Bad Twins

by Rebecca Chance

  Bella grinned at her.

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘It’s posh-English speak. You go down to the country and up to town.’

  ‘But you are not posh,’ Adrianna said with devastating accuracy.

  ‘No, we’re not.’ Bella was liking her father’s fiancée more and more. ‘We’re upper middle. Professional, very well off, but not posh. There’s a huge difference between us and—’

  She nodded at Samantha.

  ‘Because she is Honourable?’ Adrianna asked.

  ‘Yes, but it’s not only because of the title. She could easily be posh without one. It’s about being born into it. You either are or you aren’t.’

  Adrianna nodded, absorbing this information. ‘So, you’re asking me to lunch?’ she said. ‘Is this because you want me to tell your father that you should run the hotel company?’

  Bella, who was rationing her champagne in order not to drink too many calories – she had not failed to notice that Adrianna, who ran every morning and was younger than her, also watched her alcohol intake very carefully, presumably to maintain her weight – had just taken a sip. On hearing these words, she promptly spat it back into her glass.

  ‘You’re so direct!’ she said, when she recovered. ‘No, that wasn’t what I was thinking.’

  ‘Really?’ That eyebrow of Adrianna’s rose again. ‘You would not be the first of your brothers and sister to try it.’

  ‘Bart,’ Bella said instantly. She hadn’t heard what Bart and Adrianna had been talking about just now, but it had looked intense. ‘And what did you say?’

  ‘He is a stupid boy,’ Adrianna said, disdain dripping from her words. ‘He should not even run a branch of . . . McDonald’s.’

  Though relieved that Bart’s notorious charm did not seem to have cut any ice with the woman who had their father’s ear, Bella, who adored her younger brother, couldn’t help but say:

  ‘Oh, he’s not that bad. He’d be great at motivating his staff, at least.’

  ‘Maybe I was a bit harsh,’ Adrianna said with a brief, twisting smile, the words clearly meaning something more to her than Bella could understand. ‘Tell me – what is the word for brothers and sisters? I wanted to use it but I can’t think of it.’

  ‘Siblings,’ Bella said.

  ‘Yes! Siblings! I hate not to be perfect,’ Adrianna unexpectedly admitted. ‘It is difficult for me.’

  ‘I have that at work,’ Bella confessed. ‘I’m a real perfectionist. Which,’ she added quickly, ‘is not me pitching to get you to tell Daddy that I should be CEO.’

  ‘I know,’ Adrianna said calmly, allowing herself another small sip of champagne.

  ‘Oh! Okay.’

  Bella was an extremely experienced businesswoman. She had been to Harvard Business School, and graduated summa cum laude. Her division of Sachs was extremely well run, and she was known for being a firm and clear-headed negotiator. And yet, her father’s fiancée, a twenty-something Estonian with goodness knew what formal education, who had clearly moved to London to meet and snag a rich man, was very disconcerting. Bella simply couldn’t read Adrianna.

  ‘Tell you what – let’s have lunch after Daddy decides,’ Bella suggested. ‘Then you’ll know I’m genuinely interested in what you have to say.’

  Adrianna looked at Bella, those angled green eyes much amused.

  ‘You may be the cleverest of all your siblings,’ she observed. ‘So, what do you want to hear me say?’

  ‘What you think of us, of course!’ Bella said, and her eyes were sparkling with amusement. ‘I know you have strong opinions on everyone.’

  She was intoxicated, and not just from the half-glass of champagne she had drunk after a few weeks of teetotalism. She looked wonderful; her rewards scheme was powering forward ahead of deadline, partly due to her motivational tour of Sachs offices around the world, partly due to her team’s superb organizational skills; and she had a rendezvous with her lover booked in for later that evening. Whatever happened with Thomas, whether he woke up from his coma or he didn’t, Bella would no longer be tied to him.

  ‘Hah!’ Adrianna raised her glass to Bella. ‘You are very brave, I think!’

  ‘Everyone’s been calling me that since Thomas’s accident,’ Bella said dryly. ‘It’s nice to hear it meant in a different way.’

  ‘Mmn,’ Adrianna said, her eyelids lowering and lifting. It meant something. Everything Adrianna did meant something. Bella realized that she was looking forward to trying to decode some of her gestures, perhaps over the promised lunch.

  ‘Time to go in to dinner!’ Jeffrey announced. Immediately Adrianna was snaking back to his side, the hand not holding the champagne flute slipping discreetly underneath one of his elbows, supporting him even as she made it look as if she were a decorative adjunct to the king, his latest arm-candy consort.

  ‘That woman is a total professional,’ Conway muttered to his brother as they fell in behind their father’s near-royal procession. ‘Worth every penny.’

  ‘I’ll say!’ Bart agreed cheerfully, though in the same lowered voice. ‘I tell you, I need to make sure my jacket’s buttoned up the whole time around her at this kind of thing. Just looking at her gives me a stiffie.’

  Ever since that encounter in the lime alley at Vanbrugh Manor, Bart had become increasingly obsessed with Adrianna, to the point that, as their recent conversation demonstrated, he was not fully in control of his emotions. With animal cunning, he had realized that the best way to stop people noticing was to hide this in plain sight by joking about it on a regular basis.

  ‘Oh, absolutely,’ Conway agreed, huffing out a laugh. ‘Me too. Pure sex on legs. Can’t blame dear old Pa for spending a king’s ransom to have that comforting him in his declining years, can you?’

  He dropped Bart a wink.

  ‘I’m putting my time in with the wife and kids now,’ he said. ‘Made my apologies to Sam, told her it was a moment of madness, never happen again, all that stuff women like to hear. I’m getting back on the straight and narrow with Pa, toeing the line until I take over. Then – not so straight and narrow.’ He winked again. ‘I want you to be my right-hand man, Bart. I’ve been thinking about how things will work out after I take the throne. There’s a real role for you there if you want it.’

  The brothers had pulled aside from the group as the conversation took a professional turn, halting by one of the bar tables. Conway threw an arm around Bart’s shoulders in a way that was fraternal but also, between men, signified an assumption of superior status.

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Big Bro,’ Bart said gravely. ‘Good to hear.’

  ‘I know I can rely on you,’ Conway said bluffly.

  They might not be twins, but the two brothers were very similar, and the sight of them standing together drew many admiring glances. Both so tall and blond, their blue eyes extraordinarily vivid: the two crown princes of the Sachs Organization, each equally handsome in his own way.

  ‘Conway?’

  Samantha, who had fallen into polite conversation with one of the Sachs executives who had a seat at the centre table, realized as they reached the dining room that her husband had dropped out of the party. She stopped dead in her tracks, looking back for him, and for a moment her calm demeanour, the centuries of breeding which had trained generations of Honourable Samanthas to keep a politely neutral expression in the most challenging of circumstances, fell away.

  It was clear to Bart, looking at his sister-in-law, of whom he was extremely fond, that she was frantic with fear that her husband was hanging back not for a quick word with his brother, but for a woman of the type with whom he had already cheated. A second Adrianna, almost a parody of femininity, with her heavy make-up, cascading hair, figure-hugging dress, and bosoms which owed more to art than to nature. In other words, the opposite of Samantha.

  Bart raised a hand and waved vigorously to get Samantha’s attention. The relief in her face on spotting him next to Conway, no alluring siren anywhere near the pair of
them, was palpably obvious for the split second before her carefully composed facade went up once more.

  ‘She’s a really nice woman, Con,’ Bart said as they strolled towards where she was waiting in the dining-room doorway.

  ‘I know,’ Conway sighed. ‘That’s the problem.’

  ‘Mmn, that’s not really good enough,’ Bart said, his tone so unexpectedly serious that his brother shot him a look of frank surprise. ‘Not good enough at all. You picked her, you bred with her. She adores you and she’s doing a great job bringing up your sprogs. It’s stupid to chuck that all away for some Slavic temptress who’s more interested in your bulging wallet than anything else.’

  ‘Bloody hell, I never thought I’d hear you lecture me about being faithful!’ Conway said rather huffily. ‘That’s a turn-up for the books!’

  ‘But the thing is, Con, I can, because I’ve never made any promises to anyone,’ Bart pointed out. ‘I like Samantha. I don’t want to see her get hurt. You’ve done that once already and it sounds as if you’re planning to do it all over again.’

  ‘God knows what’s come over you,’ Conway muttered. ‘Turned into the morality police all of a sudden! Bloody boring, if you ask me.’

  Disengaging himself from his brother, Conway joined his wife, putting his arm around her waist, dropping a kiss on her head. Briefly, Bart glimpsed the near-worshipful smile Samantha gave to her husband, and it was his turn to heave a sigh.

  ‘Damn shame,’ he thought as he brought up the rear of the procession. ‘She really is a very nice woman.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ‘And the winner of Best Boutique Hotel Chain goes to . . . the Sash Collection!’ announced Lexy O’Brien, the reality TV star, waving the card on which the winning nominee was written. ‘Very classy hotels, I love ’em! Congratulations to Charlotte Sachs, who’s looking mint, I must say! Feel free to bung me any freebie stays you have going, won’t you?’

  Delighted, Charlotte jumped to her feet, Paul deftly pulling back her chair so that she could move seamlessly from the table into the aisle and thence to the nearby steps to the low stage. Lexy was holding the award out to her, cracking one of the bawdy jokes for which she was famous about the shape of it and what uses Charlotte might put it to. An artistically crafted piece of metal and Perspex, it did have an undeniably phallic aspect to the central tower.

  ‘Good girl,’ Jeffrey Sachs said in satisfaction as the applause died down and Charlotte gave a short speech about how hard everyone on her team had worked and how excited she was to be taking Sash into more territories, continuing to prove that you could truly deliver a quality boutique experience while still being part of a leading worldwide brand with all the benefits of that organization.

  It was not the speech she would have given if her father had not been there, or if she had had the freedom of being CEO and thus able to deliver something much more spontaneous and less robotic. Jeffrey, however, was following along approvingly, mumbling the key words he insisted his employees use about the company in public, nodding as Charlotte rolled them out one after the other. He was very much a top-down manager. Further applause followed as Charlotte swept back down the steps, her wide taffeta skirt caught up in one hand to avoid tripping, the award raised high in the other and a pageant-worthy smile on her face.

  ‘Good girl,’ Jeffrey repeated, beaming at Charlotte as she resumed her seat at the table. ‘Now let’s see how your sister does, eh?’

  The Sachs hotels were nominated for Best Worldwide Hotel Chain, but Bella was certain that tonight was not her turn. They had won it two years ago, and it would go to either Hilton or Marriott this year, with her money on the latter. Nita agreed with her. There was nothing to be done about it, nice as it would have been to cruise up to Jeffrey’s deadline with an award to match Charlotte’s under her belt.

  At least they had not wasted precious energy and resources in mounting a big campaign. Nita had organized a stealthy but effective research probe to find out which way the judging was leaning, and after she had concluded that they had no chance of winning, they had let it go and concentrated their energy into the rewards scheme revamp instead. Bella and her team prided themselves on being ruthlessly practical.

  Charlotte was already reaching for her phone, snapping herself with the award, getting Paul to take further shots, uploading them to her social media, her fingers flying over the screen, her smile perpetually photo-ready for the journalists who were gathering around the table to get a quick quote from her for their Twitter feeds.

  ‘Charlotte, is Sash going to be part of the huge Sachs online redo we’ve been hearing so much about?’ one asked eagerly.

  ‘Yes, there’s been so much buzz about it already!’ a second agreed. ‘Are you going to have the same room-scanning abilities and virtual check-in for priority travellers as the Sachs hotels?’

  ‘Plus billing updates on a daily basis on the app?’ the first one asked. ‘I hear the minibar use is actually going to update in real time, is that right?’

  Charlotte’s eyes widened and fixed into shape in a way that meant she was absolutely furious but trying hard not to show it.

  ‘Oh, that’s going to be rolled out through Sachs first to smooth out all the glitches before we even consider applying it to Sash!’ she said smoothly. ‘We’re aware that our guests are looking for a different experience from the ones who visit Sachs, who are a much higher percentage of business travellers. Our clients are—’

  ‘But there’s an obvious crossover, isn’t there?’ asked the first journalist. ‘Sachs’s business travellers are going to want to use their points when they’re holidaying at the Sash hotels, or even staying on business at Sash. Aren’t they going to want a full rollout immediately?’

  ‘And what glitches are you anticipating?’ The second journalist, who was faster on the uptake, darted in. ‘Any problems with the revamp we should know about?’

  Jeffrey, his face like thunder, glared at Charlotte.

  ‘No glitches!’ he said bluffly. ‘It’s going to be smooth as silk! Bella has a top team assembled to drive this through, and I have absolute confidence in her.’

  Charlotte hurried to agree with this, the skin around her eyes still fixed into that slightly unnatural, overstretched shape. Jeffrey decreed that Bella and Charlotte pose together for photos, and Bella duly shifted over as Paul jumped up to let her have his chair. Bella could almost smell the fury emanating from Charlotte. Her sister was clearly livid that her moment in the spotlight had been almost immediately eclipsed by questions about the Sachs reward scheme; she was tense as a wire, vibrating with anger, even as she smiled brightly, putting her head next to her twin’s, holding up her award for the cameras. The winners would mingle later for longer interviews, once the ceremony was over, but the demands of social media caused a quick flurry around a winner as soon as they left the stage.

  ‘I’m going to the loo,’ Charlotte said as soon as the fuss had died down. Standing up, she hugged Paul briefly, and saying over her shoulder, ‘Best of luck if I miss yours, Bell! I’m sure you’ll win!’ she slipped away between the various tables, smiling and nodding at all the people wanting to congratulate her, but not slowing her pace.

  Behind her, Bella grimaced momentarily; not only did she know she wasn’t going to win, she was quite sure that Charlotte did too. That comment had been a deliberate dig, meant to sink and fester in Bella’s flesh as she waited to lose the award for which her division was nominated.

  As always happened at awards dinners, the bar area was busy with refugees from the tedium of sitting through the speeches, hard drinkers not content with the wine served at their tables, and journalists updating their various feeds. The world was scarcely waiting to find out who had won all the various categories, but PRs, travel agencies, blogs and the media felt they needed to tweet the results instantly to make themselves seem relevant. The fact that they themselves were pretty much the only consumers of the news didn’t worry them in the slightest; it mad
e them look busy and up to date for their bosses, who felt it was crucial to have an active social media presence but had very little idea of what it actually achieved.

  They snapped to attention on seeing Charlotte, asking her for a quote and a photo: she called cheerfully that she was heading to the Ladies and would be back soon, making her way with commendable speed, considering her voluminous skirt and high heels, across the spongy hotel carpet and towards the exit on the far side of the bar where the toilets were located. She did not, however, go into the Ladies, but through a second set of double doors, following an obscure path down a corridor and then turning into a small passage that branched off it.

  These awards were always held in the same place, a central London exhibition centre, to avoid any competition between rival hotel chains to host the event. A few years ago, when the women’s toilets were very busy in the rush after the close of ceremonies, Charlotte had wandered off to look for alternatives, and been very pleased to stumble across a disabled toilet rather oddly situated down this short passage leading to a fire exit.

  In subsequent years, she had used it as a brief refuge from the pressure of the awards ceremony: for a few minutes, she could escape entirely from that central table where all eyes were on them, her father assessing each one of his children in turn, whose division was nominated, how they were doing, how much attention they garnered from the assembled press and from their peers. Now, however, as Charlotte cast a brief glance behind her, saw the passage was empty, and tapped quickly on the toilet door, she was about to indulge in a different kind of respite.

  Lee pulled open the door and she darted inside, sweeping her huge skirt around her legs so it didn’t get caught as he shut and locked it again behind her.

  ‘How much time?’ he said, already unzipping his trousers.

  ‘Not much,’ she said, dragging up the voluminous skirt, plaid-printed taffeta, its width balanced by a tight black top fitted snugly to her upper body. Under the skirt she wore just hold-ups, no underwear, the outfit selected so that she wouldn’t need shapewear on her lower body for the cameras; though her waist was made even slimmer by a elastic cincher which had dug into her all evening, as she grabbed folds of the skirt and pulled them up around her waist, Lee had full, instant access to her crotch.