As the time for the trip approached, he went over there more frequently, biding his time. Waiting for the opportunity.
And it came.
‘I think it’s another migraine,’ Penelope said.
Edward exhaled, softly. He’d been getting worried. If she hadn’t felt sick soon, he would have had to make her sick, which was a second layer to his plan. But the gods were smiling, not that there were any gods.
‘You head upstairs. Philippe and I will put the world to rights,’ Edward said. ‘There’s an excellent Calvados we want to work on.’
He enjoyed the evening, enjoyed it hugely. The excitement was almost unbearable. He filled Philippe’s glass again and again. No water this time. Every trick he had, he employed to keep him drinking.
The guy was sloppy, revolting. He forgot who he was talking to. He laughed about the apartment, the joys of real money. He didn’t want to work, and Penelope would help him concentrate on his art. Although, of course, he would be managing the family money now, since half of it would be his.
‘Don’t worry, Edouard – ne t’inquiètes pas; we won’t forget you; there will be an allowance, or something . . .’
‘Whatever. I’m not concerned about money. Your job is to make Mother happy. Here – one more shot; one for luck?’
‘I shouldn’t . . . I’m a little drunk.’
‘A nightcap, then,’ Edward said. ‘You can sleep it off tomorrow. No need to get up early; you aren’t some worker drone.’
‘No – that’s right.’
Edward lifted his own glass. ‘To the good life.’
Philippe tittered. ‘Why not? The good life. And I always make the ladies happy. They are so kind to me . . .’
Edward digested that . . . the ladies. Of course, this was how the fool had lived before: other, desperate women; gifts of money; a place to stay. He was a charmer, a sponger – essentially a hooker. And his mother had offered that ticket to the big time.
‘Drink up, Philippe.’ He gave him a shove on the back and Philippe stumbled and blinked. ‘Best to take it all down. Your bride is waiting.’
He took the stem of the glass, laughed, and upended it. ‘Sacré bleu! It burns the throat. You will get your new papa in trouble . . .’
Edward swallowed, hard. His new papa. ‘Here, take the aspirin. You want to take a few extra tonight, don’t you think?’
‘God, yes.’
He passed him eight little round pills, curled into the palm of his hand, and Philippe tossed them back, swallowing them.
‘Great. Thank God for that.’
‘Here, let me help you upstairs,’ Edward said. He took Philippe’s arm, draped it around his shoulder. ‘Perhaps you should sleep in my old room tonight, so as not to disturb Mother.’
‘Yesss . . .’ Philippe was already slurring. ‘Sure . . . No problem . . .’
Edward dragged him up, step by step. He figured he had at least five minutes. He waved cheerfully to the servants as they passed, and hoisted Philippe through the door of his own suite, placing him face down on the bed and slipping his shoes off.
Then took the small bottle of Klonopin pills from his jacket. He took off the lid and carefully formed Philippe’s hand into a fist around the bottle, pressing his thumb and forefingers over the label, and twisting his other hand around the lid. Philippe was already drooling; Edward paid him no attention.
He put the open bottle of aspirins down on the bathroom sink. Then he turned off the light and closed the door, and, humming to himself, he left the house.
Chapter Twelve
Dina was in heaven.
Torch was humming. Every day the beauty department got a little bigger, expanded its floor space. Workmen mixed with the shoppers; there was yellow tape around the construction as she moved her territory forwards, and nobody seemed to mind.
New brands. Bigger stands. New products. More lights, mirrors and more blond wood.
She planned her days carefully: product selection, stock review, staff observations, new hirings, press releases – and at least three hours on the phone and email, working every girl in town.
The beauty bloggers were just the start.
Dina hit the editors, the beauty writers on magazines and the segment producers on local TV shows. She sent samples to personal shoppers for some of the biggest players in town. And she wrote all the press releases herself.
The result was a steady stream of good news. Once the blogs had moved on, Dina sent thank-you gifts. Torch’s name was posted on internet forums. There was a snippet in the Daily News, two minutes on ‘colours of spring’ for NY1 at breakfast and then small items appeared in the magazines. Suddenly Torch was a hot ticket.
Ludo was thrilled, and Dina finally had a boss who was backing her all the way.
‘These results are terrific,’ he said, after the first month. ‘I think you should take over the handbag space.’
‘Move into sunglasses. They can go upstairs.’
‘We don’t need jewellery on the ground floor.’
With every expansion, her stock rose. And Dina loved it. Ludo treated her with respect, paid her compliments, came and talked to her team. He gave her carte blanche on hirings and backed her to the hilt. As the cash registers rang and the shoppers poured in, he asked her to come up to his office, every morning.
‘You’re doing wonders.’
‘Thank you.’ She smiled at him, confidently.
‘I want to leverage the success for Torch. You’re right. I’m going to make a series of announcements in the business press. My name should be on the end of all press releases – let them come from the MD.’
Dina’s smile widened. ‘That’s great! Thank you, Ludo.’
‘You can draft them, just send them up to me and my office will sign them off and put them out. Emails to bloggers you can do yourself. I’m thinking about a social-media campaign, too.’
‘That would be incredible. We need to be all over Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr . . .’
‘It’s Torch, though – so your photo will be in there, along with the other department heads.’
Dina rolled her eyes a little; the other department heads seemed as wooden as planks to her. Whatever. The beauty department was making all the strides. Her team was hot, and the other store sectors wanted some of the magic they were creating. Dina understood reflected glory. Plus, at the moment they were jealous that the spotlight was on one person. Maybe she should share it around, soothe some wounded egos.
Looking on the bright side, if Ludo wanted all his senior people featured together, maybe they would bitch about her a little less.
‘Sure. Why not?’
‘I also want detailed notes on everything you’re doing. We may replicate some of it elsewhere in the store.’
‘Absolutely.’
‘I’ll speak to your hires when you bring them in, and eat lunch with the team captains.’
Dina had separated her staff into their areas of expertise: skincare; eyes and mascara; tan and body; cosmetics application; fragrance. She ripped up the old way of doing business, where you hired a dull girl who liked free samples and was willing to work for low pay. Dina recruited beauty students, fashion-school graduates, models who wanted some set hours, and placed them under well-paid pros who ran their departments: a consultant dermatologist, who’d quit her practice to fit work around raising her teenage boys, directed skincare; a renowned make-up artist, who wanted a steady job, was in charge of cosmetics; a former pro from Bobbi Brown was evaluating brushes; and two spray-tan salon perfectionists were running the bronzer area.
As well as classic brand booths, selling everything, Dina ran grouped walls of smaller products, the ones she could control. Indie eye shadows were together, racked by colour and type; lipsticks, fading from scarlet to clear gloss, tumbled down the colour chart like a computer screen. Women loved it when they came in for pale pink lips and found fifty glosses and sticks racked next to each other.
Even the part-timers were pa
ssionate. The old staffers had shaped up, or shipped out. Dina had transferred them elsewhere, if they couldn’t cut it – to lighting, or cushions, or outerwear.
‘Torch is for beauty. Torch is for babes,’ Dina said, when the human-resources people questioned her. ‘We want the cool kids, the enthusiasts, the elite. I don’t carry passengers.’
They muttered, but she was untouchable. Dina Kane was backed by Ludo Morgan, and she always got her way.
The beauty division was shaping up so well. Dina was on a roll, and the money kept pouring in. Employees got spot bonuses – a hundred here, five hundred there. If Dina saw or heard something good, she just passed out cash. Morale was through the roof, and the job applications rolled in.
And she was making money. Every month, Ludo increased her salary. There were perks – the free store card, the company car, parking included. She now drove an Audi, could afford to dress designer without having to wait for the good pieces to be marked down in price in the sales. Everyone was happy, and Dina Kane was happiest of all.
Except on the little matter of Joel Gaines.
She waited for the congratulatory call, the email. It didn’t happen. Radio silence. Sometimes Dina would drift off, thinking about him. She would fantasise about him coming into the store, walking around, looking for her. And they would laugh, and he’d hug her, pat her on the head . . . When her thoughts drifted like this, Dina caught herself and tried to stop. Screw him, she thought, trying to pretend it didn’t hurt her so much.
After all, things were good – even great. She had a dream job, was a big success. Even with Johnny’s bills, there was enough money. Her apartment had sold and she’d moved to a new one on Eightieth Street, a block from Central Park, with a great view of the museum. Finally, it was something for herself. No more fixing and decorating – Dina Kane no longer had time. She was a retail mogul, a maestro, and busy from dawn to dusk. And she loved it.
There was something incredible about buying new. Her apartment had a breakfast terrace just outside the window, a spare room for when Johnny got out, a lovely kitchen – small, sure, but with Sub-Zero fridges and a Viking cooker; the flat-screen TV was already on the living room wall, and Dina’s windows there looked out on to the tree-lined street and the Victorian townhouses opposite, giving a sense of the older, grander New York, of the Manhattan she’d arrived in.
Dina just supervised a little bit of design, using the crew employed at Torch. She installed blond wood floors to open up the light, bought Danish furniture with sleek lines; the bedroom was a fantasy of oyster-white and the bathroom, which had both a European tub and a walk-in shower, followed a beach-slate palette. The pops of colour on the gunmetal couch were orange and bronze, and it looked modern Mediterranean, chic as hell. She invested in a gas fireplace to keep her warm all winter: realistic flames, and no mess with the flue. They worked while she was out, and she came home to endless luxury.
None of it was enough to make her forget Joel Gaines completely. But, if he had lost interest in her, others hadn’t. Ludo Morgan was her boss, and he was also her boyfriend.
Dina liked how he kept it professional at work – backing her up, putting his name on everything, regular meetings. He’d kept his word: they were open about it; nothing was hidden.
That first Friday, Ludo showed up right on time. No flowers; no chauffeur. He took her for dinner at Jean Georges, one of the most expensive restaurants in midtown, and they lingered over a tasting menu for three hours.
The next week, they went to a play; Ludo procured tickets to the hottest show on Broadway, sold out for months in advance.
After that, he invited her to his palatial apartment, above the store, and they ordered Chinese takeout. He didn’t pressure her to go to bed. Dina was wary, but happy.
Ludo would kiss her on the cheek in full view of the other staff, then go about his business. The staff – especially those outside the beauty department – resented it, gossiped and bitched. She knew that. But Dina believed her results were unarguable.
For the first time in her life, Dina Kane was part of a couple.
And she liked it. She liked the sense of respect, of fitting in. She liked the way people tilted their heads and smiled indulgently when Ludo kissed her on the cheek. She liked the way it felt when he opened a door for her, or flagged down a cab – like regular people did, people with lives. And, because she worked at Torch, she could throw herself into the job round the clock and still see enough of her boyfriend.
Boyfriend. Boss. A taboo, but it worked.
‘Good. So you’ll see more of my stamp on your remodel, Dina,’ Ludo said, bringing Dina back into his office, tearing her from her thoughts. He reached forward and clicked his mouse, closing the window on the computer, then pushed back from his desk, indicating the meeting was over. ‘How are you fixed for Saturday?’
‘I can’t this Saturday,’ she said.
Ludo frowned. ‘Wait. What? You have a previous engagement?’
He made it sound ridiculous. And, she had to admit, she was wedded to the job.
‘I’m going upstate to check on my brother. He’s been making progress; they say he can be released soon.’
‘Your brother. You’re going to have to introduce me.’
‘Sure, one day. I’d like to.’
He didn’t mention her mother. Dina had already explained how little there was there. She sent money back each month, and never got a thank you for it. Often, she berated herself for still looking through the mail, as though that would ever change.
‘Meantime, how about you go see your brother on Friday? I have plans for Saturday. Big plans.’
Dina laughed. ‘Ludo, we work on Fridays.’
‘You deserve an afternoon off. Take one. It’s an order, if that helps.’
She smiled; as though he could order her about!
They were companionable together, friendly. She’d gone to bed with him, about five weeks in, once it seemed respectable and the right thing to do. She was nervous; the almost-virgin, the workaholic; boyfriend-free since Edward; no sex since bringing down his father. But that trauma was almost forgotten, and Ludo was tender and patient, and made sure she’d had a couple of glasses of champagne and, even though Dina felt little pleasure, it wasn’t actually painful. She enjoyed his desire, his sweating, gasping lust, the way she saw herself through his eyes. The only time she sensed anything, was when she started to get excited, and then her thoughts drifted helplessly, inevitably, towards Joel Gaines; her eyes closed, she felt wet, open, as if she was lifting out of herself . . .
‘Come on, baby. Oh, that’s good; you’re so good,’ Ludo panted. She heard his voice, and the vision shattered. But she moaned and whimpered a little, and he came, and was done with her.
Maybe things would get better in time. When she got more used to him, and less shy. For now, it was enough to have a young man who treated her well, prized her, took her out.
But the whispers at work continued.
‘She’s caught herself a nice one.’
‘Set her target the day she walked in here. The job’s just for show.’
‘Dina’s smart; she got close; she’ll be out of here in six months.’
‘Lucky bitch.’
‘This whole place will be hers one day. Did you hear about the palace he’s got on the fucking roof? They say it’s ten thousand square foot of space with a garden and a goddamned pool.’
‘He can’t even drive. Daddy got him a chauffeur.’
‘Why does she bust her ass like that? All he wants is a respectable version of a model.’
‘She’s not that pretty. She must be on fire in bed.’
‘No wonder he signs off on everything.’
‘She isn’t even the force, she’s just the front woman, you know? Where did she go to college? He’s got the MBA and she’s just like this sexy brunette, fronting it, playing with make-up.’
‘You’ve got to give it to her – she knows how to climb. She’s from the middle
of fucking nowhere, out in Westchester.’
Dina heard that stuff every day, out on the shop floor, as she moved about unobtrusively, amongst the crowds of women browsing and snatching. She tried not to resent it. They couldn’t conceive of a girl who wanted to make money, not marry it. Ludo was great, handsome, good to her, but she tried not to think about it too much because she wasn’t sure he was the one. He was a boyfriend, a good boyfriend, and Dina was trying to live a normal life. But marriage . . . ?
She shuddered a little. That was the sound of freedom gone and iron gates clanging shut.
Maybe other girls would jump at the chance, and they were surely welcome to go right ahead. Dina concentrated on her work. She was so sunk in Torch, she dreamed about it. That buzz when a beauty editor ran a feature, or they cleared yet another fifteen square foot for her playground, it was electric, inspiring. She lived on the adrenaline, and the humdrum love life was fine; Ludo was her friend, her boss.
And now that friend was asking for a favour.
‘OK. I could do with a break.’
It was true, she felt exhausted. You couldn’t mainline this stuff around the clock. It would be nice to focus on Johnny, not on the latest brand of cream eye shadow, or the new low-heat hair tongs she was bringing in to her beauty-tools section. ‘So where are we going on Saturday?’
‘Out to the beach,’ Ludo said. ‘I want you to meet my parents.’
Dina smiled tightly, hoping her nerves didn’t show. ‘Your parents! Wow. That’s so great.’
‘I thought you’d be pleased.’ He smiled, and Dina tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach.
Joel Gaines looked at his wife, reluctantly.
Susan had come bounding in from the beauty salon, wearing the hideously expensive ‘casual’ wear from Prabal Gurung’s resort collection and Jimmy Choo ballet flats, and her hair was as big and bouncy as Farrah Fawcett’s. She was done up to the nines, her eyes thick with mascara, artfully applied bronze shadow and chocolate liner, and her face was immaculately made up with some kind of airbrushed foundation and a high pink blusher. She looked like a model, an older model, perhaps, but still with that stylised perfection.
Beauty Page 21
