by Joanna Rees
‘No,’ Frankie said. She shook her head, feeling flattered, but amused too. Her? An actress? He had to be kidding. ‘I don’t think I’d be very good.’
‘You’d be surprised. I think you could have a real screen presence. You’ve got the face for it.’
‘But I haven’t had any training. I mean . . . you can’t just become an actor, surely?’
‘That depends on who wants to make you one,’ he said.
Before long, she’d found out that he was over in Europe for the Cannes festival in a few weeks’ time and that his film, the new Todd Lands picture, would be premiering there.
‘Wow,’ Frankie said, awestruck. She couldn’t believe she was actually talking to someone who knew possibly the most famous film star in the world. ‘So, what’s Todd Lands like? I think I’ve seen all his movies.’ She knew she sounded like an infatuated schoolgirl, but she was a huge fan of Hollywood’s favourite son.
Sonny sighed with satisfaction. ‘That guy has it all. The chicks love him; the guys love him. He’s probably the most bankable star in Hollywood. Can secure more money on an opening weekend than anyone. You’d think he’d be an arrogant shit but, between you and me, he’s one of the nicest guys you could ever meet.’
‘God, I’d give anything to meet him,’ Frankie said, awed. ‘But I guess I wouldn’t know what to say, being a lifelong fan.’
It seemed like only five minutes later, when Eugene told Frankie to offer Sonny another drink, that she noticed it: an imperceptible nod of Eugene’s head towards Hamish.
Back at the bar, Hamish again mixed Sonny’s drink – light on the tonic and hefty on the lemon and gin. It was obvious what was going on. Hamish was spiking Sonny Wiseman’s drinks on Eugene’s orders. Obvious to everyone, that was, apart from Sonny. The movie mogul’s cheeks were already red. And, as Sonny tossed down his cards with another curse, Frankie could see that Eugene and Dieter were taking him to the cleaners on the poker table.
Frankie watched, amazed, as Eugene charmed the old guy. Then she saw him slipping a card under the table to Dieter. Did they think she was too stupid to notice?
Hamish waved a bottle at her. ‘Go and get more gin up here,’ he hissed. ‘And be quick.’
Frankie stared at him.
‘Now!’
Frankie ran down to the galley store, smarting. How dare Hamish lecture her about talking to a guest when he and Eugene and Dieter were fleecing the very same man? Well, sod Hamish, she thought, taking a gin bottle off the galley-store shelf. She checked behind her to see that no one was looking, then tipped four-fifths of the gin down the sink and topped up the bottle with water.
There, that should even up the odds, she thought. Now Hamish could spike Sonny as much as he liked and it wouldn’t make a scrap of difference.
On her way back with the gin, her head was so full of the vitriolic argument she’d have with Hamish later that she almost bumped into Sonny Wiseman coming out of the bathroom at the back of the saloon.
‘Don’t you go running out on me now, little lady. You’re my lucky charm,’ he said.
Frankie couldn’t look him in the eye. She felt implicated in the others’ deceit. But she mustn’t say anything, she told herself. She had to stay out of trouble.
‘But today ain’t my best day. They’re creaming me out there.’
He looked directly at Frankie then, and something about his honest gaze made her blurt, ‘I don’t think that’s your fault, sir.’
Shit. It was out. She felt the colour rising in her cheeks. Her and her big mouth. When would she learn?
‘Eh?’ Sonny looked confused.
‘Just ignore me, sir, I—’
‘It’s OK. You can tell me.’ He leant forward, his eyes amused. ‘I’m a big guy. I can take it.’
‘Well . . .’ She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder to make sure they weren’t being watched. Then she grabbed his arm and pulled him into the shadow of the doorway.
‘Eugene and Dieter . . . they’ve told the steward to spike your drinks. And Dieter is . . . I saw him swapping cards under the table. That’s why you’re losing.’
Sonny looked at her. The smile faded from his face. ‘You can’t be serious?’
‘But it’s OK,’ she said, unscrewing the gin bottle and holding it out for him to sniff. ‘See? I’ve watered it right down. To give you a chance of winning your money back. I don’t think you deserve to get ripped off like that. But please don’t say anything, Mr Wiseman. I’m serious. If you do, it’ll cost me my job.’
Sonny Wiseman nodded. ‘I see. I’m glad you had the balls to say something. Hey, kiddo, what’s your name again?’
‘Frankie.’
He leant in close. ‘Well, Frankie, I won’t forget this.’
Suddenly Richard, the captain, was behind them.
‘Is everything OK?’ he asked. ‘Mr Wiseman?’
‘Just fine,’ Sonny said, placing a fat hand paternalistically on Frankie’s shoulder and walking her back out to the deck. Frankie could see Richard was fuming that she’d been talking to Mr Wiseman, but before he had a chance to say anything, the thwack-thwacking sound of a helicopter made them all look up.
‘Who’s that?’ Sonny Wiseman asked as a helicopter swooped down towards the boat, its lights making them shade their eyes.
‘The boss is coming aboard, sir,’ Richard replied, before moving past them both. ‘Frankie, wait at the top of the steps. Be ready to collect his bags.’
He was here. Frankie felt a ripple of excitement run through her. ‘I haven’t got a pass,’ she said.
Richard handed her a plastic card. ‘Hurry.’
Frankie ran up the steps two at a time until she was on the very top deck of the yacht. She arrived just in time to see the helicopter coming in to land on the pad, like a giant bug. She held on to her baseball cap tightly as the wind thrown off by the rotors threatened to tear it away.
Pushkin’s two engineers, Paul and Jeff, were both up here too. Jeff had changed into a full fire-fighting suit, as a precaution, and was guiding the helicopter in. Dieter came up too.
Frankie jumped as Richard suddenly appeared behind her, stepping out of the elevator that ran down through the centre of the yacht. Frankie had never seen the inside of it before. It was panelled with mirrors and a thick carpet.
She turned back to watch the helicopter land carefully on the pad. The pilot took off his ear defenders, opened the door, hopped out, and, covering his head, ran towards her and Richard.
The pilot was young. A few years older than her, maybe. He was tall, with a deep golden tan. He had short black hair in a trendy messed-up style and thick dark eyebrows that almost met in the middle. His jaw was strong and he had a distinctive beauty spot just above one corner of his mouth. He was wearing a crumpled beautifully cut navy linen suit and a white T-shirt with aviator shades casually tucked in at the neck. Any formality was counteracted by the white Converse sneakers he wore on his feet.
‘Hi,’ he shouted. He shook hands with Richard, then smiled at Frankie. He had the nicest smile she’d ever seen. But it was his eyes that did it. Warm, blue and calm – like the ocean, Frankie thought as she drowned in his twinkling gaze.
‘Hi,’ she muttered back, feeling as if she’d been lifted up on a wave and placed gently back down.
Feeling herself blush, she made herself look away, back past the pilot to the silhouette of the helicopter. She watched the aircraft’s rear doorway, waiting for the boss to emerge. But the pilot stayed standing in front of her, staring at her. She forced herself to concentrate on the helicopter, watching the rotors slow to a halt.
As the noise of the engine subsided, the pilot cleared his throat. ‘So you’re new?’ he said, looking to Richard for confirmation and then back at Frankie.
‘This is Frankie. The new stewardess and gym instructor. I told you about her?’
Frankie glanced at Richard uncertainly. Why would he tell the pilot about her?
‘Frankie. Welcome. I’m Ale
xei Rodokov,’ the pilot said, holding out his tanned hand for her to shake. His grip was warm and firm.
Oh my God! She couldn’t believe she’d been so stupid. The pilot was the boss.
Frankie felt all her preconceptions crashing around her. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. She’d imagined he’d be older. More Russian. An ogre, not a prince.
Richard nudged her. ‘Bag,’ he hissed in her ear.
‘Oh, um . . . may I take your bag, sir?’ Frankie asked.
‘No bags,’ Alexei said. ‘Just as I am.’ He put out his arms and shrugged.
His accent was American-English. Mid-Atlantic. It was educated and friendly and not what she’d been expecting at all. Frankie stared at him, tongue-tied.
‘OK, well, good to meet you, Frankie,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you in the gym at seven a.m. You can put me through my paces.’ He smiled at her, leaving a trail of musky cologne in his wake as he strode past her into the elevator.
And there it was again. That airborne feeling.
She stayed rooted to the spot.
‘Hey, Dieter,’ she heard him say as Dieter followed him into the elevator. ‘Where’s Dimitry?’
‘Still in the UK.’
‘That’ll be all, Frankie,’ Richard told her. ‘The fun’s over. You can go back down now.’
Frankie turned to go back down the stairs. The elevator door was closing. The boss was inside, talking to Dieter. He didn’t look at her again.
But Frankie knew at that moment that, whatever it took, she was going to get Alexei Rodokov to notice her.
CHAPTER SIX
In Wrentham Hall, the Platinum Ball was only half an hour off schedule. It was nearly eleven and Bunny had just sung Happy Birthday and a stunning rendition of ‘Vissi d’arte, vissi d’amore’, Julian’s favourite aria from Tosca, and now a happy atmosphere had descended on the ballroom as the three hundred guests digested the banquet.
Emma blushed as a peal of laughter rippled around the tables. Next to her, Julian was standing with the microphone in his hand making his after-dinner speech. So far it had all centred on her.
‘Julian, stop it,’ she implored, hating being the centre of attention.
But Julian waved her protestations aside. ‘Seriously, ladies and gentlemen,’ he continued, ‘I know Emma hates me talking about her, but, darling . . .’ He looked down at her. ‘. . . tough. I’m not going to stop.’
There was more laughter from the guests.
‘Two hundred years ago,’ Julian continued, ‘Emma’s great-great-grandparents, my distant – and, judging from their portraits on the stairs – somewhat scary in-laws, would have thrown parties like this, when Wrentham Hall was in its hey-day. It has taken Emma’s enormous vision and dedication to restore the Hall to its former glory. Many of you will have seen Emma in action on the Restoration series on the BBC last year. Did anyone see that bit where they took the roof off?’
There were laughs of acknowledgement. Emma laughed too and covered her eyes, remembering the logistical nightmare.
‘The first I heard of it was when I was in South Africa and I saw it on TV. I can tell you that I was seriously worried. But as always, Emma knew what she was doing. “You always said you wanted a courtyard effect, darling,” she said. “Just think of it being like an Italian villa for a bit.”’ Julian smiled. ‘And it was. But that is Emma all over. She’s incredibly optimistic, efficient, and works harder than anyone I’ve ever met. And we’re all sitting in the proof of that. And so I think tonight is a fitting occasion to toast Wrentham in all its refurbished glory.’
Julian raised his glass and smiled down at Emma. ‘To Wrentham,’ he said, and everyone joined in. Then there was a round of applause.
‘But that isn’t only where my wife’s talents lie,’ Julian went on afterwards. ‘As you know, she’s been very involved in her charity for the past few years. Most of you here have been dragged along to one or two of her events.’
‘And the rest!’ someone heckled.
‘And let’s not forget that she can also fly her own plane,’ Julian continued. ‘Even though she knows I’m scared of heights.’ He smiled. ‘Perhaps even because she knows I’m scared of heights . . .’
Emma reached out and squeezed his hand.
‘No, ladies and gentleman, I am incredibly privileged to be married to such a wonderful woman. And with her help and support I have been able now to launch Platinum Holdings.’
‘Hear, hear!’ someone shouted.
‘Obviously, I hate to mention business,’ Julian said. ‘I know it’s vulgar at a party. However . . .’
Another guest heckled, but Emma didn’t catch the remark.
‘Recently many of you have shown your support by investing your hard-earned cash in my new venture. And I do appreciate that in the wake of the recent economic meltdown – your faith means more now than ever before.’
‘So show us the money!’ someone shouted. Everyone laughed.
Julian rubbed the side of his nose. ‘I intend to, Harry,’ he said. ‘As most of you know, Platinum Holdings floated on the Alternative Investment Market this week.’
There was a smattering of applause and Julian smiled.
‘Which means that the funds are now available from the AIM listing and we are ready to green-light the development project on the mine in Russia.’
Emma glanced at Dimitry, but he didn’t look at her. His face remained a mask.
‘This is a tremendous opportunity,’ Julian said. ‘The geologist’s report values the mine at well over a million ounces of platinum P3 reserves. I won’t bore you, ladies and gentleman, but at six hundred dollars an ounce for platinum on the current market . . . I’m quietly confident that our investment is going to leap from its current value of fifty million to a great deal more than that in a mere matter of months. As we speak, the shares are rocketing, thanks to the anticipation and renewed confidence in the City.’
There was a whoop from the crowd.
Even Julian was blushing now. ‘Yes, yes. Exciting times.’ He paused and looked out at the crowd intently. Emma could see how emotional he felt. ‘And I want you all to know how deeply I appreciate and honour your trust in me. You won’t regret it.’
He raised his glass. ‘So I’d like to toast us all, my dear friends. And Platinum Holdings. And toast to success for us all. But most of all, I’d like to toast the woman who has made it all possible – my darling Emma.’
‘Emma,’ everyone chorused.
‘Thank you for my wonderful party,’ he whispered, as he leant down and kissed her.
After the speeches, as the ballroom was being cleared, Emma’s brother Pim approached through the throng, with Emma’s sister-in-law, Susie.
‘Ems, old girl,’ he shouted above the happy babble of voices, folding her into a hug. He was as massive as ever, and was wearing a flamboyant navy velvet coat and a pink cravat. She might have known that he wouldn’t wear the regulation dinner jacket that the invitation had stipulated. But it didn’t matter. He was Pim and everyone knew his eccentric ways.
Susie, however, her cheeks ruddy from an outdoor life running the estate, had made a supreme effort. She stooped uncomfortably in her black velvet evening gown, and her hair, which was usually scraped up in an elastic band, fell in soft brown curls around her face.
‘Susie, I meant to tell you earlier, you look absolutely wonderful,’ Emma said, meaning it. Susie even smelt of expensive scent, rather than her usual whiff of moth-eaten jumpers and soggy springer spaniels.
‘Look at those,’ Susie said, mesmerized by Emma’s diamonds. ‘Goodness.’
Emma blushed, feeling a pang of guilt. Pim had sold off most of his portion of the family jewellery for the upkeep of Lechley Hall. Not that he’d ever complained, or asked Emma for any help. ‘Julian gave them to me earlier. Typical of him to give me presents on his birthday.’
‘What a lovely speech,’ Susie said. ‘He’s such a poppet. I think he’s going to be so successful.’
> ‘He better,’ Pim said, catching Emma’s eye.
Emma felt her stomach flip over.
Lechley Hall was one of the last few remaining privately owned stately homes of its calibre left in the world. But it was so vast and so old that it was crumbling day by day. Pim had taken the tough decision to sell a significant proportion of the land, in order to raise some precious capital to keep going.
But Emma had come up with a fabulous solution to the problem using her influence on Pim to put up the final piece of financing for Julian’s deal, using the money from the sale of the estate lands to buy the shares that gave him and Julian the controlling interest in Platinum Holdings.
Pim had been reluctant. The money had been his very last chance to hold on to Lechley, but Emma had talked him into it. In six months’ time, she’d argued, once the mine was up and running, Pim could sell his shares to Julian and make a fortune. A serious windfall. Enough not only to restore Lechley fully and properly to the highest spec, but to buy back the estate lands to boot. Pim hadn’t been able to argue with that. And now, tonight, he’d signed the last of the papers to make it all official.
Susie leant in close. ‘I just keep thinking about all the things we’ll do with the money,’ she confided, her voice breathless with girlie excitement. ‘I can finally refurbish the stables and give some of the staff the bonuses they deserve. And the very first thing I’m going to do is get rid of the damp in the East Wing and open it up again.’
‘I think you and Pim should go on holiday,’ Emma suggested, smiling at her sister-in-law. ‘No one deserves one more than you two.’
‘But, Em, I’m not like you. I don’t want to go jetting off. And neither does Pim. Lechley is the most perfect place in the world to us. If I went away, I’d just miss it.’
‘You two,’ Emma laughed. ‘You talk about it like a lover.’ Or a child, she thought to herself. It was such a shame that Pim and Susie hadn’t been able to have any kids. It bothered Emma that Cosmo was the only one in the next generation who would carry on the family’s heritage.
Susie shrugged, smiling apologetically; Emma squeezed her arm.
