Page 175 of Guilty Pleasures

‘The difference is that you’ve spent half your life hating me because you blame my father and, by extension, me, for the breakup of your own family. But your parents’ marriage was already over.’

‘It was not!’ she said through bared teeth. ‘Without your father, my family would still be together.’

‘Cassandra, my mother told me everything; your father already had a mistress, the woman he eventually married and moved to Cape Town with. Ask Julia if you don’t believe me.’

Cassandra looked at Emm

a venomously. Even if what Emma was saying was true, how was it supposed to make her feel better? Emma’s words were just designed to alleviate her own guilt and make Cassandra feel bad.

‘I know none of that makes up for the fact that he abandoned you,’ said Emma as if she had read Cassandra’s mind. ‘But I don’t want you to hate your family on a misplaced belief. Don’t fight me, Cassandra. Channel your energy and brilliance in a different direction.’

To her utter surprise, Emma realized that a teardrop was slipping down Cassandra’s cheek.

‘Do you think this is all about you?’ said Cassandra fiercely.

‘I think you’ve got something to prove,’ said Emma softly.

‘I’ve spent the last twenty years trying to prove something,’ said Cassandra. ‘To my mother, to make her proud. To my father, to make him hurt. To Ruby, to myself, to the whole world.’ She looked at Emma, her grey-green eyes blazing with truth and sorrow and anger. ‘Where do you think ambition comes from, Emma? It comes from the fear of being nothing.’

Emma suddenly understood. She understood the pain that had been driving Cassandra and eating her up. And for what? Here she sat, friendless, alone, her eyes rimmed red, her face pale.

‘Where are you staying tonight?’ asked Emma softly.

‘At Astrid Brinton’s.’

‘Do you want me to go and get her?’

‘And let her see me like this?’ Cassandra laughed sarcastically.

‘She’s your friend.’

Cassandra gave a small laugh.

‘You don’t understand, I can’t let anyone see me like this or I’m finished. Even more finished. Fashion is cruel, Emma. They love to see someone on their knees – and they’ll stamp on your hands while you’re down.’

Despite her misgivings, Emma felt a wave of compassion for Cassandra, sitting crumpled, tiny and doll-like in her beautiful cream gown.

‘You should go. There’s a way out over here,’ said Emma, pointing to a door at the back of the Orangery. ‘My house is in the grounds straight along the path outside the door. I’ll ask a driver to take you there. Wait at my house until everyone is gone and you can stay until tomorrow if you want. There’s a spare room and clean towels … come on, Cassandra, you’re in no fit state to join the party again.’

With every ounce of energy in her body Cassandra wanted to refuse her offer. She was too proud to accept anything from Emma, even a bed for the night, but at the same time she did not want to stay at the party for another second. And the thought of Astrid having this social ammunition against her was just too much to bear.

‘Very well,’ she said in a voice so inaudible it was lost in the swell of music in the background.

‘Wait here,’ said Emma firmly. ‘I’ll get my keys. Everything’s going to be fine.’

By 12.45 a.m. the party crowd was thinning. Mink shrugs, opera capes, cashmere overcoats were being pulled out of the cloakroom and guests were either retiring to the rooms in Winterfold, to their accommodation in the village or to their cars to drive back to London. A spectacular fireworks display closed the evening; sprays of red, white and amber shot into the black sky while Winterfold’s grand entrance hall buzzed with the contented conversation of scores of people who’d all had a fantastic time. Emma was fondling her wine glass and saying a personal goodbye to as many people as she was able when she saw Ruan approach.

‘Pleased with how it went?’ he asked.

Emma nodded, pulling on her own cashmere shawl she had got from the cloakroom.

‘Better than I could have hoped. I haven’t seen you all night, though. Where have you been?’

‘Having my photograph taken for Tatler,’ he grinned. ‘Me, in a society rag! Who’d have thought it?’

‘I think it suits you,’ she smiled.

‘Are you going home, already?’ he said, noticing that she looked ready to leave.