B004D4Y20I EBOK (47 page)

‘Tara, it’s Archie Arundel, look.’

‘For God’s sake, go and say hello. It will break the ice.’ Tara shooed her sister away and then continued on her own. This was certainly a triumph: the guest list was glittering and it felt the height of luxury.
I suppose this is what we’re aiming at
, Tara thought.
It seems
so
far away from what we can achieve. If only we could sell out to Ferrera. We’d have all this too. We’d be made
. In the state dining room she passed Erin de Cristo holding court, obviously enjoying her night.

‘Darling, it’s vulgar, I know, but I just don’t know what to spend my money on!’ she hooted. ‘I was going to get a villa in Capri and then I remembered – I’ve already got one!’

Her coterie laughed loudly.

Tara walked on, and a few moments later, she was greeted enthusiastically by some of her girlfriends and was soon absorbed into their group. When they wanted to hear about Gerald, she told them instead about
Tea Rose
, that they must spread the word with all the ladies they lunched with: a new scent was coming, the biggest new launch since Chanel’s
Allure
.

The party continued, the guests relaxing as the champagne and vodka cocktails soaked into their bloodstreams. Official photographers and diarists circulated among the guests, taking photographs and looking for spicy stories for their columns. Jemima, for the first time in her life, sought them out and told them about the Trevellyan plans. She gave it a glamorous spin: Trevellyan was not a failing company with one last chance of revival, oh no. It was a grand old company business, vast and successful but a bit of a dinosaur, being pulled into the present day by three vibrant sisters with dreams of creating one of the great, classic scents.

‘Trevellyan will no longer be a company of yesteryear, it will be current and exciting, it will meet the
needs
of the twenty-first-century woman,’ Jemima explained. ‘We’ve developed a whole new image for the company and plan to expand into beauty treatments and a range of delicious fragrances for the body and the home.’

‘Thank you, Lady Calthorpe,’ said the journalist, busily writing everything down. ‘That’s so interesting. Is there any chance we could have some photographs of you and your sisters? We’ve all noticed how charming you look this evening.’

‘You’re very sweet. I’m organising a photo call for everyone who wants to take pictures a little bit later. We’ll be in the Music Room at eleven o’clock.’

‘Excellent.’

A footman came up to them. ‘Excuse me. Mr Ferrera and Miss de Cristo request that guests go to the terrace. Thank you.’

Everyone was moving through the house towards the terrace. Some made their way out into the garden itself where a golden dais had been erected, surrounded by flaming candles. The night was velvety dark blue and it was warm enough to stand outside, even in thin silks and satins. When the guests were massed so that they could see the stage in the garden, Richard Ferrera and Erin de Cristo appeared from the darkness and mounted the platform. There was a round of applause. Ferrera, dashingly elegant in a dark Kilgour suit and mustard-coloured shirt, smiled, obviously enjoying the moment. De Cristo looked tiny beside him, stick thin in a dress from her latest range: a Grecian-style tunic of sparkling silver.

‘Thank you,’ he said as the applause faded. ‘You are all very welcome. Thank you so much for coming. It’s an honour to have you here to celebrate a very special moment. We at FFB are so happy that Erin de Cristo has decided to join us. Together we have amazing plans to take her signature style, glamour and unmatchable elegance to even greater heights of success. We want you all to be a part of that story.’

There was another ripple of applause from the appreciative crowd.

Erin de Cristo spoke in her high voice. ‘I’m so thrilled to be Richard’s partner. I know he shares my vision and my values. Above all, I know he appreciates creativity and artistry and would move mountains to promote and protect that. That’s why FFB is the perfect home for my company. Thank you all so much – I love you.’

Ferrera continued quickly, ‘Now, please continue to enjoy the party. But first – a little moment of celebration. Please indulge us.’ He made a signal and all the lights on the terrace went out, those in the rooms looking over the gardens were dimmed, and the candles round the dais were snuffed.

An instant later, a firework display began, first with quiet showers of golden rain and ripples of incandescent stars exploding gently upwards from the garden. Then the colours and sounds gathered pace, as stunning firework flowers appeared, blossoming in the sky in reds, blues, oranges, greens and golds. Their beauty made even the jaded crowd sigh and aah. Finally, great golden starbursts flared magnificently
into
the darkness and in the grand finale, the intertwined initials of FFB and Erin de Cristo appeared, glittering against the night sky. It was the signal for wild applause from the guests and then, as the lights came on again, a movement back inside, to the limitless champagne and delicious food.

‘Money literally up in smoke,’ Jemima murmured, coming up to Poppy.

‘Yes, but so pretty!’ replied Poppy. ‘I loved it. I haven’t seen fireworks in ages.’

‘We’re having a photo call in twenty minutes in the Music Room. It’s got lovely blue chalky walls and our dresses will look wonderful against it.’

‘All right, I’m going to fix my make-up, then.’

‘OK. Don’t be late. I’ve put a lot of work in and I think we’re going to get some good press tomorrow.’

Poppy went off to find the ladies’ cloakroom. It was almost deserted, just one pretty girl fixing her lipstick. She and Poppy smiled at one another and the next moment, Poppy had the place to herself. She took her compact and lipstick out of her silk evening purse. Donna had made sure they all had a stick of their new shade for repairs, but really the make-up had stood up very well. Those artists knew their job: her face looked almost as perfect as it had the moment they had finished. She leaned forward to the mirror to inspect it a little more closely. Then she heard a sob come from the stall behind her.

‘Oh God,’ said a small, lilting, tear-soaked voice, ‘what the hell am I gonna do?’

Another sob could be heard.

‘Are you all right in there?’ Poppy asked, going over to the cubicle door.

‘No, I’m bloody not!’ declared the voice. The door was kicked open from the inside to reveal a gorgeous dark-haired girl sitting on the loo seat. She was wearing half a long black taffeta gown – the bottom half. The top was hanging off her at the waist, leaving her clad in only a strapless bra. ‘Look, my dress! It’s ruined!’

‘What happened?’

‘I caught it on something on my way in here. The whole thing split down the side. So much for haute bloody couture. Now look at it! I can’t wear it out there. What’ll I do?’ The girl blinked her green eyes at Poppy.

‘Don’t panic,’ Poppy said brightly. ‘I’ve got a needle and thread. I’ll sew you back up.’

‘You
have?
’ The girl looked disbelieving. ‘No one carries a sewing kit with them.’

‘I do,’ Poppy said. ‘I’m a notorious buyer of second-hand clothes and they have a habit of falling to pieces or losing buttons at the worst possible moment. So I started carrying a needle and thread with me. You wouldn’t believe how many times it’s come to my rescue.’

‘And now it’s come to mine,’ said the girl, sniffing. ‘This is so kind. Thank you so much.’

‘Don’t worry. Now, if you turn round a bit, I’ll be able to locate the seam. I don’t think you should take that dress off – it looks very complicated – so I’ll just do a basic running stitch that will hold the seam
together
until you get home. Luckily I have a dark thread that shouldn’t be too conspicuous.’

‘You’re an angel,’ smiled the girl, turning round so that Poppy could start repairing the damage. ‘I really owe you one.’

Tara walked through the sumptuous rooms, moving as though with a purpose but actually just drifting, watching the knots of people in conversation, the men in their black tie and the women at the peak of their beauty, as polished and preened as they could possibly be. The free booze was already beginning to tell on some of the faces which were growing increasingly flushed and animated. She passed a room that had been turned into a discotheque, the floor glittering with tiny stars and coloured lights flashing on the ceiling. A fashionable pop song was booming round the little room but only one couple was dancing, a girl in a long white dress waving her hands in the air while her partner shuffled round her, shifting his shoulders and bobbing his head.
They probably had a few drinks before they got here
, Tara thought, amused.
It will take everyone else a while before the dancing urge kicks in
.

She lifted another flute of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter and sipped it. She was nervous tonight, uncharacteristically so. After all, she went to these things all the time, on her own behalf and as Gerald’s wife. Only a few months before they’d been to a State Banquet at Buckingham Palace and she couldn’t have been less worried. She giggled to herself.
I
have
a feeling that invitations to the palace are going to be rather thin on the ground for Gerald these days
.

She shrugged mentally.
I suppose I’m anxious because so much rides on this evening. I’ve never had to go out and sell myself quite so blatantly. I’ve never had so much invested in it
. Passing a great gilt-framed mirror, she saw her reflection and was startled. Was that beauty really her? Her eyes were smoky and feline, her brows elegant arches on creamy skin. The newly darkened hair was sultry, falling over her shoulders in glossy waves, and her perfectly painted mouth was nothing short of seductive. And it had to be admitted, her dress was stunning.

I suppose I’m a single woman now, as well
, she thought.
How strange
.

Feeling suddenly vulnerable despite her knock-out appearance, she took a gulp of champagne and turned on her heel, determined to make her way back to the main reception room and find Poppy or Jemima for a bit of support.

‘Tara, is that you? Blimey!’ It was a friendly voice, one she recognised at once. She blinked and realised that she had almost walked into Vince Fowler, a banking wizard she’d known in the early days of her career. She’d always liked Vince – he was a decent man with his feet on the ground, an East End boy who’d made good but never let it change him. He was still happily married to his childhood sweetheart and still lived in the same Essex house he’d bought ten years before, when he’d made his first ten million. Vince grinned at her, balder and fatter than he used
to
be, but still Vince. ‘You look fantastic, love. I hardly recognised you.’

‘Hi, Vince.’ She leaned in to kiss his cheek. ‘How lovely to see you. Thanks for the compliment. I’m out to impress tonight. How’s Cheryl?’

‘She’s good, thanks. Not here tonight, though; our youngest is a bit poorly. So who are you trying to impress?’ Vince frowned. ‘Not this Richard Ferrera bloke, I hope.’

‘Not specifically him. Just everyone really. Why?’

‘Well, that’s a relief. You don’t want to be having anything to do with him.’

‘Oh? Why not?’

Vince eyed her glass. ‘Still on the bubbly, are you? Listen, come with me. There’s a rather fancy little chilling-out area where they’re serving some terrific vodka cocktails. Let’s go and get one, and I’ll tell you all about it. It’ll be nice to catch up a bit.’

When they were settled in the calm, candlelit room, soothed by soft classical music and armed with their cocktails, Vince told Tara what he knew about Ferrera. ‘This is second-hand, you understand,’ he explained. ‘It’s through my dealings with one of his subsidiary companies in the States. I took the MD and his wife out for dinner with me and Cheryl and after a bottle or two, the gossip started to flow. They told us a lot about the big boss off the record and I’m telling you, he doesn’t sound like a nice guy at all. His divorce was pretty dirty, apparently. He’s got a lot of power and he uses it to crush any opposition. His wife got nothing; he left her as good as destitute just because he could.’

‘He’s been flirting with my sister,’ Tara said, worried. ‘According to her.’

‘You want her out of that one, as quick as poss,’ advised Vince. ‘He’s terrible to women. And he’s got some girlfriend anyway.’

‘Thanks. I’ll tell Jemima.’

‘But the way he treats his women is nothing to what he does to the businesses he takes over …’

‘Yes?’ Tara said, leaning forward so she wouldn’t miss a word. As Vince went on, she listened intently, her eyes widening with interest.

Jemima walked elegantly into the Palm Room, chatting happily to a friend. Then she spotted Ferrera, deep in conversation with a short, dark, rich-looking businessman.

‘Excuse me, Sara, I’ve seen someone I must speak to. I’ll see you later, OK?’ Parting from her friend, she approached Ferrera. He glanced upwards and when he saw her smiling at him, he quickly excused himself from the businessman and came towards her.

‘Jemima.’ He kissed each of her cheeks. ‘You look dazzling tonight. Dazzling.’

‘Thank you. This is a wonderful party.’

‘I’ve been meaning to contact you,’ he said softly. ‘I enjoyed our time in Paris together.’

‘So did I,’ purred Jemima. His nearness reminded her of how badly she’d wanted to sleep with him that night. He was wearing his cologne, that woody spicy citrus scent, and she had a flashback to their dancing together. She remembered how lust had swept through
her.
It was weird but she didn’t feel that now. Nevertheless, she felt it was important to pretend that she did. ‘It was quite an evening.’

‘It certainly was. I’ve been told you and your sisters have been making a stir here this evening. I would love to meet them.’

‘I can arrange that,’ Jemima said. ‘We’re all going to be in the Music Room very shortly at eleven o’clock. You can meet them there. But look, here’s my sister Tara. Tara!’ Jemima beckoned her over. ‘This is Richard Ferrera, the head of FFB.’