Guilty Pleasures

by Tasmina Perry

  ‘Did you know Cassandra was here?’ said Stella, handing Emma a glass of pink champagne.

  ‘I think it’s pretty brave of her to come,’ said Emma nodding. She actually found she had mixed emotions about her cousin. She’d heard all about Cassandra’s high-profile departure from Rive; it had been spun as a resignation but everyone in the industry knew she’d been fired. Emma certainly knew how humiliating that would be for her. Cassandra was the sort of woman who was defined by her job and to have it taken away must have been devastating. Then again, Cassandra was ruthless and driven. Ruthless enough to run her off the road in Gstaad?

  ‘Well, just don’t go offering her my job,’ smiled Stella.

  Emma couldn’t tell if her friend was joking but there was a flicker of insecurity in her eyes.

  ‘As if, Stella,’ she said, gesturing back towards the party. ‘Do you think all these people would be here if it wasn’t for you? This is your doing, Stell, your triumph. Why would I be so stupid as to change that? Besides, I need someone to make my tea.’

  Stella burst out laughing and nudged her friend gently in the ribs.

  ‘Just think, you might be moving back in here soon. It’s so lovely!’

  Emma frowned.

  ‘Why on earth would I be moving back here?’

  ‘Come on, Em, because I saw you holding hands with Rob. How long’s this been going on?’

  Emma blushed, embarrassed at being caught out.

  ‘Just tonight. Well, actually that’s a lie, something happened in November too. I didn’t tell you because it didn’t go anywhere, which is exactly what you’d expect considering his reputation, isn’t it? I didn’t want anyone to say “told you so”.’

  ‘A womanizer is only waiting for the right woman, sweetie. And he’s clearly come to his senses.’

  Emma flushed again.

  ‘Well, we’ll see.’

  Stella clapped her hands together gleefully.

  ‘You’re in love with him! I knew it! Go on, get upstairs and tear all his clothes off before someone else does.’

  ‘Stella!’ gasped Emma.

  ‘Gosh, you’re such a lucky cow. Everything is coming together for you, isn’t it?’

  ‘Don’t say that,’ said Emma. ‘That’s usually the point when everything starts to come undone.’

  Roger and Rebecca stood at the top of the stairs looking down on the action from on high.

  ‘I can’t believe Tom Ford’s at Winterfold,’ said Rebecca, playing with the Tiffany diamond star necklace around her delicate throat. ‘What a coup.’

  ‘Yes, it’s all been a rip-roaring bloody success, hasn’t it?’ said Roger bitterly, sipping on his neat bourbon. ‘Emma’s never going to sell now, is she?’

  He had to admit that the catwalk show that afternoon had been amazing. He’d been staggered by the excited charge of anticipation in the audience before and the gushing praise that had rung around the venue afterwards. Of course, it was his success too, but it was that very success which was now standing in the way of his ambitions.

  ‘Victor Chen’s company were interested because they thought they could get Milford for a good price and after today, I’m not so sure they’ll be so keen. I can’t stall Ricardo for much longer, and how else are we going to get the money?’

  ‘Darling, maybe it’s just as well,’ said Rebecca, stroking his arm. ‘I’ve been speaking to friends about Ricardo and I’m not sure he’d be the most reliable business partner. Apparently he’s a terrible coke-head.’

  Roger rounded on his wife angrily – how dare she question his judgement?

  ‘Darling, I’m doing this for us! Don’t start fighting me!’

  ‘All I’m saying is that it’s not necessarily a bad thing to keep hold of the Milford shareholding. For now at least. You never know, this thing might make us rich after all.’

  ‘Not as rich as her,’ said Roger, looking over at Emma, hate blazing from his eyes.

  ‘Well, I guess we’d better make the best of it. She’s not going to go away, is she?’

  Roger threw back his bourbon, still looking at Emma.

  ‘No, I suppose not.’

  Cassandra had been in the Orangery overlooking the courtyard when Emma and Rob were talking. She had watched their interaction with interest and had been genuinely shocked when she had seen them kiss. It had made her want to retch. As if she wasn’t miserable enough without having to watch the charmed life of Emma Bailey being played out before her in glorious Technicolor. That bitch had stolen her life and her glory – and now she even had a relationship. It was as if she were deliberately rubbing her face it in. Cassandra tightened her fingers into a fist, pushing her nails into her palm. She was going to get even with Emma, whatever it took.

  Right now, however, all she wanted to do was go home. Despite her recent emotional wobbles, Cassandra still had a thicker skin than most and when she’d arrived at the party she’d held her head up high. But soon the whispers of the party-goers-of the fashion executives, the PRs and journalists – soon, they became deafening. Even worse were the looks on the faces of the few who did come over to speak to her; people who’d once fawned at her every word now viewed her with pity when they all asked ‘so what are you doing next?’ Alone and drained by the emotional toll of the past two weeks, she had felt something unfamiliar at the party, something unpleasant. She felt like an outsider.

  Cassandra drained the last of her champagne and it made her reel. She’d eaten nothing in the past thirty-six hours in order to fit into her sample-size Dior cocktail dress and to make matters worse, she’d accepted a fat line of cocaine from Astrid. Her friend had assured her it would make her feel better. It hadn’t.

  She grabbed on to a table to steady herself, then sat down heavily on a marble stool. Her head was whirling, her senses suddenly overloaded. The smell of the frangipani and the warm, humid atmosphere of the Orangery made her feel even more nauseous.

  ‘Cassandra? Is that you?’

  She looked up and saw Emma.

  ‘Ah, the hostess. Let me congratulate you,’ she said, her voice thick with sarcasm. ‘You never struck me as a style maven but this party is exceptional.’

  ‘Thank you, I think people are enjoying themselves. Listen, I was sorry to hear about Rive.’

  ‘No you’re not,’ said Cassandra, slurring her words slightly. ‘No one’s sorry. Everybody loves hearing about other people’s misfortune, because it makes them feel better about their own sad little lives.’

  ‘I’d say that was a little cynical.’

  ‘Well of course you would – from your gilded perch.’

  ‘Cassandra, please. There’s no need to be like that.’

  Emma sat down on a bench opposite her.

  ‘There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you since Gstaad,’ she said.

  ‘Hmm, Gstaad,’ smiled Cassandra, more than a flicker of malice showing as she remembered Emma’s accident. ‘Well, you seem to have recovered.’

  ‘More or less,’ said Emma.

  Cassandra twirled a hand indicating that she wanted Emma to get to the point.

  ‘So what is this thing you want to tell me?’

  ‘My dad was not having an affair with your mum,’ said Emma.

  Cassandra laughed.

  ‘Emma, I saw them together. Don’t you believe me?’

  ‘Yes I do. But it wasn’t an affair, it was a fling.’

  ‘Oh grow up! What’s the difference?’

  ‘The difference is that you’ve spent half your life hating me because you blame my father and, by extension, me, for the breakup of your own family. But your parents’ marriage was already over.’

  ‘It was not!’ she said through bared teeth. ‘Without your father, my family would still be together.’

  ‘Cassandra, my mother told me everything; your father already had a mistress, the woman he eventually married and moved to Cape Town with. Ask Julia if you don’t believe me.’

  Cassandra looked at Emm
a venomously. Even if what Emma was saying was true, how was it supposed to make her feel better? Emma’s words were just designed to alleviate her own guilt and make Cassandra feel bad.

  ‘I know none of that makes up for the fact that he abandoned you,’ said Emma as if she had read Cassandra’s mind. ‘But I don’t want you to hate your family on a misplaced belief. Don’t fight me, Cassandra. Channel your energy and brilliance in a different direction.’

  To her utter surprise, Emma realized that a teardrop was slipping down Cassandra’s cheek.

  ‘Do you think this is all about you?’ said Cassandra fiercely.

  ‘I think you’ve got something to prove,’ said Emma softly.

  ‘I’ve spent the last twenty years trying to prove something,’ said Cassandra. ‘To my mother, to make her proud. To my father, to make him hurt. To Ruby, to myself, to the whole world.’ She looked at Emma, her grey-green eyes blazing with truth and sorrow and anger. ‘Where do you think ambition comes from, Emma? It comes from the fear of being nothing.’

  Emma suddenly understood. She understood the pain that had been driving Cassandra and eating her up. And for what? Here she sat, friendless, alone, her eyes rimmed red, her face pale.

  ‘Where are you staying tonight?’ asked Emma softly.

  ‘At Astrid Brinton’s.’

  ‘Do you want me to go and get her?’

  ‘And let her see me like this?’ Cassandra laughed sarcastically.

  ‘She’s your friend.’

  Cassandra gave a small laugh.

  ‘You don’t understand, I can’t let anyone see me like this or I’m finished. Even more finished. Fashion is cruel, Emma. They love to see someone on their knees – and they’ll stamp on your hands while you’re down.’

  Despite her misgivings, Emma felt a wave of compassion for Cassandra, sitting crumpled, tiny and doll-like in her beautiful cream gown.

  ‘You should go. There’s a way out over here,’ said Emma, pointing to a door at the back of the Orangery. ‘My house is in the grounds straight along the path outside the door. I’ll ask a driver to take you there. Wait at my house until everyone is gone and you can stay until tomorrow if you want. There’s a spare room and clean towels … come on, Cassandra, you’re in no fit state to join the party again.’

  With every ounce of energy in her body Cassandra wanted to refuse her offer. She was too proud to accept anything from Emma, even a bed for the night, but at the same time she did not want to stay at the party for another second. And the thought of Astrid having this social ammunition against her was just too much to bear.

  ‘Very well,’ she said in a voice so inaudible it was lost in the swell of music in the background.

  ‘Wait here,’ said Emma firmly. ‘I’ll get my keys. Everything’s going to be fine.’

  By 12.45 a.m. the party crowd was thinning. Mink shrugs, opera capes, cashmere overcoats were being pulled out of the cloakroom and guests were either retiring to the rooms in Winterfold, to their accommodation in the village or to their cars to drive back to London. A spectacular fireworks display closed the evening; sprays of red, white and amber shot into the black sky while Winterfold’s grand entrance hall buzzed with the contented conversation of scores of people who’d all had a fantastic time. Emma was fondling her wine glass and saying a personal goodbye to as many people as she was able when she saw Ruan approach.

  ‘Pleased with how it went?’ he asked.

  Emma nodded, pulling on her own cashmere shawl she had got from the cloakroom.

  ‘Better than I could have hoped. I haven’t seen you all night, though. Where have you been?’

  ‘Having my photograph taken for Tatler,’ he grinned. ‘Me, in a society rag! Who’d have thought it?’

  ‘I think it suits you,’ she smiled.

  ‘Are you going home, already?’ he said, noticing that she looked ready to leave.

  ‘I might hang around for a little while.’

  ‘Until the morning,’ he smiled.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Rob Holland … Don’t worry, I’ll get all the gossip from him.’

  ‘Stop it!’ she slapped him on the arm, before moving on. Her good mood was dampened, however, when she turned to see Roger, Rebecca and Julia standing in a line, sending off their guests like royal dignitaries. She had tried to avoid them all evening. In fact, she had tried to avoid them since Gstaad. When they were being nice to her, it made her paranoid and when Roger gave her one of his long disapproving looks, all she could see was a conspiracy to get rid of her, to push her off the road. She had tried hard to shake off the feeling; after all, what proof did she have? As Rob had explained to her countless times, the Mercedes that had rammed her had been stolen, so the most logical explanation was that it had been drunken joyriders. But in spite of the logic of Rob’s argument, she still refused to trust any of her family, particularly Roger and Rebecca.

  ‘It’s been fabulous, Emma,’ said Rebecca, embracing her in a cloud of perfume.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Emma.

  ‘We’ll get one of those courtesy cars,’ said Roger, looking pleased with himself. ‘Would you like us to drop you off?’

  ‘I’m just saying my goodbyes. There are a lot of cars outside so I’ll get one in a few minutes.’

  Virginia pulled Emma off into the boot room.

  ‘I haven’t seen Cassandra in ages,’ said Virginia. ‘Julia seems to think she went home with Astrid Brinton but she’s on the dancefloor. Cassandra is normally the last person I’d worry about but she has been awfully edgy tonight.’

  ‘She’s staying at my house tonight. She’s had a little too much to drink. I’m sure she’ll pop by to Julia’s tomorrow,’ said Emma, not entirely sure why she was making up an excuse for her cousin, but feeling the urge to protect her all the same.

  Virginia smiled. For once it was a smile that reached her eyes.

  ‘Well, I’m off home now too.’ She touched her daughter gently on the arm.

  ‘I’m glad we’ve got things sorted. I’m proud of you.’

  ‘I love you, Mum,’ replied Emma softly reaching over and giving her a warm embrace.

  Emma walked through to the cosy library where Rob was sitting on a velvet sofa holding a glass of brandy and laughing with Jed and Gary from Kowalski. They all looked up when they saw her.

  ‘Well, I’m off,’ she smiled awkwardly pulling her shawl tightly around her shoulders. ‘I hope you guys enjoyed yourselves.’

  ‘Cheers, Em. Top party,’ said Gary with a boozy grin, raising his glass to her.

  Emma smiled, thinking of how, only weeks ago, she had been terrified of this group of hell-raising, drugged-up reprobates, but beneath their hardcore public face they were just pussycats and, in fact, really nice people. Then Emma caught Jed nudging Gary and pointing a thumb towards Rob.

  ‘Ah, yes, I think we’d better be going along to the snooker room now,’ said Gary, standing up.

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ smiled Jed, as they both gave Emma a big bear hug and left the room, shutting the door behind them.

  ‘Where was it you said you were going?’ asked Rob softly.

  ‘Back to the Stables. Well, that’s unless there were any better offers on the table?’ she added boldly. ‘I hope so, because Cassandra’s crashing at my place.’

  ‘I think I might be able to think of something.’ He smiled, standing up. He kissed her neck, pushed her shawl down her arms and skimmed his mouth across the skin of her shoulders. As she groaned in pleasure he took her hand and led her to the door. Emma had been careful to keep public displays of affection with Rob to a minimum. He was high-profile and handsome; she wanted the Milford party to be talked about the next day for all the right reasons, not for who was seeing whom. As she ascended Winterfold’s grand staircase, Rob placed his hand protectively in the small of her back. She turned around and saw Ruan standing at the door of the ballroom. He smiled and gave her a small thumbs-up sign; Emma laughed, knowing he was right.
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  Rob slept in Emma’s old room, the master bedroom with the big bay window which overlooked the whole of the estate. Stepping inside, they did not turn on the light and the view from the window was of just a carpet of shadows broken by pools of moonlight. For the past few weeks she had been convinced that she should sell Winterfold, but for the first time ever it suddenly felt like home. She felt Rob behind her; he unzipped her dress which slithered to the floor with a ripple and his hard body pressed against her naked back.

  ‘Happy Birthday, Emma,’ he said, placing a soft kiss on the back of her neck.

  Facing away from him she grinned, then turned and took hold of his belt.

  ‘I think it’s time I opened my present, don’t you?’

  60

  Outside the garage at the rear of the house, Tom took a long swig of beer and decided it was time to sort his life out. Since Christmas, since his trip to Cornwall with Stella, he’d tried hard to keep clean. OK, so there’d been a couple of lines of coke at a New Year’s party and the odd joint here and there, but he was doing well and it was definitely giving him a clearer head. Much harder, however, was deciding what to do with his life. The Ibiza episode had put him completely off club-land; if his mother hadn’t paid off the debt he owed to Miguel Cruz he might very well be dead. But music was still his passion just as fashion was his sister’s great love. Tom loved trawling bars listening to unsigned bands; in fact he still had the Red Comets’ CD in his coat pocket. He had to get it to Ste Donahue or Rob Holland to see if they thought the young upstart band were as good as he believed they were. He put his empty glass down on the gravel and took a deep breath of the night air. Just then he suddenly caugh the trace of a familiar smell: the sweet aroma of crack cocaine. Tom looked around and saw a dark figure lift out of the shadows.

  ‘All right, mate. Want a bang on this?’ said Ste Donahue, holding up a glass pipe.

  Tom winced and shook his head. He’d heard that Ste was clean after a long stint in rehab, but the rumour was clearly out of date.

  ‘Where’s Clover?’

  ‘Fuck knows. She’s in a crappy mood. I’ve left her to it.’