Page 119 of Guilty Pleasures

‘But?’ asked her editor slowly.

‘But for the sake of my marriage I’m

not sure I can carry on working like this,’ replied Laura, her voice barely a whisper.

Cassandra looked at the young woman sitting opposite her, despising her for her weakness, hating her for marrying the one man who had got under her skin; the very thought of him made her ache with desire. She glanced down at the table where Laura’s left hand was resting gently on the stark white tablecloth; the wink of the flawless diamond on Laura’s platinum wedding band, a symbol of fidelity and eternal love, seemed to mock her. Cassandra longed to tell Laura how Max felt inside her, how much she loved the taste of his cock, how he knew every intimate part of her body and how he desired it madly, even when they spoke on the phone. She bit her lip gently as she composed herself. In her experience the truth rarely got you what you wanted.

‘Can I ask you something?’ said Cassandra finally. ‘Do you respect yourself?’

The question seemed to take Laura by surprise.

‘Yes,’ she answered cautiously.

‘Then don’t give up. Laura, you love fashion,’ said Cassandra leaning forward and putting her hand over the younger girl’s. ‘I see it every day in your eyes at work. I’ve seen it on this trip. Fashion is in the blood that pumps through your veins. You know as well as I do that fashion isn’t a career, it’s a way of life. It’s a way of expressing ourselves. We’ve both spent years on our hands and knees in fashion cupboards ironing clothes and sewing on buttons because we simply don’t want to do anything else. Fashion is your passion; it’s your life-force. Don’t let a man take away a vital part of you.’

Cassandra took a small breath, wondering if she had overdone the melodrama.

‘He’s not a man,’ said Laura, holding her head up straight. ‘He’s my husband.’

‘Precisely,’ said Cassandra coolly. ‘Marriage is not something that takes over your life. It’s something that fits into your existing one. A really good marriage is one where you both understand that and support each other’s passions and ambitions.’

‘I thought maybe I could become a contributing editor …’

Cassandra felt a jolt of anxiety. She felt sure it was only a matter of time before he ditched his mousey bride, but until then she needed Laura in a position where she could monitor and control her. She shook her head gravely.

‘You can’t give in now, Laura. I saw how you looked at each other at the wedding: your marriage is stronger than you think. You can ride out a little bumpiness. Think of it as short-term pain, long-term gain. You have raw talent and influential friends,’ she lied. ‘Work your butt off for the next two years. You’ll be the next Venetia Scott or Katie Grand and then you can pick and choose your jobs. You’ll get the best advertising campaigns, consultancies at fashion houses. Then you can do much less and you and Max can relax together. But if you give up now, you’ll just be another lady who lunches who once had something to do with fashion but no one can quite remember what. Do you think Max is going to respect you for that?’

Cassandra saw Laura’s eyes sparkle at that final mention of Max. How desperately she sought his approval!

‘Do you think that’s what Max wants?’ asked Laura more brightly.

‘I think he wants a wife he admires, a wife who forges her own destiny and doesn’t rely solely on him for her identity. Remember Max is a self-made man. He has a fierce work ethic, I’m sure he wants a partner not a dependant.’

Laura was nodding slowly. ‘You’re right. Oh, Cassandra I’m so sorry for bringing this up. I’m going to give Rive my everything and I don’t want you doubting me for a minute.’

Cassandra sat back in her chair, a broad smile of relief on her face.

‘I’m only glad I can help,’ she said, raising a regal hand to summon the wine waiter. ‘I think this calls for champagne.’

39

If Emma thought she had beaten Roger, she was mistaken; her uncle had simply changed his tactics. Since the summer, when it appeared that Milford might really begin to show a profit, he’d realized that his shareholding might actually be worth something in the very near future. So at Rebecca’s suggestion, he had stopped trying to fight Emma in the open and instead had started to use his new position as head of bespoke to his advantage. It was a position that allowed for a lot of travel and more importantly, face-to-face contact with Milford’s most important clients, so Roger would take any opportunity to visit the client rather than take an appointment at the Bond Street store. In the last two months alone he had been to Moscow, New York and Dubai to discuss the bespoke luggage requirements of several high-spending clients. He had sometimes taken Rebecca with him and always made sure he spent his company expenses liberally – dining in the finest restaurants which he had signed off as entertaining. Emma was in no position to complain; Roger had proved to be a natural at persuading rich people to part with their money and the bespoke division was booming.

His latest business trip was to Brazil and so far he was enjoying it enormously.

‘I am so glad you could come all this way to see us,’ said Ricardo Perez, extending a hand towards Roger as he stepped off the small plane onto the runway in Sao Paulo. Roger had taken a phone call from Perez’s assistant a week earlier making noises about a ‘substantial bespoke order’, asking that as Ricardo’s diary would not allow a journey to Milford’s Bond Street store, would it be fine for the Perez family’s Gulfstream to collect Roger from Luton to take him to Sao Paulo instead? Roger had graciously agreed and had quickly decided that flying private suited him very well. Now arriving at the Perezes’ mansion he felt sure he preferred his new position to being Milford’s creative director. He loved the travel, the luxury, the mingling with the very top strata of society. Not that he would ever admit that to Emma.

The mansion was fifty miles outside Sao Paulo, colonial in style, and it reminded Roger of the Raffles Hotel in Singapore. Set on a hillside, Roger could see a swell of eucalyptus trees stretching in a thick carpet of lushness behind the house. The grounds at the rear of the property sloped down to the ocean from where they could hear the sound of crashing Atlantic waves on the shore. A butler appeared from nowhere and offered Roger a cold glass of iced tea. He took a sip, gazed up at the ceiling fans and felt at home. Yes, I could definitely get used to this, he thought.

‘So you think you can do something special with the new plane?’ asked Ricardo, showing him the specifications for the family’s latest jet.

Roger nodded emphatically, putting away this book of leather swatches.

‘We will use the best leather, dye it in the Perez corporation colours. It’s actually a very similar blue to a set of luggage Milford made for Princess Margaret in the Sixties.’

Ricardo was nodding. ‘My mother will like that. And what do you think about using the crocodile skin for the luggage set?’

‘Obviously it would be fabulous. Your family deserves the best,’ said Roger, understanding that Ricardo was the sort of client who wanted to be flattered at every possible opportunity.