Little White Lies (53 page)

Six months after signing the lease, they were almost ready to move in. Tash went to sleep dreaming about their new premises and woke up every morning with paint samples, fabric swatches and layouts uppermost in her mind. She loved every single aspect of the whole process, from sitting with the architects and planners, working out who sat where, who saw whom, who had what views, right down to the choice of mugs in the staff canteen.
[email protected]
now had a staff of nearly a hundred people. There were days when Tash sat alone in her office, her head in her hands, stunned by the enormity – and profitability – of it all. She’d always known she would make it. She just hadn’t reckoned on making it this
big
. Or so fast. Turnover for 2009 was close to ten million pounds; in 2010, it jumped to twenty-six million and by although it was only June they’d already hit the forty million mark. They’d just celebrated their 250,000th order and all the indications were that they’d hit half a million before the year was out. Good news all round. Usually, reports like the ones that landed on her desk every day were enough to put a spring in her step and a smile on her face. But not tonight.

She pushed back her chair and stood up. She walked to the window and stood there, looking down at the street. Dozens of the well-dressed, well-heeled women who clicked onto
[email protected]
every day walked up and down, pausing at Agnès B, Fenn Wright Mason or any of the dozen or so boutiques on either side of the road, occasionally popping in but rarely emerging with more than a bag or two. Tash knew why. It all went back to what she’d said to Julian a few years earlier, when they’d first started out.
[email protected]
did the editing for them, stopping short of telling them what to buy, what to wear. They made beautiful, seductive, gorgeous suggestions and then let their customers’ fingers do the rest. Their online magazine,
Runway
, was just as important as the collections they had to offer. Every week, she met with her creative team – Carla, Harriet, Di, Venetia and Stephen, the sole man – to go through the upcoming issue. It was here that the real genius behind
[email protected]
came into play. Each week, twenty pages of the hottest looks, the sharpest suits, sexiest shoes and most on-trend accessories were put together in a format that took the best of advertising, lifestyle, celebrity culture and fashion and mixed it up, presenting their customers with page after page of the most divine images. The discreet, candy-coloured pop-up buttons that said, simply,
GET THE LOOK
were sprinkled liberally around the page. It was a simple message and it worked. Women couldn’t resist the combination of stunning clothes, stunning models and celebrities and those buttons. They clicked and bought and clicked and bought. They excitedly told their friends and colleagues, who promptly did the same. A day later, their packages arrived. Candy-coloured boxes, embossed with the words
[email protected]
, wrapped in ribbons – pink for lingerie, yellow for summer outfits, mink for winter and red for shoes – arrived on their desks to squeals and sighs of delight.

‘It’s better than sex,’ the CEO of a multinational declared one week in
Grazia
magazine. She was more than happy to be featured on the front page of
Runway
the following week. That gave Tash yet another idea.
True to Life
. An ad campaign that featured real-life women with real-life careers, making online purchases in between making phone calls, chairing meetings, dropping children off at the school gates and running into their Pilates classes. The week
True to Life
debuted, sales jumped fifty-six per cent. It was all good, and it was all go. Most of the time. But tonight was different.

It was Annick’s phone call that had set her off. She’d been on the verge of packing up for the day when the phone rang.

‘Tash? It’s me.’ It was Annick. She sounded slightly out of breath. ‘Are you busy?’

‘Me?
Never
. What’s up?’

‘Well, I hate to do this over the phone but I’m too excited to wait. I’ve no idea when we’ll see you next.’

Tash’s heart missed a beat. She knew what was coming. ‘What is it?’

‘I’m pregnant.’

‘Oh.’ Tash swallowed. She closed her eyes briefly, then rallied herself. ‘Oh, Annick. That’s . . . that’s wonderful.’

‘Did you guess? Are you pleased?’

‘Of course I’m pleased! And no, I didn’t guess. I’d no idea what you were going to say. Is Yves pleased?’

‘We’re both over the moon. We’ve been trying for ages and—’

‘You never said you were trying,’ Tash interrupted her, surprised.

Annick gave a short laugh. ‘It’s not the sort of thing you want everyone to know. When it didn’t happen straight away . . . well, you know me, I started to worry. I thought there might be something wrong with me. Anyhow, it’s happened!
Finally
. We’re pregnant!’

‘How . . . how far are you?’ Tash asked, struggling to remember how to phrase it. And why was it that women always said “we”? Annick was pregnant, not Yves!

‘Two months. That’s the other thing. Yves doesn’t want me to tell anyone until next month – he says it’s bad luck but I couldn’t wait. And there’s something I wanted to ask you, too.’ She hesitated.

‘What?’

‘Will you be the godmother?’

‘Oh, Annick, no! I’m
already
godmother to Rebecca’s two.’ She grimaced. ‘That came out wrong. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. I just meant . . . well, I’m probably the worst godmother in the world, you know that. I’ll forget birthdays and anniversaries and exams and—’

‘Tash, stop it. You’re an
amazing
godmother. You
never
forget birthdays; what are you talking about? You threw that incredible party for the twins last year – have you forgotten?’

‘Annabel organised it, not me,’ she protested. ‘I’d never have managed it on my own.’

‘Rubbish. Anyhow, we’re not taking “no” for an answer. You’re going to be godmother whether you like it or not. How could you even
think
of saying “no”?’

Tash pulled a quick, culpable face. ‘I know. Stupid and selfish of me. No, I’m thrilled you’ve asked me.’

‘Really? Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure,’ Tash said firmly. ‘And can I ask – boy or girl? Or is it too early to tell? I never know with these things.’

‘Too early to tell,’ Annick confirmed. ‘And I’m not even sure I want to know, to tell you the truth. I just hope it’s healthy.’

‘Of course it’ll be healthy. Why shouldn’t it be?’

‘Well, you can never tell. Anything could happen.’

‘Oh, Annick. That’s what doctors are for. Put that thought right out of your head. Now, the really important question is, when are we going to celebrate?’

‘Soon. Soon as Yves gets back.’

‘Where’s he gone again?’

‘Singapore. He’s back on Saturday so we’ll organise something. No alcohol for me, though.’

‘You’re French,’ Tash protested, laughing. ‘French women don’t give up a damn thing, or so I’ve heard. Come on, where’s your Gallic spirit?’

‘You’re mad,’ Annick laughed. ‘Look, I’d better go. I’ve still got to work out how to tell Frances.
She’ll
go mad. She told me not to get married in the first place.’

‘She’ll get over it,’ Tash said drily. ‘D’you know how many of
my
staff are on maternity leave? Eleven. Ridiculous.’

‘It’s what we do,’ Annick said primly. ‘Anyhow, I’ll call you on Saturday. Don’t work too hard.’

‘Do I ever?’ She replaced the receiver slowly. Godmother. Again.
It’s what we do.
No, it wasn’t. It was what some women did. Some women had husbands, boyfriends, lovers, children. Tash didn’t. She’d had sex twice in her life – once, at university, with someone whose face she couldn’t even recall and the second time with the father of her best friend, who was long dead. She cupped her chin in her hand. When she met other working women, she sometimes felt like a creature from another planet. Everyone she knew was either married with kids, or divorced with kids, or in what was cheerfully described as a ‘stable’ relationship, though most of the relationships around her seemed anything but. Yves and Annick seemed to be an exception, though on the odd occasion the five of them went out together, Yves’ attention seemed to be claimed elsewhere. She liked him. He was thoughtful and seemed to dote on Annick, which, in anyone’s book, made him the perfect man, but she couldn’t help but feel there was either something more there or something missing.

And Julian? She smiled ruefully to herself. She had to be careful where Julian was concerned. He was her business associate, not just the husband of her best friend. He’d made rather a lot of money out of
[email protected]
and his business advice was always spot on. Well,
almost
always. She thought back to the conversation they’d had a few days earlier. They’d just begun discussing a fresh injection of capital into the business. Tash, for once, was reluctant. They were growing a little too fast for her comfort, though Julian put her nervousness down to her desire to micro-manage.

‘You can’t oversee everything, Tash,’ he’d said to her over a working lunch.

‘I have to. The minute I take my eye off the ball, sales drop. Look what happened last week.’

‘It was a bad week. There’s lots happening out there. Nothing to do with you being at your desk or not,’ Julian said mildly. He speared a tomato. ‘Look, just meet with them. You don’t have to agree to anything. I’ll set it up.’

‘Who’s “them” again?’

‘Sheikh Nasim Al-Soueif. He’s one of the Abu Dhabi princes, one of the more powerful ones. The money’s in the Gulf, Tash. The Arabs have lots of it, they’re confident and they’re willing to invest. Everyone else is nervous. I don’t want to be a scaremonger here but we’re heading towards something we can’t quite predict.’

‘But we’re doing fine,’ Tash protested. ‘We’re up, week on week, month on month.’

‘Absolutely. And that’s why it’s important you keep going, build on what you’ve got. You’ve got to show
you
believe in your own product, even if everyone around you is nervous.
If you can keep your head
. . . you know the old poem.’

‘
When all about you are losing theirs
,’ Tash murmured. She looked at him across the bottle of wine that stood between them. It was almost empty. She signalled to the waiter for another one.

‘No, not for me,’ Julian quickly covered his own glass. ‘I’ve got another meeting right after this.’

‘So? So’ve I,’ Tash grinned. ‘All right, fine. Let’s meet with them and talk through what they’re prepared to offer. No more. I’m not making a decision on this yet. We’ve got the move coming up, I’ve got some new ideas I want to run by the team. It’s still early days, Julian.’

‘All the more reason to have a substantial float behind you. I’ll set the meeting up.’

‘Will you excuse me a moment?’ Tash asked, getting up. ‘I’ll just pop to the ladies’. Pour me a glass when that waiter gets here, will you?’

Julian nodded, already reaching for his phone.

Alone in the toilet, Tash locked the cubicle door firmly behind her and hurriedly unzipped her bag. She reached in for the little silver hip flask and pulled it out. She unscrewed the cap, lifted the bottle to her lips and took a long, satisfying gulp. Vodka.
Stolichnaya Elit
. She wiped her lips, waited for the burning sensation in her throat and stomach to pass and leaned her head back against the wall. Within seconds, she felt better. She wiped her lips again, the slightly oily, liquorice-like taste lingering in her mouth for a few pleasurable moments. God, it was good. She pushed herself upright, smoothed down her Joseph trousers and retied the silk pussy bow at her throat. She opened the door – no one about – washed her hands and slipped out.

Julian was on the phone as she came up behind him. ‘All right, darling, you win. I’ll see you tonight. It’ll be late, though, probably around ten.’ He hung up abruptly as she walked round to her seat. There was a glass of white wine waiting beside her empty plate. She eyed it appreciatively. After the heat of the vodka she’d just had, a cold glass of wine would go down very nicely indeed.

‘You sure you won’t have any?’ she asked.

He shook his head. ‘No, I’d better run. It’s all settled. We can either fly out to Dubai – have you ever been? – or we can meet them somewhere. Here, Paris, Zurich, wherever you like.’

‘I’ve never been out to Dubai. Well, why don’t we go there? It’d make a change.’

‘Great. I’ll get Jackie to set up some dates. I’ll get this,’ he said, signalling to the waiter and pulling out his wallet at the same time. ‘You don’t mind if I leave you alone?’

‘No, go ahead; I’m used to it,’ she grinned. ‘I’ll just finish this glass. How’s darling Rebecca?’

Julian shrugged. ‘Haven’t heard from her yet. I’m assuming they arrived safely.’

‘Oh. I thought . . . ?’ She stopped suddenly. ‘Has she gone somewhere?’

It was Julian’s turn to look surprised. ‘Didn’t she tell you? They left last night. They’re in Israel for a fortnight. Embeth wanted to see them.’

‘Oh. No, she didn’t mention it.’ She pulled a face. ‘Mind you, I haven’t spoken to her in over a week. I suppose she’s got her hands full at the moment.’

‘Mmm. Right, I’m off. Jackie’ll be in touch in the next couple of days. The sooner we get things moving, the better.’

‘What’s the rush?’ Tash asked mildly, picking up her glass. Julian didn’t answer. He gave her a quick farewell kiss on either cheek and hurried off, threading his way nimbly through the restaurant. Several heads turned as he passed. He was a good-looking man, Tash thought to herself. Whom had he been talking to? If it wasn’t Rebecca, whom was he going to see at ten that night? More to the point – whom else did he call ‘darling’?

She turned from the window and picked up her bag. She switched off the lights and had her hand on the doorknob when the phone rang yet again. She sighed. Should she answer it? She walked back to her desk. It was her mother. She picked up the phone.

‘
Otchego ty mne nikogda ne zvonish
?’ Lyudmila pounced on her as soon as she’d said hello.