by Lulu Taylor
Sometimes, in the night, she wondered if she was doing the right thing; if she could really see this through. Then she’d remember Will’s face, his eyes glittering with cold derision, and pain like a punch to her stomach would remind her why she was determined on this path.
In the drawing room of the Belgravia house, Margaret looked unusually ill at ease, pacing about as though she really didn’t know how to express what she had to say.
‘You don’t have to worry,’ Coco said generously. Margaret had summoned her to this little interview earlier that morning. ‘I’m all ears. Spit it out.’
Margaret stopped next to a beautiful rosewood William and Mary cabinet inlaid with exquisite marquetry. On the top stood a Sèvres vase full of pale pink roses. She frowned, opened her mouth and closed it again. Then she said, ‘Very well. I’ll come straight to the point. Mr Dangerfield wishes me to ask you if … if … you would care to live with him.’
Coco stared. She was amused by Margaret’s obvious discomfiture but also surprised. She hadn’t foreseen this, but perhaps she should have.
‘So,’ Margaret went on, compelled to fill the awkward silence, ‘I ought to make plain the terms on which he wishes to ask you this. He has grown … fond of you over the last few weeks. He wishes to spend as much time with you as possible. I needn’t tell you that he recently lost a daughter. He misses her companionship and he’d very much like you to offer some of the warmth and company he has been lacking.’
‘So, what you’re saying is – he looks on me like a daughter?’ Coco said. ‘He won’t want me to sleep with him.’
Margaret flushed slightly and stammered a little before she managed to say, ‘No no. The arrangement will be platonic. Although that needn’t be discussed with other people.’
Coco laughed out loud. ‘He’s happy for people to think he’s shagging me, right? But he doesn’t actually want to.’
Margaret stiffened. ‘No. As I made clear, Mr Dangerfield thinks of you as a daughter. And anyway, certain medical circumstances make it impossible for … a consummation.’
‘You really know everything about him, don’t you?’ Coco said, stretching out her long legs in front of her, admiring the effect of her Louboutins on the Persian carpet. ‘And it’s funny, isn’t it, how the heart can go on working after the other equipment has given up the ghost?’ She sat up straight and looked Margaret right in the eye. ‘All right. You and I are used to doing business together, so I’ll expect a contract drawn up just like before. I’m happy to be the old man’s pal, sparkle on his arm, make him happy – but I’ll need proper recompense, and a guarantee of certain things.’
‘I’m sure we can hammer out terms that are acceptable to both sides,’ Margaret said, raising one eyebrow.
‘Don’t worry, I won’t go nuts. I’m not a total gold-digger, you know. But I need to think about my future.’
‘Oh, I understand.’ Margaret’s tone was cool but not judgemental. ‘Send me your terms and we’ll sort everything out. In the meantime, can I tell the boss that you’ll be moving into the house? A suite can be arranged for you immediately.’
Coco rose gracefully to her feet – the result of Lady Arthur’s excellent coaching – and said, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll tell him myself. Is he in the study?’
‘In the gym,’ Margaret replied, ‘having his massage.’
The massage room was in the depths of the basement gymnasium. When Coco arrived there a few minutes later, she knocked on the door and opened it.
‘Daddy?’ she said playfully.
He was lying on the table, a great mountain of fleshy white back, a towel covering his hind quarters, two white hairy legs emerging from below – much thinner than his top half so that they looked as though they might belong to someone else. The masseur, a blond Swede in a pale blue tee-shirt, was rubbing the slippery flesh back and forth.
‘Coco?’ Daddy’s voice came out muffled from where he lay face down.
‘Daddy, some very exciting news.’ Coco walked over and then sank to her knees so that she was on a level with his eyeline. ‘I’m going to come and live with you!’
He yelped, his face flushing with excitement. ‘That’s wonderful, sweetheart. Oh, we’re going to have such fun together, my princess. You wait and see.’ He grinned at her, showing a bridge of perfect white porcelain teeth. ‘You’ve made me a very happy man. Very happy.’
The feeling’s mutual, thought Coco, though her heart remained as cold and untouched as it had been since the day she’d left LA.
71
THIS TIME YESTERDAY, I was in total, abject despair. Now look at me!
Although Daisy hoped no one was looking at her. No one but Christophe, considering she was lying naked beneath him, moving in time to his delicious thrusts inside her. How could she have lived without this pleasure for so long? It was still mystifying her at the same time as she thrilled to the wonderful sensations induced by her lover.
‘Christophe,’ she sighed, wrapping her legs around him to pull him ever deeper. ‘Oh, Christophe.’
His eyes went from tender to burning as passion overtook him. He bent his head to suck on her nipples, rolling one around his tongue, pulling on it and grazing it with his teeth, before turning his attention to the other. It was almost unbearable, sending electric sensations buzzing downwards to her groin and making her sigh with pleasure. He sank his mouth on hers, exploring her with his tongue as he pushed hard inside her. Daisy could tell they were both near their climax: the thought was almost exciting enough to push her over the edge. Fire seemed to be burning in her belly as he rubbed against her with every thrust, taking her inexorably towards the peak she longed for. But the journey was so good, she never wanted quite to tumble over … Then she felt him swell inside her, and speed his movements, and knew that he was about to stiffen and come, and that knowledge made her gasp, clutch him and rush into her own orgasm. They shook in each other’s arms for long moments, and finally they were calm.
‘What time is Sergei arriving?’ she said, still breathless, as she kissed his face and shoulders.
‘Let’s hope it’s not in the next five minutes,’ Christophe said, grinning. He kissed her back, sweetly and luxuriously.
‘I’ll make us some coffee. Is there any?’ She climbed out of bed, shivering in the cold air, reaching for her clothes. ‘And I’ll check the stove.’
‘I don’t know, have a look around, see what you can find.’
She went out, stoked up the dying embers of the stove and put in some more wood, then went to find the loo and explore the tiny kitchen. She came back a while later with two cups of instant black coffee and an anxious expression.
‘You know, there’s not much food here. No bread. No milk. Some tins of meat and vegetables, and that’s about all.’ She handed Christophe a cup of coffee.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, taking it. ‘Thanks, darling. Sergei will be here later. We’re only staying today. I’m sure we’ll cope. Now climb back into bed. We’ve got a lot to catch up on.’
While they snuggled up together under the warm patchwork blanket, Daisy began to tell him how she had become Daphne Fraser, and why. Christophe frowned as he heard how her father had brutally thrown her out and disowned her a short time after her mother’s death.
‘How could he do that?’ he asked, horrified.
‘I wasn’t a Dangerfield any longer. It had mattered so much to him, you see. Being his daughter, having his own father’s blood run in me. When it turned out I didn’t have a drop, I was virtually worthless to him.’
‘But,’ Christophe exclaimed, ‘he’d been your father in every way since you were a baby! How could he just turn his love off?’
Daisy shrugged. ‘I wish I knew. That question has tormented me for years, along with the mystery of who I really am. My mother didn’t say.’ She gazed down at the patchwork, tracing the stitches with one finger. ‘I still don’t know why she didn’t tell me.’
‘So you invented your alter ego?’
>
‘I needed a purpose in life, something I could focus on to shut out the pain. I decided I would prove myself to my father and show him how wrong he was.’
Christophe wrapped her tighter in his arms and listened as Daisy explained her plan: how she would get to the top of the Dangerfield company anyway, without Daddy’s help, demonstrating that she could get wherever she wanted by herself. She didn’t need to be parachuted in to a directorship: she could and would earn one herself.
‘And you did!’ Christophe said, surprised and proud at the same time. ‘Boy, did you! I’ve never seen anyone so single-minded about their work.’
‘It was all that kept me going. I didn’t let myself despair. I concentrated on winning instead.’
He ran a finger along her cheek. ‘You are so brave.’
‘Brave or stupid. Who knows?’
‘You weren’t going to let him write you off!’
‘No. I couldn’t let him erase me from his life.’
There was a pause and then Christophe said, ‘But then he killed Daisy Dangerfield.’
‘Yes.’ The familiar sadness crept over her. ‘God knows how that was arranged. I hope it was just a matter of bribing an official and cremating an unclaimed corpse from the Thai mortuary. I don’t think he’s capable of worse. Or I hope not.’
Christophe held her hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. ‘In a way, it brought us back together. But how will you ever come back now that you’re officially dead?’
She turned and looked him in the eyes. ‘I can never come back. I know that now. Daisy Dangerfield is dead and I can never be that girl again. I didn’t realise I could be happy being someone else, but now I think I can. I still want to shake him up, though, give him the shock of his life. And I know enough about his company to cause a hurricane!’
Christophe laughed. ‘You’ve got guts.’
‘I’m pig-headed. Perhaps I got it from my real father. I suppose I’ll never know.’ She smiled and held on to Christophe tightly, pressing her lips against his warm, comforting skin.
Sergei did not come that morning. Eventually they got up, fed the fire with more logs and made themselves a meal with tinned potatoes, carrots and mince, followed by tinned fruit. There were two bottles of vodka in the fridge, but nothing else. They drank water and ice-cold vodka, then warmed themselves up with more black coffee.
As darkness fell again, Christophe looked out of the window at the sky. There was not much else to see but the thick blackness of the nearby wood and hillocks of snow everywhere. ‘The weather doesn’t look so good,’ he said, sounding a little anxious. ‘I think we’re in for more snow.’
‘Does your phone get a signal?’ asked Daisy, looking out at the lowering grey sky, tinged with the violet of imminent snowfall. Christophe shook his head. ‘Nor does mine. And I’ve no battery either, it hasn’t been charged for days.’
‘He’ll come tomorrow,’ Christophe said confidently.
But snow fell in the night and they woke to find the lodge almost entirely engulfed. There was no sign of Sergei and the chances that he might be able to get through this snowfall seemed increasingly remote.
‘He won’t have forgotten, will he?’ Daisy said, counting up the tins of food in the cupboard.
‘I’m sure he won’t have, how could he? He’ll come,’ Christophe said, but he looked worried.
Sergei did not come, that day or the next.
72
COCO LEFT THE South Kensington flat with more regret than she’d expected. After all, she’d been happy there. She’d felt safe from the world outside, cushioned against all the things that had marked her childhood, and she’d been able to live alone, unobserved for the most part. But now she had to move on.
As she shut the door, she wondered if Will would ever forgive her for what she was about to do.
The suite Margaret had arranged for her was more sumptuous than any hotel room: it had a vast bed, made up with sheets and blankets instead of a duvet, and with huge soft pillows. There was a sitting room, a small study, a large bathroom and a dressing room. Coco’s luggage was already there when Margaret showed her in.
‘A maid will unpack it later,’ she said. Margaret seemed unusually cool and her expression was almost sour. What’s her problem? wondered Coco. ‘If you have any particular requests about how you like things, let her know. It’s her job to keep it just as you like it.’
I could get used to this, Coco thought, looking about.
‘It’s lovely,’ she said. It was modern, unfussy and calm, in greens and greys and pearly whites.
‘This used to be his daughter’s room. But don’t worry, we had it refreshed for you. It’s quite different now from how it was.’
Nevertheless, Coco shivered and tried to put that fact out of her mind. There was something a little eerie about being in the dead girl’s room.
After showing Coco her new home, Margaret led her back downstairs to the basement office to settle some of the admin necessary for the new arrangement.
When Coco had checked and signed the paperwork, Margaret slid a Coutts gold card across the table towards her. ‘For you,’ she said.
‘Cool.’ Coco picked it up and looked at it. ‘What’s the limit?’
‘The limit?’ Margaret looked amused. ‘Well … let’s put it this way, I don’t think you’ll manage to spend it in a month. Now, shall we go and find Mr Dangerfield?’
Daddy was plainly excited when they found him finishing up his lunch in the dining room. ‘Coco!’ he cried, wiping his mouth on a napkin which he flung down. ‘You’re here at last! I thought you were never coming.’
‘Here I am, Daddy,’ she said brightly. Here he was, then. Her new charge. Her partner. Somewhere deep inside she felt sickened by the prospect, but she tried to ignore it.
‘Good, I can’t wait to show you around! You need to see the place properly, now that it’s your new home.’
He led her around the house, pointing out his collections and acquisitions: the exquisite furniture, the paintings, even the wine cellar. ‘Do you know how much that cost?’ he demanded, waving his arms at the row upon row of bottles. ‘Two million, I think! Over two million on wine alone.’
‘We’d better have a bottle or two at dinner then, hadn’t we?’ remarked Coco. ‘It’s going to take you a while to drink that lot on your own.’
He snorted with laughter and took her off to see his collection of Chinese jade, and his Graham Sutherland, newly bought at auction.
That night, Coco wondered if he was going to surprise her by making a claim to her body. After all, wasn’t she just another artefact, bought to add to his sense of self-worth and prestige? Didn’t he want to own her too?
After dinner they watched television together in the small sitting room, Daddy’s head nodding and his eyes closing in front of the news. Keen to make her escape, Coco went over and kissed his cheek. ‘Night, night, Daddy,’ she said.
‘Good night, my darling,’ he said, smiling back contentedly at her. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
So it was true. There was no lead left in the pencil. He was no longer interested in climbing between the warm thighs of a gorgeous young thing like her. It seemed that age was taming Daddy Dangerfield.
If Will could see him now, what would he think? Coco knew that he still saw the father of his youth in his mind’s eye: fierce, tempestuous, commanding. Not this mild old man drowsing on the sofa. But she couldn’t think about Will. It was still far too raw.
She went upstairs to bed. This was her life now and she had to get used to it. It was what she’d wanted, after all.
Coco was lounging about in the study, waiting for Daddy to get off the phone, when she noticed the difference in colour between a large square patch of wooden panelling and its surroundings.
When Daddy had finished his call, she pointed at it and said, ‘Is something missing?’
‘No … yes … that is …’ He frowned. ‘There was something. It’s been sold.
A painting.’
‘It looks like it was a big one.’
‘It was, yes. A Gainsborough. A very large one.’
The artist’s name meant nothing to Coco, though she knew it ought to. Or, at least, that if someone said ‘a something’ like that, then the painter’s work was worth a great deal of money. ‘Did you sell it recently?’ she asked.
‘I don’t see what difference it makes,’ Daddy replied irritably. ‘It’s gone and there we are. There are plenty of other paintings in the house to look at. Take a look at the Picasso in the drawing room if you want to see something.’
‘That’s tiny,’ Coco said with a shrug, which made Daddy laugh and restored some of his good humour.
There was a knock on the door and Margaret came in. She acknowledged Coco with the faintest nod of her head and went straight to Daddy’s desk. ‘Sir, I’ve had some contact from HQ about a couple of executives.’
‘Yes?’ Daddy said gruffly, his concentration obviously elsewhere. ‘Who?’
‘I don’t think you know them – Darley Ross and Daphne Fraser.’
‘Darley Ross …’ He frowned. ‘That name rings a bell. Yes, I know him. But not the other one. What about them?’
‘They’re stuck in Siberia, sir.’
Daddy looked crossly at Margaret. ‘Well, what the hell does that have to do with me? And what on earth are they doing there?’
‘A fact-finding mission. They didn’t report for work at the end of it. There’s been little contact except from Ross to say he’s had pneumonia and will fly home as soon as he’s able. No news from Fraser at all.’
‘Well,’ Daddy said in a bad-tempered voice, ‘they’d better be finding some bloody good facts, that’s all I can say. Or their next mission will be to find another job. Is that all?’
Margaret absorbed this and then said, ‘Should we put any effort into locating Fraser, sir? In case she’s in trouble?’
‘I don’t think so. If she’s in trouble, we’ll find out in due course. If not, she’ll turn up. They usually do. And then we can sack her.’
