But, wow! That brunette in the corner was something else. Clad in only a skimpy gold thong and high heels, her breasts completely bare, she noticed him looking at her and smiled, setting her tray of empty glasses down at the bar. Then she walked slowly over to him with long, deliberate strides. Simon was mesmerized by her dark hair tumbling down her back, her tiny waist and her astonishing, surgically enhanced breasts, which jutted out invitingly as she bent over him. As she whispered in his ear, her left nipple was just inches from his now watering mouth.
‘My name’s Cathy, I give private dances.’
She reached for his palm and pulled him towards a booth in the corner of the dingy bar. He followed her unquestioningly.
He sat down and looked up at her, holding his breath. His cock had long ago sprung to attention. She moved rhythmically and sensually – dancing had never been a strong point of Sarah’s. She turned round and slowly inched down her golden thong, bending forward so that her round bottom was close enough to his face that he could almost lick it. And then, so cruelly, she shimmied back into her thong and announced she’d finished. Simon was so frustrated and turned on that he wanted to cry, or jump on her, but he could see a great big bouncer eyeing him suspiciously, or was it pitifully? Pulling out a wad of £20 notes, everything he had in his pocket, he gave it to her. Her face lit up at such generosity.
Cathy thanked him and wiggled off, dropping a bit of paper in his lap as she left. ‘£300 for the night, meet me outside Café Boheme’, followed by her phone number.
Simon hurried out of the bar to Café Boheme. He saw her immediately and took her in his arms, kissing her before she had a chance to say anything. The only time he’d seen a prostitute was watching Pretty Woman with Sarah, and he seemed to remember that they had some rule that they didn’t kiss clients. He’d been dying to kiss Cathy all evening. Bundling her into a taxi he breathed his address to the driver, his fingers already inside Cathy’s thong. He wasn’t sure if she was just a good actress but she seemed to fancy him like mad. He chose to believe it. After all, he had been by far the youngest guy in the bar and right now he had a body like Brad Pitt in Fight Club.
Simon soon got Cathy home and into his bed. The sex itself was frantic and short. No sooner had he withdrawn, spent, than he discarded his condom, paid her, and called a taxi. He just wanted her out. After she left he jumped into the shower and let the water rush over him for a long time, until it began to run cold over his body. Climbing into bed he fell into a restless sleep.
Simon had hoped he’d feel better in the morning, but he didn’t. He’d never wanted Sarah’s comforting body so much, but even if he ever did find a way to make it up to her for being so unreasonable the day they split up, she’d probably never forgive him for what he’d done last night. Oh gorgeous, loving Sarah. He wished he could turn back the clock.
****
While Sarah’s ex thought of her, she thought of Bertrand and Rory. That night on the boat now seemed an extraordinary dream. At the time she’d felt like a sexy, liberated, selfish bitch of a woman. Until then, she’d had only one lover and had not known that she could love like that, without being in love.
From the moment she’d met Bertrand he’d established himself as her elder, her superior and her protector. He’d become her professional mentor, and if the lines between pedagogy and passion had been temporarily blurred, all Sarah now wanted to do was restore the status quo and alleviate her guilt. She felt both ashamed at having drenched herself in the debauchery she and Si had once so vehemently disapproved of – and guilty when her thoughts repeatedly flashed back to the delicious image of Rory’s tongue flicking her nipples. But mostly she just felt intensely sad at not having Si in her life any more. He may have behaved like a jealous, narrow-minded prig towards the end, making her choose between her work commitments – so what if ‘work’ happened to involve a glamorous Christmas party in St Tropez – and him, but she still loved him. She made her way pensively to work.
All eyes were on her when she arrived at Willy Eckhardt Productions that morning. Linda, the receptionist, tittered as she walked through the foyer. Gloria barely looked up at her when Sarah passed her desk, just turned a deep shade of red as she nodded hello before turning sharply away to gather her papers. Finally arriving at her own desk, Sarah saw with surprise that Willy was waiting beside it, looking unusually serious. She felt faint.
Willy must have somehow found out. What a humiliating way to lose one’s job. And if she got the sack, how on earth was she going to pay her rent? She forced a smile.
‘Morning, Willy, you’re in bright and early today!’
‘Do you have a minute, Sarah? I ’d like to discuss something with you, if you’ll pop into my office.’
‘Sure. Sounds ominous.’ She giggled, frantically.
‘I think you can handle it,’ was his reply. Not bothering to remove her coat or set her bag down at her desk, Sarah followed her boss to his office. Her notice period was supposed to be three months, but if she were sacked for ‘misconduct’, where would that leave her legally? Was it really misconduct? Oh goodness, of course it’s misconduct; but professional misconduct? She was still weighing up the implications when she was jolted out of her reverie by Willy’s outstretched hand.
‘Congratulations!’ he beamed.
Baffled, she smiled, unaware that she’d done anything worthy of commendation – rather the opposite she thought. It seemed like from the moment she’d bought her first designer dresses with Tulip she had kick-started an escalating chain of seedy and exhilarating events.
Willy continued, ‘Since bringing you on board, my life has been a whole lot easier.’
Sarah thought how she loved his upbeat twang and jaunty enthusiasm. ‘Gosh. Thank you!’
‘No. Thank you. You’ve been super efficient, super hardworking and have happily worked overtime without a single grumble – always a smile on your face. Come on, say it with me …’
‘Great minds smile alike!’ chorused the two of them. Both grinning inanely.
‘And people have absolutely raved about you. My clients love you, as do the press. Here – take a look at this.’ He reached for a press cutting lying on his desk and read it aloud: ‘Of course none of this would have been possible if it weren’t for Sarah Hunter’s hard work and dedication to this charitable cause. Sarah, stunning executive assistant to American actor-turned-music-mogul Willy Eckhardt, has worked tirelessly to ensure that victims of such tragic disasters have access to the financial and social support they need in the aftermath …’
Sarah blushed and lowered her eyes.
‘Sarah, what you’ve done is you’ve allowed me to pretty much ignore the day-to-day running of the production company so that I can concentrate on my other businesses and my own music. These other enterprises are now all at a stage where I can take them to the next level. Yes!’ He clapped his hands together and pointed at Sarah. ‘And to do this I’m going to need to devote even more of my energy and resources to them.’
Sarah still didn’t quite see what Willy was getting at.
‘So, what I’m saying, Sarah, is that I ’d like to formally offer you a promotion to the position of Global Head of Communications for Willy Eckhardt Productions.’
Sarah paused to take in the news before audibly exhaling and resuming normal breathing patterns – she had held her breath for the entirety of Willy’s declaration.
‘Phew. I … I don’t know what to say, I … I’m flattered, and, heavens, I’d love to accept, but won’t Gloria feel that I’m stepping on her toes?’
‘It was Gloria who put you forward for the job.’
‘Oh wonderful!’
‘And so I ’d like to offer you a salary of £65,000 per annum, with a raise after six months, subject to appraisal. You’ll also be getting your own personal assistant, and I’ll sadly need to find a new assistant for myself. I think, actually, that overseeing the sourcing of the new staff will be your last project in your current role. The
promotion will come into effect as soon as I’ve confirmed who’ll replace me as MD of Willy Eckhardt Productions.’
The first thing Sarah did when she got home that evening was call Si. This new job would mean that she wouldn’t have to work so closely with Willy and follow him around everywhere. If Si could only be made to see that he had nothing to be jealous of then maybe they could give their relationship another try. It was too much to hope that Si had used their break to let his hair down a little, be a bit more adventurous himself, but she knew him, he would find it in his heart to understand that she needed a bit more excitement in her life. The phone rang only once before he picked up.
‘Hi,’ he breathed.
He was met by silence.
‘H-hi,’ he repeated. ‘Sarah is that you?’
‘Oh, Si. It’s so good to hear your voice.’ She hugged the phone to her ear. Everything would be fine.
****
Abena was dreading dumping Bertrand. She’d been hoping to go for the gradual fizzle-out but he simply wouldn’t stop calling and texting to tell her how much he wanted her, so, unfortunately, decisive action was called for.
Arriving at Bertrand’s house, she saw him through the window, sitting at a table with the FT in one hand and a glass of whisky in the other. Mrs Brampton Amis was apparently away again. Did the woman even know what her husband looked like now? Abena made a mental note to ‘See Husband’ when she got married.
Bertrand rushed out of his house and paid the driver, then ushered Abena in ahead of him.
‘Is everything OK, Bertrand? You look stressed.’ Maybe now wasn’t the right time for her news.
‘Sit down, Abena. Drink? I have something to tell you.’
She shook her head. ‘No thanks. What’s the matter? Are you pregnant with my baby?’
They sat on opposite sides of the table and he held her hands.
‘Abena, I’m afraid this has to stop.’ And then, when she didn’t answer. ‘There’s too much at stake. My career, my wife, my family, my … my reputation. Abena, I don’t think I can leave my wife for you.’
‘What?’ she spluttered. ‘B, you’re interviewing me for a job I don’t want.’
‘Excuse me?’ Bertrand sat up, in tense indignation.
‘I never expected, nor wanted that.’ Abena laughed, and felt relieved. ‘You’ve been so kind to me, and I felt … felt that we sort of connected. But I know your situation, and I’ve always understood mine.’
Bertrand shook with the galling realization that a player had been played. He’d been a little divertissement for his fascinating mistress who, he guessed, was probably in love with a younger, fitter and quite possibly better-looking man.
‘You’re too good for the likes of Sebastian Spectre,’ he sulked.
‘Oh my Spectre days are well and truly over,’ Abena said. ‘My days of loving men who love themselves too much to have space for me are finito!’
She’d blurted that out as she thought it sounded good in a melodramatic, filmic kind of way, but as she said it, she looked at Bertrand and realized it was true. She got up, unburdened, now ready to leave Bertrand to his terrifying-looking wife and his next conquest.
Bertrand sat heavily on a chair, facing his former mistress, but couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eye when he asked, ‘It’s been … fun, though, hasn’t it? I mean, I … I really fancy you.’
Abena saw a man who’d once been beautiful but whose waist was starting to spread and whose hair had to be regularly dyed to erase the grey. She saw a man who had once been able to score on the strength of his looks alone, but who now had to call in the reserves – his breeding, his education, and his fortune – to get half the female attention he used to get. And she knew what to say.
‘It’s been wonderful.’
‘Thank you,’ Bertrand replied. ‘I needed to hear you say that.’
Chapter 30
‘Baby, this came for you earlier.’ Claude carried a small parcel into the master bedroom where Natalya was having a back massage, performed by her favourite masseuse, Ingrid. Much to Ingrid’s annoyance, Natalya reached for the parcel mid-massage. It must have aroused Claude’s suspicion if he was dealing with it personally. After all, they had staff for that.
‘Well? Open it!’ Claude snapped.
Ingrid cleared her throat before announcing, ‘Natalya needs complete silence to fully enjoy the relaxing qualities of Swedish massage.’
A thick-set woman with a fierce demeanour, Ingrid had been a top women’s rights campaigner in Stockholm before opting for a slower pace of life and becoming a masseuse. She could feel Natalya flinch every time Claude entered the room and she glared at him with a venom even more fervent than the combined outrage of the six thousand construction-company employees he’d made redundant that morning.
‘No, it’s OK Ingrid, I think we can finish up early today. Thenk you.’
‘As you wish.’ Ingrid pursed her lips and packed up her oils. She kissed Natalya goodbye, nodded curtly in Claude’s direction and marched out of the room.
Claude immediately turned to Natalya and barked ‘What is it?’
With trembling hands Natalya opened the parcel and was at first euphoric that the scrawled, childish handwriting and paper she’d come to dread was absent. But she quickly recognized, to her dismay, a new threat emerging. The parcel was wrapped in the chic Cartier packaging that had once given her such pleasure.
‘What!’ Claude dropped his voice to a whisper and brought his face close to hers. ‘Somebody is sending you jewellery? You impertinent bitch. How many men do you need? One is not enough for you? No? Answer me?’
His face was white and the hand that gripped her chin was as cold as steel. Snatching up the compliment slip accompanying the Cartier box, he read aloud: ‘To Natalya, Our favourite and most talented star, Love everybody at Moda Nova Models’.
‘You see, it’s not from a man, of course not. There is only you, Claude.’
Visibly calmer, and somewhat sheepish, Claude shrugged his shoulders and grudgingly conceded. ‘Hmmn. You know what I think of this mindless modelling anyway.’
He turned on his heel and walked out of the house to where his driver was waiting.
‘Sure, but that won’t stop you boasting about your supermodel girlfriend at parties,’ muttered Natalya to nobody in particular. She opened the parcel and pulled out a large special-edition Cartier watch. The very model she had dreamed of owning only a year ago. She contemplated it briefly, and then placed it in her wardrobe beside a similar one in a rare shade, which Claude had bought to match her favourite eye shadow.
The next minute her phone rang. Natalya checked that Claude had left and that there were no spying maids within earshot, then answered.
‘Hello, Gaby. Thenk you for the watch. Very nice.’
‘Natalya. Thank you. Kate’s defection hasn’t made even a dent in our bottom line thanks to your success. And now, what a coup! You’ve been chosen for one of the biggest campaigns of the year. Gucci want you for everything! You’ll work exclusively for them in Milan for a season and you’ll be fronting everything – the perfume, the sunglasses campaign, you’ll be opening the shows. And it’s a multi-million-pound contract, sweetie. Your first one.’
Natalya closed her eyes.
‘Natalya, you still there?’
‘It’s not the money. It’s just … to be wanted. I’ve never been wanted so much in my life.’
‘Everybody wants you, baby. You’re the best.’
‘When do they need me in Milan?’
Gaby took a deep breath, and just hoped that her trickiest and most valuable girl wouldn’t choose this moment to be difficult.
‘They want you in Milan next week, but we wouldn’t dream of putting you in a model apartment with the other girls, we’ve booked you into a suite at the Hotel Principe di Savoia for the next few months. Now, we know you wouldn’t like to spend so much time away from Claude, so we’re also arranging business-class flights back
to London for you whenever you have at least two days free without any modelling assignments.’
‘I don’t think this will be necessary,’ Natalya cut in.
‘Now, now, honey,’ Gaby cooed in the baby voice she used on the more demanding models who let the attention get to their heads. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t want this contract. You know, it’ll—’
‘No. I will accept this contract. But I don’t need the flights to London. I will enjoy a spell in a new city. And I would like to stay with the other models.’
In one moment everything was clear. She loathed her life in London, living in constant fear and repression. She wanted to escape. She felt almost giddy with relief and she wondered why the thought had never occurred to her before.
‘Fantastic, darling, I’ll have everything booked and forwarded to you in the next hour.’
‘Very good. Goodbye.’
The decision was instant, total and unwavering. She knew, just knew it was right. Natalya stood and looked at her watch. She didn’t have much time – Claude would be back in four hours.
Something had changed inside her over the last few months. She’d come so close to realizing her dream with Claude, only to discover that this dream was in fact a nightmare. What were untold riches compared with freedom? In Tara she’d seen how a person’s reality could be altered by a single decision and by the courage to see it through. She had also seen that true happiness was only possible when one learnt to love oneself despite one’s flaws. She had once viewed her own success in the modelling industry as an indicator of her worth as a person, and the constant setbacks had destroyed her confidence. Since her success with Blue Whisper, she’d come to understand that the key was in her, not in anything or anyone else. Sure, she wanted to enjoy the high life, and she still would – she was making money herself – but the real success was a new-found sense of worth that came from within.
Sin Tropez Page 29
