by Lulu Taylor
‘I’m staying in with my sister,’ she said pointedly. ‘Remember?’ She stared at him as he ate his oysters, anointing each one with a spoonful of shallot vinegar before sucking it down.
She was beginning to realise that Ethan was fine when it came to discussing business, and very happy indeed to talk about ways of spending money and matters of style. And, of course, he was more than delighted to practise his mind-blowing sexual techniques on her. But with anything else he was less than interested. He tried to pretend that he cared about Iseult and her recovery, or about Flora’s state of mind, but he was hopeless at it. He’d been more excited by the fact that Octavia had been in Max’s helicopter than by the news that she’d brought her kidnapped sister home – although, to be fair, she’d deliberately kept some of the details sketchy, knowing that Flora would want her to keep things private.
Still, Ethan was always pressing her to come out with him to parties and restaurants. Most of the time she refused. Flora needed her, and Octavia was damned if she was ever going to let her sister down again. She had moved back full-time to the Chelsea house, and it had been noticeable that Ethan never visited. Shagi had taken him under her wing and introduced him to a whole new world of Middle Eastern luxury and high living, taking him with her as she partied in Dubai, lazed in Arabian palaces, or went to amazing three-day festivals of luxury in silken tents in the Kazakhstani desert.
Since Shagi had joined the Butterfly board, Ethan’s appetite for luxury had grown even more voracious. Suddenly he needed more: a steel-blue limited-edition Maserati, a yet-to-be released cherry red Porsche, a long, lean yellow Lamborghini. He was constantly badgering Octavia to buy a plane – if not for herself then for Butterfly, to put at the disposal of its directors. He had been bitten by the art bug, too, thanks to Shagi’s taking him to a high-class gallery, and now talked constantly about how he needed to invest in some important pieces, and did Octavia think three million was too much for a Warhol original, considering it was only a little one and not all that famous either?
Since Flora had returned, traumatised and beaten, all these things seemed merely frivolous and pointless. Octavia began to look at Ethan with new eyes: he was still handsome and sexy, and she still enjoyed – very much – being taken to bed by him. But the mad infatuation she had once felt for him seemed to have run its course. Sometimes she felt as though she didn’t know him at all.
But how can we split up? Our lives are completely entangled. I owe my companies to him, he basically runs everything. I couldn’t manage alone.
There was no way Ethan could not be in her life. She needed him too much.
Later that night, after she had brushed Flora’s hair for her and made sure she was asleep, Octavia wandered about her own room restlessly. She went to the window and opened it, letting the cool night air in, and sat down in the window seat, looking at the twinkling lights that stretched across the city. Somewhere over to the west, Ethan was at Shagi’s grand mansion, drinking and partying with other millionaires, comparing the cut of a suit and the finish of a hand-made shoe and eyeing up what others were wearing on their wrists. She was glad she wasn’t with him.
A vision of Max floated unbidden into her mind. She’d hardly paid any attention to him when they’d finally arrived back at Battersea, she’d been so wrapped up in Flora. He’d sent them straight home, guessing that they needed to be together.
I’ve never really thanked him, she thought with horror. He did that for us – for me, when he didn’t even like me – and I’ve not shown him any gratitude.
She went to her dressing table and picked up her phone.
I’ll have to put that right as soon as I can.
70
The press thought it was just another ridiculous high-fashion wheeze.
Iseult Rivers-Manners has reached a new level of English eccentricity, wrote one gossip columnist. Her latest fad is to wear a thick black veil over her face wherever she goes. How will this one go down with the fashion crowd?
The veil was Iseult’s solution to living with her new face. She had surprised them all with her recovery, determined to be out of hospital and back at home as soon as possible. After a few more weeks, with the help of her trained nurse, a car and driver supplied by Roddy, and many different kinds of pill and tablet, she was able to return to her Bayswater flat. Once there, though, she hardly ventured out, preferring to watch the world go by from her windows, refusing all invitations and letting only a favoured few visitors come to her. When she did receive people, she wore the black veils that stopped anyone seeing exactly what had happened to her.
Iseult’s friends showed their loyalty. Details of the attack were kept from the press, and her sudden absence from the social scene wasn’t reported. People with influence made sure that nosy journalists on the hunt for a good story understood that any attention paid to Iseult would be most unwelcome. As a result, she was left in peace to heal.
Octavia hoped that Iseult might return to work and perhaps forget some of what she had suffered in the excitement of the Noble’s re-design, but she refused even to consider visiting the shop. Octavia was allowed to bring sketches and ideas to her, or to email designs, and Iseult would comment on them, although without much enthusiasm.
‘I need you, Iseult,’ Octavia pleaded. ‘I can’t do Noble’s without you.’
‘Sorry, my darling,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I will get my mojo back, I promise. But it’s hard right now. I’m sure you understand.’
One day, about eight weeks after the accident, Octavia went round to find Jasmine and Rosie and a few of the old crowd there. They were delighted to see her, asking her where she’d been and how come they hadn’t met her at all the major parties, the gallery openings, film premières and the usual society round.
‘I’ve been … busy,’ said Octavia, but didn’t go into detail about caring for Flora and working at Noble’s.
They were just the same, she thought, as they whooped it up, shrieking and giggling while Iseult mixed them her famous White Ladies. She hoped the girls had cheered her friend up but the effect was almost macabre as she sat on her chaise-longue, swathed in her veil, taking her cocktail glass behind it to sip at her drink. It was usually Iseult who provided the focus of colour and style; it was awful that she was hidden away like this.
The others seemed to find it odd as well and they weren’t seen much at Iseult’s flat after that. When Octavia went round to visit one day, taking a folder of ideas for her approval, she had the impression that there were fewer and fewer visitors calling round.
‘Do you know, Octavia,’ Iseult said idly, looking through a suggested autumn range of bags, ‘you have quite grown up lately. You have surprised me. You’re taking this business of yours very seriously. I’m impressed.’ She had taken off her veil while Octavia was there, as she had already seen the worst. Even so, it was hard to look at the raised weals and puckered skin, and to know that one of those striking eyes was gone.
‘Thank you,’ Octavia said, touched.
‘Don’t grow up too much darling.’ Iseult attempted a smile that twisted oddly, pulling downwards at one side instead of upwards. ‘It all goes so fast, the carelessness of youth. Oh, don’t be like those other little fools with their drugs and their drink and their limitless capacity for vacuity. But don’t be too serious either. Remember to have fun.’
Octavia laughed lightly. ‘Of course I will. As long as you promise to have fun with me.’
‘Mmm.’ Iseult turned a page and said no more.
71
‘Hello, Nick,’ Octavia said, coming into the drawing room where he was waiting. She was simply dressed in black trousers and white Chanel shirt trimmed with black ribbon at the collar and cuffs. Flora followed behind, also in black trousers and a white top, though they hadn’t planned their outfits to match. It often happened like that.
‘Whoah,’ Nick said, looking from one to the other. ‘You two really are identical, aren’t you? I didn’t notice it so much
in the helicopter but now you’re both on home turf … well, it’s kind of freaky.’
The girls laughed and looked at one another.
‘We don’t really notice it so much ourselves,’ Flora said. ‘I suppose we’re used to it.’
Molly brought in coffee, hot milk and some plain biscuits while they settled down, chatting lightly about nothing and preparing for the real business in hand. It made sense to keep Nick on the case to do the investigative work, and meanwhile he’d recommended a firm of top solicitors who could begin to deal with the legal work needed to assess exactly what Flora had assigned to Otto, and how to get it back.
‘Right,’ Nick said, when they were all comfortable. He pulled a file out of his battered old briefcase. His suit looked well-worn and frayed at the edges against the immaculate backdrop of the sea-green sofa with its Icelandic-print cushions. ‘So, I’ve continued to investigate Otto Gestenholtz and I’ve also kept in close touch with Sirjiwan Singh, your solicitor at Fawcett & Mather. We’ve come up with some interesting facts about the man who duped you.’
‘He was very convincing,’ Flora said suddenly, keen not to appear a complete fool. ‘He even called off our engagement because I hadn’t told him how rich I was.’
‘A nice touch,’ remarked Nick. ‘Made him out to be the opposite of what he actually was. And you say he told you the pre-nup was to protect his interests, not yours, right?’ He shook his head. ‘The guy has some front, I’ll give him that. As it turns out, you didn’t sign a pre-nup of any kind. The so-called lawyer you went to see was probably a fake, or else Otto’s employee. I’m sure he wanted to keep you a million miles from any kind of real pre-nup or lawyer. You did, though, give him carte blanche to access your money, and as you girls haven’t protected your cash assets, it was pretty easy for him.’
Flora glanced over at Octavia and saw her own embarrassment reflected back at her. What were we thinking? We’ve been like children in charge of a sweetie shop, playing all day long without any thought of how to manage the place.
‘So Sirjiwan is working on shutting down access to your funds. That shouldn’t be difficult. The difficulty will be if Otto has already removed a great deal for his personal use – we’re just working on that right now.’
‘Let him have it!’ burst out Flora. ‘I don’t care.’
‘That’s not really the right approach to take with criminals, on the whole,’ Nick said with a wry smile. ‘He ought to be made to give it back and punished for taking it in the first place.’
Octavia shifted in her seat and looked uneasy. ‘But it’s going to be hard to prove everything isn’t it? Without going to the police and so on.’
Nick coughed uncomfortably and shuffled some of the papers he was taking out of the file. ‘In a word, yes,’ he said. ‘It’s up to you what you want to do.’
The sisters looked at one another.
‘If we can keep it quiet, get out of this without any more trouble, then that’s what I want,’ Flora said at last.
Nick fixed her with his intense dark stare. ‘Are you sure? You do know that leaves Otto free to go on conning women and treating them the way you’ve been treated? If this Wiebke Mullinsdorf had spoken up after she was robbed by him, you might not have gone through all this.’
Flora froze. Her head whirled after what Nick had just said. She felt panicked and afraid all of a sudden and could feel the blood drain from her face. She staggered to her feet. ‘I … I … W-w-w-would you excuse me?’ Hardly able to see suddenly, she fled from the sitting room and out into the hall. She sat down on the stairs and put her head in her hands.
A moment later, she heard the sitting-room door open. Someone walked softly towards her, and then sat down beside her.
It was Nick.
‘Hey,’ he said softly. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I guess I get a little … businesslike sometimes. I forget this is very raw for you. I just want to get that guy, that’s all, and have him punished for what he did to you. Just thinking about him makes me furious.’
Flora felt him move, as though he’d wanted to reach out and touch her and then changed his mind. She lifted her head and looked at him. He’s so handsome, she thought. So alive. Somehow she could only remember Otto as being half alive, as faded as old wallpaper that had been too long in the sun. ‘It’s all right,’ she whispered. ‘Really.’
‘I don’t want you to be hurt any more,’ said Nick in a low voice. ‘Understand? Just tell me when to shut the hell up.’
‘Okay.’ She managed to smile weakly.
‘As long as you know I’m on your side. Always.’
It didn’t take Otto long to show his true colours. As soon as Flora’s solicitors informed him that access to their client’s accounts was closed and that the return of the £50 million he’d removed from them would now be required, Otto shot back a response.
Flora, he wrote, would be well advised not to pursue the matter. He was willing to agree to the end of the marriage but his divorce terms would be not only to retain the £50 million he already had, but to acquire another £25 million. ‘As this does not constitute even half of your client’s assets, I consider this to be more than fair,’ he declared.
That was the extent of his formal dealings with Flora’s representatives.
If this is all he wants, she thought, then perhaps we can let him have it. But she had a feeling that he wouldn’t stop there. And anyway, could she live with herself, knowing that he was still out there, preying on other women, doing to them what he’d done to her?
72
Vicky came in as Octavia was putting the finishing touches to her outfit, attaching a pearl and gold earring to her lobe.
‘Wow! You look brilliant,’ Vicky said admiringly. ‘Are you going out with Ethan tonight?’
Octavia flushed slightly and said, ‘Oh … no … I’m going out with Max Northam. I’m thanking him for his help in rescuing Flora.’
‘It’s okay,’ Vicky said affably. ‘You don’t have to justify yourself to me. You can go out with whoever you like, as far as I’m concerned.’
‘It’s not a date,’ Octavia said quickly, pushing a white resin, pearl-encrusted cuff on to her wrist. She was wearing a silk and lace evening dress, a modest knee-length style and high-cut at the neck. Somehow it didn’t feel appropriate to be going out in full-on sexy mode with Max Northam – but nevertheless she knew she looked appealing, and the dress clung to her in all the right places.
‘Sure.’ Vicky went over and sat on the sofa by the window. ‘Listen, I wanted to talk to you about Flora.’
‘Is she all right?’ Octavia asked quickly, spinning round to face Vicky.
‘Yes, yes, she’s fine. She’s getting ready for a quiet night in with lasagne, some rubbish telly and me. But … I just wanted to know what you thought about Nick’s report on your mother?’
Octavia froze momentarily and then carried on checking her make-up. ‘What about it?’ she asked, a slight edge to her voice.
‘Well … it’s still sitting there in Flora’s email account. I guess he’ll need to know what she wants to do about it at some point.’
‘He can wait, can’t he?’
Vicky looked at her with understanding. ‘Yes, but should we tell Flora? Doesn’t she have a right to know it’s there?’ Her tone became sympathetic, ‘I know it’s hard for you.’
‘Damn right,’ snapped Octavia. She turned to her cousin and stared at her. ‘Listen, I think this whole idea is madness. We don’t need more bloody trouble after everything that’s happened, and I don’t think Flora is equipped to deal with further trauma. The chances are that we’ll track our mother down and she’ll be a raving lunatic or something equally dreadful. As far as I’m concerned, we should just let it go.’
She looked back to her mirror and smoothed her dress.
There was a pause. Then Vicky said, ‘As it happens, I think you’re right. Flora is far too fragile at the moment. I don’t think we need worry her about he
r email right now, she’s shown no interest in looking at it. I think she’s concerned Otto will try and contact her that way. I’m going to set her up a new account, one he won’t have the address for.’
Octavia looked relieved. She went over to the bed and picked up a cream cashmere wrap. ‘Good,’ she said, obviously pleased by Vicky’s response. ‘And if I have my way, we’ll never open that report. Ever.’
Steve took her swiftly from Chelsea to the narrow back streets of Mayfair, then up South Audley Street to Harry’s Bar, a discreet members-only club in a tall redbrick townhouse on the corner of Mount Street.
Inside, the club was decorated with striking Fortuny fabrics, gilt-edged mirrors and brass lamps. The ambiance was elegant, comfortable and old-fashioned without being fusty or boring. Max was waiting to meet her, smart in a muted Richard Anderson suit, and he greeted her with a kiss on her cheek.
‘Does this mean we’re friends?’ Octavia said, as they were shown to their table.
‘I guess it means we’re not enemies.’ Max grinned. ‘It’s Italian food here,’ he added, as they were given their menus. ‘I hope that’s all right.’
‘It’s lovely,’ said Octavia. She was feeling oddly gauche and nervous, butterflies fluttering in her stomach. ‘I adore Italian food.’
‘You look very nice this evening,’ he said casually. ‘That dress suits you.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, flattered. She had the impression that he did not hand out compliments lightly.
The waiter came up. Max greeted him by name and they had a quick conversation in Italian. Max looked over at Octavia. ‘Sergio says you must try the tagliatelle with butter and truffles. The truffles are the finest, from Alba, and he says you’ll never taste anything else like them. If not that, he says the prosciutto di Parma is exquisite.’
‘Well, I’ll just listen to Sergio, he obviously knows what he’s talking about. The truffle thing sounds great.’
