Chelsea Wives

by Anna-Lou Weatherley

  Imogen stared at it for the longest moment, its intense colours pulling her in and holding her there. It was far more beautiful up close than she had remembered. The size of a man’s fist, it looked almost alive somehow, like a pulsing entity as its thousand facets sent light and colour dancing all around the clinical room. Somehow the idea that it possessed the spirit of the prince’s dead mother did not seem nearly as ludicrous as it had first sounded.

  ‘Do you want to touch her?’ Sebastian shot her a sideways glance. Imogen’s heart was beating a song in her chest.

  ‘Can I?’

  His grin widened.

  She stepped forwards and slowly placed the tips of her fingers onto the gem.

  ‘Jeeesus Christ!’ She leapt back in shock, her face contorting as a sharp pain shot up through her hand and into her arm.

  Sebastian gave a high-pitched laugh.

  ‘You bastard,’ she said, her voice shaking almost as violently as her hand. ‘It’s protected by electricity.’

  ‘Invisible electricity. Just another little added security measure. Not that anyone would ever get this far, mind you.’

  Imogen rubbed her arm.

  ‘That really hurt, Seb.’

  ‘It’s supposed to,’ he chuckled. ‘That was 15 amps – enough to kill a rabbit!’ He placed his hand onto a pad positioned on the wall and she watched as his palm made an imprint into the soft, pliable substance, deactivating the electric sensor.

  She grimaced at him.

  ‘Aw, come on, Imogen. It was just a joke. I turned it down to the lowest voltage. If it had been on full it would have killed you!’

  ‘My hero,’ she deadpanned, her heart thudding loudly against her ribs, her arm still warm and buzzing. It was a shitty trick but she would swallow it down. The pain she felt now would be nothing compared to what he would experience when she outsmarted him – and his team of American security experts. She had made some mental notes, enough to search for potential flaws in his ‘perfect’ system. Somehow Imogen would have to find a way of getting down here again, this time without Seb in tow. She hadn’t the first clue how she was going to go about it but one thing was for sure; she would find a way – or die trying.

  ‘I want to go now,’ she said, turning to him and clutching her throbbing arm, her mouth bone-dry. ‘I think I’ve seen enough.’

  CHAPTER 25

  It was busy in Yves Saint Laurent for a Wednesday afternoon, busier than Calvary had expected, causing her to wonder if there wasn’t some important event happening that she hadn’t heard about – or worse, been invited to. It was paranoia, of course. Calvary knew every important date in the society calendar as well as she knew her own children’s birthdays.

  As she perused the rails of delicate dresses and chiffon separates – last minute purchases for her girlie getaway to the lakes – Calvary thought about Josia. She was in two minds whether or not to go looking for him. She had sensed a frisson between them something she hadn’t felt in years – but what was it they said about curiosity and cats?

  ‘Calvary? Calvary Rothschild … is that you? Good God, it’s been an age!’

  The shrill voice sliced through Calvary’s thoughts with all the subtlety of a meat cleaver. She spun round.

  ‘Countess Ledbury! Verite! Goodness me. How very lovely to see you,’ Calvary lied, stepping forward and air-kissing the woman on both cheeks.

  ‘Art for Africa, yes, the charity auction at Annabel’s – the last time I saw you. Gosh, how long was it now? Two, no, three years?’

  Calvary did the maths. ‘Three. Almost.’

  ‘Goodness, where does all the time disappear to? It only feels like yesterday I bought that Hockney. Still, all for a good cause, eh, darling? Anyway, I see you’re buying … off somewhere nice?’ She began to inspect the selection of dresses Calvary had in her hand.

  The Earl of Ledbury’s wife was a Parisian by birth and Grade A bitch by nature. Although they were around the same age, a lifetime of Gitanes and St Tropez sun had added ten years to the Countess’s features.

  ‘The Italian Riviera, actually. The Ivanov’s place,’ Calvary replied breezily. ‘Anyway, I haven’t seen you on the circuit in a while. You weren’t at Cannes last year or the Regatta in June. Come to mention it, I didn’t see you at the Markhams’ do at Chatsworth House either. Fabulous event. We were on the same table as Charles and Camilla this year. And then of course there was Forbes’ bash … the most spectacular yet. Shame you couldn’t make it.’

  Calvary was boasting and felt a small pang of satisfaction as she watched the Countess’s lips purse.

  ‘Oh, I haven’t had time for all of that.’ Verite waved a bejewelled hand dismissively. ‘We’re having a villa built in St Barts, which hasn’t left a lot of time for the smaller social events this year. But we’ve managed to squeeze a few in here and there; skiing with Nicolas and Carla Sarkozy in Val D’Isere and a little jolly to Necker Island with Sting and Trudi back in May. It’s not all been work, work, work, darling. Anyway, tell me, how are you and Douglas? Is he still an incorrigible flirt?’

  Calvary felt her hackles rise but decided to swallow her tongue.

  ‘Douglas is marvellous, thank you. I’ll let him know that you were asking after him.’

  ‘Please do,’ said the Countess, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘And the Earl?’

  ‘In fine form,’ Verite remarked, ‘keeps pestering me to renew our wedding vows, the silly old sod that he is. Personally, I think it’s all just an excuse to have an enormous big bun fight. He fancies Sudbury Castle, but then again, who doesn’t?’ She laughed, a horrible self-satisfied cackle.

  Calvary grimaced.

  ‘Well, it’s been marvellous to see you, Verite. I’m sure we’ll run into each other again soon.’ She refrained from adding, ‘more’s the pity.’

  Calvary leaned in and air-kissed the Countess’s overly made-up cheeks.

  ‘You too. Don’t forget to give my best to Douglas, will you. I do so enjoy hearing about all his latest adventures through the grapevine.’

  Desperate to escape, Calvary made her way over to the assistant and plonked the large pile of dresses onto the counter.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Rothschild.’ Yvette, the sales assistant, with whom she was on first-name terms, beamed up at her. Calvary didn’t even flinch as she handed over her credit card.

  ‘Make it quick, will you, Yvette? I’m in a bit of a hurry.’

  Yvette gave an understanding nod and disappeared into a small room to complete the purchases. Moments later, she reappeared looking flustered.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Rothschild. There seems to be a problem with this card. Do you have another?’

  ‘Of course!’ Calvary replied, a little miffed as she reached into her Mulberry wallet.

  Moments later Yvette reappeared again, her face red.

  ‘I’m really sorry, Mrs Rothschild. There appears to be a problem with this card also.’

  Calvary frowned, the first flushes of embarrassment warming her skin.

  ‘But that can’t be.’ She looked at the card. ‘There must be a problem with your machine. Here, try the Amex,’ she snapped, beginning to feel a little annoyed.

  The assistant nodded apologetically. ‘I am so sorry about this.’

  Calvary smiled through her indignation.

  But moments later the assistant returned and nervously shook her head.

  Calvary felt her heart miss a beat. Just what the hell was all this about?

  ‘I can hold on to the items for you,’ Yvette suggested nervously. ‘You can always arrange to make payment over the telephone and we’ll have them sent over as soon as it’s been authorised. I am so very sorry, Mrs Rothschild.’

  Calvary was mortified. Her cards being declined in Yves Saint Laurent. She would never be able to come here again.

  ‘Is there a problem?’ asked Countess Ledbury, sensing a little discrepancy as she stood behind Calvary watching the whole episode unfurl with barely concealed gle
e.

  Calvary felt her face burn with humiliation. This would be the talk of society by morning.

  ‘There’s no problem,’ Calvary replied quickly.

  ‘Here, put it on my card, darling. You can always send me a cheque in the post,’ the Countess smirked.

  Calvary did not reply. Hot with humiliation, she was already halfway out the door.

  *

  ‘There had better be a bloody good explanation for this, Douglas,’ Calvary’s voice was shaking with raw emotion as she flew into his office, unannounced, her face almost as red as the tomato Giambattista Valli shift dress she was wearing.

  Douglas gave a wry smile. He had been expecting her.

  ‘Oh, do come in, Calvary, please. Make yourself at home.’ He buzzed the intercom. ‘Arabella, hold all my calls for five minutes, yes?’

  ‘Of course, sir,’ she replied, her voice low and breathy.

  Calvary raised an eyebrow. ‘Arabella? I haven’t heard of this one before. Is she new?’

  ‘As a matter of fact she is, yes.’

  Calvary let out a trademark throaty laugh.

  ‘You get through secretaries like I get through hosiery, Douglas. Screwed her yet, have you?’

  Douglas sighed and shook his head.

  ‘I’ll treat that question with the contempt it deserves.’

  ‘That’s a yes, then.’

  ‘No, Calvary. It’s a no, I haven’t screwed her, as you so delicately put it.’

  Calvary smirked.

  ‘What’s the matter, Douglas, losing your touch?’

  Douglas bristled. ‘What do you want, Calvary? I’m busy.’

  ‘I want to know what you’re playing at,’ she said, throwing her credit cards down onto his desk. Her voice was low and measured and he smiled as he heard the rage simmering away underneath. He’d known she would be furious, which of course was the whole point.

  ‘Ah, yes. Well, you can’t say I didn’t warn you. I told you not to upset the apple cart, as it were. But you just couldn’t help yourself, could you? Couldn’t keep that forked tongue of yours inside your head, where it would be better off ninety-nine percent of the time.’ Douglas fixed her with a cool stare. ‘Tamara told me all about your little altercation at the wedding planner’s. The threats and the violence …’

  ‘Violence!’ Calvary was pacing the room, too enraged to sit down. She’d show him violence. Right now she wanted to tear his office apart. Smash those Annie Leibovitz prints he loved so much, rip the blinds down and throw his beloved Philippe Starck chair through the window.

  ‘It was just a little slap, for crying out loud. Long overdue if you ask me.’

  ‘The girl was hysterical, for God’s sake. Came to me in an awful state.’

  Calvary glanced at him. ‘She came to you?’

  ‘Well, who else was she going to turn to, Calvary? She can hardly tell Henry why her future mother-in-law assaulted her at the wedding planner’s, now could she?’

  ‘You said it, Douglas,’ she retorted. ‘And not only do you expect me to forget that it ever happened and allow the treacherous little slapper to marry our son, but you see fit to punish me further by humiliating me – in Yves Saint Laurent, of all places! And,’ Calvary drew breath. She was ranting now, ‘you’ll not guess who witnessed this humiliation first-hand. Only that supercilious bitch, the Countess Verite bloody Ledbury. It’ll be the talk of the town by now. She even offered to pay for my purchases.’ Calvary placed her head in her hands, reliving the shame. ‘I’ll not forgive you for this, Douglas,’ she said, her voice cracking like glass. ‘Not ever.’

  ‘We’ll add it to the burgeoning list then, shall we?’ Douglas shot back, suddenly feeling a touch guilty. He had never seen her so upset.

  ‘You’re a bastard, do you know that?’ Calvary said, her voice filled with contempt. ‘You think you can just cut me off like that, humiliate me in front of all those people?’

  ‘Yes, Calvary, that’s exactly what I think.’ He looked up at her with a cold stare, his earlier guilt dissipating as he began to lose patience. ‘I warned you that if you refused to toe the line with Tamara then I would act – and I have. Now, I’ve had the cards reactivated. They should be fine to use while you’re up at the lakes, but I mean it, Calvary. If I hear of any more nonsense then next time it’ll be for good.’

  Calvary looked at her husband with so much hatred that it was all she could do to stop herself from grabbing his letter knife and slitting his throat. For a second, she imagined the look of terror on his face as he realised what she’d done, as he began to bleed out all over his Conran desk, his miserable life slowly ebbing away all over his Gucci suit. It made her feel fleetingly better.

  ‘You know, I had you down as many things, Douglas, but never the spiteful, malicious sort. Oh, she’s done a good number on you, our dear Tamara. Has you wrapped right round her pointed little talons, doesn’t she?’

  ‘Are you still here?’ Douglas murmured.

  Calvary snatched up her oversized Miu Miu day clutch and, fixing her husband with a contemptuous glare, prepared to leave. As she was about to flounce from the room, she noticed a post-it note message on Douglas’s desk diary with the words: ‘Forbes Vault. 2:00 p.m.’ written on it. Suddenly the thought struck her like a blow to the chest.

  Of course! Stupid, stupid woman! Douglas must be stashing his cash down in the vaults at Forbes Bank! She had clean forgotten about the strong box that had been in his family for generations. It’s where the Rothschilds kept all their family gems and secrets. Lord knew, Douglas alone had enough of them to keep Forbes in business until time immemorial.

  As she turned on her heels, Calvary glanced at the desk clock and into the spy camera she had planted there and felt a small rush of satisfaction. With a bit of luck it would have recorded every word of their conversation. Douglas may have won the battle yet again, but Calvary was quietly adamant that she would win the war. Flicking her auburn hair from her face in an exaggerated movement, Calvary smiled in the camera’s direction and hoped that whatever else, it was getting her best side.

  CHAPTER 26

  Standing on the marble patio of Villa Bellafonte, Yasmin peered over her enormous Dior shades and stared up at the imposing nineteenth century palazzine in all its neoclassical glory.

  ‘Now this is what I call a house!’ she said, signalling to a member of staff that her champagne flute needed refilling.

  ‘If Jeremy has a spare £260 million, darling, it could be yours,’ Calvary said, blowing cigarette smoke into the warm air. ‘I believe it’s up for sale.’

  ‘Really?’ Yasmin’s interest was aroused.

  ‘It used to belong to the Versaces. They’ve all been here; Madonna, Elton John, Sting. I think Jennifer Lopez even had her honeymoon here. Well, one of them at least.’

  ‘It would make a wonderful first wedding anniversary gift, wouldn’t it?’ Yasmin sighed. ‘I mean, the bathrooms! I almost had a heart attack when I saw that life-sized marble statue of that Greek god, Adonie.’

  ‘Adonis,’ Calvary corrected her.

  Yasmin blanched. It was slip-ups such as these that might eventually lead to blowing her cover if she wasn’t careful. After all, she was supposed to have had a very expensive, private education behind her.

  ‘That’s what I said.’ She took a large gulp of Krug. ‘Well anyway, if he was supposedly the god of love, then God help us all. I mean, his cup hardly overfloweth in the, you know, trouser department.’ She raised a sardonic eyebrow.

  Calvary chuckled. She was glad she had invited Yasmin on their little trip. Truth was she had grown quite fond of the girl in recent months. Imogen had warmed to her too, particularly after her show of support at Cressida’s funeral. Between them they were forging quite a formidable little threesome.

  Calvary clasped her hands together. ‘Well, ladies. I hope you enjoy dinner; I flew the chef in from one of the top restaurants in Milan, and tomorrow I’ve organised a little surprise for us … something to cheer
us up after these past few hellish weeks,’ she smiled broadly. ‘I’ve chartered a jet to fly us over to Milan for an afternoon’s shopping! Douglas will have a coronary when he sees the bill, with a bit of luck anyway,’ she deadpanned.

  ‘Oooh, fabulous,’ Yasmin squealed her approval. She had never been to Milan, not that she was about to let on as much to the others of course.

  ‘How does that sound to you, Ims?’

  Imogen looked up.

  ‘What? Oh, sorry,’ she apologised. ‘I was miles away.’

  Ever since her little trip down to the vaults, Imogen’s mind had been preoccupied with Seb and the diamond. In truth, she had thought of little else.

  Securing that diamond had been the coup of her husband’s entire career and as a result his ego had reached new and dizzying heights. Sebastian Forbes thought he was untouchable. Well, she’d soon put paid to that! Tonight, over dinner, she had decided to divulge her little plan, and she couldn’t wait to see the look on her friends’ faces when she did.

  ‘Can I get you some more champagne, madam?’ the hot young Italian waiter asked, noting Yasmin’s empty glass yet again.

  ‘Fill me up!’ she purred, admiring his dark, Mediterranean looks.

  ‘Well, really,’ Calvary teased, once he was out of earshot. ‘What would the old pot and pan think, darling?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Yasmin dismissed her. ‘Just being friendly, that’s all.’

  In true form the waiter had glanced back at Yasmin over his shoulder. She had known he wouldn’t be able to resist, not with her looking so resplendent in a short, nude-coloured body-con Herve Leger bandage dress that was so tight it was like liquid skin. The thought of rounding off the night with a bit of Italian Stallion between her legs almost made Yasmin lose sight of what her real objective was this evening: to steer the conversation onto her husband. Try once again to get Calvary Rothschild to spill the beans on what she knew about that night.

  ‘Marriage, you have to work at it you know,’ Calvary continued, directing her tutorial at Yasmin. Lord knew she’d worked at her own over the years, for all the good it had done her.