Guilty Pleasures (52 page)

‘I’d say that was a little cynical.’

‘Well of course you would – from your gilded perch.’

‘Cassandra, please. There’s no need to be like that.’

Emma sat down on a bench opposite her.

‘There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you since Gstaad,’ she said.

‘Hmm, Gstaad,’ smiled Cassandra, more than a flicker of malice showing as she remembered Emma’s accident. ‘Well, you seem to have recovered.’

‘More or less,’ said Emma.

Cassandra twirled a hand indicating that she wanted Emma to get to the point.

‘So what is this thing you want to tell me?’

‘My dad was not having an affair with your mum,’ said Emma.

Cassandra laughed.

‘Emma, I saw them together. Don’t you believe me?’

‘Yes I do. But it wasn’t an affair, it was a fling.’

‘Oh grow up! What’s the difference?’

‘The difference is that you’ve spent half your life hating me because you blame my father and, by extension, me, for the breakup of your own family. But your parents’ marriage was already over.’

‘It was not!’ she said through bared teeth. ‘Without your father, my family would still be together.’

‘Cassandra, my mother told me everything; your father already had a mistress, the woman he eventually married and moved to Cape Town with. Ask Julia if you don’t believe me.’

Cassandra looked at Emma venomously. Even if what Emma was saying was true, how was it supposed to make her feel better? Emma’s words were just designed to alleviate her own guilt and make Cassandra feel bad.

‘I know none of that makes up for the fact that he abandoned you,’ said Emma as if she had read Cassandra’s mind. ‘But I don’t want you to hate your family on a misplaced belief. Don’t fight me, Cassandra. Channel your energy and brilliance in a different direction.’

To her utter surprise, Emma realized that a teardrop was slipping down Cassandra’s cheek.

‘Do you think this is all about
you?’
said Cassandra fiercely.

‘I think you’ve got something to prove,’ said Emma softly.

‘I’ve spent the last twenty years trying to prove something,’ said Cassandra. ‘To my mother, to make her proud. To my father, to make him hurt. To Ruby, to myself, to the whole world.’ She looked at Emma, her grey-green eyes blazing with truth and sorrow and anger. ‘Where do you think ambition comes from, Emma? It comes from the fear of being nothing.’

Emma suddenly understood. She understood the pain that had been driving Cassandra and eating her up. And for what? Here she sat, friendless, alone, her eyes rimmed red, her face pale.

‘Where are you staying tonight?’ asked Emma softly.

‘At Astrid Brinton’s.’

‘Do you want me to go and get her?’

‘And let her see me like this?’ Cassandra laughed sarcastically.

‘She’s your friend.’

Cassandra gave a small laugh.

‘You don’t understand, I can’t let anyone see me like this or I’m finished. Even
more
finished. Fashion is cruel, Emma. They love to see someone on their knees – and they’ll stamp on your hands while you’re down.’

Despite her misgivings, Emma felt a wave of compassion for Cassandra, sitting crumpled, tiny and doll-like in her beautiful cream gown.

‘You should go. There’s a way out over here,’ said Emma, pointing to a door at the back of the Orangery. ‘My house is in the grounds straight along the path outside the door. I’ll ask a driver to take you there. Wait at my house until everyone is gone and you can stay until tomorrow if you want. There’s a spare room and clean towels … come on, Cassandra, you’re in no fit state to join the party again.’

With every ounce of energy in her body Cassandra wanted to refuse her offer. She was too proud to accept anything from Emma, even a bed for the night, but at the same time she did not want to stay at the party for another second. And the thought of Astrid having this social ammunition against her was just too much to bear.

‘Very well,’ she said in a voice so inaudible it was lost in the swell of music in the background.

‘Wait here,’ said Emma firmly. ‘I’ll get my keys. Everything’s going to be fine.’

By 12.45 a.m. the party crowd was thinning. Mink shrugs, opera capes, cashmere overcoats were being pulled out of the cloakroom and guests were either retiring to the rooms in Winterfold, to their accommodation in the village or to their cars to drive back to London. A spectacular fireworks display closed the evening; sprays of red, white and amber shot into the black sky while Winterfold’s grand entrance hall buzzed with the contented conversation of scores of people who’d all had a fantastic time. Emma was fondling her wine glass and saying a personal goodbye to as many people as she was able when she saw Ruan approach.

‘Pleased with how it went?’ he asked.

Emma nodded, pulling on her own cashmere shawl she had got from the cloakroom.

‘Better than I could have hoped. I haven’t seen you all night, though. Where have you been?’

‘Having my photograph taken for
Tatler,’
he grinned. ‘Me, in a society rag! Who’d have thought it?’

‘I think it suits you,’ she smiled.

‘Are you going home, already?’ he said, noticing that she looked ready to leave.

‘I might hang around for a little while.’

‘Until the morning,’ he smiled.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Rob Holland … Don’t worry, I’ll get all the gossip from him.’

‘Stop it!’ she slapped him on the arm, before moving on. Her good mood was dampened, however, when she turned to see Roger, Rebecca and Julia standing in a line, sending off their guests like royal dignitaries. She had tried to avoid them all evening. In fact, she had tried to avoid them since Gstaad. When they were being nice to her, it made her paranoid and when Roger gave her one of his long disapproving looks, all she could see was a conspiracy to get rid of her,
to push her off the road.
She had tried hard to shake off the feeling; after all, what proof did she have? As Rob had explained to her countless times, the Mercedes that had rammed her had been stolen, so the most logical explanation was that it had been drunken joyriders. But in spite of the logic of Rob’s argument, she still refused to trust any of her family, particularly Roger and Rebecca.

‘It’s been fabulous, Emma,’ said Rebecca, embracing her in a cloud of perfume.

‘Thank you,’ said Emma.

‘We’ll get one of those courtesy cars,’ said Roger, looking pleased with himself. ‘Would you like us to drop you off?’

‘I’m just saying my goodbyes. There are a lot of cars outside so I’ll get one in a few minutes.’

Virginia pulled Emma off into the boot room.

‘I haven’t seen Cassandra in ages,’ said Virginia. ‘Julia seems to think she went home with Astrid Brinton but she’s on the dancefloor. Cassandra is normally the last person I’d worry about but she has been awfully edgy tonight.’

‘She’s staying at my house tonight. She’s had a little too much to drink. I’m sure she’ll pop by to Julia’s tomorrow,’ said Emma, not entirely sure why she was making up an excuse for her cousin, but feeling the urge to protect her all the same.

Virginia smiled. For once it was a smile that reached her eyes.

‘Well, I’m off home now too.’ She touched her daughter gently on the arm.

‘I’m glad we’ve got things sorted. I’m proud of you.’

‘I love you, Mum,’ replied Emma softly reaching over and giving her a warm embrace.

Emma walked through to the cosy library where Rob was sitting on a velvet sofa holding a glass of brandy and laughing with Jed
and Gary from Kowalski. They all looked up when they saw her.

‘Well, I’m off,’ she smiled awkwardly pulling her shawl tightly around her shoulders. ‘I hope you guys enjoyed yourselves.’

‘Cheers, Em. Top party,’ said Gary with a boozy grin, raising his glass to her.

Emma smiled, thinking of how, only weeks ago, she had been terrified of this group of hell-raising, drugged-up reprobates, but beneath their hardcore public face they were just pussycats and, in fact, really nice people. Then Emma caught Jed nudging Gary and pointing a thumb towards Rob.

‘Ah, yes, I think we’d better be going along to the snooker room now,’ said Gary, standing up.

‘Yes, that’s right,’ smiled Jed, as they both gave Emma a big bear hug and left the room, shutting the door behind them.

‘Where was it you said you were going?’ asked Rob softly.

‘Back to the Stables. Well, that’s unless there were any better offers on the table?’ she added boldly. ‘I hope so, because Cassandra’s crashing at my place.’

‘I think I might be able to think of something.’ He smiled, standing up. He kissed her neck, pushed her shawl down her arms and skimmed his mouth across the skin of her shoulders. As she groaned in pleasure he took her hand and led her to the door. Emma had been careful to keep public displays of affection with Rob to a minimum. He was high-profile and handsome; she wanted the Milford party to be talked about the next day for all the right reasons, not for who was seeing whom. As she ascended Winterfold’s grand staircase, Rob placed his hand protectively in the small of her back. She turned around and saw Ruan standing at the door of the ballroom. He smiled and gave her a small thumbs-up sign; Emma laughed, knowing he was right.

Rob slept in Emma’s old room, the master bedroom with the big bay window which overlooked the whole of the estate. Stepping inside, they did not turn on the light and the view from the window was of just a carpet of shadows broken by pools of moonlight. For the past few weeks she had been convinced that she should sell Winterfold, but for the first time ever it suddenly felt like home. She felt Rob behind her; he unzipped her dress which slithered to the floor with a ripple and his hard body pressed against her naked back.

‘Happy Birthday, Emma,’ he said, placing a soft kiss on the back of her neck.

Facing away from him she grinned, then turned and took hold of his belt.

‘I think it’s time I opened my present, don’t you?’

Outside the garage at the rear of the house, Tom took a long swig of beer and decided it was time to sort his life out. Since Christmas, since his trip to Cornwall with Stella, he’d tried hard to keep clean. OK, so there’d been a couple of lines of coke at a New Year’s party and the odd joint here and there, but he was doing well and it was definitely giving him a clearer head. Much harder, however, was deciding what to do with his life. The Ibiza episode had put him completely off club-land; if his mother hadn’t paid off the debt he owed to Miguel Cruz he might very well be dead. But music was still his passion just as fashion was his sister’s great love. Tom loved trawling bars listening to unsigned bands; in fact he still had the Red Comets’ CD in his coat pocket. He had to get it to Ste Donahue or Rob Holland to see if they thought the young upstart band were as good as he believed they were. He put his empty glass down on the gravel and took a deep breath of the night air. Just then he suddenly caugh the trace of a familiar smell: the sweet aroma of crack cocaine. Tom looked around and saw a dark figure lift out of the shadows.

‘All right, mate. Want a bang on this?’ said Ste Donahue, holding up a glass pipe.

Tom winced and shook his head. He’d heard that Ste was clean after a long stint in rehab, but the rumour was clearly out of date.

‘Where’s Clover?’

‘Fuck knows. She’s in a crappy mood. I’ve left her to it.’

Tom pointed to the pipe.

‘I thought you weren’t doing that shit any more,’ he said boldly. He loved music and he liked Ste. He didn’t want him to throw his
life and his talent away. He’d heard from Stella how hard Rob Holland and his team had tried to keep Ste clean. Ste shrugged. ‘I want to. It makes me feel good.’

‘There are other ways,’ said Tom softly, remembering the way he felt when he was with Stella, or the time he’d driven the gull-wing Mercedes around the Winterfold estate, feeling invincible as the speedometer touching 100 mph.

Ste snorted. ‘Like what?’ he said cynically, slurring his words.
‘Love?’

The way Ste spat out the word, it was clear that his bust-up with Clover had been a major incident.

‘Look, come and see my cars,’ said Tom, pointing into the garage where the collection was stored. ‘They make me feel like James fucking Bond.’

As they walked across the courtyard Tom pulled the Red Comets’ CD out of his pocket and gave it to Ste.

‘You should listen to these. They’re great.’

Ste took it and pushed it into his pocket.

The garage was a huge space, the size of a tennis court, split partly in two by a barn wall that stretched up to the roof where there was a hay loft. The cars were lined up, each one lovingly polished and gleaming. Only Rob’s mud-splattered Range Rover and trail motorbikes looked out of place among the classic sports cars.

‘Come around the other side and see the E-Type,’ said Tom, excitedly. ‘Just looking at it makes me weak at the knees.’

As they approached the other side of the garage, he was suddenly aware of the unmistakable sound of someone having sex. In the dim light, he could see a woman lying splayed out on the bonnet of a silver car; her dress was hitched up around her waist and a man was thrusting into her. His trousers had crumpled down around his knees and his white shirt was hanging loose.

‘Shit – that’s my fucking Ferrari!’ shouted Tom.

The couple stopped and turned like startled rabbits. The woman curled up and slipped off the car, her long blonde hair falling behind her. Ste stepped from behind Tom and said in a confused voice, ‘Clover?’

Tom saw he was right: the girl was Clover Connor and the man, Blake Brinton, who was desperately trying to pull up his trousers.

‘You fucking whore,’ screamed Ste, charging towards them.

Tom tried to grab Ste but he shook him off, running up to Blake and grabbing his shirt.

‘You dirty old bastard!’ he cried, trying to throw a punch. Ste’s fury was not enough however: Blake had a body toned from years of yoga and gym-work and swatted him away like a fly. Ste fell onto the floor into a cloud of dust as Clover bent to her knees to pick him up.

‘Get away from me, you slut!’ cried Ste, tears streaming down his face.

‘Ste, honey, please. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I still love you,’ squealed Clover.

Ste ignored her, stood up and threw his entire body weight against Blake like an angry, floppy doll. Blake simply moved out of the way and let Ste land with a noisy thump on the bonnet of the Ferrari. Tom flinched again, praying there would be no dents.

‘Calm down, mate. It’s not worth it,’ he said, pulling Ste to his feet and steering him towards the door. Clover, now sobbing, ran after them. ‘I didn’t want you to find out like this.’

‘Watch your mouth, Clover!’ said Blake sternly. ‘My wife is at the party.’

‘Oh yeah, it suits you to still keep it a secret, doesn’t it?’ she screamed, her perfect white teeth bared. Tom caught the expression on Ste’s face as he realized this was not one-off party sex. He turned away and started running out of the barn.

‘Oh, shit,’ said Tom, sprinting to catch up with Ste, who was now halfway across the courtyard and making his way round the side of the house. For someone apparently so unhealthy, Ste was quick and nimble as an alley cat.

‘Ste,’ he shouted after him. ‘Come back!’

One of the drivers had left his courtesy car with its engine running as he went to help a beautiful blonde woman in a floor-length mink coat into the back of the car. Seeing his chance, Ste nipped into the front seat, slammed the door and roared off, leaving the driver and the blonde standing there, coughing dust.

‘Bollocks,’ moaned Tom, watching the car swerve all the way up the drive, its red tail-lights fading into the blackness.

‘My car,’ shouted the driver, running fruitlessly down the gravel drive.

Tom got his mobile out and tried to phone Stella but it went directly to voicemail.

He ran into the house, bumped into Morton and asked where Rob was.

‘Retired to bed, sir,’ he smiled, before leaning in and whispering, ‘and he has company.’

‘Sorry, Rob,’ muttered Tom, as he ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time, ‘but this is an emergency.’

Emma rolled over onto the pillow and sighed contentedly. Sex second time round with Rob had been magical, somehow more sure and real.

‘Promise me you’re not going to leave town for New York tomorrow and then not speak to me for weeks?’ she purred.

Rob turned to face her, propping himself up on his pillow.

‘Next time I go to New York, you’re coming with me.’

‘What for?’

‘Shopping …’ he grinned.

Suddenly there was a lot of banging on the bedroom door.

‘What the hell?’ said Rob, pulling on a white towelling robe.

Tom was standing at the door, panting, his cheeks flushed.

‘Tom, is everything OK?’ asked Rob.

‘Not really,’ he gasped, mentally reminding himself to give up the fags as well. ‘Can I come in?’

Emma sat up in bed and pulled the sheet around her breasts sheepishly.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Ste found Clover shagging Blake Brinton in the barn.’

‘You’re kidding,
’ replied Rob.

‘Ste took off in a stolen car about five minutes ago.’

‘Oh, Jesus,’ said Rob.

‘It gets worse: he’s pretty pissed and he’s taken crack too. Who knows what else.’

Rob was already on his mobile trying to reach Ste.

‘No reply. So where’s Clover now?’

‘Having a screaming row with Astrid Brinton downstairs. Turns out she’s been shagging Blake since the Milford launch party.’

Rob and Emma looked at each other. ‘Quite a party,’ said Emma.

Rob quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater.

‘Where you going?’ asked Emma.

‘To find Ste, of course. Tom’s right, he’s a hazard on the road.’

‘Shall we call the police?’ asked Emma.

Rob shook his head.

‘He’s already on probation for a drugs charge.’

He grabbed a pen and some paper and scribbled something before handing it to Tom.

‘I’m going to see if I can find him. Look, it’s 1.15 a.m. Give me twenty minutes or so. Then call his manager, the number’s on here.’

‘Do you want me to come?’ asked Emma sitting up on the pillow.

‘No. You stay here. Most of the guests and press have gone, but let’s try and keep this as low-key as we can.’

Cassandra opened her eyes and, for a minute, wondered where she was. The surroundings were unfamiliar, the room dark. Then she remembered how a driver had brought her to Emma’s house, a converted stable block a mile away from the main house. There was silence; the moon filtered in through the windows and, lifting her head with difficulty, she saw that she was in the living room lying on a leather sofa. Her gown had crinkled and she had snagged the fabric on the corner of Emma’s coffee table.
Damn. Won’t be so easy to get dresses for free now,
she thought. She desperately wanted to be under her Pratesi sheets in her Knightsbridge home. She wanted to be back behind her Christian Liagre desk telling people what to do – like the old days. She heard a chinking sound outside, like a milk bottle falling over. She dismissed it, maybe it was a cat. She was too tired, drunk and emotional to care or be scared. Nothing could hurt her now anyway! The darkness was her friend, a comfortable black cloud where she couldn’t be seen. Her head was pounding. She wanted to shut out the noise of people whispering about her at the party. Yes, she just wanted to sleep.
Sleep.
It would all be over in the morning. She dimly remembered Emma saying something about there being a spare bedroom and clean sheets. That sounded good. What harm would it do to stay here for just a few more hours? She could be gone in the morning before Emma could see her. She dragged her body off the sofa and walked up the stone staircase towards the back bedroom. As she shut the door and peeled off her dress to slip between the cotton sheets, she didn’t hear the creak of the letterbox, or the splash of petrol being poured carefully through the slit. And she was fast asleep by the time the burning scrap of linen was thrown into the hall and the flames began to fill the house.

After Rob had roared off in his Range Rover, Tom went back into the garage and found the keys to Rob’s motorbike. He kicked it into life and drove fast out of the grounds, but after a few minutes it was obvious he was on a futile mission. He pulled up and turned around. The main gates to Winterfold were about two miles behind him on B-roads, but he wasn’t far from the East Gate that would take him back through the estate and straight to the house. It was only as he drove back into the grounds that he smelt the strong and pungent smell of wood smoke. At first he thought there was a problem with the bike’s engine. But then he turned a corner and saw flames pouring from the windows of a building.

‘Fucking hell! Emma’s house.’

He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and called
999,
shouting at the operator for the fire brigade.

‘Is anybody in the property?’ asked the dispatch officer.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Tom, thinking of Emma in Rob’s bed only thirty minutes earlier. He hung up and opened the bike’s throttle, powering back towards Winterfold. As soon as he got there, he saw Rob stepping out of his Range Rover.

‘No sign of him,’ called Rob, angrily slapping the car door shut.

‘Forget that! Get Emma quick,’ shouted Tom. ‘The Stables is on fire. I’ve called
999
already but it looks pretty bad.’

‘Fuck,’ shouted Rob, running back towards the car. ‘Get in! Cassandra is in there and the fire station is ten miles away. They won’t make it in time!’

It was the acrid, choking smoke seeping under her bedroom door that woke Cassandra. She felt dreadful. No hangover had ever made her head pound so hard and her limbs felt like lead. She opened her eyes and was suddenly wide awake: the room was filling with smoke.

She threw back the sheet and moved to the door. The bedroom had a wooden floor that was hot under her bare feet. She reached for the doorknob, but was doubled up in a coughing fit before she even got there. Cassandra grabbed a towel and held it over her face as she forced herself to think. She cautiously touched the door handle. Not too hot – she opened the door and gasped when she saw the landing. It was full of thick, black smoke and flames filled the whole opening at the top of the stairs.

Slamming the door shut, she realized that she had only seconds before her room would also be engulfed in flames. Her eyes darted to the window. Dare she open it? She had seen films where fresh air inflamed the fire.
Was that a backdraught?
She couldn’t remember. Would flames rip through the door and burn her alive? Would the house explode? She had no more time to think – smoke was pouring under the door now and she was beginning to suffocate.

She began coughing so hard that she was forced to her knees. Outside, she could hear a car horn hooting violently. She ran to the window and saw a black Range Rover screeching to a stop at the back of the Stables. The doors flew open and Rob and Tom jumped out. Tom could see his sister’s face in the window thirty feet above him, her features twisted in fear.

For a second he felt paralysed. What could they do? Fire had ripped through the ground floor of the house and was leaping out of the front windows. Getting into the house to help her would be impossible.

‘She’s got to jump,’ shouted Rob, running to the back of the car to open the boot. He pulled out a blanket covered in horse hair and ran over to Tom.

‘Grab one end of this. I’ll take the other and we can stretch it out. We won’t catch her, but we should manage to break her fall.’

Beneath her Cassandra could see her brother mouthing words she couldn’t hear but when she saw the blanket, she realized that they wanted her to jump. She knew she had no other option if she wanted to stay alive. All around her the house creaked and groaned as it struggled to still stand, its beams and joists twisted by the heat. Her hands shaking, she inched the old window open and put her face to the hole, greedily sucking in fresh air. Revived, she opened a space big enough to jump through and hoisted herself up, her feet gripping onto the windowledge. Savage flames were only two feet beneath her, licking up from a ground-floor window and Tom and Rob seemed to be standing a long way from the house.