Page 89 of Guilty Pleasures

‘It’s disappointing, but not that many fashionistas read that newspaper anyway.’

‘Just their handbag-gift-buying husbands,’ replied Emma. ‘Anyway, talking of the press, I saw the pap shot of you crying in the Sunday Mirror,’ she said softly. ‘Is everything OK?’

Stella shrugged. ‘I’ve already told you my dad’s wife is pregnant, haven’t I? The paparazzo caught me just after he’d told me. I was upset at the time, but it’s fine now, honestly, I was being silly. I didn’t think it was a story but clearly it was.’

Emma looked at her kindly. ‘Now you’re going out with Johnny I guess everything’s a story.’

At the mention of his name, Stella’s face broke into a beaming smile.

‘He’s so great, Emma, I so want you to meet him.’

‘I met him at the shoot.’

‘Meet him properly. That’s why you should come to the festival tomorrow.’

Emma felt glad for her friend’s obvious happiness, but she wasn’t at all keen about spending the day in a muddy field surrounded by hippies. And she wasn’t all that keen to see Rob either.

‘I’ll think about it,’ she said quietly.

‘Well, don’t get upset about the cuttings,’ said Stella, suspecting that’s why Emma was in a bad mood. ‘Remember Elle are doing me “At Home” and there’s the double page spread in Tatler’s Accessories Special. Grazia, Marie-Claire, In Style, Red, Harpers- everyone’s featuring us.’

‘The future sounds so rosy,’ smiled Emma displaying her usual caution.

‘So you’ll come to the festival? There’s a big group of us. Rob, Johnny and some of his mates, Ruan too. It’s going to be a laugh.’

‘OK, OK, I’m in, I’m in,’ said Emma, holding her hands up in surrender. ‘Can you pick me up after my run?’

‘Sure thing, boss,’ said Stella as she headed for the door, ‘although I’m not sure sweaty Lycra is entirely appropriate for a festival.’

She ducked, squealing, as Emma threw the cuttings at her.

27

For the first time in her life Cassandra Grand had found a great passion other than her work. Almost immediately after he returned from his honeymoon, Max and Cassandra had begun a full-blown affair, meeting for snatched afternoons in discreet hotels and at her apartment. To her complete surprise, Cassandra found she couldn’t get enough of him. Work appointments, lunches, dinners were cancelled if the chance arose to be with him. For Cassandra, who had never been addicted to anything except power and success, Max Carlton was a compulsion. He was the only person she had ever been with where she felt empowered simply being in his company. Conversation was electric, sex was fantastic and she didn’t even need his physical presence to be aroused. He’d call her at 3 a.m. from the quiet of his study, instructing her where to touch herself, making her come with the sound of his voice and his intimate knowledge of her body. If Cassandra hadn’t known better, she would have said she was head over heels.

Three weeks after they’d first met she had invited him to Les Fleurs. It was only the second time since she had inherited the beautiful Provencal villa that she had managed to get down there. It had required some intricate planning: in particular, sending Laura away to LA to style a hastily arranged beauty shoot. She hadn’t felt guilt, just faint pity that Laura couldn’t even vaguely satisfy her groom so soon after their wedding vows.

In Provence, the lavender fields were in full bloom and the sun was liquid fire. Cassandra and Max had spent the last two days in bed, only getting up to take a dip in the pool or make a little food. The only time they had ventured out of the house for a dinner at the Grand Hotel du Cap Ferrat, they had been forced to beat a hasty retreat after both seeing someone they knew. On the vast, antique sleigh bed, Max rolled himself off Cassandra, lying on his back and pulling her into the crook of his arm.

‘Have we got anything to drink?’

‘Get it yourself,’ she growled, feeling too exhausted to move.

‘Hey, I’m a guest in this house,’ he said, pulling the white crumpled sheet down to his six-pack to cool his sweat-sheened body. ‘Come on, mistress of the house, get me a drink and I’ll be your willing sex-slave for the rest of the trip.’

‘I thought I was getting that for nothing.’

After a moment’s stand-off Cassandra stepped from the bed, grabbed a silk sarong from the chair and tied it loosely around her breasts.

‘I don’t do this for anyone,’ she smiled, shaking her dark hair over her shoulders. ‘In fact I do it for no one but you.’

Walking downstairs she enjoyed the feel of the cool stone tiles on her bare feet, in fact Cassandra loved the way she was feeling altogether. She was more relaxed than she had been in years, despite – or perhaps because of – the sneaking around they had had to do over the last few weeks. Returning with two tumblers of iced water, she found Max propped up in bed on the pillows.

She jumped up beside him and her sarong fell open. He gulped at the water while his hand lazily stroked her thigh.

‘Why have you never got married?’ said Max suddenly.

She looked at him curiously and then shrugged against the pillow.