Emma sat trembling on a sofa in the Milford boardroom.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Sheldon sitting down next to her and putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
‘So now do you believe me?’ she said quietly, unable to look him in the eye.
Sheldon simply nodded.
‘You know on the night of the party there was a second call put in to the fire services telling them that the Stables was on fire? We’d traced the number back to Winterfold.’
‘You thought I’d made the call?’
‘I didn’t know what to think. Now I believe it was Ruan. He was still at the party.’
‘He didn’t want to kill Cassandra, did he?’
Sheldon smiled. ‘Emma, tonight I think you deserve to have the day off from thinking about it all.’
‘Does that mean I can go home?’
Sheldon looked over the room where Cassandra was standing at the bar pouring vodka and tonic into a crystal tumbler. ‘I think you all need to go home. We can finish off statements over there.’
Rob had found Emma’s coat and draped it over her shoulders.
‘Come on, let’s go.’
‘What about Cassandra?’
‘Go and ask her.’
Emma approached the bar. Cassandra’s tumbler was empty.
‘Do you want to come back with us to Winterfold?’
‘You know what happened last time you invited me to stay at your house.’
The two woman looked at each other for a moment; every feeling of anger, distrust and resentment they’d ever felt for each other was put to one side and they slowly smiled.
‘Come on,’ they both said in unison. ‘Let’s go.’
It was proving impossible to find Giles’s home. It’s a windmill, for heaven’s sake! she thought, annoyed. How hard can it be to find a building with enormous blades? For an early April morning, the North Norfolk coastal road was clear and bright, enough so that she could pull down the convertible roof of the car. And despite the cold on her cheeks – good for the complexion, darling – for the first time in a long time, Cassandra was feeling pretty good. Ever since their rooftop drama at Milford a month earlier, the job offers had been coming in thick and fast: launch editor of a new luxury news paper supplement in New York; editorial director of one of the biggest publishing companies in the UK. But the most intriguing offers had come from outside the magazine industry: consultancy posts and styling jobs for the biggest-name fashion houses. These were jobs that meant she could indulge her passion for clothes at the actual source; they were jobs which meant she would be flexible and could therefore spend more time with Ruby. Her daughter was sitting in the passenger seat, enjoying the drive. She was about to start a new day school in Kensington and had moved into Cassandra’s apartment permanently. They had both agreed it was best if Ruby left Briarton; she’d got caught up with the wrong crowd and had paid the price. In life, Cassandra had told her daughter, there were some friends you had to cherish and hang onto and there were others who pulled you down; friends you needed to keep away from.
‘There,’ screamed Ruby, pointing to a large cylindrical house.
‘That’s not a windmill,’ said Cassandra, annoyed.
‘I bet you it is, I bet you,’ insisted Ruby. ‘It just hasn’t got any blades.’
‘Well, what if you want to make flour or something?’ asked Cassandra.
Giles Banks opened the door to the windmill. Cassandra had first called him earlier in the week and it had been one of the most difficult calls she had ever had to make. It was a phone call of apology and regret. At first Giles had been offhand; gradually he had thawed but it wasn’t until that precise moment that Cassandra knew she had been forgiven.
For a few moments they just stood there and looked at each other, then Cassandra spread her arms and they embraced, a warm, genuine embrace that felt good to both of them.
‘Darling,’ said Cassandra with a touch of reproach in her voice. ‘You said it was a windmill.’
‘It is,’ said Giles.
‘So where are the blades?’
‘Not since about 1897.’
‘Typical,’ said Cassandra with a wink. ‘All style over substance.’
It was a beautiful home. The curved walls were painted ivory with big windows that let in lots of light. Giles introduced Cassandra and Ruby to Stephen, the man Cassandra recognized from the night she’d fired Giles. She didn’t say anything – there was nothing she could say. On an austere-looking desk by the window, there was a photograph of Giles and Cassandra taken outside a couture show the previous year and Cassandra looked up at Giles, a lump growing in her throat.
‘Hey, Ruby,’ said Stephen quickly, ‘would you like to help me mix a fruit punch? Come on over into the kitchen, we’ve just had it redone.’
Giles led Cassandra out through a door onto a decking area that had a splendid view over the fields to the sand dunes and the sea beyond.
‘I’m sorry about everything that’s happened in the last three months,’ said Giles kindly.
‘Thank you,’ said Cassandra. ‘But actually in a funny way I’m glad of it all. It was horrible at the time but I’ve learned an awful lot: about myself, about what I want and what I need. And you know what I needed the most?’
He shook his head.
‘A friend,’ said Cassandra softly.
He put his arm around her shoulder and she rested her head on his. One day soon she wanted to be held by a man she was in love with and who was in love with her. Right now, she’d settle for the embrace of a man whom she loved.
Giles looked inside the house at Ruby and Stephen throwing oranges and raspberries in a blender.
‘I’m glad Ruby’s come,’ he said.
‘Oh, why didn’t someone tell me what I’ve been missing out on?’
‘What’s that?’
Cassandra waved a hand towards Ruby and Stephen, the windmill, the view.
‘All of this. Fun. Love. Contentment,’ she smiled and looked at her daughter lovingly. ‘We’re going to Paris for Easter.’
‘Are you staying at Guillaume’s chateau?’
‘No. Disneyland Paris,’ she laughed.
‘Disneyland Paris?’ said Giles, a horrified hand flying to his mouth.
‘Then two nights at Le Meurice,’ she laughed in her familiar glamorous tinkle. ‘It’s so handy for the Louvre. You know in all the times I’ve been to Paris, I’ve never seen the Mona Lisa.’
‘There’s a first time for everything,’ said Giles. ‘I hear she’s very chic.’
They both fell silent, content in one another’s company again.
‘You know it was Francesca who told Glenda about the Georgia Kennedy shoot,’ said Cassandra after a pause.
He nodded. ‘I figured that out when Francesca got the editor’s job.’
‘I’m sorry for doubting you.’
‘Well, you did me a favour.’
‘Really?’ said Cassandra, surprised. She knew he was finally writing his Dior biography, but she felt sure he missed life at Rive.
‘That old life? It was tyrannical,’ said Giles. ‘Do you know how long it used to take me to get dressed in the morning?’
‘You always looked fabulous,’ she laughed, but she knew what he meant.
She couldn’t have a favourite handbag because it had to be replaced every season. Even the most beautiful, exquisite dresses could only be worn once. After that they had to be archived until it was safe for them to be called vintage. Everything had to be the best, the latest, the hottest. It was no wonder she could barely sustain a relationship with a man; in her disposable and judgemental world, she wasn’t even allowed to form a bond, a relationship, with a handbag.
‘How’s everything in Chilcot?’ asked Giles. He had been taking a keen interest in the story that had been running in the papers for weeks. Rebecca Milford and Ruan McCormack were currently on remand for arson and attempted murder. Julia was still being investigated by the Swiss police;
formal charges were expected any day.
‘Emma has offered me a non-executive directorship of Milford,’ she said, looking out to the strip of silver sea in the distance.
‘So you’ve finally made your peace?’
She smiled. ‘It turns out for both of us that we weren’t really the enemy.’
In the last month, since the night of the drama at the Milford offices, she and Emma had met up several times. They might never be the best of friends – the situation with Julia, the car accident and the painting wouldn’t allow it – but they had begun to recognize in each other a mutual respect and understanding that might one day become a bond.
‘Are you going to take it? The directorship, I mean?’
She shrugged. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think you should,’ said Giles honestly.
‘Why?’
‘I think you and Emma are different sides of the same coin. And, darling, just think what fun you could have with all those bags.’
Stephen brought them out glasses of his punch and they walked down the steps at the side of the deck into a wide country garden. To their left by an old stone wall was a bed of freshly-turned soil.
‘What are you doing there?’ she asked.
‘I’m just finishing some planting.’
‘Can I help?’
Giles handed her a trowel. ‘I don’t think lunch is for another half an hour.’
Cassandra sank down into the flower-bed; clawing her fingers into the dirt she enjoyed the feeling of the soil as it ran through her fingers, clogging up under her nails. She felt dampness seep through the knees of her Celine trousers. It felt good.
‘Are you staying over tonight?’
‘We’d love to,’ she said, feeling the emerging sun warm her face.
‘Mind if I knock off early?’ asked Stella, popping her head around Emma’s office door. It was five-thirty and it was still light; a peach sun was beginning to descend down a hazy blue sky.
‘Of course not,’ replied Emma, smiling. ‘And you’re not in tomorrow, are you?’
‘No. It’s the big day. I’m helping Tom move in, remember.’
‘How could I forget?’ grinned Emma.
‘Yeah, well, it’s not such a big deal, because he’s hardly going to be there, is he? As a scout for Hollander Music he’s going to be travelling all around the country. Did you know that the Red Comets, that band he discovered, have been signed to Rob’s label?’
‘Of course I do,’ said Emma, ‘I’ve already been to see them play.’
‘You’ve been to a gig?’
‘I’m looking on it as personal growth,’ said Emma, with a straight face.
‘Well, send my love to Rob.’
‘Actually he can’t come over this weekend after all,’ she said, trying to hide her disappointment. ‘He’s had to fly to LA for a round of meetings with the studio.’
‘Well, why don’t you come round to mine for dinner?’
‘And disturb the newly cohabiting lovebirds? No way.’ ‘Don’t be silly, my dad is going to be there too. Tom and Christopher get on like a house on fire …’ Stella blushed. ‘Oops, I mean they get on brilliantly. Think about it anyway, yeah?’
Emma spun her chair around so she faced the window, watching Stella run happily across the car park to her car and drive off in the direction of Chilcot.
Turning back towards the office, it felt empty and hollow. Emma had to admit it: she felt terribly lonely here. Rob had finally moved out of Winterfold two weeks ago and was now living in New York full time. At first, it hadn’t been so bad. He still kept a wardrobe full of clothes in the master bedroom and his photographs were still dotted around the house. Every day she would find something of his that made her smile: a running shoe behind the curtain, cufflinks in a drawer, a sock that had lost its other half. They spoke to each other every night on the phone of course and the arrangement was that one of them would make a transatlantic trip every month, which meant they would see each other every fortnight. Yet here they were; this was the first weekend he was due to visit and they had tripped up at the first hurdle.
She grimaced; shouldn’t this be the time when she could finally enjoy her success? Milford’s sales were certainly soaring, exceeding even her most optimistic hopes and the business page analysts were hailing it as the greatest corporate fashion recovery since Fendi rejuvenated their fortunes with the baguette bag. Milford was the new watchword for super-luxury and the six-month waiting list for their bags only further enhanced the brand’s appeal. And to cap it all, that morning, Cassandra had called to confirm that she was going to take up the non-executive directorship. Emma wasn’t sure how it was going to work out; Cassandra wasn’t the easiest person to deal with, but what Emma did know was that her cousin’s flair and talent would be good for Milford. The challenge the company faced was to make sure it wasn’t just enjoying a brief moment in the sun. They needed to roll out a lasting brand that straddled both classic style and fashion. That was Cassandra Grand in a nutshell and that was why Emma knew she had made the right decision by inviting her on board.
So with everything going so well, why did she feel so desolate? It was crushingly obvious. All her fears about her relationship with Rob were coming true: he wasn’t there when she needed him, he wasn’t there to hold her at night and he wasn’t there to make her heart flutter with a shared look or a smile. What was the point of all these achievements and successes if you had to experience them on your own? She wanted Rob to be there to discuss the day’s little triumphs and disappointments, she wanted work to be part of her life, not to define it so absolutely that it excluded everything else. Emma spun round in her chair again. Come on, Emma, she told herself, you didn’t go through all this to give up now.
Twelve months. That’s all they had to get through. Twelve months of long-distance love. Already she had identified a retail space on Madison Avenue that would be ideal for a new US Milford store. Then perhaps, maybe – definitely – she would base herself for part of the month in New York. And just then, Emma had a sudden, clear thought of what she wanted to do. She picked up her phone and called Spencer Fairfield, a senior fashion industry executive with over twenty years’ experience at YSL, Gucci and Bottega Veneta and whom she had just appointed as her number two to fill the hole left by Ruan.
‘Spencer, something’s come up,’ she said. ‘I won’t be in the office Monday to Wednesday. Will you be all right?’
After he confirmed that he was quite capable of holding the fort in her absence, she flipped through her Rolodex and dialled a number. Janine Colman was a travel agent Milford kept on a retainer to sort out flights, hotels, cars for the Fashion Week shows and other trips to source leather or fabric.
‘Hi, Janine,’ she said. ‘It’s Emma Bailey. Can you get me on a flight to LAX tomorrow morning?’
‘I’m sure I can, but it will cost you.’
‘I don’t care. Please, just try and make it happen.’
Emma put down the phone, feeling light-headed but free, and moved towards the door, grabbing her coat. Suddenly, she heard footsteps coming down the corridor and she froze, momentarily flooded by memories of a woman in a long coat holding a gun.
‘Hey, stranger,’ said a deep voice.
‘Rob!’ cried Emma, running up and wrapping herself around him. Rob dropped his bag on the floor with a thump and cupped her face in his hands, smothering her questions with kisses.
‘Rob, what the hell are you doing here?’ she asked breathlessly when he finally released her.
‘I could say the same about you. It’s gone 8 p.m. and I’m cooking you dinner.’
She looked at him bemused. ‘But shouldn’t you be in LA tomorrow morning?’
‘Someone else is dealing with it. William Conran, the new CEO.’
‘But you’re the new CEO.’
‘No, I was going to be the CEO. I’ve decided to stay at Hollander Music UK,’ he smiled, taking her hands in his.
‘Why?’
‘For us. For you.’
She felt panic and guilt clutch at her heart.
‘Rob, don’t throw away your career for me!’
‘I’m not throwing anything away,’ he said, his eyes honest and bright. ‘Look at me.’ He was in a conservative dark blue suit, his new corporate image a world away from the laid-back jeans and T-shirted Rob Holland she had fallen for.
‘Looks pretty good to me,’ she laughed, threading her arms around his neck.
‘I’m 38 years old,’ said Rob steadily. ‘Do I want to be CEO of Hollander Media? Absolutely, one day. But the truth is I’m not ready for the boardroom and the golf course – I’m still crazy for the music. William Conran is more than capable of running the company; in fact he’s been Dad’s right-hand man for twenty years. I’d trust him with every cent I own. He’s 62 this year and when he steps down, well then maybe, hopefully, I’ll be in the position to take the job. If, that is, I’m done with the music and if you’re ready to head up Milford in the States.’
Beaming at his wisdom, generosity and – whatever he said – his willingness to make a sacrifice for their relationship, she felt a surge of love that overpowered her with its intensity and fat tears of happiness began to roll down her cheeks.
‘Hey, you do know there’s more to life than just work?’ he said stroking her hot cheek with his finger.
She nodded. ‘I know. I’ve just booked a flight to LA to be with you.’
He held her close, breathing the same air.
‘I love you, Emma Bailey. I love you more than all the love songs there ever were.’
‘She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah,’ she whispered.
‘You’re definitely learning,’ he said giving her a cheeky grin. ‘But I think we’ve got a long way to go.’
She took his hand, grabbed her coat and they walked up the lane towards the glowing lights of Winterfold. Towards home.
Guilty Pleasures Page 59
