Guilty Pleasures (35 page)

‘Of course not, we’re seeing Polly, aren’t we?’ said Jessica casually.

She grabbed a raspberry martini off a passing tray and continued talking in rapid-fire sentences.

‘But Eugene isn’t leaving until 2 p.m. on Sunday afternoon. If we have a car waiting at Linate airport, or better still, hop in Eugene’s, that will give us enough time to get to the party. We can still go to Norfolk if we can get Polly back to her mum on Sunday morning.’

Rob looked at her, open-mouthed.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Jessica. ‘Don’t you want to go?’

‘Any other weekend, of course I’d like to go to Donatella Versace’s party,’ he said, his back stiffening. ‘But this weekend I’d like to see my daughter. I’ve arranged for the three of us to go to Norfolk.
Besides which, Maddy is in England for a wedding and she won’t be able to look after Polly. Not without enormous inconvenience to her anyway.’

He felt a sudden swell of loyalty towards Maddy. Whatever differences they might have had, however cold and patrician he thought she was, she took her parental responsibilities more seriously than anything else in her life. And for that he respected her a great deal. Jessica pursed her mouth, looking deep in thought.

‘Well, how about I come back from Norfolk on Sunday morning? Can’t you get your driver to pick me up? Eugene is flying out of Luton so that’s really handy for East Anglia anyway.’

Rob ran his hand through his hair.

‘Jess, why am I getting the feeling you don’t want to come? Don’t you want to meet Polly?’

‘Of course I want to meet her. I bet she’s adorable.’

‘So …’

She didn’t say anything for a few moments and then looked up at him with her enormous aquamarine eyes.

‘Honey, this is a really great career move for me. Imagine how many celebrities, agents and PRs I’m going to meet. And the truth is you’ll probably have a better time with Polly on your own.’

Rob blinked at her. Suddenly all the anger he’d felt building just drifted away.

‘O K, Jess, you go to Milan.’

Jessica batted her eyelids and tilted her head.

‘Are you sure you’re not angry with me?’

He forced a smile. He didn’t want to spoil Emma’s party with a scene.

‘Of course not.’

‘In that case let me go and find us a couple of cocktails to celebrate.’

He watched her go, that perfect ass and those long, long legs. Just another woman passing in and out of his bed, another notch on the headboard. Except this one had got close. This time it had been a near miss.

In a stunning duplex apartment in Knightsbridge, the book-launch party for
‘Cassandra Grand: On Style’
was also going strong. Looking sensational in a backless, sequinned Galliano cocktail dress, the author smiled for her audience, gliding around the party signing
books and giving quotes to journalists, while secretly seething that this,
her
party, wasn’t the only game in town.

‘I can’t believe you’re going already,’ whispered Cassandra to her mother.

‘Darling, you know how much being here means to me but I have at least to show my face at Milford. I do part-own the company.’

‘But this is
my
launch party,’ she said angrily, struggling to keep a smile on her face in case someone should look over.

‘I can stay another ten minutes but it’s really most unfortunate scheduling. I wish the two parties hadn’t been on the same night.’

The real reason for Cassandra’s fury was not that her mother was leaving after two hours. It was that at least a dozen key guests including two broadsheet fashion editors, the MDs of three major fashion houses and several celebrities hadn’t turned up at all. Max might have called it a
pot-shot,
but she hadn’t been able to resist asking her publishers to have her book launch on the same night as the Milford party. That would wipe the smile off Emma Bailey’s face, she had thought, when her company’s big splash was like the Mary Celeste. But while her launch was well attended, Cassandra’s anticipated victory was not quite as glorious as she had expected it to be. She was still cursing Emma for forcing her into such a tactical lapse, when Ruby trotted over to give her grandmother a goodbye hug. Ruby had obtained a special dispensation to come for the night and had brought along two friends from school, Pandora and Amaryllis, sisters whose father was a Greek shipping magnate. This particular news had pleased Cassandra no end, almost enough to forgive the girls’ appearance. Overcome at being invited to a real fashion party, they had gone to town with their outfits, hair and make-up. Short skirts showed off their very long legs and no one would have guessed their ages.

‘Ruby, are you going to be all right staying here?’ said Julia kissing her grand-daughter on the forehead and trying to mask her concern. She had spotted men old enough to be their fathers, grandfathers even, eyeing up the girls all evening.

‘Nah, it’s fine. We’re having a wicked time here,’ said Ruby, taking a slurp of orange juice. Julia hoped that it was just orange juice in there.
One heard such stories.

Cassandra watched her daughter run back into the thick of the party. As she turned, she glanced out onto the balcony and froze.
Max and Laura were standing talking in the balmy night air.
What the hell was he doing here?
She certainly hadn’t invited him but he had come anyway – and he had come with his wife. His daring sent a flush of lust along her skin; the sense of danger of having Laura at his side, oblivious to everything that was going on, only heightened Cassandra’s emotions. As soon as she saw Laura head towards the ladies’ room, she murmured an excuse to her mother and headed out onto the balcony.

‘I assume you’re not going down to the Milford party,’ whispered Max into her ear, the breath on her neck almost making Cassandra moan.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she snapped, pulling away and grabbing a flute of pink champagne. ‘It will be full of scavengers on the hunt for a free bag. Emma’s so tight they’ll be lucky to get a spring roll and a glass of cava. But forget her, what are you …’

‘Cassandra, darling!’ said Alison Edmonds, interrupting. The tall, imposing managing director of publisher Leighton Best bustled over. ‘I just had to tell you I think the book is
absolutely fabulous,’
she said, giggling at her own joke.

Cassandra smiled weakly.

‘The Christmas book of this year, I don’t doubt it.’

She grabbed a canapé and popped it in her mouth, leaving a few flakes of crostini on her top lip. ‘Now, I know this was a one-book deal, I know you’re incredibly busy doing other things but we see you as a very important author for Leighton Best. Jenny Bond said you’ve got a number of ideas up your sleeve. What was this idea she said you had about Christian Dior?’

Cassandra waved a manicured hand dismissively in the air.

‘Let’s not talk about work tonight.’

‘Quel dommage,’
she smiled. ‘Fabulous venue, by the way. I wish all our authors could pull strings like you can. Anyway, mustn’t keep you from all your friends,’ she said with a wink, moving off again.

Cassandra turned to find Max gone. Instead, Giles was standing there looking at her, stony-faced.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘The Christian Dior idea your publisher just mentioned,’ he said quietly. ‘Is that the one I’m writing?’

He had such a stiff upper lip. God bless the civilized English thought Cassandra, knowing he was unlikely to make any sort of fuss.

‘Yes, a Christian Dior biography was something I mentioned to her,’ she said briskly. ‘They were pushing me for suggestions for book two. Anyway, it’s hardly the most original idea in the world, is it?’

‘So you think you will do it?’

Her eyes challenged him. Warned him.

‘Perhaps.’

Giles simply nodded and she smiled. He knew that to do or say anything further was futile. He was one of the few anointed members of her court, but that status could be revoked at any given time. In time he would see that what was best for her, was best for both of them. She looked around for Max; he was a few yards away chatting distractedly to Alison Edmonds. While she helped herself to another canapé, he gave her a small smile and motioned gently with his head towards the stairs. Noticing that Laura was now deep in conversation with Giles, she slowly followed. There was a long corridor at the top and only one door was ajar. Looking both ways to check she hadn’t been seen, Cassandra pushed the handle. Max was standing just inside and he grabbed her, forcing his lips down on hers, his hands caressing her bare back, his fingers slipping inside down the curve of her ass.

‘Max, please,’ she moaned, not wanting him to stop.

‘Laura is going to some other party,’ he whispered. ‘I said I’d see her back at the house.’

She looked up, their faces inches apart, sharing the same air.

‘What did you have in mind?’ she murmured.

He smiled wolfishly. ‘I think you know. When do you think you can get away from here?’

‘Max. It’s my party. Plus Ruby is here.’

‘It’s nine-thirty, the party is almost over. Can’t Ruby go home with your driver?’

He rubbed the palm of his hand across her breast, feeling her nipple harden at his touch.

Suddenly nothing seemed as important as her own longing, ripping at every nerve ending.

‘Where shall we meet?’

‘I’ve booked a room at the Cadogan Hotel.’

‘Sorry, darling, but I have to go and do some more work,’ said Cassandra, slipping an arm around Ruby’s shoulders and brushing
aside a pang of guilt at the deliberate lie to her daughter. ‘Andrew will take you back to the house. What’s happening to Pandora and Amaryllis? Are their parents in London?’

‘Yes and Amaryllis has just invited me to sleep over. Apparently their house is amazing.’

‘I’m sure,’ smiled Cassandra.

‘So I can go?’

‘Where’s their house?’

‘In Regents Park. Andrew could drop us off there instead.’

Amaryllis stepped forward and handed Cassandra a card. ‘That’s our address. Someone will bring Ruby back home tomorrow or she can come to Battersea heliport with us. Daddy’s helicopter is taking us back to school.’

‘Well, I think that all sounds in order,’ said Cassandra briskly. She made a quick call to Andrew confirming the arrangements, requesting that he take her to the Cadogan Hotel first before he returned to collect the girls. Kissing her mother goodbye, Ruby headed to the bathroom with Pandora and Amaryllis, all of them giggling.

‘Do you think she’ll find out?’ said Ruby, looking up into the wide mirror as Amaryllis applied a slick of red lip-gloss.

‘Find out what? You
are
staying at our house. We’re just going clubbing first,’ smiled her friend.

‘Are you sure we’ll get in?’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Amaryllis, taking her eye-liner and applying a generous amount to the top of Ruby’s eyelid. ‘We’re on the guest list and our parents won’t be back until after midnight. No one is going to know any different.’

Cassandra sat at her suite in the Milan’s Hotel Principe di Savoie reading a card from Donatella Versace. It was the start of Milan Fashion Week and she was surrounded by extravagant floral arrangements traditionally sent by fashion houses to welcome the editors to the collections.

There was a knock at the door and Francesca,
Rive’s
fashion director entered, looking fabulous in black tailored pants, white shirt, a long string of pearls and a sable mink shrug. She was, as she had told Cassandra earlier in the week, currently channelling Babe Paley and in Cassandra’s opinion she looked even better than the Fifties society beauty herself.

‘Have you got a moment?’

‘Literally a moment,’ said Cassandra glancing up from the pile of correspondence. ‘The car is downstairs ready to take us to the Missoni dinner.’

Francesca took a seat in a pale blue wing-back chair. She was a self-assured woman but in Cassandra’s company she seemed on edge.

‘What is it?’ said Cassandra briskly.

‘I wanted to talk to you about Laura.’

Cassandra propped Donatella’s card back against the vast spray of black orchids that had accompanied it.

‘What about her?’ she said, picking up the stiff white invitation from the writing desk and putting it in her clutch bag.

‘It’s about the number of overseas shoots she’s doing. She’s never in the office.’

Francesca paused for a moment as if she was summoning up courage.

‘You’re the fashion director. Sort it out,’ said Cassandra simply.

‘But you’ve specifically requested that she do them. The rest of the team are getting very upset about it and to be honest, when I’m the one commissioning the stories and then you go over my head, I feel it’s undermining my position in the department.’

Cassandra looked at her critically, surprised that her fashion director had had the balls to speak up. Then again Francesca was one of her most impressive and committed members of staff. Unmarried and ambitious, Francesca Adams devoted her life to fashion and to the magazine.
Rive’s
most stylish ambassador, next to Cassandra herself, Francesca understood that fashion was about sacrifice; whether it was spending her entire life hungry so that she could be a perfect size eight, or clocking up big debts to look and act the part of a top fashion director. So extensive and deluxe was Francesca’s wardrobe that Cassandra had always assumed that she was independently wealthy. But the one time she had dropped in on Francesca’s Chelsea apartment she’d had a big surprise. It had the right SW3 address; but it was the smallest studio Cassandra had ever seen. No light-shade hung from the solitary light bulb. Two huge wardrobes, spilling out with this season’s designer clothes, meant there was no room for any other furniture except a sofa bed that doubled up as somewhere to sit and sleep.

Cassandra admired Francesca’s commitment to the fashionable cause. It was why she had turned a blind eye to Francesca taking garments from other editors’ rails when they were preparing for shoots. She had known about it for months; Laura and other editors had complained incessantly about it. But Cassandra understood Francesca’s desire to be and look the best. Francesca had passion. The same passion she had herself.

‘Oh, come on Francesca, you’re all griping because you want to do the shoots yourself,’ said Cassandra pulling on her Prada fur.

‘That’s not true,’ replied Francesca, fiercely defending her position. ‘It’s because Laura’s shoots are very one note – she’s our least creative editor and if she carries on doing so much location stuff the entire fashion section is going to start looking samey.’

‘For goodness’ sake. We have almost a hundred pages of fashion stories in
Rive
per issue. Laura’s one twelve-pager is hardly going to spoil the mix.’

She found herself pausing for a moment, knowing in her heart
that Francesca was right. She was sending Laura away so much because she wanted time with Max. She would never let anything compromise the quality of the magazine, but he was like a drug and she would do anything just to be with him.

‘Anyway,’ said Francesca narrowing her eyes like a cat, ‘I also think she is moonlighting on the side for other magazines.’

‘Laura would never do that. It’s a dismissible offence. Besides, she hasn’t got the gall.’

‘I’m sure she’s doing a shoot that isn’t on any of the flat-plans,’ added Francesca. ‘There’s a rack of clothes at the back of the fashion cupboard. White coloured gowns. Really top-of-the-range stuff. Some couture pieces. We have never talked about doing that story.’

Cassandra tried to disguise her annoyance. Alex Jalid had been good as his word, and had greased the Sulka Royal Palace wheels to make sure a shoot with Georgia Kennedy was going to happen. There were conditions attached;
Rive
were to shoot in the family’s summer lodge not the main palace and Georgia would only talk about her charity work, although Cassandra was confident they could extract some more personal stuff.

The Georgia Kennedy shoot was top secret. It had to be. If the Americans got wind of it they would try to muscle in and claim it as their own. There had been at least three instances Cassandra could recall when her entertainment editor Deborah had secured a celebrity for a shoot, only for the star to pull out and turn up in the US issue a couple of months later. So for the Georgia Kennedy shoot only Giles, Laura and the art director knew what was happening and it needed to stay that way.

‘Really,’ said Cassandra rubbing her bottom lips thoughtfully. ‘I did ask her to call me in a gown for a benefit dinner in New York. Let me look into it. And Francesca. Thanks for telling me. I’m sure it’s entirely harmless but if Laura has been freelancing for other magazines she’ll be feeling my wrath.’

Cassandra nodded at Francesca, her cue for her to leave, and she vowed the next day, Laura was going to be in serious trouble for her indiscretion.