Party Games (12 page)

She got off the bed and went over to the mirror, turning this way and that. Was her bottom looking a bit bigger? Conrad knew exactly which buttons to press.

Jaunty whistling was coming from the bathroom. Vanessa flicked a ‘V’ at the door.

She turned back and studied her ripe, neglected body. She traced a creamy nipple with her manicured finger, daring herself to mouth the name she’d not been able to stop thinking about during sex with her husband.

Dylan.

The intercom raised Vanessa from a guilty fantasy about sex with Dylan in the shallow end of the pool. She went over and opened the bedroom door. ‘Renata!’

There was no answer. The buzzer went again. ‘For
God’s sake!’ Vanessa swore, grabbing her silk robe off the chaise longue. ‘All right, I’m coming!’ she yelled.

She stomped down the stairs, tying her robe as she went. ‘What?’ she barked down the intercom.

‘Um, is Vanessa there, please?’

‘This is she. Who is this?’

‘Catherine Connor.’

Vanessa stared at the intercom screen, and the MG at the gate. ‘What do you want?’

‘Have you got five minutes?’

‘I really don’t have anything to say to you.’ Vanessa regained her composure. ‘Are you recording this? I’d think very carefully about making up another bunch of lies again.’

‘Of course I’m not recording this!’ There was a pause. ‘I wanted to ask you a favour,’ Catherine said in a more controlled voice.

‘You? Ask
me
a favour?’

‘Please. It won’t take long.’

‘It had better not,’ snapped Vanessa and hung up. She should have told Catherine where to go, but Vanessa had to admit, she was intrigued. What was the purpose of this little visit? Sweeping upstairs, she went to get dressed.

When she opened the door twenty-five minutes later Catherine was looking suitably pissed off. ‘I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me.’

Vanessa gave her a chilly once-over, making the most of the height advantage from the top step. Catherine would never be a classic beauty, but shorter hair did suit her. Very gamine.

Vanessa would
never
do gamine.

Catherine gave an awkward smile. ‘Thanks for seeing me.’

‘What do you want?’ Vanessa snapped. ‘I’m very busy.’

She heard Conrad coming down the stairs. He was at Vanessa’s shoulder in a flash. ‘What is
she
doing here?’

Vanessa pulled the door to an inch. ‘Well?’

Catherine’s eyes flickered past her. ‘You’ve probably heard about the plans for Ye Olde Worlde theme park?’

‘What about them?’ Vanessa asked. Conrad was still hovering behind her in a cloud of freshly applied Hermès.

‘Well, we had the public meeting at County Hall on Tuesday.’

‘I do watch the local news,’ Vanessa interrupted.

Catherine blinked. ‘Oh. Well, you’ll know all about Sid Sykes getting another chance to put in a new planning application.’

Vanessa hadn’t, but she wasn’t going to admit it. ‘And?’

‘The town has decided to put on a “Big Day Out” fundraiser.’ Catherine looked like she was having trouble moving her mouth: ‘We’d be delighted if you and Conrad would open it.’

‘Us? Open a
fete
?’

‘It’s a bit more than a
fete
,’ Catherine said. ‘It’s raising awareness for an issue that affects us all. Of course, we could always ask Liz Hurley,’ she added innocently. ‘She doesn’t live far from here.’

Bitch
. Vanessa gave Catherine a chilly smile. ‘We have a fee for public appearances.’

‘Twenty grand an hour, plus expenses!’ Conrad hissed in her ear.

‘I’m afraid we can’t pay you,’ Catherine said carefully. ‘But I’m sure you’ll agree it’s a wonderful way for the community to pull together.’

Vanessa stood there, considering for a moment. The great Catherine Connor begging at her door. Under any other circumstances she would have laughed in Catherine’s face, but Conrad’s cruel comments were still fresh in her mind.

‘We’d be delighted. I’m sure under these exceptional circumstances our fee can be waived for once.’

She watched Catherine’s mouth fall open. Conrad’s stage whisper came from sharp left. ‘Are you fucking
joking
me?’

‘Call my PA with the details,’ Vanessa said, finally getting to slam the door in Catherine’s face.

Catherine drove away from the Powells’ mansion in a state of shock. She’d never expected to get past the intercom, let alone be granted a doorstep audience with Vanessa Powell in a Cavalli kimono. It had been painful, but nowhere near as painful as Catherine had been expecting.

The celebrity had looked as immaculate as ever, but Catherine had been struck by how girlish, almost vulnerable, Vanessa had looked when she had opened the door. It was like the house had swallowed her up.

Catherine accelerated down Pavilion Heights. Now she thought about it, she was sure there had been another tension in the air. Had the famously perfect couple been in the middle of a row? Catherine didn’t care if Vanessa had been about to chop Conrad’s head off with an axe. Bloody hell, they’d got the Powells! Amanda Belcher was going to wet her French knickers when she found out.

The sun was climbing high above the valley as she continued back down the hill to her house. The black
mood that had descended after finding out she wasn’t pregnant was finally starting to ease its grip. In its place was a philosophical resignation. If it wasn’t meant to be, so be it. Plenty of women she admired didn’t have children. It hadn’t stopped them leading happy, full lives. She wasn’t going to patronize herself – or them – by thinking otherwise.

It still didn’t stop her stomach twisting every time she thought of what she couldn’t give her husband.

Her mobile started ringing as she pulled up outside her home. It was a private number.

‘Hello?’

‘Catherine?’ A gravelly Welsh voice. ‘So you do get reception out in the wilds?’

She smiled. ‘Ha ha, Gywn, very funny. I’ve missed your dulcet tones.’

Gywn Hughes was Catherine’s reporter mate from the nationals. A brilliant journalist, he’d been responsible for some of the biggest news scoops of the last ten years. Catherine had persuaded him to do a piece on Soirée Sponsors and they’d hit it off. Gywn had been one of the main campaigners clearing Catherine’s mum’s name when the Crimson Killer case had hit the news the second time. On the off-chance she had given him a call about Pear Tree Holdings. If anyone could get to the bottom of things, it was Gywn.

He cut straight to the chase. ‘I’ve been asking round.’

‘Shoot.’

‘Not much, I’m afraid. The Isle of Man Companies House operate behind one big fat closed door. It’s a completely different system to the UK.’

‘The company directors are still listed though, aren’t they? They could at least tell you who owns it.’

Sirens wailed in the background. Gwyn exhaled down the phone; he was obviously smoking one of his frequent cigarettes.

‘They don’t know anything. They’re literally three old boys who live on the Isle of Man and get paid once a year to rock up and sign the forms to keep Pear Tree going. They could be directors for literally thousands of companies. It’s a nice little earner; I might move there when I retire.’

‘It sounds so dodgy, Gwyn. I can’t believe it’s legit.’

‘It’s completely legit. A lot of the supermarkets do it for tax reasons, plus it’s easier when you’re buying up vast swathes of land if nobody knows who you are. Especially if it’s a controversial development.’

‘Like Blaize Castle,’ she said grimly.

‘I haven’t given up yet, Catherine. You know what I’m like once I’ve got the bit between my teeth.’

‘Which is exactly why I came to you.’ She rubbed at a grease mark on the steering wheel. ‘You haven’t heard the name Beau Rainford in any of this, have you?’

‘That rich-boy property developer? You think he’s behind it?’

‘It was just a theory,’ she said quickly. ‘Forget it.’

‘Nah, this is too big even for a character like Beau Rainford. My hunch is it’s a big company. Probably a multinational that is being extra-cautious because of all the controversy about building on green-field sites.’

‘That’s what my husband said.’

‘I think he’s right.’

Catherine still couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was still something definitely off.

‘I’ll keep plugging away, I must admit you’ve piqued my interest,’ he told her. ‘How are things going in the country? Are you a jam-making expert now?’

‘Don’t joke,’ she sighed. ‘It’s not far off that.’

The reporter gave a throaty laugh. ‘I’ve got a call on the other line; I’ll be in touch.’

Vanessa was on the phone to her PA, Tamzin. A plump blonde twenty-something, Tamzin was something of a godsend. Competent and organized, Conrad’s mood swings seemed to wash over her. She’d been with the Powells in London, and Vanessa couldn’t bear to let her go when they moved.

‘Don’t forget Selfridges are still holding on to the new Chanel for you,’ she was telling Vanessa.

Dylan was bending over outside. Vanessa craned her neck to get a good look at his bum. ‘I’m not sure when I’ll be in London next. Could you courier it to me?’

‘I don’t blame you, home must be a very attractive option at the moment.’

‘I’m sorry?’ Vanessa’s mind raced – what had Tamzin heard?

The girl laughed. ‘Given the choice between the beautiful Cotswolds and hot, smelly London I know what I’d prefer!’

At midday Vanessa took a tray of drinks out to the terrace. ‘Come and sit down!’ she called. ‘You must be parched.’

Dylan came up the lawn, black curls and bronzed skin making him look like a raffish pirate. There were rings of sweat under the arms of his vest, his dark armpit hair poking out the sides. For some reason Vanessa found it extremely erotic.

‘Please, take a seat,’ she said nonchalantly, as if taking refreshments with her staggeringly handsome gardener was an everyday occurrence.

Sukie was far more obvious. She’d been out in the garden all morning, watching Dylan in complete adoration. As he sat down, she jumped up and nestled her head in his crotch.

Lucky bitch
, Vanessa found herself thinking. The glass she was holding slid through her hand. Dylan leant forward and caught it.

‘S-sorry,’ she stuttered. ‘Iced tea OK?’

‘Perfect.’

She wrenched her gaze away from the luminous eyes. ‘You said you had a dog, didn’t you?’ she asked him, pouring him a glass. Her hands were shaking.

‘Yup, an Irish wolfhound called Eddie. He’s holding the fort for me at home.’

‘Does Eddie live in the yurt with you?’

‘No, I built him his own one.’

‘Your dog’s got its own yurt?’

Dylan looked deadly serious. ‘Oh yeah. And his own toilet.’

‘Really?’

‘You bet.’

It took a second for the penny to drop. ‘Oh, very funny,’ she retorted.

He chuckled. ‘I had you there.’

She couldn’t help but smile back; there was something so wonderfully easy about him.

‘Did you have to get permission to stay places in your yurt?’ she asked.

Dylan tickled Sukie’s pink belly with his long tanned fingers. ‘Sometimes, but Foxglove Woods is a pretty private spot. I can always move on if anyone objects.’

It was such a nomadic life, never knowing where you would be at the end of every day. She couldn’t imagine it and said as much to him.

‘That’s exactly why I like it. I’ve got the air in my lungs and the sun on my back. That’s all I need.’

Vanessa looked down at her jewels, up at her beautiful house. These were the things that mattered. Tangible symbols of your own worth and status. How could he survive on so little?

‘What do your parents think about your lifestyle?’

‘They’re cool.’ He tickled Sukie’s ear. ‘They live on a farm in Andalucía with twenty-five stray cats. No wait, twenty-six. Mum just told me they’ve taken in another one.’

It was all starting to make sense. ‘I’ve got a brother as well,’ he told her. ‘If you want the whole family history.’

‘What does he do?’ She winked. ‘Train wolves in the wilds of Alaska?’

‘Actually, he’s a chartered surveyor who lives in Cambridge.’

Vanessa’s face dropped. ‘Oh. That was a joke. Not a very good one, sorry.’

He glanced up from stroking Sukie and gave her a smile. His gaze was magnetic. Vanessa felt like her body had dissolved into a million particles that were all racing round and bumping into each other.

‘H-how long are you staying?’ she asked.

‘Not sure yet.’ Dylan held her gaze. ‘It depends.’

She swallowed. ‘On what?’

‘What the hell is going on here?’ Conrad was standing behind them, Hugo Boss jacket slung over one shoulder. He didn’t look very happy.

‘Conrad!’ she jumped up. ‘I wasn’t expecting you back until later.’

‘Evidently not. What is that fucking hippy wagon doing on our driveway?’

‘I let Dylan park outside the house. I didn’t think you’d mind.’

‘Well, I do. I don’t want people thinking we’re putting up a load of crusties.’ Conrad jerked his hand over the table. ‘What’s this?’

‘I just stopped for lunch,’ Vanessa lied. ‘Seeing as it was hot, I thought Dylan would like to join me for an iced tea. You know, to say thank you for all his wonderful work,’ she added, wondering if that was over-egging the pudding.

Conrad narrowed his eyes at Dylan. ‘Thought you’d slack off to chat up my wife, did you?’

‘Conrad!’

‘Hello? I’m joking! As if you’d be interested in the hired help!’ He put a proprietorial arm round Vanessa’s shoulders. ‘Anyway, chappie, I’m afraid you haven’t passed your trial period.’

‘What trial period?’ she started to say, but Conrad’s
nails dug warningly into her flesh. Dylan put Sukie down on the floor and got up.

‘Sorry, I wasn’t aware there was a contract.’

‘There isn’t!’ she protested, earning herself another sharp nail dig. Conrad looked down fondly at her.

‘Bless my darling wife; she’s never very good at confrontation.’ He smiled coldly. ‘I, on the other hand, won’t stand for sub-standard work.’ He fixed Dylan with a condescending stare. ‘You’ve had your chance to shine, chappie, and it hasn’t worked out.’