When She Was Bad... (49 page)

have to tread on eggshells. Excuse my language, but I don’t give a shit.’ ‘Excuse your language? I’m not Princess Grace,’ Becky said. ‘No, you just look like her.’

The two girls managed a small smile. The ice cubes clinked in Lita’s glass.

‘I think he liked the look of me. I don’t think he loved me, I don’t think he’s ever loved anyone. I had looks, and I was making a lot of money. The way I figure it, at that time he was pretty certain he was going to win his case and inherit this place. He still wanted my money. But when your lawyers pulled it out, he knew there Was only one possible bride, I guess. I was out, but not before he’d cleaned out my bank account.’

‘Yeah, you told me last time. The telegram was pretty cold.’

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‘And that meant you were to be the lucky lady,’ Lita said, pointing one blood-red talon dramatically at Becky.

‘Yeah, real lucky. Lucky enough to bring him into Lancaster and make a terrible situation absolutely disastrous.’ Becky grimaced. ‘I let

love blind me, or what I thought was love.’

‘He’s a good-looking guy.’

‘After Logan I find him a bit wimpy,’ Becky said, ‘and terrible in bed, of course.’

Lira burst out laughing. ‘I thought it might just be me.’

‘All mouth and no trousers, as they say over here.’ Becky grinned. ‘Well, no mouth either, unfortunately,’ Lita said.

Becky chuckled. ‘You think he might really have had something to do with this?’

‘If it’s not you and not me, then you bet your ass, querida. I don’t buy coincidences. Rupert is sly and conniving and money-grubbing. He’s quite capable of being vengeful.’

‘Yeah, but he’s not capable of sound business thinking. As I found out to my cost,’ Becky said, thinking aloud. ‘He has to be working with someone.’

‘That shitty article proved how much he enjoyed sticking it to both

of US.’

Becky turned around and slid open one of the drawers of her walnut desk. ‘I kept a copy, for the record.’ She skimmed it. ‘He was supposedly in Monaco, at some club.’

‘Gambling? Debts?’ ‘

‘He left England, sold the London house. Quite possible.’

‘So he’d be looking for money, right? And looking for a way to get you out of this house. He’s always looking for that.’

‘Yes. And if he is working with someone, I guess we’ll find out later

who. ‘

‘But how can you counter whatever he’s doing if you don’t know what it is?’

‘Between the two of us, we must have enough on P,.upert to make him wish he’d never been born,’ Becky reminded her.

Lita shivered, despite the warmth of the room. ‘But that’s publicity. My business is dead with a lot of sleazy publicity, Becky.’

‘And that’s what he’s counting on. That we’ll be too camera-shy to

talk. He won’t expect anything else.; Becky winked at her.

‘We’ll be playing a game of chicken.’

‘I like it,’ Lita murmured. ‘And he won’t expect us to work together either.’

‘Would you like to stay the night? I have an extra guest room.’

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‘Due to cancellation?’ Lita stretched. ‘You know.., it is a long drive back down to London.’

‘Why don’t you call your husband? I’ll get you some night things. We already ate, but you can order room service.’

‘Room service, huh?’ Lita said. ‘I bet it’s excellent.’

‘It is,’ Becky replied, with a hint of pride.

Mark wasn’t pleased that she wasn’t coming home. ‘I understand,’ he said.

‘That’s a lie, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. Get back here. I miss you.’

‘I’ve only been away five minutes.’

‘Thirteen hours and twelve minutes, to be exact. What are you doing

now?’

‘I’m lying in a canopy bed,’ Lita said.

‘That’s American for a four-poster. What are you wearing?’ ‘Nothing,’ Lita said maliciously.

He groaned. ‘You love to tease me.’

She smiled. She could almost hear him smiling back at her down the phone.

‘That’s OK. You just spend the whole day tomorrow thinking how I’m going to pay you back.’

He hung up, blowing her kisses, and Lita relaxed on her bed. She was impressed. Old world charm had never been her style, but even the most modern miss couldn’t fail to be taken aback by this. The bed was antique mahogany, with heavy drapes in a chinoiserie silk, and the furniture matched it - there whs a chair carved out of solid ivory, a dehcate ottoman, a chaise longue, and a Bokara rug in golds and palest blues. The lead-panelled window looked down towards a manicured lawn and a large pond, with the ancient maze to the right. She felt like Anne Boleyn at Hampton Court.

There was a knock on the door and a uniformed maid entered with a tray on wheels.

‘Dinner, madam,’ she said.

‘Thanks.’ Lita scrabbled around for a tip and fished a pound note from her coat.

‘Tkank you, madam,’ the girl said, delighted, and retired. Lita sniffed hungrily and lifted the lid on the food. It was roast pheasant with stuffing, wilted spinach with lemon, and roast potatoes. Fhere was a salad with fresh peas, half a bottle of champagne, and a small chocolate parfait that made her mouth water just to look at it. Then there was a silver pot of coffee with a tiny heavy card that said ‘Decaffeinated’

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propped against it, and a small flowered box of Charbonnel and Walker chocolates. She noticed that the cutlery was solid silver. Lira carved offa slice of pheasant. It was moist and incredibly good, probably wild.

She was blown away. No wonder all these rich folks paid king’s ransoms to stay here. If you were rich and bored, there were worse ways to blow your cash.

Becky’s problem was that she was relying on word of mouth. That made her vulnerable to someone like Rupert, in fact to anyone that wanted to start a whispering campaign …

Lita uncorked the champagne and poured it into her crystal flute. She felt a familiar frisson of excitement.

She was starting to get an idea.

Becky slept badly, despite Logan putting his hand over her mouth to stop her worrying aloud about Rupert and slipping inside her, forcing her to forget everything while he made love to her. When they were done, she felt relaxed, like she normally did, and Logan fell asleep, his muscled arm draped over her. But despite the warmth of him and the aftershocks of her orgasm, the echoes of her physical pleasure, Becky couldn’t fall asleep. Having Logan beside her made her feel she was so close to everything. And now lq.upert was resurfacing. It must be him. And she had no idea what he was going to do.

She slipped out of bed at six and made herself coffee, wrapped herself up in a cashmere robe and went for a walk in the rose garden, now full of bright red hips that offered a splash of colour in the cold morning air. Maybe she would make some rose-hip syrup, she thought idly. The guests loved all the old English touches, like the jars of crab-apple jelly she liked to serve. God, but Fairfield was beautiful. And now she was in debt on the other two properties, might she, in the end, lose the house, lose everything?

She could have retired and licked her wounds, lived small, lived on a husband’s income and protected her birthright. But instead she had gambled. And now it might all go wrong.

Becky sipped at her coffee and watched the steam from the hot liquid mingle with the white smoke of breath rising from her mouth as her shoes crunched on frosty grass. She felt fear, yes, but more than that, deeper, she felt anger.

tLupert would always be back. She had to find a way to destroy him. To ruin him. And to protect herself against this kind of bullshit. I’ve got English courage and American chutzpah, Becky thought. And that’s more than a match for him.

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She walked back up to the house feeling a little better and waved, seeing Lita in the kitchen, poured into one of her looser dresses. They could have breakfast and make some more plans. She opened the kitchen door and walked in.

And then the phone rang.

P,-upert sat with Pete Bessel in the small conference room in the Dorchester, wearing his best pinstriped suit with that sober Hermes tie and his John Lobb shoes, his plain gold cufflinks and his signet ring sparkling under the lights. He was sober but, despite that, he was enjoying himself thoroughly.

There were an impressive number of tabloid hacks here and a couple of financial writers. Bessel had made calls, had instructed lawyers, had done a decent job. Rupert was happy to give him Lita.

‘But why have you taken so long to come forward, Lord Lancaster?’ asked one pretty hackette from the Daily Mirror.

Rupert turned a half-wattage, sexy, regretful smile directly on her. She blushed.

‘Because I was hoping that it wouldn’t come to this. That Miss Morales - Mrs Conran - and Mrs Logan would do the decent thing by themselves. They knew they had taken proprietary information. I suppose I should have known when Mrs Logan started to blame me for the collapse of Lancaster, which happened under her management. However, after a period of intense reflection, I feel I owe it to my family

and myself to pursue what is, after all, mine.’

‘You went out with both these women?’

‘Yes,’ Rupert responded gravely, ‘which makes this so sad. To have to sue for damages.’

‘Are you seeing anyone right now?’

‘I’m a little soured on love, as you can imagine,’ Rupert responded.

There was laughter, and he grinned.

‘So you’ve really filed suit?’

‘That’s a matter of public record. Regretfully.’ P,.upert stood, sensing the moment had come to call a halt. ‘That’s all, ladies and gentlemen.’

‘I have copies of the motions for you,’ Besel cried, waving them at the pack of hungry reporters who were yelling more questions at Rupert as he walked out the door.

He grinned. That was perfect.

‘Yeah, I got it. I understand.’ Becky grimaced at Lita, who was making motions for her to hang up. ‘I’ll call you back.’

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She replaced the receiver and yelled for Sharon not to put any more calls through.

‘That son of a bitch. Pete Bessel. That asshole,’ Lita spat. ‘He’s from my old firm. He must have found Rupert.’

‘I knew he had to have help. You’ve got a history with this Bessel?’

‘Let me tell you about it in the car,’ Lita said. ‘I think we should go to London together. And I’ve got something to run by you.’

The New Wave offices were gloomy when Lita arrived with Becky in tow. The receptionist wouldn’t even meet her boss’s eyes, almost as if she was afraid she’d get fired. There was a sense of fear and dejection in the air that made Lita mad enough to spit. The two women got into the elevator together and rode up to the main office, where Lita stepped out to find Harry Weiss deep in conversation with Richard Feinstein of Costa Coffee, his solemn tone injected with a pleading note.

Lita’s eyes flashed. She motioned for Harry to wind it up, and he managed to say something nice and be off the phone in less than thirty seconds.

‘Everyone.’ She clapped her hands. ‘Get off the phone and get over here and listen up. We have a situation with Doheny and Rupert Lancaster, and here’s what we’re going to do.’

tupert’s fantastic mood had started to dissipate. He’d gone back to the hotel, enjoyed a champagne brunch with Bessel that was more champagne than brunch, and then, when the oily little Yank had departed, he’d chopped out a couple of lines just to keep the party going. Only now they had run out, and he couldn’t hook up with a candy-man until he started to hit the clubs later tonight. And now reception was saying that there was somebody there to see him. Bloody tiresome.

‘Well, who is it?’ Rupert barked.

‘It’s a Mrs Conran and a Mrs Logan, my lord.’

‘What is this, some kind of joke?’

‘There’s also a man here that wants to speak to you, my lord.’

There was a pause, and then Bessel’s voice on the line, subdued. ‘You

better let us up, man. They have some stuff to say.’

‘Whatever. Come up. Room 2562

Rupert hung up and felt the stirrings of a new buzz begin with the news. Bessel wouldn’t make a scene in the Dorchester, of course, but he had made quick enough work of it, hadn’t he? They were actually here, those two bitches? In person? Ready to beg and plead for their stupid little companies, ready to offer him a cut? And what else would they be

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offering? The cocaine was still singing in his blood. He started to fantasize about Becky and Lita blubbing and making a scene and begging him not to destroy them. He might want to test just how far that naked ambition would go. Maybe, in exchange for letting them keep a part of it, they would drop to their knees and give him a blow job. Both of them. One for him and one for Pete, he didn’t particularly care which. Rupert started to get hard as he imagined this, himself and Bessel sitting on the couch chatting about the case as Becky’s and Lita’s blonde and dark heads bobbed up and down on them. Yeah. Now, that would feel like total victory.

He was only sorry he hadn’t found Bessel before.

There was a knock on the door. Rupert stood up and went to answer it. Well, well, and there they were - Becky wearing a clinging, silky dress of jersey that stopped above the knee, displaying those gorgeous slim pins, with her blonde hair flowing down her back, and Lita in black cropped pants that hugged her tight, round ass, paired with a black leather jacket and a black satin T-shirt that outlined her glorious tits. If anything, she looked better now than when he’d last seen her. A little polish added to the beauty.

‘Come in, ladies,’ he said, smirking. They were a couple of peaches, weren’t they? And he’d got to fuck them and then fuck them over. ‘Bessel, take a seat.’

Pete Bessel sat in the corner, staring at his shoes, but Rupert wasn’t focused on him.

‘I take it you’ve heard about the lawsuit. I suppose it’s a bit of a shock—’

‘Rupert.’ Becky cut him off.”Let me tell you our counterproposal. You withdraw your lawsuit and apologize, saying you’ve been under a lot of emotional stress recently. Then you get out of England and you never come back. You never bother Lita or me ever again. You never use the Lancaster name for any business purpose, ever. How does that sound?’