Page 80 of Guilty Pleasures

‘For God’s sake, Giles, you sound like the fool from a Shakespeare play.’

‘A fool for love, methinks,’ he smiled taking a sip of the fresh, iced lemonade he had been carrying around. ‘As for you, my dear, you haven’t had a decent relationship since last year’s Spring/Summer collections. You’re one of the most eligible women in the country and you behave like a nun.’

‘I would be a very naughty nun,’ smiled Cassandra, taking off her sunglasses and fixing them on her head.

There was nothing like a wedding to make a person reflect on their own love life and Cassandra was no exception. She had quietly turned thirty-six the previous weekend and had chosen to spend it alone at the Grove Spa just outside London. Most people assumed that because Cassandra threw and attended a lot of parties in the name of work she was a party animal, but away from the office and the catwalk she was a very private person, preferring to rely on herself and her own company. It was better that way, she thought.

As they walked across the manicured pea-green lawns in front of the castle, they saw Laura and her mother Eleanor waiting for them at the grand entrance. Tall and slender, Eleanor Hildon was wearing long grey slacks, a cream georgette blouse and a long string of pearls that fell across her flat chest.

‘Did you enjoy the grounds?’ she smiled, revealing a set of blinding white teeth, slightly too large for her mouth.

‘Oh

, they’re splendid,’ replied Giles. ‘They remind me of the Butchart Gardens in Canada.’

‘And, Cassandra, how have you settled into the gardener’s cottage? Laura said you might be sensitive to noise and I thought the castle might get a little rowdy later on. We have 40 people staying here just tonight.’

Cassandra smiled politely. She had no desire to be painted as a delicate flower – she’d have to have words with Laura about that later – but if it meant she could slip away from the party unnoticed, it was worth it. Six hundred well-oiled revellers laughing and shouting inside the castle’s stone walls would be an acoustic hell.

‘I’ve had a complete nightmare with the seating plan,’ continued Eleanor. ‘According to Laura, everybody seems to hate somebody. Thank goodness tonight is a more casual affair. I thought the Wild West theme would be such fun, don’t you?’

Cassandra smiled again, slightly less warmly. Laura caught the expression and quickly intervened.

‘Well, you’re just in time to meet Max. He called me a few minutes ago to say he’d arrived – Ah! Here he is now.’

They all turned to face the drive as a powerful car thundered towards them and skidded to a halt in front of the house. A tall elegantly-dressed man jumped out, pushing his dark hair off his face as he did so. Wearing a Euro-Sloane uniform of polo shirt, chinos and Tod’s loafers, his body was lean and fit and moved with a confident swagger. To her great surprise Cassandra felt a stir in her groin. Max Carlton was not the most handsome man she had ever seen, but he had a presence, a sensual aura she could feel herself responding to. Max kissed both his bride-to-be and his mother-in-law on the cheek before fixing Cassandra with a smile.

‘And you must be Cassandra,’ he said, putting out a huge hand. ‘I’m Max.’

‘I can’t believe you two haven’t met,’ said Laura, flushed with pride.

‘We have spoken on the phone,’ said Cassandra calmly. ‘I have been trying to extract details about the honeymoon, but it was a hopeless cause even when I told him I was coordinating your trousseau.’

‘Well, I wish he’d tell me,’ said Laura with coltish exuberance. ‘I hate surprises.’

‘Talking of honeymoons,’ said Cassandra. ‘Remind me when you’re back in the office?’

‘A week on Monday,’ said Laura. ‘We couldn’t be away for too long: Max has a new job.’

‘Atlantis, the Private Equity group,’ he replied, locking his gaze on Cassandra.

‘It’s a partnership, so it’s brilliant for him,’ said Laura, rolling her eyes.

‘I’m so happy for you,’ Cassandra said quickly.

‘Now that everyone’s been introduced, let’s go indoors for some lunch,’ said Eleanor clapping her hands together. ‘Marshall, our chef, does a wonderful pork with sloe-berry sauce made from fruit grown in the grounds. With a bit of luck we’ll all be able to get to know one another much better.’

‘Yes, that would be lovely,’ said Cassandra. And she could feel Max’s eyes boring into her.

‘Rob, are you insane?’ shouted Emma. ‘How can you expect me to go?’

When Rob had casually revealed the identity of the bride halfway up the motorway, Emma had gone berserk. This was supposed to be a break, a stress-free weekend. But instead, Rob had invited her to the wedding of Laura Hildon – the fashion editor of Rive. That meant Cassandra would almost certainly be in attendance and that most definitely meant there was going to be a confrontation of some description. Cassandra’s betrayal of Milford still stuck in Emma’s throat and while she had resisted the urge to call Cassandra after Cameron had told her of her bad-mouth campaign, she couldn’t – wouldn’t – let the incident pass if they met face to face.

‘I’m sorry, Em, I really didn’t know,’ said Rob, slowing his sports car to only slightly over the speed limit. ‘Listen, if you really don’t want to go, I’ll take you home again. I had no idea it was going to be a problem.’

It was true of course. While Rob could be insensitive and immature, there was no way he could have known about her problems with her cousin – he would have assumed Cassandra would be a welcome friendly face for Emma. Taking a deep breath, Emma decided that if this weekend was about relaxing and enjoying herself, then that was what it was going to be. Besides, Rob had been charming and amusing company for the entire journey, during which they had talked about everything from music to politics, art to religion. It was a refreshing change for Emma, who spent the bulk of her time having conversations about work with either her family or colleagues. Emma had also spent the journey quietly taking in the magnitude of Rob’s wealth. The supple cream leather in his gunmetal Aston Martin told her that it was a top-of-the-range prestige vehicle. There had been a call to his mobile from the pilot of his family’s private jet, making arrangements for Rob’s trip to New York on Sunday night – no queuing at Heathrow for Rob. And when they had called in to the country house hotel to drop off their bags, the hotel concierge had spoken to Rob as if he was visiting royalty. Emma had to admit it made her a little uncomfortable.

‘So how do you know Laura again?’ asked Emma as the castle loomed into view. Even from a distance it was a spectacular place. As the rich orange sun sank behind the hills, it showered the grounds with golden light and turned them the colour of spun gold. She could make out the festivities on the long lawns in front of the castle in the deepening dusk: a bonfire was glowing and strings of red and yellow lanterns hung from the trees.