Guilty Pleasures (54 page)

‘Who are they again?’

‘Red Comets. A student band from Kings College. I think they’re brilliant: the new Coldplay. I’ve given their CD to a few people.’

Tom didn’t hold out much hope that Ste Donahue would do anything for the band, especially as he had so many problems of his own, but he was secretly excited about Rob Holland. He’d sent Rob a copy of the CD and he’d promised to give it a listen; if anyone could give the band a leg-up, it was Rob.

‘If they’re so good why are they playing in this record shop?’ asked Stella, keeping her voice low.

‘They’ll get spotted at the Helter Skelter. The owner has incredible taste in music’

The band was playing an acoustic set. The lead singer’s voice was deep, rich and wistful; the guitars were haunting, filling the air with beautiful melancholy. Stella took a deep breath; she was surprised by the power and emotion of the music and the lyrics.

She turned to watch Tom as he gazed at the band with the same love and wonder as she experienced when she watched a fashion show. He turned and gave her a smile, his eyes bright blue in the dimly-lit room.

She was suddenly overwhelmed by emotion. She had heard of love at first sight but this was something else. A moment of clarity, a connection between two people binding them together with more than mere physical attraction.

‘What do you think?’ he asked, moving closer to her side. As their bare arms touched she melted.

‘I think I like it here,’ she replied. She rested her head on his shoulder, unable to stop herself. It felt like the most natural thing to do.

She felt his arms drop to his side and carefully, cautiously, he took her hand.

‘Come on,’ he said quietly after the end of the second song. ‘I’ve seen them loads of times before.’

They walked back out of the basement and through the record shop. And against a rack of old LPs he kissed her, filling her with such a sweet light-headedness she thought she might float all the way back to Chilcot.

Although he was hiding it well, DI Sheldon was a little flustered. He was not at all used to sitting opposite such an attractive woman in the police interview room. In his line of work, it was usually street punks on GBH charges or pub brawls over money or women, not arson and attempted murder involving famous magazine editors and luxury goods companies. He knew he was lucky to be assigned the case and was desperate to make his mark. He wanted to join the Met within the year at the level of Chief Inspector.

He had spent the last three days making phone calls and talking to as many people who had been guests at the party as he could track down.

A joint investigation between police, fire and forensic services was pointing towards arson. The intensity of heat and burning around the kitchen door was almost conclusive that petrol, most
likely diesel-oil fuel used in motorbike engines, had been poured through the letterbox.

The gravel approach to the Stables had been contaminated by rain and the water used to extinguish the flames and from the emergency vehicles that had turned up at the Stables so that the SOCO officers had found no useable foot or tyre prints.

‘I want to talk about your relationship with Cassandra Grand. I’ve heard from a number of sources it was difficult.’

‘We’d had a few disagreements,’ said Emma honestly. ‘But I didn’t hold anything personally against her. She’s my cousin.’

‘Is it true that you think she’s been trying to sabotage the success of your company?’

‘I’ve had my suspicions, but…’

‘You were heard arguing at around midnight during the party.’

‘We didn’t argue. Cassandra was upset. She’d been having a very difficult night and didn’t want to go back to the party. I said she could stay at my house and arranged for her to go out the back.’

Sheldon wrote something in his notebook before he spoke again.

‘Cassandra said you insisted she sleep at the Stables.’

‘She was upset and didn’t want to see anyone at the party. You know what fashion people can be like.’

‘Actually, I don’t,’ said Sheldon shortly. ‘How come you weren’t sleeping at the Stables? It’s within the Winterfold grounds.’

‘I was with Rob Holland.’

‘Is he your boyfriend?’

‘No. Not really.’

‘Rob Holland said he left you in his bed at Winterfold at around 1.15 to go and look for Stephen Donahue. Tom Grand discovered the fire at around 1.30. Nobody appears to have seen you between 1.15 and 1.45.’

‘I was in bed. Look, where are you going with this?’ asked Emma, afraid of the accusatory tone in his voice.

Sheldon went to the telephone, made a call and within a minute an officer appeared holding a plastic evidence bag.

‘Have you ever seen this before?’ asked Sheldon putting on plastic gloves and pulling a black cashmere shawl out of it. ‘It was found fifty feet from the Stables.’

‘It’s mine.’

‘Can you explain what this petrol is doing here?’ he asked, pointing at a dark black smudge along one edge.

‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen the shawl since the party,’ she said trying to keep cool but her skin prickling with anxiety and fear. ‘What are you accusing me of here?’

Sheldon shrugged.

‘I don’t think I’d better say anything further until I speak to a solicitor,’ said Emma.

DI Sheldon put the shawl back into the plastic bag and took off his rubber gloves. ‘Under the circumstances I think that’s probably a good idea.’

They lay in Stella’s bed at the St Martin’s Lane Hotel; crumpled sheets were pushed back over their bare legs. Stella lay in the crook of Tom’s arm and traced her finger down the long scar down his neck.

‘I hope this isn’t just a thank you for sorting out the Walter Maier meeting,’ he said contentedly.

‘I hope you don’t think I’m just after another bad boy.’

He sat up with a look of alarm on his face.

‘Is that what you think?’

‘No.’ She thought about it for a moment. ‘Although it did worry me for a while. I think that’s why nothing happened sooner between us. I was protecting myself,’ she said, their nakedness making her honest.

‘I haven’t had a joint since Christmas. I don’t want to. I don’t need to. Not with you around.’

She stroked his head.

‘Everything was so shit for me last year, but you seem to make things so much better,’ he continued softly. ‘With a bit of luck, that fire and what happened to Cassandra will be the end of the run of bad luck.’

‘Things aren’t that bad, are they?’ she asked. She glanced at his scar. She’d asked about it once and he’d said something vague about a mugging.

‘If it wasn’t for you and my mum it would be worse.’

‘Your mum?’ said Stella.

He took a long breath before he spoke.

‘I’ve not wanted to tell you this, because I know you think I’m a bad boy, because you’ll judge me and I’m trying to change. I don’t want to make any more stupid fucking decisions in my life. But I have to tell you everything now because I want the slate to
be clean. I don’t want you to find out through someone else and then hate me.’

Stella had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. What could it be? Was it criminal?

‘Remember when I got mugged?’

She nodded slowly.

‘It wasn’t just someone random. I knew who it was. Well, I knew who ordered me to be beaten up.’

He paused and wiped his mouth nervously.

‘I ran up big debts when I had the bar in Ibiza last summer. My side of the business was fine, but it was a partnership. My partners couldn’t pay the debts. I couldn’t pay them either. I can’t sell my vintage cars because they’re in trust till I’m 30. I didn’t want to ask anyone for help. I thought I could come back to England and it would all go away.’

‘And it didn’t?’ said Stella softly.

Tom shook his head.

‘They tracked me down. The interest had quadrupled. They invented all sorts of other money that I owed them. Damage to the building etcetera. The bottom line? A ninety thousand debt became almost a quarter of a million quid.’

‘Shit,’ whispered Stella.

‘When they had me beaten up, when I was in hospital, I knew I was in real trouble. I told my mother and she found the money to pay them off.’

‘How?’

He looked away, his face full of guilt, shame and sadness.

‘It was every penny she had, every ounce of credit she could raise. It was money she wanted for a lease on a new gallery. I didn’t want to take it but I had to. Otherwise I’d have been dead.’

He made a strange guttural choking noise and Stella realized he was beginning to cry.

She pulled him close to her and stroked the top of his head with her fingertips.

‘Ssh,’ she whispered. It’s all over now. Everything is going to be all right.’

‘Arrested Emma!
That’s impossible. What the hell do they have on her?’

Virginia listened to Emma’s solicitor before she put down the phone trembling.

She sank into the nearest chair and looked at Jonathon standing by the living-room door. ‘Emma’s been arrested in connection with the Stables’ fire.’

‘Surely not,’ replied her husband. His expression clouded over before he spoke again. ‘What’s that going to do to the company? How’s it going to look? That luxury goods company won’t be so interested in Milford if we’re tarnished.’

‘We’d better phone Roger,’ said Virginia, her face pale. ‘And then I have to see Emma.’

‘Arrested? Emma?’
Rob felt a swell of nausea on speaking to Richard Harrod, Emma’s solicitor.

‘They think it’s arson and that she’s responsible. They could go for attempted murder as well.’

‘Do you think they will charge her?’ asked Rob, horrified.

Richard Harrod cleared his throat.

‘It’s possible. Finding Emma’s shawl covered in petrol wasn’t exactly good news. Arson with intent to endanger life is a very serious charge.’

‘There are a dozen reasons why her shawl had petrol on it! All sorts of farm vehicles drive through the estate; maybe there was diesel fuel on a tyre that ran over it.’ He was losing his temper
and his faith in the solicitor; he intended to bring someone in from London as soon as he got off the telephone.

He paced around the room, raking his fingers through his hair.

All he could think about was her conviction on the journey home from Gstaad that someone wanted to harm her. She was suspicious and desperate to work it all out with her fierce, clever mind, but she could do nothing now.

He made a few phone calls until he had found Cassandra Grand’s home and mobile number and tried them both.

Arrested,
wept Emma as she was led down to a cell after eight hours of questioning. Consumed by a sense of unreality, her head pounded, her throat was dry with panic. Her whole life seemed to be collapsing around her. How could everything have gone so utterly, hideously wrong. She had done nothing. Had they not checked with the Swiss police? The police seemed to be assuming that because Cassandra had almost died in the fire, she had been the intended victim. But it was Emma’s house.
She
should have been sleeping there.

Cassandra felt her luck was finally beginning to change when Rob Holland phoned her to suggest dinner. She secured a table at Petrus and chose to wear a scarlet Donna Karan jersey dress that didn’t restrict movement around her chest which was still incredibly sore from her cracked rib. Her face was perfectly made-up to enhance her natural beauty: a sweep of blusher swept across her cheeks, mascara widened her eyes and a peach gloss made her plump lips look even more luscious. She was still limping, but took painkillers so she could squeeze her feet into a pair of heels. She headed off with almost a spring in her step.

Rob was already at the table when she got there; he looked anxious but that could not distract from his sexiness. She observed him for one moment, self-assured, masculine and handsome in a crisp blue shirt and jeans. For the first time since Max, Cassandra felt a shot of lust curl in her groin.

He shook her hand before she sat down.

‘This is a pleasant surprise,’ said Cassandra her lips curling into her sexiest smile. She had seen his eyes flick up and down her body as she approached the table and knew he couldn’t help but be attracted to her.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Better for seeing you.’

Rob averted his eyes from the table and summoned the sommelier.

‘I assume you’ve heard about Emma?’

Cassandra nodded.

‘This can’t be good for business,’ she said, taking a menu from the waiter.

‘I think that’s probably the last thing on her mind at the moment.’

‘The business is never the last thing on Emma’s mind,’ she replied with a small smile. ‘Anyway, all this publicity with her arrest might not be a bad thing. No publicity is bad publicity. This is the biggest fashion crime story since Maurizio Gucci got gunned down outside his house in ’95. Everybody must know the name Milford now.’

She ordered her food and folded her slender tanned arms in front of her.

‘What did you want to speak to me about?’

For a second she thought of the quiet, studious girl on the steps of Les Fleurs all those years ago; it was laughable that the same person could be a killer.

She took a sip of the excellent Bordeaux that Rob had ordered.

‘I used to think that people would kill for my job. But seeing as I don’t have it any more it seems inconceivable that anyone would want me dead. So yes, I think it’s unlikely that Emma set fire to the Stables to harm me. The likeliest explanation is that it was simply pranksters.’

‘Did you see anything that night?’

‘Rob, darling,’ she said laughing slowly. ‘Who do you think you are – Jonathan Hart? ’

‘Cassandra, please,’ he said, fixing her with his most charming, persuasive stare.

She gave a little sigh. ‘I’ve told the police everything. I was a little drunk, fell asleep and heard nothing until I woke up and the whole place was on fire. I wasn’t exactly taking notes.’

‘Who knew you were at the Stables?’

Cassandra shrugged. ‘The guy who drove me there. Unless someone else saw me.’

‘What do you think happened, Cassandra?’

She couldn’t deny she’d given it a lot of thought. Cassandra was desperate to find out what had happened; after all, she was a victim whether it was intentional or otherwise. More importantly, she was naturally manipulative and scheming. In her own experience, accidents did happen, but more often than not things happened for a reason.

‘You know Roger is desperate to sell Milford and Emma is adamant she won’t get rid of the company.’

She paused, remembering what she had heard on the steps of the chalet in Gstaad.

‘I think there’s another business Roger wants to invest in.’ She was loath to say any more. After all, she was closer to her uncle than to Emma. ‘I heard him talking at Christmas. He needed the money quite quickly.’

‘Emma doesn’t exactly trust Roger either.’

‘Have you ever thought there might be a third option?’ said Cassandra, enjoying the fact that she had Rob’s full attention. ‘Someone wanted to kill me, but frame Emma.’

Cassandra thought about the many nights she had spent planning her empire with Max. Max had obtained a copy of Milford’s Articles of Association and had gone through it with a fine tooth-comb to equip himself with all the facts. She still had a copy of the Articles somewhere in her apartment.

‘Who would want Emma out of the way?’

‘Anyone who wants control of the company.’

‘Can I have a look at the Articles?’

‘I have them somewhere.’

They finished their meal and Rob went to pay the bill.

As they left the restaurant she exaggerated her limp and Rob put out his arm to support her.

She leaned into his body, enjoying his scent.

‘Can I give you a lift home?’

‘Thank you. I’m just a couple of minutes away.’

He stopped outside her appointment, went round to open her passenger door and helped her to the front door.

‘Do you want to come in?’ she whispered. ‘We could go through the Milford Articles together.’

Rob looked at her a moment longer than was necessary and then nodded.

‘OK. Quickly.’

They went into her apartment and Cassandra switched on a solitary lamp. Soft, flattering light spilled around the room. Cassandra opened a bottle of wine and pulled out the Milford Articles and Memorandum from a box file.

‘I think I’d better go,’ said Rob, picking the documents up.

‘You’ve not touched your drink.’

He shrugged uncomfortably and Cassandra understood immediately.

‘You’re in love with her,’ said Cassandra with a small smile.

He nodded. ‘I think I am.’

Leaving Cassandra’s apartment he did not notice a lone paparazzo across the road. The photographer took his picture and immediately phoned the story through to his boss.

Emma was released without charge after twenty-four hours, but had been told to keep police informed of her whereabouts. When she left Oxford police station a reporter stopped her on the steps and thrust a Dictaphone under her nose.

‘Can I get a comment about this?’ said the reporter, pushing a copy of the
Mirror
under her nose.

The pages were flipped back to page seven: there was a grainy shot of Rob getting into his Range Rover next to a head-shot of Cassandra taken at London Fashion Week five months earlier. The headline read:
Record Mogul’s Secret Tryst with Tragic Cass.

The reporter immediately turned her attention to Rob who was standing by Emma’s side. ‘Is it true you are having an affair with Cassandra Grand?’

He hadn’t read the paper but had received a phone call from his assistant warning him about the story – that he had been spotted coming out of Cassandra’s apartment in the middle of the night.

It took every ounce of willpower he had to stop himself from grabbing the woman’s Dictaphone and smashing it to the ground.

‘Get back on your broomstick and piss off,’ he growled, angered that Emma hadn’t heard it from him.

They got into the Range Rover and Emma sat in the front seat shaking.

‘So. Is it true? Did you sleep with her?’ asked Emma, her voice cracking.

‘Of course I didn’t,’ said Rob angrily.

‘I was in a prison cell and I can’t believe you would do this.’

‘This is ridiculous! We went out for dinner. Yes, I dropped her off at her apartment and I gave her a kiss on the cheek as I said goodnight.’

Emma desperately wanted to believe him but she’d already had a lifetime of being let down by men. And Cassandra was a man-eater, a wounded one at that, who would no doubt milk her near-death experience for all it was worth. Why would Rob resist her
charms especially when Emma knew she’d been behaving like a frigid old woman?

‘She gave me these,’ said Rob, his voice still wounded, and pulled some documents out of his glove compartment.

He gave her Milford’s Articles and Memorandum, which he had marked up in yellow highlighter pen.

Emma felt a pang of guilt. ‘I’m sorry.’ She longed to kiss him but she could sense that a barrier had risen up between them.

‘Have you read these things lately?’ he smiled a little more warmly. ‘It took me about two hours to wade through it all. Dull as ditchwater. Why do lawyers use five words when one will do?’

‘So they can charge more!’ she laughed.

‘Read page five. No director of the company can serve on Milford’s board if he or she has a criminal record.’

‘So obviously if I was in jail I couldn’t be CEO any more,’ Emma said slowly, feeling angry that she hadn’t made the connection herself.

‘Would Roger finally get the job he wanted with you out of the way?’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Emma as Rob started the car.

They drove into Chilcot and to the Milford offices. It was 6.30 p.m. and most people had left for the day.

They took the lift to the third floor and walked silently into her office where Emma switched on a single lamp.

‘Here. Have a look at this,’ she said opening the filing cabinet and pulling a letter out of a drawer labelled
Contracts of Employment.

‘Ruan’s?’ said Rob quietly.

He could see Emma’s eyes scanning the document.

‘As COO, contractually he gets to deputize in my absence. It doesn’t specify for how long. So if I went down for arson for five or six years, Ruan would install himself as CEO.’

‘But the board could get rid of him.’

‘They could,’ said Emma thoughtfully, ‘but Ruan would already know that he has my backing as majority shareholder, which still counts even though I’m in jail.’

Rob sank back into the black Barcelona office chair.

‘Has Ruan ever struck you as sufficiently power-crazed to frame you for murder?’

Emma shook her head vigorously. ‘No. No, not at all.’ ‘So if we rule Ruan out, then who are we looking for?’ asked Rob.

Emma pushed the filing cabinet closed with a clang. ‘I say it brings us back to Roger.’