Outrageous Fortune

by Lulu Taylor

  ‘Oh, right. You want to get the dirty on him, so if he tries anything you can threaten him?’

  ‘I’m not sure if I’d put it quite like that,’ Margaret said in a tight voice, ‘but knowledge is power.’ She stood up. ‘Spend an hour or so reading that file. Then tonight we’re going out. There’s one last tutor I want you to meet.’

  Coco groaned. ‘Not another tutor! What else do I have to learn?’

  ‘Oh, I think you’ll like this one,’ Margaret said. ‘We’re going for dinner at Scott’s. Wear something nice and don’t forget everything you’ve been taught.’ She went out.

  Margaret returned an hour later and asked if Coco had enjoyed reading the file.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said honestly. She’d been drawn into the details of this person’s life and become immersed in his story. ‘Interesting.’

  ‘Good. I hope it will all prove useful to you. Now, you’d better get ready. We’re due at Scott’s in two hours. I’ll have the driver take you back to South Kensington. Leave the file here, please. The car will be back to pick you up at seven-thirty precisely.’

  Later that evening, Coco watched London sliding past the car window as the Rolls took her to the restaurant. She felt wonderful in the gorgeous dress she was wearing. She’d been yearning to wear it for ages, and maybe it was a little too dressy for dinner but … she didn’t care. It was an Alexander McQueen black crêpe dress with built-up samurai armoured shoulders that were strong enough to make a statement but subtle enough not to interfere with the overall elegance. It was short, showing off legs that were looking their best since the salon had spray-tanned her an even apricot gold all over, and she’d teamed it with a punky black clutch bag with a crystal skull catch, and high strappy sandals. Now she was on her way to one of the most fashionable restaurants in the city.

  Coco laughed to herself. It was incredible how quickly she’d become entirely used to her new lifestyle, almost as though this was the way she should have been living all along but there had been a slight administrative error that had at last been put right. She still could not believe that old man Dangerfield and Margaret were prepared to go to such lengths, and for what? She was not even entirely clear yet what exactly was expected of her, though she was sure it would be made plain in due course.

  This boy William – well, man now, she supposed – had been brave simply to walk out on his privileged life, although there was the safety net of the family trusts to take into account, she reminded herself. It wasn’t exactly like heading off to live on the streets. Even so, his achievements couldn’t be discounted. It took guts and vision to set up a company like he had, one that made millions for him in his own right. She wondered what he was like. Well, in a few weeks, I’ll know for real. But first I’ve got to meet this new tutor, whoever the hell he is. I can’t believe I’ve still got stuff to learn. What is it now? Do I need my face surgically altered or something?

  When the car arrived at Scott’s in Mayfair, she felt nervous. She didn’t usually have to walk into posh restaurants alone, but this was a good chance to rehearse what she’d need to put into practice soon enough – having self-confidence and believing in the person who had been created by Margaret’s teachers. She could now walk into any restaurant – even in France or Italy – and understand the menu, and how to eat what arrived, and what wine to drink with it. She didn’t need to be afraid any more. She belonged. She wasn’t sure if she truly believed that, but it was what she had to tell herself in order to get through.

  The maître d’ greeted her at the door and showed her to the table where Margaret was already waiting. She was talking to someone seated with her. It must be the new tutor. Margaret moved and Coco saw that it was a man who, as soon as he saw her approaching, leaped to his feet with a glowing smile. He was strikingly handsome, tall and slim with high cheekbones, blond hair, dark blue eyes and a charming lopsided way of grinning.

  ‘Ah, Coco,’ Margaret said, also rising to her feet, ‘may I introduce Alexander McCorquodale?’

  ‘Please,’ said the young man, ‘call me Xander. Everyone else does.’

  ‘Hi,’ Coco said. She warmed to him at once. Charm seemed to spill out and fall about him in pools of sparkling light. But what, she wondered, is he going to teach me?

  As if in answer to her thoughts, Margaret said, ‘Xander is going to be your passport into the world we are eager for you to enter. Now, shall we sit down and decide what to order? Then we can discuss business.’

  46

  LATER THAT EVENING, in the study of the Belgravia house, Daddy Dangerfield sat in the green leather chair behind his vast desk, one elbow resting on the top. Margaret stood close beside him, rolling her employer’s shirtsleeve up his arm and tucking it back neatly so that an expanse of tanned flesh was revealed. The skin, covered in thick dark hair, hung a little loosely as though it had only recently lost a padding of fat from beneath. Margaret swabbed a patch of it lightly, then picked up a small syringe filled with clear liquid. In a practised move she held it up, squirted out a stream of the liquid, then jabbed it quickly into the uncovered arm.

  Daddy pulled in a sharp breath but said nothing as he watched Margaret press down on the syringe, sending the fluid into his veins.

  ‘There,’ she said with satisfaction as she withdrew the needle, swabbed the skin again and rolled down the shirtsleeve. ‘All done.’

  ‘Thank you, Margaret.’ Daddy smiled at her, though rather wanly. ‘I think I rather needed that today.’

  ‘You’ll feel the benefits at once, sir, I’m sure.’ Margaret cleared up the equipment briskly, packing the syringe away into a neat little metal case. ‘The professor tells me that this is the very latest version of the serum, and that its effectiveness is greater than ever.’

  ‘Good, good.’ Daddy absent-mindedly rubbed his arm where Margaret had injected it.

  She bent down a little closer to him, her thin lips curved into a smile. ‘You look in the prime of health, if I may say so. You seem younger and more vibrant than ever.’

  ‘Do I?’ His brown eyes, the eyeballs tinged slightly yellow, turned to her hopefully.

  ‘Absolutely.’ Margaret closed a small case containing two rows of vials, each filled with a clear serum, and locked it carefully. She tucked the key into her pocket and frowned. ‘But, sir, I’m afraid there’s a certain matter we must discuss. The one I raised with you earlier.’

  Daddy’s eyes seemed to dim again and his shoulders slumped a little. ‘Ah, yes. I remember.’

  ‘I’m afraid we can’t avoid it. The situation must be dealt with. The lawyers received another letter today, this time formally requesting information. And they’ve mentioned the fact of the girl’s whereabouts. Besides, I was reminded today by the films I showed Coco in preparation for her trip. Naturally she asked who the other person was in them. I think I fobbed her off easily enough but it wasn’t possible to show her the albums. It would have been too obvious. She would have asked questions. It made me realise we need to finalise this matter once and for all.’ Margaret regarded her employer with a serious expression. ‘Don’t you agree with me, sir?’

  The old man’s face had turned down until his chin was pressed to his chest and she could not make out what was in his eyes. ‘What? Oh, yes. Yes.’ He raised his eyes to meet hers. ‘Of course. You’re right. We must finish off what we started. We have a plan in hand, don’t we?’

  ‘Yes, sir. We’re simply waiting for word from you and it’ll be done.’

  Dangerfield stood up slowly, as though deeply fatigued. ‘Well then, arrange it immediately. The sooner, the better. I don’t know what we’ve been waiting for.’

  Margaret nodded in a deferential manner. ‘Yes, sir. Just as you say. It may take a little while to get everything we need to sort out the … well, you know … but wheels will be set in motion at once.’

  The old man sighed. ‘It must be finished, I suppose.’ He seemed bowed down by the weight of his decision. Then his dark eyes flickered with a dif
ferent light as he said, ‘And what of young Coco? How is my protégée?’

  ‘Doing marvellously. I must say, I’ve been quite astounded by her progress. You’ll remember I was not convinced that she was the right person for the job—’

  ‘I knew she was,’ cut in Daddy. ‘I sensed it from the start. She has the spirit we need, the background …’

  ‘Quite.’ Margaret smiled. ‘I feel that she has become very comfortable in the new life you’ve provided for her. I’m quite certain she will not wish to jeopardise it for any reason. What else has she got after all? My investigations into her background have shown that she’s exactly the rootless, unanchored person we require.’

  ‘Good. Good. Then we’re close to being ready?’ ‘Absolutely. Tonight, I produced our joker. The McCorquodale boy.’

  ‘I wondered when we were going to get the help we expect from that quarter.’

  ‘The chips are being cashed as we speak.’

  ‘Excellent. You’ve done a splendid job, Margaret. I won’t forget it.’

  She gave a slight bow, her expression pleased. ‘Thank you, sir. Just as long as it delivers results, then I’ll be satisfied.’

  47

  I DESERVE THIS, Daisy told herself as she lay on the comfortable massage table in the dimly lit spa area of Minot’s Hall, a well-established country house hotel that was providing her with lots of ideas for what she wanted for the Craven hotels. An expert young masseuse was rubbing a deliciously scented oil into her back, smoothing away all the tensions and cares of the last few weeks. She’d already enjoyed soaking in a warm perfumed bath and then a facial with more scented oils, and the finishing touch was this luxurious massage.

  Bliss …

  Life had become extremely busy for her lately. She was overseeing the redesign of the town-centre and airport hotels, which was time-consuming but basically a management job. Her heart really lay in the redevelopment of the eight Cotswolds properties, now reduced to six. At her suggestion, Craven Dalziel had sold off two of the less attractive ones to help fund the redesign of the others. At a board meeting two weeks ago, she’d also scored her greatest triumph. At her suggestion, the company had changed its name from Craven Dalziel to the Craven Hotel Group. It had been nerve-wracking making the suggestion in front of the entire Craven board, especially as the grandson of old Mr Dalziel was there and hadn’t exactly looked happy about it, but in the end they’d seen her point: Dalziel was a hard word to pronounce and the new name had a much stronger sense of identity. It had given her an amazing thrill when they’d agreed to adopt the name she’d suggested. At last she was making her mark in a way that meant she was truly achieving what she’d set out to do.

  Since then she had been working frantically, visiting each of the properties, consulting with architects and recruiting the extraordinary Tomasz, who was overseeing the interiors. Daisy herself was involved with every stage of the new look, from the fabrics to the light fittings, to the menus. What she wanted was high comfort with a strong brand identity that was absolutely reliable and trustworthy: customers had to be certain they would get unvarying standards of food, service and rooms. But it meant dragging the managers of the hotels with her, kicking and screaming. They wanted to resist at every step and she was losing patience with some of them. She’d spent that morning with Genevieve and Mike Holland, owners of the Grey House, listening to them complain about builders, about dust, about Tomasz and his plans … and just about everything else they could.

  ‘I’ve explained the vision for the Grey House,’ Daisy had said wearily, while Genevieve sat opposite looking outraged, jaw tight over her regulation string of pearls and large bosom. ‘You know that it has to be in line with the other Craven hotels, and that’s all there is to it.’

  If Genevieve carried on being so obstructive, Daisy would have to see about replacing her, which would be a shame considering that she’d received good reports from the secret guests for her warmth and kindness. It’s just me she’s such a monster to.

  But it was all worth it to see her vision being realised. It was incredibly exciting to see the hotels materialising from blueprints and mood boards, from swatches and photographs, to the actual real places where guests would soon be staying. Daisy enjoyed thinking up quirky touches: the alcoholic ginger beer and heritage gins in the minibars; the vintage school desks that opened up to reveal a PC system; the curious hand-selected titles in the Edwardian bookcases.

  She knew that if her little group of six country hotels was a success, she would have truly made her mark. She would have justified the investment that the company had made in her. The next part of her scheme could open up.

  She found that work also kept her mind off thoughts of Christophe. When she felt tired or lonely, she longed with all her heart to be going back to Nant-y-Pren for one of their wonderful weekends, full of walks, good food and romance. But that was impossible. She wondered where he was now – somewhere in France perhaps, staying with his sister. Maybe even starting a new life with someone else. The thought made her feel so sick, she shut it out at once.

  I’ll concentrate on this fantastic massage, she thought as the masseuse pummelled and then smoothed her skin. She’d come straight here from the Grey House, desperate to get away from the mud and dust, and this break was exactly what she needed.

  Although, of course, it’s work. She smiled to herself as the masseuse pressed intensely along her spine and then followed up with a long strong rub. I suppose there are benefits to this job.

  The massage was a professional bonus, allowing her to experience the lotions and essences that Minot’s Hall used in its spa.

  Daisy closed her eyes and let all the stress flow out of her, wishing this delicious feeling could go on for ever.

  ‘So, how was it?’ The glamorous blonde by the window, dressed in an Alberta Ferretti floaty chiffon dress with a Pringle ribbed cardigan and Manolo heels, stood up as Daisy came in. She was beautiful, with wide-set grey eyes and a full-lipped mouth. In her late twenties or early thirties, she carried herself with easy confidence.

  Daisy went over, feeling just a touch dowdy in her own bronze, drop-waisted Burberry dress and Rupert Sanderson sandals, some of the things she had treated herself to when she’d been in London. It had been odd to walk about the places she’d once frequented, carelessly flashing her daddy’s credit card and scooping up whatever she wanted without a second thought. Now she had to think carefully about what she purchased. Daisy shook the other woman’s outstretched hand. ‘The massage was lovely, thank you.’

  ‘Shall we have a drink? What would you like?’

  ‘Oh, just white wine, thanks.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll join you.’ The blonde woman summoned a waiter with a lift of her eyebrow. ‘Two glasses of the Puligny Montrachet, please.’ Then she turned back to Daisy. ‘The orange oil is fabulous, isn’t it?’

  ‘Amazing,’ agreed Daisy with a smile.

  ‘Part of our newest range.’ Jemima Calthorpe returned the smile, showing perfect white teeth. ‘So … would you like to see what I’m suggesting for your hotels?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ Daisy watched as Jemima lifted up a large Mulberry hold-all and started taking samples out of her bag. It had been a thrill to be contacted by one of the managing directors of Trevellyan, the famous perfume house. It had recently been inherited by three sisters, daughters of the founding family, and they were in the process of a massive revamp of the brand. No longer did it signify old ladies clutching lavender-scented handkerchiefs on their way to church; now it was getting a reputation for being the latest chic must-have brand, with scented candles and lotions to go with its traditional range of perfumes. And they had relaunched their signature scent, Tea Rose, with a sexy new campaign fronted by a top model. Jemima Calthorpe was in charge of developing the spa side of the business. When she’d heard that Craven was in the process of upgrading a small chain of hotels, she’d sent an introductory email, hoping to pitch for the contract to supply the toiletries a
nd skin products. It had been her idea to treat Daisy to a pampering afternoon using the Trevellyan range, to see if they were the kind of products that would fit with the chain’s revamp of their hotels.

  Jemima took a range of samples out of her bag and put them in a row in front of Daisy as the waiter brought over large wine glasses half full of honey-coloured wine. ‘Here,’ she said, indicating the pretty little plastic bottles, each with a small nude-pink grosgrain ribbon tied at the neck. ‘We offer hand soaps, shower gels, shampoo, conditioner, body lotion. That’s standard. For our more luxurious range, there’s also a bath oil, facial cleanser with a miniature muslin cloth, and a moisturiser. We can do the basic range in our famous Tea Rose scent, or the Orange if you feel that Tea Rose is too feminine and you want a more unisex approach. We can also provide miniature scented candles for the rooms, bathrooms or as farewell gifts. And, of course, if you have spas on site, then we have trade-sized supplies for facialists and masseurs.’ She picked up her balloon wine glass and lifted it. ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Cheers.’ Daisy lifted her own glass and took a sip of the dry yet rich white wine. It rippled over her tongue. ‘Very impressive. The bottles look beautiful and they suit the level of luxury we’re pitching for perfectly. And, of course, our customers will recognise the Trevellyan name.’

  ‘One of the benefits of being around for well over a century and a half,’ Jemima put in.

  ‘Absolutely. The historical aspect of our hotels – the antiques, the prints, the evocation of an age of ease and comfort – that’s all vital to our vision. Trevellyan fits well with that.’ Daisy put her glass down. ‘It all depends on price, really. If this goes ahead, I’ll be offering a large contract to supply six hotels, with the possibility of future expansion. Can we do a deal that will satisfy us both?’