B004D4Y20I EBOK (46 page)

Ali paused for a moment. ‘You can’t sell. Or at least, you can, but you have to offer the company to Jecca Trevellyan or Jecca Farnese, depending on which name she is currently known by, and give her the chance to match the price. If she can match or exceed the price, you’re obliged to sell it to her.’

‘What? This is absolutely crazy! What was Mother thinking of?’

‘She certainly wanted to bind you into this family business of yours, didn’t she? This will is pretty watertight, I’m afraid.’

‘I suppose the comfort is that Jecca couldn’t possibly afford it – at least, I assume she couldn’t.’ Jemima thought quickly. ‘Ali, could you start trying to locate Jecca? We’ve all been closing our minds to her and hoping we’ll never have to bother with her, but from the looks of things, it’s going to be much better to be prepared.’

‘Is this still a favour?’ said Ali in a low, intimate voice. ‘If it is, we’re going to have to have favours you can do to repay me.’

To Jemima’s surprise, she felt a churning of nausea in her stomach.
Ali’s a sexy, attractive man
, she reminded herself.
We’ve already had very pleasant sex together. Why
would
I feel sick at the thought of sleeping with him?
‘Um … this is company work, actually. We do need to locate Jecca Farnese.’ She had never been able to bring herself to call Jecca by her adopted surname. ‘I’ll send over a file with everything in it you’ll need to help you get started.’

Ali laughed softly ‘OK. No problem. I’m on it. Oh, and by the way – the latest version of your mother’s will was dated two weeks before her death.’

Jemima blinked. ‘
Two weeks?
What changes were made from previous versions?’

‘I don’t know that. I’ll have to look out what we have on file.’

‘OK, Ali. Thanks.’

‘You’re most welcome.’

Jemima put the phone down and stared at it thoughtfully. Two weeks? That seemed a little too recent for comfort.

40

THE SUITE LOOKED
like a very opulent dressing room for three gorgeous princesses, although right now the princesses themselves were in varying stages of preparation for the big night.

Poppy’s hair was stretched over enormous rollers and she was sitting in her underwear in front of the dressing-table mirror, her head back so that a make-up artist could work on her face.

Jemima had squeezed herself into the tightest corset she could get into and was now prancing round the room in her panties, nylons and a pair of satin high heels, singing Madonna songs while the hairdresser tried to persuade her to sit down and have her heated rollers put in.

Tara, a little more decent in one of the hotel’s bathrobes and her hair in tin-foil strips, was standing with Donna by a rack of beautiful evening gowns, each one more exquisite than the last.

‘They’re all John Galliano?’ Tara asked.

Donna nodded. ‘They’re thematically linked, look. Obviously you can’t all turn up in the same dress, and the same colour would look perhaps a little gauche. But these are very similar, each just a touch different. We’ve got cool ivory, satin pink and mint green. I think Poppy should be in the green. We’ve had her hair tinted auburn which will look fabulous with it. As for you and Jemima, you can fight it out as to who wears ivory and who wears pink.’

‘I think I know who’s won that battle,’ Tara said wearily, nodding at Jemima’s feet as her sister skipped by. The satin high heels were in a delicate shell pink.

‘OK. But cream is very becoming, especially with your hair tinted a little darker. You’ll look stunning …’ Donna smiled at her encouragingly. ‘While your dresses are subtly different, you’ll wear the same make-up, that’s vital. You must all have the exact same shade of red on your lips. And I’ve got these matching diamond necklaces as well.’

Donna produced a black velvet jeweller’s case and opened it to reveal a simple but exquisite necklace of tiny, overlapping leaves, each one encrusted with white diamonds.

Tara whistled. ‘Shit, Donna! Three of these? They must have cost a fortune!’

‘They are indeed worth a small fortune. Luckily for us, they are on loan for the evening. That’s why Bert is sitting outside.’

‘I wondered who the bouncer was.’

‘Very necessary for insurance. Believe me, you three are going to make quite a splash tonight. There’ll be
lots
of beautiful women, most in standard black, a few showing far too much tit and arse to be pretty. But no one will come close to you, I promise. It’s the power of three.’

‘Very clever,’ said Tara admiringly. She could see exactly the effect Donna was after.

‘It’s what you pay me for.’ Donna smiled.

Five hours later, the girls were at last ready to go. Donna had made them eat a small meal before putting on their dresses: protein rich to fill them up but nothing that would swell their stomachs. Then, after their make-up was retouched, they got into their dresses and stood side by side.

‘Stunning,’ breathed Donna. ‘Don’t you agree?’

The make-up artists and hairdressers gazed proudly at their handiwork.

‘You look like something from a fairytale,’ said one. ‘Three beautiful sisters.’

‘Or the Oscars night. Like Grace Kelly, Rita Hayworth and Ava Gardner,’ added another.

‘Oh, we like you,’ purred Jemima. ‘You say just the right things.’

But they all knew they were knock-outs.

Poppy’s auburn tint made her hair a rich chestnut red and the make-up artist had given her all-over body make-up to make her skin even more alabaster. Her mint-green silk gown had a thick pleat of material that skimmed her shoulders, criss-crossing over the bodice to a tiny waist. The skirt was long, to mid calf, cut close to the body and slightly flared at the back, and
she
wore matching mint-green satin heels, five inches high.

Next to her, Jemima was all pink and blonde, her silk dress embroidered down one side with silver flowers. The fabric followed the same pattern as Poppy’s dress, wrapping about the shoulders and criss-crossing over to the waist, but her dress had a small pink belt with a diamond clasp nipping her in at the waist and her skirt, which fell two inches below the knee, was fuller, with net skirts underneath.

Tara pivoted on one cream satin heel, admiring her dress. It was, she thought, sexier than the other two. It was low-cut with a sweetheart neckline and cap sleeves. Just below the waist, the skirt was gathered up to one hip, where a large, silver embroidered flower, the mirror of the ones climbing down Jemima’s dress, held pleats of ivory satin material in place before they fell sexily downwards to her knees. The darker hair suited her, she thought. Her skin seemed finer and her eyes bluer.

Three mouths were painted with the same rich, pink-red, 1950s Hollywood shade. Three matching necklaces glittered round their throats. The peep-toe satin slippers had been perfectly dyed to match each dress, but they were identical in style.

Donna was right, the effect was mesmerising.

‘The power of three,’ said Donna again, unable to hide her pleasure at the effect she had created. ‘Three Charlie’s Angels. Three Trevellyan sisters. One last thing.’

She opened her handbag and took from it a small
atomiser.
Stepping forward she sprayed it hard, wafting the scent across all three sisters.

‘Remember …
Tea Rose
. I want you to mention it to every single person you talk to tonight. Now, it’s nearly nine o’clock. The car is waiting for you downstairs – I know, you’ll be in it for all of three minutes, but you can hardly walk down Saint James’s, especially not in those rocks. So, come on, girls. Let’s go get ’em.’

Spencer House was lit up, its windows blazing. Leading up to the front door was a red carpet, edged on either side by ropes. Behind the ropes, the press were massed. Hundreds of photographers, the ones at the back mounted on stools or stepladders, went crazy each time a limousine arrived to unload another famous face.

‘Over here!’ they shouted, bellowing the star’s name, hoping to get them to stare, just for an instant, down their lens so they could snare the perfect shot. When people they didn’t recognise emerged – heads of banks, businessmen, minor actors and models, women who were less than dazzling – there was a noticeable diminishment of excitement. The bulbs stopped flashing, the cameras were lowered, the ruder paps even told the poor things to get a fucking move-on and shift inside, to make room for the real stars.

Inside the Trevellyan limousine, the girls were nervous. Donna had allowed them one glass of champagne each to calm their nerves. ‘Any more and you’ll topple over on those bloody heels on your way in. That’s not the reason I want you to be noticed tonight.’

‘I’ve never wanted the press to notice me before,’ breathed Jemima. ‘It’s strange how vulnerable it makes you feel.’

‘I just hope we’re not opening Pandora’s box,’ muttered Tara. ‘You know, once you’ve let it out, you can’t put it back. Poppy, are you really that white or is it your make-up?’

‘It’s make-up and sheer terror,’ said Poppy, her eyes wide. ‘This must be worse than going up the aisle. I’m sure I’m going to fall over getting out of the car.’

‘It is worse in some ways,’ said Jemima, already a little high on her champagne, having sneaked another glass when Donna wasn’t paying attention. ‘But look on the bright side; no matter what happens tonight, it won’t be a life sentence.’ She giggled.

The car drew to a halt. It was their turn. The door was opened by the uniformed footman waiting at the edge of the red carpet.

‘We look gorgeous,’ said Jemima. ‘Come on. Let’s do it.’

They emerged to a flurry of flashbulbs. Three beautiful women in stunning gowns, looking like glamorous stars? Of course they would have their picture taken … Then, briefly, the energy lessened. Who were they? Did anyone know? Did anyone care? Then the murmur started. The paps recognised Jemima first, from her Billy days, then Tara, then they guessed.
Trevellyan
. The muttered word flew round the press ranks as the cameras were lifted again and the bulbs popped.

‘This way, Jemima!’ they bellowed.

‘Tara, over here!’

‘Oi, Popsy, or whoever you are, look this way!’

‘They’re facking gorgeous,’ said one photographer to another. ‘Are they really English? They look too facking good.’

‘They’re the real thing,’ his friend answered. ‘But no one guessed they could look like this.’

The girls turned one side and then the other, giving the photographers what they wanted. Then, when they all felt instinctively that the press had had just enough, they turned and walked gracefully up the red carpet and through the front door, into the dazzling rooms beyond.

The house was a superb small palace built by the Spencer family in the eighteenth century as a showcase for their wealth and taste, and it was one of the finest examples of neo-classical architecture. Its interior had been restored to its original dazzling richness, and tonight it looked its very best. Uniformed footmen distributed champagne. The elaborate gilding, ornate plasterwork and fine family portraits were gently lit by candelabra. Vast displays of flowers exploded between tables offering every type of delicacy: a bowl carved from ice was lavishly full of Sevruga caviar; trays displayed rows and rows of intricate canapés, full of colour and delicacy. Bars in each beautiful, classical room, offered the finest wine, liqueurs and cocktails. Everywhere they looked, the interlinked letters of FFB were in harmony with the Erin de Cristo logo. This was a great tribute to the partnership of two successful companies, and famous faces moved easily
through
every room, enjoying the splendid hospitality. Gorgeous gowns were displayed alongside the most expensive suits in the world: Armani, Prada and Savile Row with its unmistakeable elegance and superb cut.

‘Let’s stick together,’ whispered Poppy, holding her sisters’ hands. ‘I’m really nervous!’

‘You’ll be fine,’ said Jemima sternly. ‘You look fabulous and we have to split up to mingle. I should find Ferrera – I ought to thank him for inviting us.’

‘Perhaps you’d better break the bad news,’ said Tara. ‘That we can’t sell to him after all – at least not without offering the company elsewhere for the same price.’

‘For all that matters,’ said Poppy. ‘We don’t even know if Jecca would be interested in getting her hands on the business. She probably couldn’t give a shit about us and our company.’

‘You look too beautiful to have words like “shit” coming out of your mouth,’ Jemima said solemnly.

Poppy laughed. Her auburn hair shimmered in the candlelight. It fell in long dark waves, glittering richly over her white shoulders. ‘I wish George was here,’ she said longingly.

‘Forget lover boy for tonight,’ counselled Tara. ‘And by the looks of it, there are plenty of loaded guys here if you’re feeling in the least like straying.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Poppy said, tossing her head. ‘But thanks for the suggestion.’

They each helped themselves to glass of Krug from the tray of a passing waiter, and began to wander through lavish rooms.

‘There’s Angelina Jolie!’ hissed Jemima as they
walked
past a small brunette talking earnestly to a man in a dark suit.

‘I just saw Madonna gossiping with her besties, Gwyneth and Trudie. And I spotted George Clooney.’ Tara giggled. ‘I haven’t been to a party this grand for a long time. Ferrera must have spent a fortune.’

‘There’s Rosie Scott-Evans, I must go and say hello. She’s PR and very fertile ground for
Tea Rose
.’ With that, Jemima glided away and before long was surrounded by friends and acquaintances, chattering animatedly, and making them all smell the new scent, basking in the nods of approval and admiration she received.

‘She’s good,’ said Poppy, as she and Tara saw how well Jemima was networking.

‘It’s her forte, sweetie. I’m much better in the boardroom.’

‘I’m not quite sure where I’m best but I don’t much like being looked at.’

Nevertheless, Poppy was getting a huge amount of attention: she stood out from the other glossy, permatanned blondes and brunettes with her paper-white skin and red hair. People were muttering as she walked past, asking who on earth she was. Then, to her immense relief, she saw someone she knew well.