Chelsea Wives

by Anna-Lou Weatherley

  CHAPTER 32

  Sebastian Forbes looked at the young woman sat opposite him and briefly wondered for the life of him what she saw in that ghastly old lump Lord Belmont. No doubt it was what they all saw: money. This one, overly made-up in her Graff diamond chandelier earrings, her skin-tight designer dress and vertiginous heels, looked as if she liked to bathe in tubs of the stuff. Still, he was always happy to oblige a friend, help them offload a little of that cumbersome wealth. He liked to think he was thoroughly decent like that.

  ‘The thing is, Sebastian, may I call you that?’ Yasmin purred, her glossy red lips quivering lightly as she spoke.

  ‘Please do.’

  ‘Thing is, Sebastian, if it’s all the same to you,’ she leaned forward a little, giving him a glimpse of her generous cleavage, ‘I would really rather Jeremy not know anything of our little meeting today.’ She looked into his dark eyes and gave him a knowing smile, exposing £25,000 worth of porcelain veneers. ‘I’m sure you’ll agree that even in the most solid of marriages there are things that are best kept secret.’ She raised a provocative eyebrow, leaning back into her seat. ‘If you know what I mean?’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ he nodded sagely, wishing she would keep the suggestive looks to herself. Young and pretty she may be but she wasn’t his type. Too much like a Barbie doll, all that bleached-blonde hair and sparkly eye make-up. He could tell she had a feisty streak in her too and that was enough to dampen his ardour at the best of times. Natural and subdued, that’s how he liked his women. How he liked all women.

  Yasmin crossed her legs in a slow, deliberate movement and smiled sweetly. It was the first time she had been up close and personal with Sebastian Forbes and now she saw for herself those dark, lifeless eyes that seemed to look straight through her. There was something so cold and aloof about him that it sent a chill down her spine and for the briefest of seconds, Yasmin found herself feeling almost grateful that she was married to Jeremy Belmont and not the man sitting opposite her.

  Quick to cotton on to the fact that her charms were falling flat, she swiftly changed tack.

  ‘I was at the ball this year. My first time,’ she gushed, coquettishly resting her hands lightly on a tanned thigh. ‘I have to congratulate you; it was such a spectacular affair. I mean, the food! The entertainment! And that champagne fountain! I have to say though, my highlight of the entire evening was the speech you gave.’

  Sebastian’s eyes flickered with interest. ‘Really?’

  ‘Oh, yes. It was wonderful,’ she said, watching him preen. ‘So touching, what you said about your wife, about Imogen.’ She placed her hand on her heart in earnest. ‘I was almost in tears, I tell you. Do you do much public speaking?’

  Always keen to discuss his favourite subject – himself – Sebastian smiled with a heavy dose of false modesty.

  ‘Well, not really, though there was this one time …’

  ‘Well, you should!’ Yasmin was quick to interject. ‘I mean it, you were fabulous, and believe me, I know a good speech from a bad one. I’ve had to attend so many functions with Jeremy where I’ve practically fallen asleep at the table.’

  ‘Thank you, Lady Belmont. It’s very good of you to say so,’ Sebastian replied, feeling himself grow a little taller. ‘Tell me, how is Jeremy?’ The question was one of polite obligation as opposed to interest. ‘Haven’t seen the old boy properly in ages.’ And he intended it to stay that way. He found the man’s company unbearable; an overweight show off, that’s what Belmont was. Always had been.

  ‘Oh, he’s wonderful, thank you, just wonderful,’ she cooed.

  ‘Well, do send him my regards, won’t you? Though that might be a little tricky if you’re wanting to keep our meeting quiet.’ He raised his eyebrows at her, though in truth he couldn’t have cared less what she had to hide from that insufferable windbag she was married to. In fact, he secretly hoped the woman was fleecing him on a grand scale. It would serve the old braggart right.

  Yasmin shifted in her seat, the leather creaking underneath her.

  ‘Better still, you could tell him yourself when you come to dinner! I know Jeremy would love that.’ On the contrary, she knew for a fact Jeremy would hate it. He loathed Forbes. ‘A pious and supercilious old fart’, as he often referred to him. ‘I’ll arrange it with Imogen.’

  ‘Ah yes, of course, you’re friendly with the old trouble and strife these days, aren’t you?’ Sebastian was smiling but still the question sounded more like an accusation.

  ‘Wonderful woman,’ Yasmin said, opening her palms out towards him. ‘You’re the perfect couple!’

  Sebastian smiled thinly. The girl was laying it on a bit heavy, even for his liking.

  ‘You do realise that it’s not usual procedure to do things this way,’ he said, bringing the conversation back to the matter in hand, relishing his position of authority once more. ‘Usually you would need to come recommended by at least two existing clients; you are aware that there is in fact a considerable waiting list for vault space …’

  Yasmin fixed him with a dazzling smile. One she had spent long and hard perfecting.

  ‘Flattery will get you everywhere with Seb,’ Imogen had explained when they had come up with the idea last week over lunch. ‘Play it just right and his ego won’t be able to resist.’

  ‘I can’t possibly tell you just how grateful I am to you,’ she said graciously. ‘You really would be doing me an enormous service.’

  Sebastian nodded, unsmiling. He was growing a little tired of her grovelling now and she felt the weight of his scrutiny as he stared at her for a long moment, deciding whether or not to grant her wish.

  ‘Well,’ he eventually sighed, ‘I suppose I could see to it that you’re first on the list, seeing as you are a friend of my wife’s.’

  Yasmin disguised her relief with a gentle smile. It was imperative she pull this little operation off without a glitch. It would be beneficial to her, but there was also a part of her that wanted to show Imogen that she could be trusted to get things done. That she was a team player.

  ‘There will be paperwork to fill out and a fifty percent annual deposit of £50,000, which will need to be paid up front, today, if possible. I trust that won’t be an issue?’ Sebastian remarked coldly.

  ‘Of course not.’ Yasmin shook her head.

  ‘My secretary will send over your contract plus all our terms and conditions. You’ll need to sign both copies, retaining one for yourself. Please feel free to have your solicitor look over everything but I assure you it’s all pretty standard stuff. All you need to do is decide which type of box you would prefer, a key or a code lock.’

  ‘Oh.’ A look of confusion clouded over her pretty face. ‘I didn’t realise I would have a choice. What’s the difference?’

  Sebastian brazenly checked his diamond Cartier watch. He had a lunch appointment with his old pal Roger Blandford at San Lorenzo’s in half an hour and would be late at this rate. Christ, he’d only agreed to see her at such short notice because Imogen had practically begged him and he hadn’t wanted to upset the newfound equilibrium between them.

  ‘It’s quite simple,’ he said, careful to keep his tone as light as possible. ‘One is opened using a key, the other using a PIN code.’

  ‘I see.’ Yasmin paused, thinking how she would enjoy screwing this man over almost as much as Imogen would. He really was a condescending bastard. ‘Wouldn’t a key present more of a safety hazard? I mean, what if I were to lose it?’

  Sebastian laughed then, amused by such ignorance. They were all the same, his wife’s friends, thick as bricks, the lot of them.

  ‘You really mustn’t worry, Lady Belmont,’ he said slowly, his tone patronising. ‘Everyone who owns a box has to be formally identified and their signature verified as a matter of protocol each time they wish to make a deposit or withdrawal. It would be impossible, I say impossible, for anyone else to gain access to it, key or no key. Besides, I make it my personal business to know all my cl
ients by sight.’

  ‘I see,’ Yasmin nodded, seemingly satisfied with this answer. ‘But I really think I would like to see them for myself before I make such an important decision.’

  Sebastian stood then, his patience starting to fray. He didn’t have time for this.

  ‘As you wish,’ he said, as affably as his irritation would allow. ‘I can have Janet arrange for you to visit the vault and take a look for yourself, if you think it will help you make up your mind.’

  ‘Oh yes, I’d like that, thank you, Sebastian.’

  ‘Not at all, Lady Belmont,’ he gritted his teeth, wishing the silly bint would bugger off so that he could get along to his lunch date. He was looking forward to washing down a nice crab ravioli with a decent glass of Beaujolais and boasting to his old colleague, Blandford, about how business was booming.

  ‘Shall we go then?’ she said, making to stand. ‘I have a little window right now before my lunch appointment.’

  Sebastian blinked at her, amazed. The nerve of the woman, assuming he would just drop everything the moment she clicked her false nails! She was really beginning to test him now.

  ‘I’m very sorry, Lady Belmont …’

  ‘Please, call me Yasmin. Lady Belmont sounds so formal.’

  ‘I’m very sorry, Yasmin, but I’m afraid that’s just not possible,’ he shook his head, hiding his rising temper. ‘I have an important business lunch meeting that I simply cannot cancel. But do check my diary with Janet on your way out. She will see to it that you’re given an appointment at the first available opportunity.’ That told her. Lady or no, he wasn’t about to start dancing to her tune – or anyone else’s for that matter.

  ‘Oh, that’s a shame,’ Yasmin replied, crestfallen, ‘I really would have rather wrapped it all up today.’ She straightened herself out. ‘Not to worry. I’ll arrange it with your secretary.’

  ‘Yes, please do,’ Sebastian replied. He was moving towards the door now, almost ushering her from the room.

  Taking the hint, Yasmin picked up her white leather Jimmy Choo day clutch and strutted towards him.

  ‘Off anywhere nice for lunch?’ she enquired breezily, still on the charm offensive. Forbes had been a much tougher nut to crack than she had imagined. He had been completely immune to her feminine charms – something Yasmin was not used to – and had been dismissive to the point of rudeness. She even wondered, briefly, if he might in fact be a closet homosexual. It would certainly explain his lack of interest in her. Still, she needed to pull something out of the bag fast if she was to come away from this meeting victorious.

  ‘San Lorenzo’s, actually,’ Sebastian replied, his reservoir of polite conversation rapidly running dry.

  ‘Ah yes, fabulous choice,’ Yasmin said breathlessly. ‘I’m afraid I’m roughing it at The Ivy today. I’m meeting a journalist from ESL magazine – her choice, not mine, I might add.’ She rolled her eyes in an exasperated fashion. ‘The Ivy,’ she pulled a face. ‘So full of show offs and luvvies.’

  Sebastian forced a smile, willing it to be his last. Good God, did the woman ever shut up?

  She turned to him on her way out.

  ‘Actually, now I think of it, she mentioned you.’

  He hesitated.

  ‘Who did?’

  ‘The journalist. Yes. She brought you up in conversation when we last met.’

  ‘Really?’ He was taken aback. ‘And why would she do that?’

  Yasmin had his full attention now.

  ‘She knew of my connection I suppose, my friendship with your wife. She wondered if I might have some sway with you.’

  ‘Sway?’

  ‘Yes.’ She smoothed her dress down and placed her clutch tightly underneath her armpit. ‘She mentioned something about wanting to interview you.’

  Sebastian’s heart flipped in his chest. An interview! With ESL magazine. He couldn’t think of anything he would like more.

  ‘I told her you were the kind of man who fiercely guards his privacy. I mean, she was talking about doing a real in-depth profile piece. You know, “Who is the Real Sebastian Forbes?” Your life story, that kind of thing. I said I doubted you would be interested.’ She wrinkled her nose at him, dismissive of the idea.

  Sebastian felt like wrapping his hands around her scrawny neck. This was exactly what he’d been waiting for! A chance to tell his life story, to get his name out there. Become the face of Forbes! He had known they would come running the moment he had secured the Bluebird and given that stellar speech at the ball. Exposure on this kind of scale would invariably lead to bigger things, a publishing deal for his autobiography, maybe even his own The Apprentice-style TV show! Now she had probably scuppered his chances of securing his first rung on the ladder, the stupid bitch.

  ‘Oh, well, I don’t know,’ he shrugged coolly. ‘These things, when done properly of course, can occasionally be quite good for business,’ he added sagely. ‘I value my privacy more than anything else, but if they could guarantee copy approval … Shall we discuss it while we take a little trip down into the vault?’ he suggested.

  A small smile crept across Yasmin’s lips.

  ‘Oh, well, if you’re sure. But what about your lunch date?’ she feigned concern.

  Sebastian held his hand up and buzzed his secretary.

  ‘Janet, call Roger Blandford at Blandford-Hatch and tell him I’m awfully sorry but I will have to cancel our lunch meeting today. Something’s come up,’ he said, looking directly at Yasmin and smiling broadly. ‘Something that can’t wait.’

  CHAPTER 33

  The Jacuzzi at the Amida Spa in the exclusive Chelsea Harbour Club felt warm and inviting as the three women gradually lowered themselves in.

  ‘An inspired idea of yours, Ims,’ Calvary groaned, allowing the hot bubbles to fizz up to her neck, ‘hiring this place for the day.’

  Yasmin closed her eyes and smiled her agreement.

  ‘I think I might go for a swim before I treat myself to a facial, and a mani-pedi while I’m at it.’ She stuck her perfectly painted toes up in the air and pulled a face. ‘It’s been over a week since my last one.’

  ‘Well, we’ve got the use of the whole place to ourselves and as many treatments as we like, so knock yourselves out, ladies. I thought we could all do with a treat.’ Imogen let her head flop back against the edge of the Jacuzzi pool. ‘I know I could.’

  It had been a testing week for Imogen. She had learned, from one of the housekeepers, that Bryony was due to fly back to the UK in time for her father’s birthday.

  ‘When were you actually planning to tell me that our daughter was coming home?’ Imogen had asked Seb that evening, struggling to keep a civil tongue in her head. ‘I had to learn about it from Jalena.’

  ‘It slipped my mind,’ he had fired back. ‘Besides, it’s not for a few weeks yet.’

  ‘That’s hardly the point,’ Imogen had replied airily, through a forced smile.

  ‘Well, I knew you wouldn’t shut up about it. Besides, I thought it might’ve made a nice surprise for you if she just turned up unexpectedly.’

  Imogen had held her breath and inwardly counted to ten. She’d texted Bryony only the day before; they’d exchanged a little banter and signed off with their usual love and kisses. No doubt she had been left wondering why her mother hadn’t mentioned anything about her impending visit. Maybe even felt hurt by it. God, how she hated Seb then. Loathed the very bones of him.

  ‘Anyway, she’ll be back in time for my big day,’ he’d said, without a hint of irony, ‘so here’s hoping you’ve got a little more planned than the anticlimax that was last year’s debacle.’

  Imogen gave a knowing smile. ‘Don’t worry,’ she reassured him. ‘I’ve got something much more exciting planned this year.’ Sebastian’s interest sparked.

  ‘Have you really?’ He was intrigued.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she had nodded profusely. ‘And you’re going to love it.’

  Sebastian had given a little harumf. Last year
Imogen had presented him with a distinctly underwhelming Breitling diamond encrusted watch at the ghastly dinner party she had thrown for him. He’d had to sit next to the Lamberts all evening, listening to Damien drone on. It had been one of the worst birthdays ever.

  ‘So, are you going to give me a clue?’ Sebastian had enquired, adding, ‘you know I’m not big on surprises, but I hope you’ve put a little more thought into my gift this time.’

  Ignoring his breathtaking lack of gratitude, Imogen had inwardly smiled.

  ‘You’ve heard of the sculptress, Amandine Lamarque?’

  Sebastian nodded.

  ‘Of course. Hasn’t everyone? French woman; top of her game. I was reading in The Times supplement just the other day how the PM recently commissioned her to make a life-size bronze of his newborn baby. Why?’ Sebastian paused. ‘Oh, hang on,’ he had turned to face her then, his eyes suddenly alight. ‘You haven’t … have you?’

  Imogen grinned, watching his reaction carefully, enjoying it.

  ‘You’ll be sitting for her next week! And before you ask, I’ve already booked it in the diary with Janet.’

  Sebastian looked at her. For once he was impressed. Now this was much more like it.

  ‘A statue? Of me?’

  ‘Who else, darling?’ she had responded. She had known he would be thrilled. It was the perfect gift for an egomaniac like him. And it was all part of the plan …

  *

  ‘Anyone for fizz?’ Imogen asked, reaching down by the side of the Jacuzzi and producing a magnum of vintage Laurent-Perrier and three chilled glasses. ‘I don’t know about you, but all these bubbles have suddenly put me in a good mood.’

  ‘Be rude not to, darling,’ Calvary surmised, readily accepting a glass. She could do with a little pick me up herself. It had been an emotionally exhausting few days, one way or another.