The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  It was almost midday when her cellphone buzzed, signalling an incoming text message, and she retrieved it to smile with delight at the printed text. ‘home, dinner when, news. Siobhan’

  For those with minimum spare time and a tight schedule, text messaging provided easy communication. Brief, Cassandra grinned as she keyed in a response, but efficient.

  Within minutes they’d organised a time and place to meet that evening.

  Suddenly the day seemed brighter, and she found herself humming lightly beneath her breath as she adjusted a magnification instrument, then transferred to a correction loupe. Using a calliper, she focused on the intricate work in hand.

  It was almost seven when Cassandra stepped into the trendy café. Superb food, excellent service, it was so popular bookings needed to be made in advance.

  A waiter showed her to a table, and she ordered mineral water, then perused the menu while she waited for Siobhan to arrive.

  She was able to tell the moment Siobhan entered the café. Almost in unison every male head turned towards the door, and everything seemed to stop for a few seconds.

  Cassandra sank back in her chair and watched the effect, offering a quizzical smile as Siobhan extended an affectionate greeting.

  ‘Cassy, sorry I’m late. Parking was a bitch.’

  Very few people shortened her name, except Siobhan who used it as an endearment and fiercely corrected anyone who thought to follow her example.

  The clothes, the long blonde flowing hair, exquisite but minimum make-up, the perfume. Genes, Siobhan blithely accorded, whenever anyone enviously queried how she managed to look the way she did. One of the top modelling agencies had snapped her up at fifteen, and she was treading the international catwalks in Rome, Milan and Paris two years later.

  Yet for all the fame and fortune, none of it had gone to her head. On occasion she played the expected part, acquiring as she termed it, the model persona.

  Together, they’d shared private schools and formed a friendship bond that was as true now as it had been then.

  Siobhan barely had time to slip into a seat before a waiter appeared at her side, and she gave him her order.

  ‘Mineral water. Still.’

  The poor fellow was so enraptured he could hardly speak, and barely refrained from genuflecting before he began to retreat.

  Cassandra bit back a smile as she sank back in her seat. ‘How was Italy?’

  ‘The catwalk, behind-the-scene diva contretemps, or the most divine piece of jewellery I acquired?’

  ‘Jewellery,’ she said promptly, and gave an appreciative murmur of approval as Siobhan indicated the diamond tennis bracelet at her wrist. Top-grade stones, bezel setting…exquisite. ‘Beautiful. A gift?’

  ‘From me to me.’ Siobhan grinned. ‘Otherwise known as retail therapy.’

  Cassandra gave a delighted laugh. ‘Moving on…tell me about the Italian count.’

  ‘Sustenance first, Cassy, darling. I’m famished.’

  It wasn’t fair that Siobhan could eat a healthy serving of almost anything and still retain the fabulous svelte form required by the world’s top designers to model their clothes.

  Cassandra made a selection, while Siobhan did likewise, and another waiter appeared to take their order the instant Siobhan lowered the menu.

  ‘Dining with you is an incredible experience,’ Cassandra said with an impish grin. ‘The waiters fall over themselves just for the pleasure of fulfilling your slightest whim.’

  Siobhan’s eyes twinkled with devilish humour. ‘Helpful when things are hectic, and I have like—’ she gestured with her glass ‘—five minutes to take a food break.’ Her cellphone rang, and she ignored it.

  ‘Shouldn’t you get that?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘O-K,’ she drew out slowly. ‘You’re not taking phone calls in general, or not from one person in particular?’

  ‘The latter.’

  Their chicken Caesar salads arrived and were placed before them with a stylish flourish.

  ‘Problems?’ Cassandra ventured.

  ‘Some,’ Siobhan admitted, and sipped from her glass.

  ‘The Italian count?’

  ‘The Italian count’s ex-wife.’

  Oh, my. ‘She doesn’t want you to have him?’

  ‘Got it in one.’ Siobhan picked up her cutlery and speared a piece of chicken.

  ‘You’re not going to fill in the gaps?’

  ‘She wants to retain her title by marriage.’ Siobhan’s eyes rolled. ‘Lack of social face, and all that crap.’

  ‘You don’t care a fig about the title.’ It was a statement, not a query.

  ‘They share joint custody of their daughter. The ex is threatening to change the custody arrangements.’

  ‘Can she do that?’

  ‘By questioning my ability to provide reasonable care and attention while the child is in the paternal home due to my occupation and lifestyle.’

  ‘Ouch,’ she managed in sympathy.

  ‘Aside from that, Rome was wonderful. The fashion showing went well…out front,’ she qualified. ‘Out back one of the models threw a hissy fit, and was soothed down only seconds before she was due to hit the catwalk.’ She leaned forward, and made an expressive gesture with her fork. ‘Your turn.’

  Where did she begin? Best not to even start, for how could she justify complex and very personal circumstances?

  ‘The usual.’ She effected a light shrug. ‘Nothing much changes.’

  ‘Word has it you and Diego del Santo are an item.’

  Ah, the speed of the social grapevine! ‘We were guests at a dinner party, and attended the same gallery exhibition.’

  ‘Cassy, this is me, remember? Being fellow guests at the same event is something you’ve done for the past year. It’s a step up to arrive and leave with him.’

  ‘A step up, huh?’

  ‘So,’ Siobhan honed in with a quizzical smile. ‘Tell.’

  ‘It seemed a good idea at the time,’ she responded lightly. It was part truth, and the model’s gaze narrowed.

  ‘You’re hooked.’

  ‘Not in this lifetime.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘You’re wrong,’ Cassandra denied. ‘He’s—’

  ‘One hell of a man,’ Siobhan finished, and her expressive features softened. ‘Well, I’ll be damned.’

  A delighted laugh escaped her lips as she lifted her glass and touched its rim to the one Cassandra held. ‘Good luck, Cassy, darling.’

  Luck? All she wanted was for the next week to be over and done with!

  They finished their meal and lingered over coffee, parting well after ten with the promise to catch up again soon.

  Thursday morning Cassandra woke when the cat began to miaow in protest at not being fed, and she rolled over to check the time, saw the digital blinking, and muttered an unladylike oath. A power failure during the night had wiped out her alarm, and she scrambled for her wrist-watch to check the time…only to curse again and leap from the bed.

  It didn’t make a good start to the day.

  Minutes later she heard the dull burr of the phone from the en suite and opted to let the machine pick up, rather than dash dripping wet from the shower.

  Towelled dry, she quickly dressed, collected a cereal bar and a banana to eat as she drove to work, caught up her briefcase, and was almost to the door before she remembered to run the machine.

  Cameron’s recorded voice relayed he had tickets to a gala film première that evening, and asked her to return his call.

  She’d planned a quiet night at home, but her brother enjoyed the social scene and she rarely refused any of his invitations. Besides, an evening out would help her forget Diego for a few hours.

  As if.

  His image intruded into every waking thought, intensifying as each day went by. As to the nights…they were worse, much worse. He’d begun to invade her dreams, and she’d wake mid-sequence to discover the touch of his mouth, his hands, was only a figm
ent of an over-active imagination.

  She cursed beneath her breath as she waited for the lift to take her down to the basement car park. Whatever gave her the idea she could enter into Diego’s conditional arrangement and escape emotionally unscathed?

  Fighting peak-hour traffic merely added to her overall sense of disquiet, and it was mid-morning before she managed to return Cameron’s call.

  The workshop prided itself on producing quality work, and there was satisfaction in achieving an outstanding piece. Especially a commissioned item where the designer had worked with the client in the selection of gems and setting.

  Software made it possible to assemble a digital diagram, enhance and produce an example of the finished piece.

  There was real challenge in producing something strikingly unusual, even unique, where price was no object. Occasionally frustration played a part when the client insisted on a design the jeweller knew wouldn’t display the gems to their best advantage.

  It was almost six when she let herself into the apartment, and she fed the cat, watered her plants, then showered and dressed for the evening ahead.

  On a whim she selected an elegant black trouser suit, added a red pashmina, and slid her feet into stiletto-heeled sandals. Upswept hair, skilful use of make-up, and she was ready just as Cameron buzzed through his arrival on the intercom.

  The venue was Fox Studios, the film’s lead actors had jetted in from the States, and Australian actors of note would attend as guests of honour, Cameron informed as they approached the studios.

  Together they made their way into the crowded foyer, where guests mingled as waiters offered champagne and orange juice.

  The film was predicted to be a box-office success, with special effects advertised as surpassing anything previously seen on screen.

  There was the usual marketing pizzazz, the buzz of conversation, and Cassandra recognised a few fellow guests as she stood sipping champagne.

  ‘I imagine Diego will be here tonight.’

  ‘Possibly,’ she conceded with deliberate unconcern, aware that if he did attend it was unlikely to be alone.

  ‘Does that bother you?’

  ‘Why should it? He’s a free agent.’ The truth shouldn’t hurt so much. ‘I’m just a transitory issue he decided to amuse himself with.’

  She didn’t want to see him here…or anywhere else for that matter. It would merely accentuate the difference between their public lives and the diabolical arrangement Diego had made in forcing her to be part of a deal.

  ‘He’s just arrived,’ Cameron indicated quietly.

  ‘Really?’ Pretending indifference was a practised art, and she did it well. She told herself she wouldn’t indulge in an idle glance of the foyer’s occupants, only to have her attention drawn as if by a powerful magnet to where Diego stood.

  Attired in an immaculate evening suit, he looked every inch the powerful magnate. Blatant masculinity and elemental ruthlessness made for a dangerous combination in any arena.

  Cassandra’s gaze fused with his, and in that moment she was prepared to swear everything stood still.

  Sensation swirled through her body, tuning it to a fine pitch as she fought to retain a measure of composure.

  Almost as if he knew, he inclined his head in acknowledgement and proffered a faintly mocking smile before returning his attention to the man at his side.

  It was then Cassandra saw Alicia move into his circle, and she felt sickened by Alicia’s effusive greeting.

  With deliberate movements she positioned herself so Diego was no longer in her line of vision, and she initiated an animated conversation with Cameron about the merits of German and Italian motor engineering.

  Cars numbered high on his list of personal obsessions, and he launched into a spiel of detailed data that went right over her head.

  He was in his element, and she allowed her mind to drift as she tuned out his voice.

  Diego didn’t owe her any loyalty. If he’d issued her with an invitation to partner him here tonight, she would have refused. So why did she care?

  Logic and rationale were fine, but they did nothing to ease the pain in the vicinity of her heart.

  Are you crazy? she demanded silently. You don’t even like him. Why let him get to you? Except it was too late…way too late. He was already there.

  ‘…and given a choice, I’d opt for Ferrari,’ Cameron concluded, only to quizzically ask, ‘Have you heard a word I said?’

  ‘It was an interesting comparison,’ Cassandra inclined with a faint smile.

  ‘Darling, don’t kid yourself. You were miles away.’ He paused for a few seconds, then said gently, ‘Alicia isn’t with him. She’s just trying to make out she is.’

  ‘I really don’t care.’

  ‘Yes, you do. And that worries me.’

  ‘Don’t,’ she advised with soft vehemence. ‘I went into this with my eyes open.’

  ‘There’s only the weekend, then it’s over.’

  Now, why did that send her into a state of mild despair?

  It was a relief when the auditorium doors opened and the guests moved forward to await direction to their seats.

  ‘Cassandra. Cameron.’

  She’d have recognised that faintly accented drawl anywhere, and she summoned a polite smile as she turned towards the man who’d joined them.

  ‘Diego,’ she acknowledged, and watched as he shifted his gaze to Cameron.

  ‘If I had known you were attending I could have arranged a seating reallocation.’

  ‘I was gifted the tickets last night,’ Cameron relayed with regret.

  ‘Pity.’

  Alicia appeared at Diego’s side, and curved her arm sinuously through his own. ‘Diego, we’re waiting for you.’ She made a pretence of summoning charm. ‘Cassandra, Cameron. I’m sure you’ll excuse us?’

  Diego deliberately released her arm from his, and Cassandra wondered if she was the only one who caught the dangerous glitter in Alicia’s eyes.

  To compound the situation, Diego ushered Cassandra and Cameron ahead, and Cassandra felt Alicia’s directed venom like hot knives piercing her back.

  ‘That was interesting,’ Cameron accorded quietly as they slid into their seats. ‘Alicia is a first-class bitch.’

  ‘They deserve each other,’ Cassandra declared with dulcet cynicism, and incurred a musing glance.

  ‘Darling, Diego is light-years ahead of her.’

  ‘Is that meant as a compliment or a condemnation?’

  Cameron laughed out loud. ‘I’ll opt for the former. I’m sure you prefer the latter.’

  Wasn’t that the truth!

  The film proved to be a riveting example of superb technical expertise with hand-to-the-throat suspense that had the audience gasping in their seats.

  Eventually the credits rolled, the lights came on, and guests began vacating the theatre.

  Cassandra sent up a silent prayer she’d manage to escape without encountering Diego. Except the deity wasn’t listening, and the nerves inside her stomach accelerated as he drew level with them in the foyer.

  His gaze locked with hers, and she could read nothing from his expression. ‘We’re going on for coffee, if you’d care to join us.’

  Are you kidding? You expect me to sit opposite you, calmly sipping a latte, while Alicia plays the vamp?

  ‘Thank you, no,’ she got in quickly before Cameron had a chance to accept. ‘I have an early start in the morning.’ She didn’t, but he wasn’t to know that, and she offered a sweet smile as he inclined his head.

  ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  Alicia’s mouth tightened, and Cassandra glimpsed something vicious in those ice-blue eyes for a timeless second, then it was gone.

  Cassandra wasn’t conscious of holding her breath until Diego moved ahead of them, then she released it slowly, conscious of Cameron’s soft exclamation as she did so.

  ‘Watch your back with that one, darling,’ he cautioned. ‘Alicia has it in for you.’


  She met her brother’s wry look with equanimity. ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

  They reached the exit and began walking towards where Cameron had parked the car. ‘If she discovers Diego is sleeping with you…’ He left the sentence unfinished.

  ‘I can look after myself.’

  He caught hold of her hand and squeezed it in silent reassurance. ‘Just take care, OK?’

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘CASSANDRA, phone.’

  Diego, it had to be.

  Cassandra took the call, and tried to control the way her pulse leapt at the sound of his voice.

  ‘We’re taking the mid-morning flight. I’ll collect you at nine tomorrow.’

  ‘I can meet you at the airport.’ That way her car would be there when they returned.

  ‘Nine, Cassandra,’ he reiterated in a quiet drawl that brooked little argument, then he cut the connection.

  He was insufferable, she fumed as she returned to her workspace.

  The resentment didn’t diminish much as day became night, and she rose early, packed, put out sufficient dry food and water for the cat, then a few minutes before nine she took the lift down to Reception.

  The Gold Coast appeared at its sparkling best. Clear azure sky, late-spring warm temperatures, and sunshine.

  Diego picked up a hire car and within half an hour they reached the luxurious Palazzo Versace hotel complex.

  It was more than a year since Cassandra had last visited the Coast, and she adored the holiday atmosphere, the canal estates, the trendy sidewalk café’s and casual lifestyle.

  The hotel offered six-star accommodation, plus privately owned condominiums and several penthouse apartments.

  Why should she be surprised to discover Diego owned a penthouse here? Or that he’d elected to take the extra total designer furnishing package including bed coverings and cushions, towels, china, glass-ware and cutlery?

  The total look, she mused in admiration. Striking, expensive, and incredibly luxurious.

  There was a million-dollar view from the floor-to-ceiling glass walls, and she took a deep breath of fresh sea air as Diego slid open an external glass door.