Emma giggled. She was so relieved to have an ally over Christmas.
‘A pact,’ she said, squeezing his fingers. ‘Let’s stick together.’
Tom stood up. ‘All for one and one for all,’ he said, making an elaborate bow. ‘Lead on, D’Artagnan.’
Le Chalet Anglais was an 80-year-old traditional Savoyese chalet set back on a hill behind the town with beautiful views of the Palace Hotel’s Rapunzel turrets. The main living room was a long high-beamed loft in aged pine lit by two chandeliers with a roaring stone fireplace at one end. The sumptuous dining area had a long rustic wooden table set with silver and bone china next to a huge open-plan kitchen area. By the time Emma had taken a hot shower and come back downstairs, everyone had arrived back at the chalet while a pretty chalet girl – who Emma predicted would end up in bed with Tom by the end of the festive season – was pulling a huge Beef Wellington from the oven. It smelled delicious.
‘Bloody awful snow,’ said Roger, sipping a G&T in a velvet club chair in front of the fire. ‘Global warming is going to put this town out of business if we’re not careful. Ah, Emma,’ he said rising to his feet. ‘Glad you could make it.’
‘Thanks for inviting me. Actually, the snow wasn’t too bad on the slopes today although on Boxing Day I think I’m going to Les Diablerets if anyone wants to come?’
‘I will,’ said Ruby, putting her hand in the air. ‘I want to go skiing with Emma.’
Emma laughed. She didn’t see Ruby a great deal; only in the school holidays when she stayed with Julia, but had enjoyed getting to know the young teenager who was fun, feisty and clever.
Standing next to the fireplace in skinny jeans, a white T-shirt and a red fox fur gilet, Cassandra viewed her daughter narrowly.
‘You are not going to Les Diablerets with Emma. She’s bound to go off-piste and leave you.’
‘Emma’s always been a wonderful skier, haven’t you?’ said Roger, handing her a glass of claret. ‘Did you keep it up when you went to America? Jackson Hole has some decent skiing, I hear.’
‘The Aman resort out there is wonderful,’ piped up Rebecca.
‘I sometimes got up to Maine,’ said Emma, ‘but to be honest, Gstaad was probably closer to Boston than Jackson Hole.’
Emma was relieved that the atmosphere was not as tense as she’d anticipated. Still, such a change in Roger’s attitude towards her couldn’t simply be festive spirit, could it? She mused, eyeing him carefully.
The chalet girls were serving the food in big earthenware pots in the middle of the table, so Roger clinked his ring against his glass.
‘Before we start the meal I’d like to give a little toast to Saul, who’s made this all possible tonight and I’m sure is up there right now delighted that we’re all here together to enjoy it.’
‘Hear, hear!’ cried Tom, who seemed to be holding up his part of his pact with Emma by hitting the advocaat.
They all settled down around the table. Roger made a point of holding Emma’s chair for her and then he sat down next to her.
‘So I hear things are going well in your department,’ said Emma.
Roger nodded enthusiastically, as he glugged wine into both their glasses.
‘The wife of this very rich Eastern European came in a few days ago, didn’t she Roger?’ said Rebecca flicking a sheath of hair over her shoulder. ‘She ordered a 50-inch crocodile bag with real eagle feathers. It’s going to cost her £120,000 and apparently she didn’t even blink. Isn’t fashion crazy sometimes?’
‘That’s not fashion, that’s money laundering,’ said Cassandra cynically.
‘All I could think of was: where are we going to get a croc big enough for a 50-incher?’ said Roger, shaking his head.
As the meal progressed, Emma could not help but think that anyone listening to the laughter and banter around the table would believe they were watching a happy close-knit family sharing a warm Christmas together, rather than a collection of warring factions jostling for position inside a business balancing on a knife-edge.
When finally there was a lull in conversation, Roger put down his glass as if he was preparing to say something important.
‘Now we’re all here,’ he said, raising his voice to include everyone, ‘and in such convivial surroundings, I think it’s time I brought something up.’
‘Roger,’ said Julia. ‘It’s Christmas Eve.’
He shook his head and wiped his mouth with a napkin.
‘It’s good news, Julia. Or at least I think it is.’
Emma put down her fork and looked at Roger, suddenly feeling in her gut that she wasn’t going to like what he was going to say.
‘I was having dinner with Victor Chen a couple of weeks ago and, well, he’s expressed serious interest in Milford.’
‘Who’s Victor Chen?’ asked Tom, refilling his glass.
‘He owns VCT, the luxury goods company,’ said Cassandra with authority. ‘I use the word “luxury” loosely because half of his company’s products are now made in China.’
‘I think that’s rather uncharitable, Cassandra,’ said Roger. ‘I believe you could say the same about many high-fashion brands too. Just because something is made in the Far East doesn’t meant to say that the quality is inferior.’
‘That depends on your definition of “quality”, Roger,’ said Cassandra icily. ‘If Milford moves production to Taiwan, you’re in danger of destroying the brand altogether.’
‘Come now, Cassandra …’
‘How interested is he in Milford?’ interrupted Virginia. ‘Are we talking about a minority shareholding or something much bigger?’
‘Oh, the whole thing,’ said Roger blithely. ‘Naturally the renaissance of the company is making waves in the industry and everyone is saying we’re the new Burberry and Emma here is our Rose Marie Bravo, guiding our company from the ashes back to the top of the fashion tree. Of course people are going to see Milford as a good investment.’
Emma and Tom glanced at each other.
‘Have you any idea of how much he’d be willing to pay?’ asked Virginia.
Roger shrugged.
‘Who’s to say without a valuation, and anyway, a company is only worth as much as somebody is prepared to pay for it. Look at the sale of J Crew. Sold for four billion dollars off the back of profits of only four million dollars. The value is the brand. And our brand is back in business.’
People started talking amongst themselves and an excited twitter ran around the table.
‘Hang on, hang on,’ said Emma raising a hand slightly.
Roger’s smile began to fade.
‘VCT’s interest is flattering but immaterial. I don’t want to sell. Serious interest from a big group like VCT is a greater indicator that we’re doing something right, but that’s all. I think we’ve got something really valuable here – we’re just at the start of our journey.’
‘But surely we should at least wait to see what the offer is, darling?’ said Virginia, a note of reproach in her voice. ‘You can’t be saying no to a sale full stop?’
‘Yes, I am,’ said Emma firmly. ‘For the foreseeable future at least. I have a five-year plan I want to see through. The plan is to build the business, not prime it for sale.’
‘Do you appreciate how much I am doing for this company?’ said Roger, unable to hide his anger. ‘I’m going to great lengths to sound out interest and follow up leads.’
‘No one has asked you to do that, Roger,’ said Emma calmly.
Roger got up from the table and stalked across the room, going outside onto the balcony.
‘Look what you’ve done, Emma. It’s Christmas, you know,’ said Virginia.
‘The subject is closed,’ said Emma, meeting her gaze. ‘We’re not interested.’
‘How can you be so damned stubborn!’ cried Virginia, throwing up her hands. ‘You have no idea what they are even offering. Perhaps you should consult a few other people before you start making such sweeping statements as “We’re not intere
sted”. The nerve! This isn’t your company alone, Emma.’ She glared at her daughter for a moment before continuing.
‘As we’re talking about this and as you seem to have destroyed the atmosphere, I might as well tell you that Jonathan was talking to Harry Wilcox, a lawyer friend of his, and he recommended that we go public. We are hot news and we may never get any hotter. Harry said something about us being over-valued which, in share terms, means a very good return for us.’
‘And why would we want to go public?’ said Emma, raising her voice just slightly. ‘Having to answer to so many shareholders? Do you really want that, Mother? We need to have a longer-term strategy to build a valuable luxury goods empire instead of selling out at the first opportunity. We should be trying to build something that could be worth ten, twenty times as much in ten years. And we should be building it our way. The Milford way.’
‘Your way,’ said Rebecca, sarcastically.
‘Look!’ said Emma, rapping her knuckles on the table and sending her glass of water flying. ‘We are not selling the company to VCT or anyone else right now. We are not going to float the company either. I’m sorry if that spoils your Christmas but that’s the way it is.’
Out of the corner of her eye, Emma felt sure she had seen Cassandra smirking, but when she looked around, the expression had gone. Julia looked at her watch and sighed.
‘Look at the time. Let’s go to church.’
Emma was glad of the break and found the tranquillity of the church soothing after the confrontation at dinner. She wasn’t religious but it felt like a safe haven, somewhere she could be alone with her thoughts away from the accusing stares of her family.
After Mass the rest of the family drifted out slowly and Emma hung back, hoping to avoid another argument. Unfortunately for her, so many people were eager to exchange Christmas pleasantries with the priest, the church doorway became a bottleneck and when she finally stepped out into the night, Emma found herself walking next to Cassandra. Her cousin was wrapped up in a long sable mink fur and black boots, like a ghost from a more glamorous age. They walked in silence, the others moving on ahead until all that Emma could hear was the soft crunch of Cassandra’s boots in the snow.
‘Why did you stick up for me at dinner?’ asked Emma suddenly. It had been bothering her since Cassandra had spoken; it was so out of character.
Cassandra thrust her hands in her pockets and shrugged.
‘It wasn’t a question of sticking up for you. I’d simply hate to see Milford products being made on a conveyer belt in the Far East.’
‘Well, I appreciated it; thank you.’
Emma wasn’t sure she entirely believed Cassandra; her cousin never did anything without a motive; everything was calculated to benefit her. But then, Emma could do with every ally she could get at the moment. She had been nervous about coming out to Gstaad before this sudden outbreak of inter-family warfare and now she felt completely isolated. It won’t kill you to be civil, Emma, she told herself.
‘So how’s work?’
‘Very good actually,’ said Cassandra. ‘I’ve just taken Jessica West on as a contributing editor, I believe you know her? Used to go out with Rob Holland. It was quite serious at one point I think.’
‘Yes, I think he liked her,’ said Emma honestly, though it pained her to do so. ‘But I think she was a little too ambitious. I don’t think having stepchildren, playing happy families with Rob’s little girl, figured in her immediate masterplan.’
Cassandra smiled.
‘Yes, she told me that’s why she finished with him. According to her, he was very cut up about it and went running back to his ex – Madeline, isn’t it? Apparently Jessica saw them together in New York at somewhere glamorous like Sant Ambroeus. Sounds like they’re well suited, anyway. For all his rock ’n’ roll credentials, Rob is really just a Connecticut WASP.’
Emma stared down at the ground, dazed. While there was probably no way Cassandra knew about herself and Rob, her words were still designed to wound and they had had the desired effect, stabbing Emma in the heart like barbs. It all made sense. That was why Rob hadn’t phoned after their night in Somerset: he’d got back with Madeline in New York. Her mind whirled, desperate to think of some other explanation. It couldn’t be true, could it? Rob didn’t love Madeline and she didn’t love him either. But of course, love didn’t need to come into it. Rob was back with Madeline for the sake of Polly, to be a family because Polly was the most important thing in his life. She felt a tear slip down her cheek. Just one. It was an act of rebellion: telling her that her head and heart were in conflict.
‘Oh dear,’ said Cassandra with a quiet look of triumph. ‘Have I said something I shouldn’t?’
Emma turned swiftly on her cousin.
‘What is wrong with you Cassandra?’ she spat.
Cassandra turned and smiled, pulling her mink coat tighter around her body.
‘Oh dear, what’s rattled your cage? It’s not Rob Holland, is it? He’s slept with half of London, darling, so don’t waste your time.’
‘It’s not Rob, it’s you. You spread lies about me around the industry, you throw a party on the same night as the Milford launch, you even got that little creep from Astrid’s wedding to do a hatchet job on me! And now you think you can wind me up with stories about Rob.’
‘I’m only saving you from getting hurt, being foolish enough to fall for some cad like Rob Holland.’
‘Do you think I’m stupid?’ replied Emma angrily. ‘You don’t give a hoot about me. It’s all about Milford. It’s all about getting even.’ Emma took a deep breath and tried to compose herself.
‘I never asked for Milford, or even wanted it, but it’s mine now and I want to make it into the best thing I possibly can. Stop blaming me, Cassandra. Stop hating me. Please just leave me alone to get on with it. Take out your frustrations elsewhere.’
Cassandra’s mouth curled viciously. She wasn’t a woman who was accustomed to having people say things to her face. She stared at Emma with a look of disgust.
‘For all that blue-chip education, and those fancy letters at the end of your name, you really don’t know anything, do you,’ she said, her voice a low, cold whisper.
‘I know enough, Cassandra.’
‘Do you?’ she barked a hollow laugh, ‘I really doubt that, Emma.’ She stopped in the street and faced her cousin squarely.
‘But you’re right about one thing. I do blame you. But not for being given the company, although I’m sure you must have manipulated Saul somehow. Emma, I’ve been blaming you since I was thirteen years old.’
Cassandra paused, her breath puffing in white clouds.
‘I’ve blamed you since the day your father destroyed my family.’
Emma actually gasped. She was rooted to the spot and could only stare at the woman, her head in the air, her slim, straight nose held aloft like a bloodhound.
‘I don’t understand you,’ she whispered.
‘It’s very simple,’ said Cassandra, her voice dripping with venom. ‘Your father had an affair with my mother. Did you know that, Emma? Is that one of the things you “know”? My father found out and he left her. He left us. Do you know how that feels, Emma? Do you?’
‘Cassandra, please.’
‘Oh yes, you probably think you know how it feels, Emma, because your father is dead. But it’s really not the same as someone leaving you. Mine didn’t want us any more and you’ll never know how that rejection makes you feel.’
Her cold confession had stunned Emma. She had been completely wrong-footed.
‘I’m sorry your father walked out on you,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady, ‘but it’s not my father’s fault. My dad didn’t have an affair with Aunt Julia. She’s my mother’s sister.’
‘Another one of your certainties? Well, I saw it with my own eyes,’ spat Cassandra. ‘That first summer we went to Provence, the night of the party. Most of the kids were in bed, but I thought I was too old to be tucked up with
the children. I walked out deep into the grounds, to that tool shed.’
Cassandra’s voice trailed off, as if it was taking every ounce of will to keep herself under control.
‘I saw my mother in there having sex with your father. Sex I didn’t understand then, but which I recognize now. Wild and hungry sex. Sex that breaks up families because it’s so exciting it’s like a drug which makes everything that’s gone before seem hollow and meaningless.’
‘It was dark, it could have been anyone,’ said Emma, knowing how weak her argument sounded, but still desperate to deny her father’s involvement.
‘It was them,’ said Cassandra. ‘My father left us three months later. Abandoned us. Your father broke up our family. I came back from my first term at school and he had gone. I grew up without a father.’
The moonlight was shining a milky light down at them. Behind them the church bells rang out their midnight Christmas peal.
‘So every kick you give me makes you feel a little better? Is that it?’ said Emma softly. ‘Well, it’s not going to bring him back.’
Cassandra turned towards Emma so quickly, she slipped on the icy path.
‘Don’t you dare give me your pseudo-psychoanalysis!’ she hissed. ‘You think your father ruined my whole life because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants? You think I’m some heartbroken little girl who’s using success to make up for Daddy not loving me? You’ve been watching too much Oprah, honey.’
Cassandra held up one hand, her fingers curling into a tight fist. ‘This isn’t about my hurt feelings, Emma. This is about revenge.’
Emma’s eyes widened as she saw the fury in Cassandra’s face.
‘And believe me, darling, I’ve barely even begun.’
Cassandra turned and strode on ahead. Emma could do nothing but watch her go.
‘Is it true?’
Emma was standing by her mother’s bedroom door. Virginia had changed into her dressing gown and was turned towards the dressing table mirror, putting on face cream. In the dim light, her mother’s face was pale, almost ghoulish in the reflection.
Guilty Pleasures Page 46
