Guilty Pleasures

by Tasmina Perry

  A cloud floated over the sun and the light dimmed in the conservatory.

  ‘I also know why you did it,’ said Emma, and although her nerve was beginning to fail her, she was desperate not to lose her momentum now.

  ‘You wanted me dead so that you could take possession of the Ben Palmer painting. With me out of the way, nobody knew you had the painting. You needed the money because you paid off Tom’s Ibiza debts.’

  ‘I had the money to pay off Tom’s debts,’ she said more coolly. ‘Not that it is anything to do with you.’

  ‘Yes, money you’d put aside for the Cork Street gallery you so dearly wanted. Money you felt you deserved back.’

  Julia stood up.

  ‘Oh, this is just nonsense, Emma!’ she said, beginning to tidy away the breakfast things. ‘I wasn’t even going to sell that painting, it’s by some unknown provincial artist and basically worthless.’

  ‘Not when it has an important work by Francis Bacon on the back of it.’

  Julia stopped in her tracks, her face draining of colour.

  ‘Samples of your DNA are on their way to a police lab in Switzerland. I think we both know they are going to match forensic samples taken from Suzanne Marcel’s Mercedes.’

  Of course Julia had no way of knowing Emma was bluffing with that last sentence. The rest of Emma’s information was almost certainly correct, so Julia would have no reason to doubt her. But it was a gamble: Emma’s only hope of finding out the truth was to force a confession from Julia.

  ‘I hate to disappoint you with your conspiracy theories, Emma, but I might have borrowed Suzanne’s car to run some errands,’ said Julia.

  The words were delivered confidently, but Emma instantly knew from the look on her face that Julia was lying.

  ‘Julia, red paint on Suzanne’s Mercedes matches the red paint on my hire car that you ran off the road.’

  Julia sank into the white wicker sofa behind her.

  For a few moments she didn’t speak and then her upper body seemed to collapse onto her lap.

  ‘It was for my son,’ she said quietly, her voice trembling. ‘Those gangsters were going to kill my son. I needed to get the money. I’ll do anything to save my children.’

  ‘You did it for yourself, Julia. The money you used for Tom’s debts was for the gallery. You wanted to pay for both.’

  Emma paused. ‘The reason I was at Heathrow this morning was to pick up Inspector Beck.’ She walked back through the living room and opened the front door to reveal a smartly dressed 40-year-old man. She had called the detective as soon as Stella had told her about the painting and had begged him to fly out to England. She had even paid for his airline ticket herself. She looked at Inspector Beck before pulling open her coat to reveal that she had been wired up. Julia started sobbing at the knowledge that her confession had been caught on tape and in spite of everything, Emma felt a pang of sorrow and regret.

  ‘I’ll take it from here,’ said Inspector Beck, looking at Emma.

  ‘I understand you have been involved in an investigation by the Oxford Police about a fire at your home,’ he continued in perfect English. ‘We should let the investigating officers over there know about Ms Grand.’

  Julia looked at him in horror.

  ‘Do you think I set fire to Emma’s home?’ she said in a high-pitched shrill voice. ‘My daughter was in that house. I would never, never, never do a thing to hurt my children.’

  ‘But you didn’t know she was in there,’ said Emma slowly.

  Emma desperately wanted to believe that Julia had also torched the Stables but a nagging voice at the back of her mind told her that not everything was quite sorted, yet.

  68

  Cassandra and Tom were walking through Hyde Park, not talking, just trying to enjoy the view and the milky sunshine. The buds on the trees were beginning to burst and the breeze had lost its chill and smelt sweet and fresh. Spring was coming, for all of them. Cassandra had been unsettled when Tom had phoned to suggest they meet. The two of them had barely spoken in a year; even in Gstaad they had kept their distance, and while the whole childish spat seemed slightly ridiculous after everything that had recently happened, Cassandra was still angry that if Tom hadn’t been so stupid and irresponsible then he wouldn’t have got into the debt that had incurred such tragic consequences.

  Cassandra puffed her cheeks out in the breeze. Since Ruby’s disappearance, she had spent days examining her life and planning how to make amends, hoping and praying that the nuclear dust of her own personal explosion had all finally settled and she could at last get on with life. Her mother’s ordeal – she had willingly returned to Switzerland to face her charges – weighed heavily on her, but Cassandra was determined to help her by instructing the best Swiss legal team she could, even though she was concerned about the cost.

  Cassandra was still hobbling a little and as they crossed the little bridge overlooking the Serpentine, Tom took the arm of her grey Dior coat to steady her. In a past life, she would have glared at him, perhaps summoned a driver in a golf cart. Today, she simply let him.

  ‘I’m sorry, Cass. I’m sorry for everything. My bar in Ibiza was successful. I just got a bit stitched up. Mum said she had the money.’

  ‘Let’s hope you’ve learnt a lesson. A painful one.’

  ‘So do you think Emma will testify?’ asked Tom as they sat on a bench and gazed out over the silvery water.

  ‘I expect so,’ Cassandra said bitterly. She had such conflicting emotions about her cousin that she felt nauseous just thinking about her. In her more reflective moments after the fire, Cassandra had felt herself soften towards Emma. She could now see she had got some things slightly askew: for years she had blamed Emma’s father for splitting up their family. It wasn’t true, and yet she had hated her cousin passionately on the shakiest of evidence because she had wanted to blame someone for her father leaving them.

  But now there was a real reason to blame Emma for ruining her life. In the past weeks, Cassandra had come to terms with many things and one of them was that she loved her mother unconditionally. If Emma testified against Julia, she would rob Cassandra of a parent who loved her dearly, and whom she loved back, just at a time when she needed her mother most. On the other hand Julia had tried to kill Emma. However ruthless Cassandra knew she could be, she could never sanction or condone anything like that.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ asked Tom.

  For the first time in her life Cassandra couldn’t see the clearest path through.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said softly.

  ‘Whatever it is, let’s do it together,’ said Tom, nudging her gently.

  For a moment she let herself enjoy the feeling of her brother standing next to her; it felt reassuring. She did not feel alone.

  She looked at him intently.

  ‘Whatever you do next, you have to promise me that it involves getting a job,’ said Cassandra resolutely.

  ‘I don’t need to sponge off you any more,’ replied Tom sheepishly. ‘Rob is going to sort me out with an A&R role at Hollander Music’

  ‘So now you’re sponging off Rob?’ she said, a ghost of a smile on her wide red lips.

  ‘Watch it, cheeky. No, I’ll be working for a living this time. Rob says I’m going to make him a lot of money. He’s about to sign the Red Comets, that band I discovered in a dingy Camden dive.’

  They both felt the mood lighten slightly.

  ‘Well, how about lunch to celebrate you saving my life and finding a career?’ replied Cassandra.

  Tom looked at his sister. So strong, so determined. She was smart, beautiful and she could even be funny when she wanted to be. They were all good qualities that somehow had got lost in the rush for success and power.

  ‘Listen, big sister. Seeing as I’m the one with the job how about I treat you to Starbucks?’

  ‘Starbucks?’ said Cassandra in mock horror. ‘Don’t you know who I am?’

  They both looked at each other and laughed.
Tom threw his arm around her shoulders and they headed off in the direction of the nearest latte.

  Emma had been slowly falling apart. She was still losing weight, her skin had become blotchy and pale but she refused to slow down, no matter how often Rob asked her to. The gorgeous, generous woman he’d fallen in love with was becoming more withdrawn every day, despite the fact that the threat of attack had been lifted with Julia’s arrest. In desperation, Rob had taken Emma to Lyme Regis where they’d checked into a boutique hotel by the cliffs. It was out of season and they had taken a coastal walk, through a beautiful wood where the trees would occasionally part to give glimpses of the sea shimmering in the distance, like a long, platinum ribbon.

  In the last forty-eight hours things had moved quickly. Julia was being investigated by both the Swiss and UK police who were re-interviewing her in connection with the Stables fire. Walking along the coast with the wind in her hair, one hand stuffed affectionately in Rob’s coat pocket, Emma was determined that she was going to try and put everything behind her and move on with her life.

  Rob’s company was definitely helping. It had been the first time in days that they had talked properly about things other than solving the crime. They talked about Rob’s news plans for Hollander Music, about Ste Donahue and how well he was doing in his latest stint in rehab. They talked about Clover Connor who had maintained a dignified silence over the Blake Brinton affair but who had said that she and Ste were planning a commitment ceremony in Thailand as soon as he had finished his treatment. Tired from their climb, they sat down on a fallen tree in a sunny clearing.

  ‘I wanted to take you to our house in Sag Harbor this weekend,’ said Rob, ‘but I thought we should wait until this has all blown over. It really is going to be all over soon, honey.’

  His voice had a calm confidence that reassured Emma, but unconsciously Rob had put his finger on the root of Emma’s anxiety: it wasn’t over yet.

  ‘It just seems like it will never be over,’ she said sadly. ‘I think everyone forgets that Julia is my aunt. What I’m doing is tearing my family apart.’

  ‘Em, she tried to run you off the road!’ said Rob. ‘It’s not what you’re doing that’s tearing your family apart; it’s what she’s done. Never forget that.’

  She picked up a leaf and started picking at it.

  ‘Who burnt down the Stables, Rob?’

  ‘Bloody Julia,’ said Rob flatly.

  ‘You know I almost believed her when she said she didn’t do it.’

  ‘Emma! Listen to yourself. She wanted you dead.’

  ‘Maybe we’ll never know,’ she said, with a shot of fear.

  ‘I’m going back into the office on Monday,’ she said, almost to herself. ‘I’ve taken enough time off already.’

  ‘Emma, you have to chill out.’

  She shook her head defiantly.

  ‘I have to. There’s so much to do, so much damage to repair.’

  Rob looked at her and sighed.

  ‘So are you going to buy Roger’s shareholding?’

  Emma shrugged.

  ‘After what’s happened I don’t know if the banks will be on-side enough. Although it might not be a bad idea to get someone like Victor Chen on board in some minority shareholding capacity. I think we need all the credibility we can get.’

  ‘I could always lend you the money.’

  ‘Rob. We’re talking millions of pounds.’

  ‘You know I have it.’

  ‘Maybe,’ she said, with a grateful look, squeezing his hand. But this was another problem Emma was struggling to come to terms with, one that made her feel as if she was on the edge of a cliff looking down. Rob had to leave for New York permanently in a matter of weeks. She had found someone she loved and cared for and now he was going to leave her. Inevitably Emma had analysed the situation to death and she knew that the chances of their relationship surviving were slim. So no, she could not take money off him and be bound to him when she could see that there was an inevitable finality about their affair.

  ‘I’m going to miss you so much,’ she said looking up at him, her eyes moist.

  ‘Come,’ he said bluntly. ‘Come and live in New York – what’s the worst that can happen? Let Ruan run things over in England, you expand the US business. I have a great house in the Village. It’s not quite the Oxfordshire countryside but I think you’ll like it.’

  She looked at him, her heart desperately wanting to say yes but knowing it was an impractical and reckless suggestion; she had people relying on her.

  ‘Rob, come on,’ she sighed. ‘We’ve barely got the business started over here. I need to be here.’

  Rob nodded.

  ‘Will you at least think about it? Maybe you could come to New York to mull things over.’

  ‘When it’s all over,’ she whispered. ‘When it’s all over.’

  69

  Astrid Brinton had a reputation for throwing fabulous parties, a reputation which crossed international borders and time zones. Whether it was a clambake at their Hamptons beach house, a cocktail party in their Cap Ferrat mansion or a post-Grammies shindig at their LA home, Astrid had a talent for entertaining that bordered on art. It was convenient that Blake had an enormous back catalogue of work that still sold in their thousands, and the recent reunion tour of his band Human Nature had sold out in stadiums around the world, raking in millions. For the Brintons’ latest dinner party, held at their Henley-on-Thames Gothic mansion, no expense was spared, although the twenty-four exclusively selected guests sitting around their oval ebony dining table would all have turned up even if Astrid had announced that she was serving Pringles. After the delicious scandal involving Blake, Clover Connor and the bonnet of a Ferrari, sheer curiosity meant every one of the assembled guests had dropped whatever they were doing to attend. Even so, the meal was exquisite: Iranian caviar, Wagyu beef air-freighted straight from Japan and poached pears accompanied by tiny clouds of mascarpone sorbet. Each course was served with a perfectly matched wine costing at least a thousand pounds a bottle. After the finest Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee was brought in, Astrid jumped to her feet and tapped a Christofle teaspoon against a wine glass for attention.

  ‘I know you’ve all been wondering why we’ve invited you here tonight,’ said Astrid, radiant in ivory Chanel couture. ‘Well, Blake and I wanted to share some very special news with our closest friends.’ She paused dramatically.

  ‘Blake and I are going to renew our wedding vows,’ she announced gleefully, bouncing excitedly as a ripple of applause went round the table like a Mexican wave and the waiters appeared bearing vintage Dom Perignon.

  ‘I got off the phone this morning from Frégate Island in the Seychelles and you’re all invited. Watch this space, darlings!’

  Johnny was the first to move around to congratulate his parents. He had flown in from LA that afternoon where he was playing the second lead in a Tom Cruise movie. His latest girlfriend – a pretty bible-belt blonde hung on his arm and simpered in all the right places.

  ‘Who’d have thought it?’ whispered Molly Sinclair, seated to Cassandra’s left. Molly was an old friend of Astrid’s from her modelling days. ‘I thought Astrid would have been straight to the divorce lawyers after the Clover Connor episode.’

  ‘And give up all this?’ smiled Cassandra, touching the top of her champagne glass for the waiter to fill. ‘Would you?’

  ‘You’re so right, darling,’ purred Molly. ‘Infidelity goes with the turf. I bet half the people in this room have fucked one another.’

  Speak for yourself, thought Cassandra, knowing Molly’s terrible reputation as a gold-digger around the society circuit.

  ‘Speaking of which,’ continued Molly, ‘you’ll never guess who I saw a few weeks ago in a very discreet little restaurant in Chelsea.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Your uncle’s wife with a man who most definitely was not her husband. I must say they looked very cosy.’

  ‘Rebecca?’ replied Cassandra, com
pletely surprised.

  Molly put her hand over Cassandra’s. ‘Sorry, darling, I probably shouldn’t have said anything, it being family and all. But I have to say he was a complete dish; looked a bit like that actor Rufus Sewell.’

  Cassandra’s mind began to work overtime. Rebecca having an affair? Who with? What can she be playing at – is it just sex or is she thinking of an upgrade? Cassandra had spent her entire working career manipulating people and turning situations to her own advantage. It had made her look for the angle in every situation. There’s no such thing as an innocent lunch, she smiled to herself.

  ‘Time for a little digestif,’ said Astrid, leaving the room and coming back holding a beautiful porcelain dish on which stood a trembling pile of cocaine. Across the table, Johnny’s girlfriend’s eyes widened in disbelief.

  ‘Meissen,’ said Molly.

  ‘Sorry?’ said the pretty blonde.

  ‘I noticed your surprised expression, darling. The dish, it’s Meissen. Don’t you have it in America?’

  Cassandra left the table to freshen up in the bathroom. Greywood was a sumptuous palace, a labyrinth of complete luxury and she always enjoyed walking through the corridors admiring a Miro here, a Brancusi there. She was about to go back into the dining room when she saw a little boy waving at the top of the main flight of stairs.

  ‘Hello, Josh,’ she waved back at Astrid and Blake’s 5-year-old son. He was a cute little thing with a crop of floppy blond hair and stripy blue pyjamas, like a cover star from Vogue Bambini.

  ‘Cassandra, come and see my new car,’ he called, beckoning through the bannisters.

  She wavered, a little embarrassed. Weren’t kids supposed to be able to detect adults who didn’t like children? Cassandra sighed, she supposed Josh was used to her being around by now and he decided the matter by running to the bottom of the stairs and tugging at her hand. She patted him awkwardly on the head.