Guilty Pleasures

by Tasmina Perry

  ‘I’ll be honest with you, Ruan,’ whispered Emma. ‘I haven’t a clue who anyone is.’

  ‘Well, you know Clover Connor,’ said Ruan, nodding over at the model who was looking stunning in a white Grecian mini-dress.

  ‘I’d rather Clover had kept away,’ said Emma, wincing. The face of Milford was apparently on her first night out after a short spell in rehab. Emma had nearly died when she’d read a story in the tabloids a few weeks earlier about a supermodel caught naked and completely out of her head at a party in Mykonos. The piece had been a blind item, but although the model was unnamed it was clear it was referring to Clover.

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ laughed Ruan. ‘Clover is like Teflon. No scandal ever sticks. In fact whatever she does seems to make her more famous, more sought-after.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ laughed Emma nervously.

  ‘How’s the family?’

  ‘If you mean have Roger and Rebecca fired any barbed remarks my way, then no, they seem to be on their best behaviour tonight.’

  ‘I see Cassandra won’t be coming.’

  ‘I assume not, but how do you know for sure?’

  ‘She’s throwing a party tonight as well. Apparently it’s to launch her book.’

  ‘God, she is absolutely impossible!’

  Ruan put his hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Em, it doesn’t matter any more. Look down there: we’ve made it. And if you needed any reassurance, I think you’ll find the last 100 Bag has just been sold.’

  He pointed to an expensively-dressed woman leaving the party carrying a chocolate-brown cardboard bag, festooned with a turquoise ribbon. They had spent a long time redesigning the packaging, making the Milford brown more rich and chocolaty and the blue more vivid and crisp. The carrier bags were almost as desirable as what was inside.

  Emma watched the woman go and turned to Ruan, her mouth open.

  ‘Really? You’re kidding, right?’

  Ruan shook his head.

  ‘We’ve sold out in every colour. That’s six hundred bags each, selling at over two thousand pounds each.’

  ‘No!’ she gasped, quickly doing the maths in her head, ‘Even with the ones we gave away, that’s … Ruan, this is brilliant!’

  ‘Plus, Eugenie Vlodsky – she’s the wife of that Russian oligarch – has just made enquiries about a “comprehensive” bespoke luggage set in antelope skin: I bet her definition of comprehensive is pretty ample. And Em, that’s just the start, we’ve had thirty-five appointments for our bespoke services put in the book just tonight.’

  Emma felt like doing a cartwheel, but restrained herself and instead leaned over and gave Ruan a kiss on the cheek.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said simply, squeezing his hand. ‘I couldn’t have asked for a better right-hand man.’

  Emma finished her champagne and walked back down into the main throng of the party. Eyes looked up approvingly as she descended. She felt embarrassed under scrutiny although she knew she looked fantastic. Her bottle-green Lanvin silk dress was simple yet stunning, cut just below the knee with bracelet sleeves and a generously scooped neckline. Her hair had been blow-dried so it fell in soft waves around her shoulders. She wore no jewellery except for her watch and a pair of pearl earrings; she didn’t need any. She was the CEO of a luxury goods company and the patina of power and glamour finished off her look without her even knowing it. Emma no longer needed guidance to look good. She would never be an intuitively stylish woman like Stella who seemed to be able to throw a quirky necklace onto an otherwise unremarkable dress to create something memorable and unique, but she had acquired a low-key, elegant style all of her own.

  Over the other side of the room she could see Rob Holland and Jessica arrive. Still going strong, I see, thought Emma, before realizing that she’d actually forgotten to invite him. It had been almost two months since they had seen each other at the festival; they’d spoken a few times on the phone about Winterfold, about rent and repairs and so on, but that had been about it. Looking at him towering over the crowd, it made her a little sad. Even though he could be absolutely infuriating, she had at one time thought she and Rob could become good friends. Still, maybe he was genuinely happy with Jessica; she shrugged as he caught her eye and made his way over, kissing her on both cheeks.

  ‘Stella called me to see if I wanted to pop down,’ he said answering the unspoken question. ‘Said I could come on the proviso I got some of my acts to come.’

  ‘She didn’t!’ Emma said, lifting her hand to her mouth.

  He grinned. ‘Sounded like a fair enough trade-off to me.’

  He popped a canapé in his mouth and turned round to look for Jessica but she was now having her photograph taken in a swarming mass of paparazzi by the door.

  ‘I have to say, Em. This is officially a great party.’

  ‘You say that with such surprise,’ smiled Emma.

  ‘You have many talents Miss Bailey, but I wasn’t sure partying was going to be one of them. Next time I have one of my naughty rock acts in town I’m gonna tell them to give you a call.’

  They both laughed.

  ‘I haven’t seen you in weeks.’

  ‘I’ve been staying in London actually. Jessica’s idea of rural is Holland Park, although this weekend I’m forcing her out of the Big Smoke.’

  ‘Are you both coming out to Chilcot?’

  ‘Norfolk actually. A friend of mine is lending me his house up there. It’s on stilts right by the beach, a crazy-looking thing.’

  ‘It will be absolutely beautiful. I love those long windswept beaches like Brancaster on the north coast. The lavender fields might still be out too. I’m jealous,’ she smiled.

  ‘I think Polly will like it too.’

  Emma looked at him curiously, remembering what he had said to her once about not introducing girlfriends to Polly until he was absolutely ready. She felt a stab of something unpleasant, not envy exactly. No, it was disappointment that Polly was meeting Jessica. She’d hoped it would be someone more deserving.

  ‘Polly and Jessica?’

  ‘A breakthrough, I know,’ he grinned.

  ‘I knew that’s why you really wanted Winterfold,’ she teased.

  He looked at her curiously. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘The huge family house. Actually half a dozen families could live quite comfortably in Winterfold, but the principle is the same – it’s a nesting instinct, Rob Holland. Secretly you want to settle down.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’

  ‘So it’s a coincidence Polly is meeting Jessica?’

  ‘Actually, I double-booked,’ he said grumpily.

  ‘Whatever you say …’

  He looked away, suggesting that he didn’t want to talk about it any more. After a pause, he said, ‘Seriously Emma, you did great. I always knew you were going to.’

  She shrugged modestly.

  ‘I never did buy you that drink to say thank you.’

  ‘I suppose you’ll be less crazy after tonight.’

  ‘Uh-uh, fashion is a never-ending conveyor belt.’

  ‘Well, when you are less busy give me a ring, we’ll grab a beer at the Feathers.’

  ‘That would be nice.’

  Over the crowd, Emma could see Jessica looking around for Rob, a look of annoyance on her face. Rob followed her gaze and frowned.

  ‘Listen, I’ve gotta go,’ he said quickly. ‘I think Jessica needs me.’

  ‘I bet she does,’ said Emma under her breath as Rob pushed through the crowd. ‘I bet she does.’

  ‘So do you think we’re the hottest power couple in London yet?’

  Stella looked at Johnny and laughed.

  ‘The hottest what?’

  ‘Power couple,’ he said, entirely serious, before pausing to pose with Stella for a photographer. He didn’t need to pose; from any angle he was easily the most handsome man in the room, even dressed down in jeans and a white shirt.

  ‘If we were in New York it would be dif
ficult but over here … I mean Madonna and Guy are getting on a bit and once the Vanity Fair piece comes out…’

  The week before, Johnny’s publicist had got a call from Vanity Fair’s London editor requesting an interview and shoot time with Johnny and Stella.

  ‘We’re not seriously getting the cover are we?’

  ‘Not the US cover. Not yet, anyway,’ he grinned. ‘But if the US cover is some TV star no one’s heard of over here, we might get the British cover. Remember that Patsy Kensit and Liam Gallagher ‘Cool Britannia’ cover? That was never a US cover but they stuck it on the British issue and it was still one of the most memorable magazine images of the last twenty years, wasn’t it.’

  ‘Well, let’s just wait and see, huh, Liam?’ smiled Stella. Secretly she was hoping they weren’t on any Vanity Fair or any other cover, any time soon. Things had returned to normal with Emma after their showdown in the studio, and although her boss had made it clear she had no wish to be in the public eye, Stella was conscious not to steal any more of her boss’s thunder. Her eyes darted around the room searching for a face.

  ‘Why are you so edgy, baby?’ asked Johnny.

  ‘He’s not here, is he?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘My father.’

  Johnny squeezed her hand.

  ‘You kind of knew he wasn’t going to be, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ she sighed. ‘But you always hope.’

  Johnny turned her around and looked her in the eye.

  ‘People are always going to disappoint you in life, Stella. So Chessie got her way and they’re not here, but look around! Five hundred people are here to see you and the things that you’ve created. Are you going to let Chessie and your father ruin that?’

  She nodded. Johnny was right. This was the biggest night of her life and she wasn’t going to let anything or anyone spoil it.

  ‘You’ll never guess what,’ said Jessica, snaking her hand around Rob’s waist and pushing her mouth close to his ear.

  ‘What? Sorry, I was miles away,’ said Rob, rather startled to see her. While Jessica had spent the last half hour flitting around like a social butterfly, Rob had been thinking about Emma, or rather about what she had said. Was she right? Did he want to settle down? Did he want to settle down with Jessica? When he had first got together with Madeline, a friend had quipped that relationships were a question of timing. That had turned out to be correct: when Rob had met Maddy, he had been mourning his brother; he’d just taken a job in his father’s company and had wanted to embrace a more stable and sensible way of life. Maddy had fitted the bill perfectly, but the more he had got sucked into the record industry and the temptations that came with it, the more that relationship had faltered. But maybe now he was ready. As forty loomed, he was sick of transient relationships. He looked at Jessica smiling up at him. She was good company and beautiful. She knew his crowd, and didn’t make too many demands on him, she fitted comfortably into his life. But was she really so different from any of the indeterminate blondes, brunettes and redheads who had shared his bed in the last decade? Maybe it was just timing after all.

  ‘Sorry, Jess, got a lot on my mind at the moment,’ said Rob, returning her embrace. ‘What were you telling me?’

  ‘I was telling you how much I love this party!’ she gushed. ‘First of all I get invited to Donatella’s party on Sunday, then I speak to Eugene Vlodsky who says he’s going too and can give us a lift to Milan in his father’s jet! Isn’t that just so cool?’

  Rob pulled away from her, frowning.

  ‘You want to go to a fashion party in Milan this weekend? Have you forgotten what we’re supposed to be doing?’

  ‘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, Pandor
a 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.