by Cate Kendall
Table of Contents
By the Same Author
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Acknowledgements
By the same author
Gucci Mamas
Versace
Sisters
Cate Kendall
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including printing, photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of Random House Australia. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Versace Sisters
ePub ISBN 9781864715385
Kindle ISBN 9781864718027
Original Print Edition
A Bantam book
Published by Random House Australia Pty Ltd
Level 3, 100 Pacific Highway, North Sydney NSW 2060
www.randomhouse.com.au
First published by Bantam in 2009
Copyright © Lisa Blundell and Michelle Hamer 2009
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of Random House Australia.
Addresses for companies within the Random House Group can be found at www.randomhouse.com.au/offices
National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry
Kendall, Cate.
Versace sisters.
ISBN: 9781863256186
A823.4
Cover illustration based on originals by Nick Monu and Pink Tag
Cover design: www.saso.com.au
Internal design by Midland Typesetters, Australia
For Wylie Easthope, 3 November 1967–2 December 2008.
An amazing man. LB
For my 'chosen sisters' Tracey Caulfield and Katrina Hardman.
MH
Prologue
1980
'BELLA-RENE!'
Her mother's shriek reverberated off the Hills Hoist and assaulted Bella's ears as she sat huddled in her treehouse. She'd been watching the cattle in the top paddock grazing drowsily.
She hastily scrambled down the tree and ran toward the house. What on earth could she want now? Lunch was over and cleared up and it was hours before she had to set the table for dinner.
The grimy screen door slapped shut behind her as she entered the kitchen, gloomy in contrast to the bright day and dank with the lingering odour of grease.
'Yeah, Mum?'
Marlene Walker looked up from the stove at her eldest child.
'Jesus, girl, how many times have I told you not to wear your good dress around the house? You'll be headed for a fall if you keep thinking you're better than the rest of us, you know. Airs and graces, my girl, airs and graces.' Marlene's diatribe was brought to an abrupt halt by a hacking cough.
Wiping the side of her mouth on her flannelette shirt she continued. 'Watch the kids for me, girl, I'm off to the pub to fetch your father home. And put the corned beef on when the saucepan starts to boil, will ya?' she added as she pulled on her favourite acrylic green cardigan and pushed open the back door.
Bella went to check on her little sister but was distracted by the shouts and squeals coming from the boys' room. After ordering Craig, Travis and Keith to take their wrestling out into the paddock she wandered through the few remaining rooms of the weatherboard cottage calling, 'Sera? Serandipity? Where are you?'
She retraced her steps back to the steamy kitchen where the saucepan was now boiling angrily on the old stove.
'There you are, you cheeky –' Bella's voice froze as the world suddenly blurred and slowed. Sera, climbing on a chair to reach her treasured golliwog on the cluttered mantle above the stove, seemed to be moving as though in a dream. Bella could not speed herself up enough to reach her in time.
She saw what was going to happen, saw it over and over in the few seconds it took to become reality, and heard her scream blend with Sera's as the child's chubby foot clipped the handle of the saucepan and sent searing water onto her right leg.
~ 1 ~
2009
'The benefits of the Capture Ultimate Wrinkle Restoring Serum rests in its ability to be micro-absorbed into the pores to polish and rejuvenate the skin. It's certainly one of my favourite products, and in fact we call it the "turbocharger" of the range,' Sera ended her spiel with a genuine smile. 'And for your delicate skin,' she continued, with a nod towards her customer's ruddy complexion, 'I would recommend Diorskin Forever: its creation has been inspired by nano-technology.'
The thirty-something medical receptionist in sensible shoes and supermarket cosmetics was drinking in every word.
'The Forever make-up has an invisible nano-network of micro-airy molecules to maintain classic beauty in even the most difficult environments,' Sera said, breathless with the joy of the cosmetic marvel.
Within fifteen minutes the receptionist had treated herself to the serum, make-up, some blush and a night cream to help reduce any sneaky signs of ageing. She left glowing with the promise of enhanced beauty.
Sera sighed with satisfaction. She loved her job at the David Jones Christian Dior counter because she truly believed in her product and was thrilled to be able to preach the gospel of Dior skincare to the world. Nevertheless, when her tea break came she decided to spend it popping around to the other beauty counters.
A good slice of her part-time income disa
ppeared this way, but with two children, a husband and mother-in-law to look after, Sera figured splurging on cosmetics and creams was a well-deserved treat.
'Hi Lucille,' she called, surveying the range at the Clinique counter. 'Anything new coming in?'
'Sweetheart, you know I always let you know first,' Lucille smiled. 'How did you go with the Turnaround Concentrate?'
'It was quite good,' Sera frowned, unconsciously sliding her hand over her scarred thigh, 'but I'd still like to see what they come up with next.'
Lucille reached under the counter. 'Well, I don't think you've tried our Continuous Rescue Antioxidant Moisturiser yet, have you?'
Sera was immediately interested and leant gratefully on the counter while Lucille dabbed a few precious drops of silvery liquid into her hand. She could feel the serum tingling gently on her skin. It felt so silky-soft and yet powerful and her skin was shinier and smoother than it had been a few seconds before.
'Oh this is wonderful, Lucille, I can feel it working already.'
'Isn't it glorious, sweetie? I thought I had shown it to you already. It's a collagen enhancer: the powerful molecules in the serum invigorate and rejuvenate damaged cellular pore linings . . .'
Lucille's voice faded as Sera was gripped by a familiar bubble of hope and expectation. Maybe this cream would be the one. Maybe this one would work.
But then again, how many times had she felt this excitement before, only to be left disappointed and out-of-pocket yet again? She knew Bella would scoff at her for reaching for another impossible miracle. She realised with a start that she hadn't seen her sister for weeks, and a familiar mix of sadness and resentment twisted inside her.
The years she and Bella had spent crisscrossing the globe as flight attendants had been heady with excitement and new experiences. Their adult lives had begun exactly as they had plotted back in their cramped childhood bedroom in the house in Mole Creek. Back then, Bella had plastered the walls with pages from fashion magazines taken from recycling bins in better neighbourhoods that promised a glitzier, brighter, more sophisticated world. The sisters tried their best, but could do little to make their tatty hand-me-downs and op-shop bargains look anything like the fashion in the glossy pages. Versace, with its slightly gaudy edge, became their dream label; their secret code for a better life.
And then it had happened: first Bella and then Sera escaped dishwater dull Mole Creek and joined Air Australia, and soon they were shopping for real Versace in Paris, sipping cocktails in Prague, snapping up bargain Burberry in London, bohemian accessories in Italy and La Prairie in Switzerland.
They fiddled their schedules, begged and cajoled colleagues to swap shifts and change routes so the inseparable sisters could fly together or land in the same cities. Their global partying continued even after Bella married her handsome pilot husband, Curtis.
But then Sera met Tony, and happily swapped jetsetting for family life. Somehow she had simply assumed Bella would do the same, but to her surprise her big sister continued her glamorous life alone.
Sera stared at the back of her hand, bringing herself back to reality. She was sure her skin looked younger and fresher.
'What's the biggest size, Lucille?' she asked.
'Why not just take this 5ml trial size and see how you go?' Lucille offered.
Sera brushed the tiny bottle aside. 'That wouldn't be enough for my whole . . . er . . . um . . . face,' she stammered, blushing. 'The serum seems perfect. I'll get a whole bottle.'
'It's your pay cheque.' Lucille shrugged.
'I'll run back over and pay after my shift,' Sera said rushing back to her own counter. 'Oh, by the way, how much is it?'
'One hundred and seventy-five dollars, darling,' Lucille told her. 'Want it on your store card?'
~ 2 ~
Bella could barely walk: her back swayed awkwardly and her toes were numb. But she wasn't about to let a savagely tight pencil skirt and toe-aching stiletto pain get in the way of a killer fashion look.
Her catwalk figure drew travel-weary passengers' eyes from their newspapers and airport novels as she cut through the terminal. At five foot eleven, with a pristine blonde chignon and figure-hugging, chocolate-brown uniform, it was her air of confidence that attracted the most admiring glances.
She stifled a yawn. The flight she'd just left had been completely dull, but at least now there was time for a trip to The Grove, her favourite LA shopping destination. Over the past twenty years, Bella had roadtested every shopping district in LA and her careful research had told her that with fifty of the most fashionable boutiques, stores and cafés under its designer roof, The Grove, the latest shopping mecca, was her best bet for finding a great outfit for tonight.
Joining her colleagues on the transit bus, she stowed her bag safely under the seat in front (force of habit) and checked her Rolex for the fourth time since disembarking. It was still there. Check. She rubbed her hands together and examined her manicure. Perfect. She glanced away and then back again. Still perfect. She patted her hair in search of stragglers and, finding just sleekness and order, sighed contentedly.
An hour later she had settled in her room, slipped into Paige jeans, espadrilles and a ruched aqua silk top and headed out into the smog of downtown LA.
The Grove was packed as always, but Bella was adept at cutting through the crowd of gaping tourists and meandering locals. She started at Abercrombie and Fitch, where she was delighted to find grey had been declared this season's new black. She picked up a belt, a pair of straight-leg jeans and a sheer polka-dot top (in grey of course) to wear to brunch tomorrow.
Victoria's Secret was the next on her list – she needed a new coffee-coloured bra and grabbed a black satin number while she was there – followed by a joyful hour in Michael Kors, where she decided on a simple cocktail dress teamed with a tailor-made diamante clutch and matching sandals. As the salesgirl wrapped her purchases Bella sighed. Matching accessories just helped the world make more sense.
In the window of The Gap a crisp white shirt caught Bella's eye. It was exactly the style Sera wore to work at DJs. Bella tilted her head to the side. Yes, she thought, it was perfect. Sera would love it.
She selected five shirts and was almost at the counter before she stopped herself. She was doing it again. She was mothering her little sister. When would she stop worrying about Sera's life, for God's sake? The woman was thirty-six years old and married with two children, but still Bella couldn't stop looking after Sera. It was part of the reason she skipped most of the Stitch 'n' Bitch nights Sera invited her to: the knitting group was fun but it was time her younger sister had her own social group. Bella knew Sera desperately wanted her there, but she was determined to stick to her plan of tough love. Buying Sera's work uniform didn't exactly form part of this plan.
Bella played with the soft fabric of the shirts as she grappled with her decision. She thought back to their childhood, on the other side of the world and light years away from the glamour of the upmarket mall. Not that Bella had really had much of a childhood; instead she'd taken on most of the parenting of her three rowdy younger brothers and little sister.
Their father, a surly man who rarely spoke to his family, fired up a treat down at the pub after a hard day lopping trees and hauling the firewood that was his livelihood. He'd married their mother, Marlene, after she broke the news that she was three months gone with his kid, but that didn't mean he had to spend his life in her miserable company. Marlene wasn't going to let his sour face ruin her days so she sought solace and plenty of good times with the farm hands at the property next door. And there was always the RSL bingo to fill a quiet night.
Bella was a good surrogate mother. She boiled meat and peeled potatoes for the kids' meals, got them all to school, made sure the washing came in off the line and that the boys were home by dark. Looking after her brothers was an exhausting but straightforward chore, rather like zoo-keeping. But Bella worried for Serandipity; the baby of the family.
Her sister was n
amed for the nearby town of Serendipity where Marlene's biggest bingo win had taken place. Unfortunately their mother's spelling skills meant Serandipity was sentenced to a lifetime of explaining and correcting her name.
Bella's own name was originally Bella-Rene and both a nod to Marlene's Aunty Rene and a reminder of her parent's honeymoon, spent cruising the pokie venues of Victoria's Bellarine Peninsula. At fifteen Bella shortened her own name by deed poll and refused to call her sister anything but Sera. The care their mother took with the spell ing of her second daughter's name was indicative of the way their relationship developed: Marlene never really paid much attention to the little girl. Consequently Sera tagged along with Bella from the moment she could toddle and turned to her big sister with the news of her first reader, her first kiss and her first period. Bella was always Sera's first port of call with any developments and that had never really changed.
The store's piped music brought Bella back to reality and she realised she was stroking her Versace handbag as if it was a pet. She'd longed for the glamour of Versace since puberty. If she could just own something from the Italian designer, she'd reasoned, she would be a part of a shinier, happier world. Her first pay allowed her to buy Versace sunglasses and from that moment she was hooked. She saved diligently for a tiny evening bag and when she started flying was able to indulge in Versace salons worldwide. Gone was the awkward, badly dressed country kid, and in her place stood a glowing woman dripping with designer accoutrements.
She put the shirts back down on the shelf and gave them a last pat, then checked her mobile phone for the seventh time since entering the store. No messages. She checked her manicure. Still perfect. She glanced down at her shoes; dust free, thank God. Hang on, was that a mark? No, it was okay. Her breathing calmed; it was just a shadow.
She knew she was overreacting, knew what the checking and re-checking meant. The habit had started on her wedding day when she'd been unable to stop fingering the individual beads on her dress just to make sure none were coming loose. Her compulsive need for perfection, to ensure that everything about her was just right, had escalated from there. Only when she'd checked and double-checked everything could she breathe; only then did she feel secure.