangely – to make themselves vulnerable. Extreme sports is much the same thing. It’s the only outlet for danger in your perfect, ordered life.’

‘Charming,’ she sniffed.

‘Hey, don’t shoot the messenger,’ said Rob, with a smirk. ‘And there were compliments in there somewhere, you just didn’t want to see them. Now, how do you fancy a quick ride on the bucking bronco, danger girl?’

Cassandra’s grey eyes turned a deep shade of green as she saw them together.
What was Emma doing with Rob Holland?
she thought enviously.
And at a wedding, too.
Of course, she knew that Rob was Emma’s new tenant, but coming to a wedding together was a message. How on earth had she managed it? But then, while Emma was hopelessly overdressed in a YSL lilac silk sheath dress – Cassandra could recognize it even from a distance – she grudgingly had to admit that Emma looked good. So where was the timid, pasty girl she had met in Paris? Her hair had been cut and coloured too. She was laughing happily as she watched Rob on the bucking bronco, clapping her hands. Cassandra bristled.
Who did Emma think she was?

‘Well, well, what a surprise. A fully-fledged member of the fashion set,’ said Cassandra walking up behind Emma.

‘Not quite,’ said Emma with a weak smile. ‘I’m a guest of Rob Holland. He’s a friend of Laura’s father’s.’

‘Yes, and Rob’s quite a catch. It seems like it’s your year for getting what you want.’

‘We’re just friends,’ corrected Emma.

‘Oh. I see. My mistake,’ smiled Cassandra. Emma flushed. She felt awkward and foolish, just like she always had when her big cousin was around. Inwardly she cursed herself for having been caught off-guard. She simply hadn’t been prepared for bumping into her so soon.

‘So how’s business?’

This is it,
thought Emma. Time to stand up to the bully.

‘Oh. I didn’t think you cared.’

Cassandra pulled back with a note of surprise.

‘What an odd question. Of course I care. My mother has a stake in the business.’

Emma pursed her lips and looked straight at Cassandra. ‘Which is why I thought it was strange that you’d been bad-mouthing Milford all round the industry.’

Cassandra’s face coloured ever so slightly.

‘Don’t be absurd.’

‘Seeing as you ask,’ continued Emma politely, ‘everything is going better than we could have possibly expected. The revamped store opens next month just in time for delivery of the new stock. It’s a soft launch – we’re having a bigger opening party in September. I’m not sure whether
Rive
have shot the Milford 100 Bag for their September issue but don’t worry. Everyone else has.
Vogue, Elle, Harpers,
they’re all doing something substantial.’