Wendell got out of bed, put on a bathrobe and moved to the table by the window where lunch had been set out on starched white table linens. He stabbed his fork into his swordfish and picked up the Financial Times, neatly folded by his china side plate.
Liz looked over with interest. As one of the world’s most important investors she felt sure that Wendell read every piece of global financial journalism, but the question was: what was he reading about? With his insider knowledge and contacts, she might be able to sniff out some valuable information; in fact Liz had heard a rumour that Wendell was about to buy Vue, a huge British vision–care business, for an estimated billion dollars.
‘Have they reported about Vue yet?’ she asked innocently.
Wendell looked at her with surprise. ‘And how would you know about that?’
She walked over to him and stroked the back of his neck. ‘Knowledge is power, darling,’ she smiled coquettishly.
His eyes trailed across to her bare breasts as he reached out for her, but she nimbly stepped out of his reach, scooping up her knickers and sliding into her dress. She did not want him distracted when they were talking business. She sat opposite Wendell, pouring herself a glass of water and feeling the autumn sun on her face.
‘I want to buy Skin Plus from the family,’ she said without preamble.
A small smile crept onto her lover’s lips. ‘And do Meredith and William know this?’ he asked.
‘Not yet,’ she replied, shaking her freshly highlighted bob.
‘Be careful, Liz. This is family now.’
‘No, Wendell, this is business,’ she said firmly. She looked at him, waiting for a reaction. ‘So what do you think?’
Wendell wiped his mouth with a napkin.
‘I think that you should be CEO of Asgill’s because I think that you could turn the company around. And I think you probably will be one day. So I don’t think you should try and buy Skin Plus out of spite simply because your family aren’t giving you the recognition you deserve.’
Liz smiled. ‘Oh, I’m past spite. I’m talking to you as a businesswoman who sees something with enormous potential, who wants to be in total charge of realizing that potential.’
Wendell gave a low, slow laugh. ‘You are very sexy when you’re angry.’
Under the table, Liz curled her hand into a fist. ‘Why don’t you try taking this conversation fucking seriously?’
There was a long, stagnant pause.
‘Why are you mentioning this to me?’ said Wendell finally.
‘Because you are an investor and you know I am a good bet,’ said Liz. ‘Plus you have no interests in the cosmetic industry, but you do have complementary businesses: airport outlets, media, pharmaceuticals. Diversification is always a good idea in tough times.’
Wendell viewed her sceptically. ‘I don’t need to remind you that Meredith and William will soon be my family too. It might not be such a good idea to upset them quite so soon.’
Liz waved a hand dismissively. ‘It won’t be a problem, not if I handle it in the right way. And if you didn’t want to disclose your involvement, I’m sure you have plenty of covert investment vehicles you could use.’
Wendell shook his head, chuckling. ‘You’re persuasive, you know that? And I should know, I hear seventy per cent bullshit most of the day.’
‘So. Are you interested?’
‘Get a business plan over to me by Monday,’ he said coolly. ‘Maybe we’ll talk. No promises.’
‘I’ll courier it round to your office first thing tomorrow morning.’
‘You’re good,’ he said smiling.
‘I know.’
‘Come here.’
She walked to the other side of the table and pulled back his chair. Slipping open his white towelling robe, she ran her hands across his chest hair, sank to her knees, and got to work.
CHAPTER FORTY–FOUR
Book launch parties are traditionally quite low–key affairs – usually a few drinks in a bookstore followed by a short speech to the assembled sales team about ‘distribution channels’ and ‘retail footfall’. The launch for Portico, however, was the literary equivalent of a red–carpet premiere. Held at a private club on Fifty–Third Street, Yellow Door had converted the entire top floor into a Victorian magician’s den, complete with scarlet drapes, strange oriental cabinets, and an ornate cage of flapping doves. Outside photographers swamped the street, desperate for shots of Brooke and David together, not to mention the high–profile guest list the party had managed to attract. Half of New York’s A–list seemed to be here with their children for the hottest kids’ book since Harry Potter. The atmosphere inside the club–room was just as electric. Even the most hard–to–please critics had been lining up to congratulate Brooke and her MD, Edward Walker, on this ‘startling debut’.
Everything had come together like a dream, thought Brooke, unable to wipe the broad grin off her face. Two days earlier she had received a phone call from Janice Douglas, the head of development for Unicorn Studios, whom Brooke and Eileen had met in LA three weeks earlier. Unicorn had duly bought the options to Portico for a high six–figure sum, but Brooke didn’t expect much more, as studios were notorious for purchasing options and then sitting on them. So she had nearly fallen off her chair when she’d heard that the head of the studio had almost immediately green–lighted the project, with principal photography due to commence in the spring. Eileen had burst into tears when Brooke had called her with the news.
Yellow Door’s faith in Portico seemed to be paying off at grass–roots level too. Three hundred thousand copies had been printed to satisfy orders from bookstores all across America, and it seemed certain that a second print run would soon be necessary. As Brooke and David watched from the back of the room, Edward clambered onto a podium to give a speech to the assembled staff, journalists, and industry bigwigs, most of it praising Brooke Asgill and her vision.
Brooke blushed furiously, her cheeks clashing with her forest green Prada cocktail dress. ‘I wish he’d hurry up and finish,’ she whispered to David, but he was looking down at his BlackBerry, an agitated expression on his face.
‘What’s wrong, honey?’ asked Brooke, smoothing down the lapel of his Tom Ford jacket.
‘Nothing,’ he said vaguely. ‘Just waiting to see if someone is going to turn up or not.’
Mildly irritated, Brooke watched him leave, glad–handing the crowd as he passed through. You’re not on the campaign trail yet, thought Brooke, frowning.
‘What’s his problem?’ whispered Debs.
Brooke shrugged. ‘Another crisis, no doubt. He’s due in the studio in a couple of hours as it is.’
The crowd broke into applause for the end of the speech and Brooke saw Eileen make her way over.
‘Hey Eileen,’ she smiled. ‘I lost sight of you, you were surrounded by so many journalists.’
Brooke found it hard to stay annoyed with David with Eileen around. Just looking at the young woman’s transformation from downtrodden mother struggling on the breadline to feted literary sensation was enough to fill you with faith, hope, and vigour. The awkward yet resilient woman Brooke had met at the London hotel all those months ago had certainly emerged from her shell. Her hair was blonder, her clothes more chic; even her posture was different, making her look taller and more confident. Brooke felt a warm glow, not just from the knowledge that she had had something to do with Eileen’s change of fortune, but from the idea that, in a heartbeat, life could alter its path and take you off on a thrilling and unexpected journey.
‘Someone from Publishers Weekly was asking me if I thought Portico was going to get in the New York Times’ best–seller list,’ said Eileen with a trace of anxiety. ‘I just wondered how many copies we need to sell for that.’
‘No one knows,’ replied Debs, taking a long slurp of a bright red cocktail called Magician’s Brew. ‘It’s compiled from a variety of bookselling sources and it’s not always the biggest–selling books – which can either wo
rk for or against you. Very confusing; not entirely sure I understand it myself.’
Over Eileen’s shoulder, Brooke could see David approaching, and she stiffened when she saw he was accompanied by an attractive brunette.
‘Brooke, I’d like you to meet Charlotte Field,’ he said.
‘Hello,’ smiled Brooke, offering her hand, trying to work out from where she recognized the name.
‘Charlotte is a booker for the Ellen show.’
Brooke nearly spluttered out her Bellini. When she looked up, Charlotte was already introducing herself to Eileen.
‘David was telling me about your incredible story, Eileen,’ she said, pumping her hand. ‘I’m going to run it past my producer, but I don’t think there will be any problem at all getting you a slot with Ellen.’
Eileen and Charlotte had fallen into deep conversation. Brooke turned to David and squeezed his fingers.
‘Is she going to get Eileen on the show?’ she said, trying to whisper, but her words coming out in a squeak.
‘I think she’s going to try,’ said David.
Brooke clutched his arm, not wanting to let go. Wanting to kiss him. ‘I know you can do anything, David,’ she hissed, ‘but how, why is she here?’
David put his BlackBerry back in his pocket.
‘I met her through a friend at the network. I know how important it is to get books on shows like Ellen and Regis and Kelly, and I know how important this book is to you,’ he said, smiling. Brooke thought that when David Billington smiled, he was the most handsome man in the world.
‘Well, it was a very good thing that you did,’ she said, taking a deep breath to recover a little of her composure. ‘You know you are going to change that woman’s life?’ she said, pointing at Eileen. ‘
‘One person at a time,’ smiled David, kissing the side of her head.
‘Hey Brooke.’
She spun round towards the voice. It was Matt. He was standing there, looking very uncomfortable in a suit and tie, Susie at his side, hopping from one foot to the other. To her amazement, Brooke realized that she was wearing a sort of ethnic skirt and a Greenpeace T–shirt. She hoped it was Susie’s attempt at a fashion statement.
‘Matt, Susie. You came.’
She felt David’s grip on her hand tighten. There was a frosty silence as they eyed each other.
‘May I take one of these?’ asked Susie, waving a copy of Portico in the air. She sounded so polite, so nervous, that both Brooke and David smiled. It was enough to break the ice.
‘And I’d get Eileen to sign it if I were you,’ said Brooke. ‘It might be worth something one day.’
David stepped over to Matt. ‘I’m David,’ he said extending a hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
‘Really?’ replied Matt with a little knowing smile. ‘After the Oracle thing?’
‘Brooke explained. It’s all forgotten,’ said David after a moment, smiling at Susie. ‘Brooke tells me you’re invited to the wedding. Both of you, of course.’
‘Wow, me?’ gasped Susie, holding her hand to her mouth. ‘That’s so kind. I can’t wait.’
‘Yeah, thanks David,’ said Matt, obviously quite taken aback. She stood back and watched them chat, seeing Matt wilt ever so slightly under David’s star power.
She felt David’s hand around her waist, firm and strong. She enjoyed the sensation of him being there, of people watching them together. She turned to Susie and said, ‘I’m so glad we’ve all finally met.’
And it was true. The sense of relief was palpable, almost like a physical release of pressure. But there was something more: a feeling of righteousness that, despite the thoughts and desires, she had not betrayed David’s trust. And now everything was out in the open and in its place. She had an overwhelming sense that things were as they should be.
*
‘Who on earth is that terribly unkempt woman talking to Brooke?’
Meredith had been watching the scene from a distance and did not like the look she had seen pass between her youngest daughter and the man she recognized as Matthew Palmer. She had met him once before, at Parklands many years before, and had predicted back then he would be trouble. The sort of sullen, long–haired boy with no real drive to do anything with his good looks and brains. Although she had been reassured by Tess Garrett that his quote to the Daily Oracle had been taken out of context, Meredith did not like to see him back in her daughter’s life. Well, at least he had a girlfriend with him. Or at least she thought it was a girlfriend, though she looked more like a nuclear disarmament peace protestor who had walked in off the street.
‘I assume we’re talking about Miss Greenpeace,’ said Liz with a sly half–smile. ‘Perhaps it’s a friend. I mean, who knows who Brooke is running around with these days. I met Jessica Johnston the other day; she says the old Spence crowd don’t see anything of Brooke any more.’
Meredith clasped her Hermès Kelly bag close to her body and vowed to quiz Brooke on it later.
‘I think it’s time to go,’ she said, glancing around the room with distaste. ‘Are we having supper? Wasn’t there something you wanted to discuss?’
‘Yes,’ said Liz smiling with anticipation. ‘I thought perhaps we could go to Daniel?’
‘Daniel sounds fine.’
*
A red velvet throne sat invitingly at the back of the room. Tess knew it was a prop, but it looked so wide and soft, like a bed in a department store during a hard afternoon’s shop, that she couldn’t resist sitting in it just for one moment. She took off her shoe and rubbed the arch of her foot as she looked around at the party. Across the room she could see Brooke and David laughing with Matt Palmer. It really was quite uncanny how the two men looked alike. The same height and build; the same dark, good–looking features. Matt Palmer’s eyes were narrower than David’s, his face looked more tired, his clothes not as sharp or expensive looking. In fact, Matt Palmer could be David’s naughtier, cooler big brother.
‘Tess Garrett. How wonderful to see you again.’
She looked up to see an elegant elderly gentleman smiling at her.
‘Charles Devine?’ she smiled.
‘The very same, how could you forget me, darling?’ he said, stooping to kiss her cheek.
It had been six months since Tess had last seen Charles Devine, the eccentric English gossip who had charmed her at Brooke and David’s engagement party. Despite Meredith’s description of him as a silly social butterfly, Tess had barely seen him at any of the recent society functions in New York, leading her to suspect that Charles’s place in the Upper East Side firmament was on the wane.
‘What on earth are you doing here?’ she asked, rising to her feet.
‘I adore books and I adore parties,’ said Charles. ‘Why shouldn’t I be here?’
She couldn’t disagree, but she had a feeling Charles had another reason for coming.
‘Is it pleasure or business tonight?’ she asked.
‘Well, I was actually hoping I might bump into you, darling,’ he said conspiratorially.
Tess couldn’t help smiling. ‘Ah, so how can I help you Charles?’
From the corner of her eye she saw Meredith being helped into her mink coat.
‘You could start with a wedding invitation,’ he winked, nodding towards Meredith.
‘I’m not sure I can help out in that department,’ she shrugged. ‘Close friends and family only, I hear.’
‘Well, in that case, perhaps you could help me out with another small matter.’
Meredith was beckoning Tess, an impatient look on her face.
‘Sorry Charles, I have to go … ’
‘So how about tea?’
Tess winced. Charles was fun, but she simply didn’t have time for social calls this close to the wedding.
‘Maybe in the New Year?’ she said distractedly.
‘I can’t wait that long,’ he said, a little irritation entering his voice.
‘Okay, maybe tea,’ she replied, prepared to say any
thing just to escape.
‘Oh goodie,’ said Charles, brightening instantly. ‘I’ll be in touch. And give my love to she who must be obeyed.’
*
Daniel was one of Meredith’s favourite restaurants in New York. French, old school, and elegant, it appealed to the part of Meredith that fancied herself as a European aristocrat. Liz had never seen her mother dine here and not leave in a good mood. And tonight, Liz needed all the help she could get.
‘So. Are you going to tell me?’ asked Meredith, dipping her spoon into the terracotta depths of her lobster bisque.
Liz nodded and placed her hands on her lap.
‘It’s about the direction of the company,’ she said.
Meredith gestured impatiently with her spoon. ‘There’s a board meeting next Friday to discuss that.’
‘Yes, but I wanted to talk mother to daughter.’
Meredith looked up curiously. ‘Oh?’
Liz took a deep breath. She was glad to have secured a discreet table in the corner of the room.
‘I know William is trying to sound out a couple of the multinationals to see if they are interested in the Asgill sale, but you and I both know they are only going to be interested if Skin Plus is part of the deal.’
‘And do you foresee a problem there?’
‘The problem is, Mother, that if we sell the entire company, then we are left with nothing.’
‘We’re left with a very large cheque, darling,’ said Meredith tartly.
‘Not that large,’ countered Liz. ‘The multinationals will play hardball and we’re not offering them anything particularly unique. Most of them have successful cosmeceutical ranges of their own and they’ll undervalue the rest of the business.’
Meredith put her spoon down. ‘Darling, you needn’t worry about your position. Whoever buys Skin Plus will bring in a first–rate management team to support you in taking it to the next level.’
Liz shook her head slowly but firmly. ‘I have no intention of staying with Skin Plus if it becomes an appendage of some conglomerate.’
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