Tasmina Perry 3-Book Collection: Daddy’s Girls, Gold Diggers, Original Sin. Tasmina Perry
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is raising that initial finance. I agree with David that we’re more likely to get the ball rolling if we can put in some personal funds. I can seriously only scrape together about twenty grand, max.’
‘And I am really, really nervous about mortgaging my house any more,’ admitted Cate, ‘especially with all those statistics about three in four ventures failing. It seems so scary.’
For a second she wondered if they really were doing the right thing. Wouldn’t it be easier to take the dummy to Jonathan Newhouse, European chairman of Condé Nast, to see if he was interested? At least they would have the financial muscle required to launch a magazine, plus they’d be able to see the potential of Sand.
‘Ah, don’t go wobbly on me now, Cate,’ smiled Nick, as if reading her thoughts. ‘What about your sister’s husband? Doesn’t he have a hedge fund or something? He must be rolling in his own cash – or at least other people’s?’
‘Not that I completely understand what a hedge fund is, but I’ve already sounded Venetia out. Apparently his company doesn’t deal in investments like this. It’s all about very high risk, very high return with him, and apparently a start-up magazine doesn’t quite qualify.’
Nick nodded slowly. ‘OK …’
Cate looked at him pleadingly.
‘Nick, I want to try and do this myself. To you it might look like I have a cushy life, but it’s hard when you’ve spent your life being made to feel grateful for everything.’
It was the nearest thing to personal detail he had got out of her in the whole time he’d known her.
‘And no, I don’t want to ask my father for the money either,’ she said gently. ‘Even if he did have lots of cash sloshing about for investments, he’s not the easiest of men to deal with.’
Nick watched her, trying to work out what she wasn’t telling him.
‘You two don’t really get on, do you?’ he said quietly, guessing her emotions.
She shook her head. ‘It’s not really that,’ she said. ‘He’s just a bit unpredictable. I couldn’t tell you how he’d react if I asked him to be an investor. On the one hand, ever since I was a little girl he’s been, “Catherine, you must do better! You must achieve!”’ She mocked his pompous accent. ‘And yes, now here I am trying to do something, so you never know …’
‘But on the other hand?’ asked Nick.
‘On the other hand he can shout me down, make me cry and make me feel absolutely crap. Believe me, he has an incredible capacity to do that to people, no matter how confident you feel. He can destroy you in a minute,’ she said, clicking her fingers.
Nick put a friendly hand on top of hers and gave her a reassuring smile. ‘You’ve always struck me as a person who’s afraid of no one …’
She smiled at him and suddenly feeling empowered, reached into her pocket for her mobile. She drummed her fingers on it for a moment, thinking of the conversation, his tone of voice, the things he would say. She put the phone into her handbag and turned back to the window.
‘Let’s see how David gets along and then maybe I’ll call him,’ she said. But somehow, the thought of asking Daddy suddenly made the idea of mortgaging her house seem much less scary.
‘I could have bought half the shop!’ laughed Camilla, stepping onto the Belgravia pavement from the front door of Christian Louboutin.
‘You almost did,’ smiled Venetia, looking at her sister struggling with four large bags.
‘Well, it is my birthday,’ smiled Camilla, feeling slightly guilty at her splurge. Still, her American Express Black card, given out only to very special customers, could more than cope with a couple of thousand pounds spent on shoes. The girls took one last look at the beautiful high-heeled pumps laid out like precious jewels in the window and started the slow amble through Belgravia. ‘I’ve made a lunch reservation for one-thirty at San Lorenzo,’ said Venetia, turning up the collar on her Fendi jacket. ‘What do you want to do until then? Harvey Nicks? We could even go back to mine for a coffee?’
Camilla shook her head.
‘Oh, sorry, Van. I’d have loved to have stayed out a bit longer but Nat wants me back at the flat for twelve-thirty. He says it’s a surprise.’
‘Has he got you anything for your birthday yet?’ asked Venetia, slipping an arm through her sister’s.
‘Not yet,’ replied Camilla, ‘but I assume that’s my surprise.’
Thirty. Ever since she was a teenager, Camilla had been dreading slipping into old age. Except now that the big three-oh had arrived, it didn’t really feel like that at all. Being thirty definitely suited her – and where she was heading. Parliament. She got goose-bumps and butterflies just thinking about it.
‘It’s twelve already. Does that mean we’ve got to say goodbye?’ asked Venetia in mock horror.
Camilla nodded. ‘I’m afraid so. Thank you for my birthday shop, and my lovely, lovely present,’ she smiled, holding up a cream Jo Malone bag festooned with black ribbons. ‘I think I’d better jump in a cab before I collapse under the weight of my shopping.’
Venetia was sad to see her sister go. Although they lived within a few miles of each other, Camilla worked such long hours she was lucky to see her twice a month.
The sisters embraced and a taxi pulled to the kerb to pick up the beautiful blonde girl with the armfuls of shopping. ‘Glebe Place,’ she said before sliding back into the seat. She watched the expensive stuccoed streets of Belgravia slip by and wondered what her big surprise could be.
One of the most beautiful apartments on one of London’s most prestigious streets, everybody who had seen Camilla’s fabulous four-bedroomed duplex flat assumed the interiors were the product of Venetia Balcon’s renowned design talents. In fact, Camilla had taken great delight in turning down Venetia’s offer to revamp the place when she had bought it, and, ever the control freak, had instead set about doing the work herself. She’d chosen every carpet, fabric and curtain, supervising every major structural improvement and even making innovative suggestions to Tom Barrett, the architect, who had been so impressed by her design savvy that he’d nearly offered her a job.
Camilla clearly had a hidden gift because the apartment was stunning. The walls were chalky white and lined with Diane Arbus prints. The carpets were so thick and soft that they were like a sheet of sheared mink, and the Far Eastern feel of the furniture, in shades of dark teak and cherry, somehow worked alongside the very modern pink neon heart ‘art piece’ and the big stack of photography books on the huge Perspex coffee table. French windows book-ended the apartment, with the back doors stretching out onto a balcony littered with terracotta boxes of flowers and hedgerow. Only a stack of legal files bound in red twine on the big walnut desk hinted that the house belonged to a barrister and not a designer.
Camilla walked into the reception room to find Nat Montague standing in the middle of the cream carpet, a grey cashmere jumper straining over wide shoulders, a crop of nutmeg hair falling mischievously onto his face. She noticed that his navy-blue eyes were sparkling and that he was standing next to a pile of tan leather suitcases.
‘You’re five minutes early,’ he smiled, picking up one of the cases.
Camilla trotted over to her boyfriend and kissed him urgently. ‘Oh Nat, I hate waiting for surprises,’ she pouted. ‘Tell me what it is! What’s with all the luggage?’
‘Your surprise,’ said Nat, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and kissing her bottom lip gently. He slid his warm hand down the back of her jeans to stroke the base of her spine and the top of her buttocks.
She