Guilty Pleasures (59 page)

‘We tried to make it easy for you, you know,’ she said. ‘We didn’t want you dead. At least,
he
didn’t.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I actually think Ruan cares for you in some small way. That’s why I have had to come here alone tonight, to finish this. But he doesn’t care for you as much as he loves me – how could he? He has been head over heels in love with me since he was fourteen. He’ll do
anything
for me, you know.’

Emma’s heart was beginning to race now. The offices were empty. She knew Ruan had still been in the adjoining factory an hour ago and usually said goodnight before he went home.
But like he’d help her.

She looked around her, desperate to find a way out. Finding none, she lunged forward, trying to barge past Rebecca.

‘Sit back down!’ commanded Rebecca. She had pulled a gun from her coat and was pointing it at Emma’s chest. It looked old, but sleek and definitely lethal.

‘Rebecca, don’t be so stupid,’ said Emma, her voice tight.

Rebecca laughed coldly. ‘Yes – this is one of Saul’s old guns and yes, it works.’

Emma stared at the gun, her heart hammering. She glanced at the telephone, but Rebecca saw her and smiled, shaking her head.

‘Shame you couldn’t stay in prison really,’ said Rebecca conversationally, perching on the edge of the desk only feet away from Emma. ‘Then Ruan would be CEO plus you’d be under terrible pressure to off-load your shareholding as well. I mean, it doesn’t look good for a luxury goods company to have a dangerous criminal as its majority shareholder does it?’

‘So what then?’ said Emma, suddenly realizing that she had to keep Rebecca talking. ‘So I sell my shares? Neither you or Ruan has the money to buy them.’

Rebecca laughed. It was mocking laughter that sounded empty and brittle.

‘You gave him a 1 per cent shareholding, remember? He can now buy at the price of a shareholder’s valuation and the banks love him. He’s solid, experienced, reliable. Plus I’m about to take Roger for half of everything he’s got.’

‘So Roger knows nothing of this?’ asked Emma, genuinely curious.
All that time I suspected Roger and it was his innocent little wife!

‘You’re the first to know,’ said Rebecca, giggling. ‘I’m actually doing Roger a favour with the divorce. He’s about to lose everything anyway, investing in Ricardo Perez’s hare-brained hotel venture. Do you know Ricardo?’

Emma shook her head slowly.

‘Terrible coke-head. I did my homework because Roger wouldn’t bother. Ricardo’s father has side-lined him in the business because everything he touches turns to shit, just like Roger.’

Emma suddenly remembered the night of the Christmas party.
The last woman I fell for was married,
Ruan had said.

‘So you set fire to the Stables. You wanted to frame me for the fire and for almost killing Cassandra,’ said Emma working everything out.

‘No, darling. I didn’t do the actual torching. As I said, Ruan will do anything for me.’

Boastfully, she continued. ‘Ruan and I had been talking about getting rid of you for ages. But I was the one who saw the opportunity. On the night of the party, Ruan knew you were staying at Winterfold. You told your mother that Cassandra was at the Stables. We got a taxi into Chilcot with her and she told us in the taxi. I then phoned Ruan with a plan. That simple. It was easy for Ruan to slip off to the Stables, siphon some petrol from his car and pour it through the letterbox.’ She laughed a cold brittle laugh and her beauty took on a cruel, hard edge.

‘And I’d left my black shawl in the library,’ said Emma.

‘Yes, you did. After the fire, we all went back to the house and I found it on the sofa. Wiping some petrol on it and throwing it near the Stables when we all went to watch the blaze was easy.’

Emma felt beads of sweat run down her temple. She glanced over to the door but Rebecca saw her.

‘Anyway, storytime’s over,’ she said, standing up and pointing the gun towards the door. ‘We’re going upstairs now. I think we’ll take the stairs. Move it.’

Rob’s Range Rover pulled up outside the Milford offices only seconds after Cassandra had climbed from Astrid’s car.

‘She must be here,’ he said, seeing Emma’s Audi. ‘Still working at ten o’clock. I tell her not to work so hard but she doesn’t listen,’ he said grimly.

‘Has she answered her phone?’ asked Cassandra, concerned.

‘No, which is strange,’ replied Rob.

‘And whose car is that?’ asked Cassandra, pointing to a soft-top BMW.

‘Rebecca’s,’ said Rob. ‘Oh, shit.’

Rebecca marched Emma up the stairs to the studio floor, pushing the muzzle of the gun into her back as she did so.

‘Over to the fire escape there,’ she ordered.

‘The roof?’ said Emma, trying to turn to look at Rebecca. She knew she was strong enough to overpower Rebecca – but when she was holding a gun there was no way she could risk it – not yet anyway. Rebecca jabbed her cruelly with the gun.

‘There’s been a change of plan,’ she whispered in Emma’s ear. ‘If you’re not going to jail, then I’m afraid you’re better off dead.’

The cold, detached way Rebecca spoke made Emma’s stomach turn over.
She really is crazy.

‘I can give you money, my shareholding, just tell me what you want,’ babbled Emma, panicking as Rebecca pushed her through the fire escape door, onto the flat area of roof.

‘Get out,’ she snapped.

As her feet scuffed on the roof’s surface, for a split second Emma thought of happier times when she and Stella had sunbathed out there one really hot July afternoon. Then she thought of Rob on the night of her birthday, smiling at her with love, holding her hands. And for a moment, despite the very real threat of death, it made Emma feel warm.

‘Now, here’s what you’re going to do,’ said Rebecca matter-of-factly. ‘You’re going to jump off this roof. The newspapers will report how you were depressed. Everyone knows how
weird
you’ve been since the fire. And now having to testify against your aunt, well, people will understand why you did it, Emma. Your shares will pass to your mother. Your mother will sell them cut-price to Ruan. And well, we all live happily ever after. Except you, of course.’

‘You’re mad,’ whispered Emma, her mind whirling. She had to think of something, she had to catch Rebecca off guard.

‘No, not mad. Just as ambitious as you are. Except I didn’t get the breaks, did I? The fancy schools and the high-flying jobs,’ she snarled.

‘Why are you doing this?’

‘Why? Because ever since I was a little girl I looked at Winterfold and knew my life would be better if I lived in it. Winterfold was supposed to be
mine.
Now walk.’

There was a noise behind Rebecca and she spun round to see what it was.

Emma felt a split second of hope before she could make out that it was Ruan standing in the doorway of the fire exit.

‘Rebecca. What the hell is going on?’ he said, his voice raised and panicked.

‘Run along, darling,’ she said in a flat, emotionless voice. ‘I’m trying to finish something off here.’

Ruan took a cautious step towards her, reaching out towards her.

‘Rebecca. Stop it.’

Even in the darkness, Emma could see fear in his face.

‘Give me the gun. This has fucking got out of control.’

‘Don’t be a coward, Ruan,’ she screamed. ‘We have to get the job done. For both of us.’

Ruan and Emma exchanged a brief, frantic look. At that moment she knew that no matter what he had done at the Stables he did not want to see her killed.

‘Hand me the gun, Rebecca,’ he replied, his tone now pleading. ‘Think about what you’re doing. Thing about what’s going to happen.’

‘Rebecca. Listen to Ruan,’ said Emma, trying to keep her voice calm and steady. ‘He cares about you. This has gone too far but we can stop it right now.’

‘Emma. Walk. Now!’ screamed Rebecca pointing the gun at Emma’s head.

‘Rebecca, don’t,’ shouted Ruan surging forward to try and grab the gun.

Without time to think, Emma flung her body away from them. There was a loud crack; it was the sound of a bullet being fired.

Rob and Cassandra ran through the fire escape onto the roof. Rob saw a gun lying on the asphalt and kicked it off the building with his foot. It was only then that he noticed there was a body slumped on the floor.

For the second time in a fortnight Detective Michael Sheldon had to make a late-night visit to Chilcot.

Two ambulances were outside Byron House by the time his Ford Mondeo pulled up to the Milford headquarters. Ruan McCormack was in one of them; a gun-shot wound in his right shoulder had caused considerable loss of blood but, according to the paramedics, he’d live. Rebecca Milford was having her makeshift handcuffs transferred over to the real thing. Rob had been quite impressed with his handiwork. After restraining Rebecca on the rooftop he’d used yards of fabric from Stella’s studio to bind her wrists together until the squad cars had arrived. According to Cassandra the fabric felt like India’s finest silk and had never been put to a better purpose.

Emma sat trembling on a sofa in the Milford boardroom.

‘Are you all right?’ asked Sheldon sitting down next to her and putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

‘So now do you believe me?’ she said quietly, unable to look him in the eye.

Sheldon simply nodded.

‘You know on the night of the party there was a second call put in to the fire services telling them that the Stables was on fire? We’d traced the number back to Winterfold.’

‘You thought I’d made the call?’

‘I didn’t know what to think. Now I believe it was Ruan. He was still at the party.’

‘He didn’t want to kill Cassandra, did he?’

Sheldon smiled. ‘Emma, tonight I think you deserve to have the day off from thinking about it all.’

‘Does that mean I can go home?’

Sheldon looked over the room where Cassandra was standing at the bar pouring vodka and tonic into a crystal tumbler. ‘I think you all need to go home. We can finish off statements over there.’

Rob had found Emma’s coat and draped it over her shoulders.

‘Come on, let’s go.’

‘What about Cassandra?’

‘Go and ask her.’

Emma approached the bar. Cassandra’s tumbler was empty.

‘Do you want to come back with us to Winterfold?’

‘You know what happened last time you invited me to stay at your house.’

The two woman looked at each other for a moment; every feeling of anger, distrust and resentment they’d ever felt for each other was put to one side and they slowly smiled.

‘Come on,’ they both said in unison. ‘Let’s go.’

It was proving impossible to find Giles’s home.
It’s a windmill, for heaven’s sake!
she thought, annoyed.
How hard can it be to find a building with enormous blades?
For an early April morning, the North Norfolk coastal road was clear and bright, enough so that she could pull down the convertible roof of the car. And despite the cold on her cheeks –
good for the complexion, darling
– for the first time in a long time, Cassandra was feeling pretty good. Ever since their rooftop drama at Milford a month earlier, the job offers had
been coming in thick and fast: launch editor of a new luxury news paper supplement in New York; editorial director of one of the biggest publishing companies in the UK. But the most intriguing offers had come from outside the magazine industry: consultancy posts and styling jobs for the biggest-name fashion houses. These were jobs that meant she could indulge her passion for clothes at the actual source; they were jobs which meant she would be flexible and could therefore spend more time with Ruby. Her daughter was sitting in the passenger seat, enjoying the drive. She was about to start a new day school in Kensington and had moved into Cassandra’s apartment permanently. They had both agreed it was best if Ruby left Briarton; she’d got caught up with the wrong crowd and had paid the price. In life, Cassandra had told her daughter, there were some friends you had to cherish and hang onto and there were others who pulled you down; friends you needed to keep away from.

‘There,’ screamed Ruby, pointing to a large cylindrical house.

‘That’s not a windmill,’ said Cassandra, annoyed.

‘I bet you it is, I bet you,’ insisted Ruby. ‘It just hasn’t got any blades.’

‘Well, what if you want to make flour or something?’ asked Cassandra.

Giles Banks opened the door to the windmill. Cassandra had first called him earlier in the week and it had been one of the most difficult calls she had ever had to make. It was a phone call of apology and regret. At first Giles had been offhand; gradually he had thawed but it wasn’t until that precise moment that Cassandra knew she had been forgiven.

For a few moments they just stood there and looked at each other, then Cassandra spread her arms and they embraced, a warm, genuine embrace that felt good to both of them.

‘Darling,’ said Cassandra with a touch of reproach in her voice. ‘You said it was a windmill.’

‘It is,’ said Giles.

‘So where are the blades?’

‘Not since about 1897.’

‘Typical,’ said Cassandra with a wink. ‘All style over substance.’

It was a beautiful home. The curved walls were painted ivory with big windows that let in lots of light. Giles introduced Cassandra and Ruby to Stephen, the man Cassandra recognized from the night she’d fired Giles. She didn’t say anything – there was nothing she
could say. On an austere-looking desk by the window, there was a photograph of Giles and Cassandra taken outside a couture show the previous year and Cassandra looked up at Giles, a lump growing in her throat.

‘Hey, Ruby,’ said Stephen quickly, ‘would you like to help me mix a fruit punch? Come on over into the kitchen, we’ve just had it redone.’

Giles led Cassandra out through a door onto a decking area that had a splendid view over the fields to the sand dunes and the sea beyond.

‘I’m sorry about everything that’s happened in the last three months,’ said Giles kindly.

‘Thank you,’ said Cassandra. ‘But actually in a funny way I’m glad of it all. It was horrible at the time but I’ve learned an awful lot: about myself, about what I want and what I need. And you know what I needed the most?’