Tasmina Perry 3-Book Collection: Daddy’s Girls, Gold Diggers, Original Sin. Tasmina Perry
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over into laughter and flirtation. No more Sunday brunches and eleven-o’clock-in-the-evening telephone calls to discuss ‘ideas’ and share their excitement. Gosh, she thought to herself in retrospect: what must Rebecca have thought about all that?
The Mini rattled across a lonely level crossing and past a herd of cattle peeking curiously over a hedge. Thank God she’d been so busy at work she hadn’t had time to dwell on any lost love, thought Cate, turning a CD on. She was big enough to admit she missed him – his humour, his cleverness, his friendship. She banged the steering wheel with her fist. Over the years her sisters had often teased her, laughing about how useless she was at interpreting signals, but she was sure she had read the signs right with Nick. The little things he said, the way he looked at her, his willingness to spend every available second with her. The reason must be Rebecca.
In anticipation of their meeting, Cate had spent hours that afternoon deciding what to wear. Every outfit that made her feel special also made her look ridiculously overdressed for a relaxed dinner at Tom’s. She had finally chosen a pair of her favourite jeans, a red, cowl-neck cashmere sweater and some high black Louboutin boots; the dark-red flash of the soles never failed to make her feel sexy. She had scooped her hair up into a high ponytail so it swished from side to side when she walked and had added a pair of large diamond earrings that had once been her mother’s. In all her hurry this afternoon, she had forgotten to pick up a nice bottle of wine to bring along for the evening. Spotting an off-licence ahead, she pulled up outside and hurried in to get a last-minute gift, having to settle on a cheap Bordeaux from a poor selection.
Nick and Rebecca were already there by the time Cate drew up outside Tom’s, Rebecca’s silver TVR sitting triumphantly outside the house. Cate felt slightly sick as she knocked on the front door. This could be awful, she thought. Moments later, the door opened to reveal Tom carrying two gin and tonics. ‘Here she is!’ smiled Tom, ‘the international business-woman of the year. Watch out Rupert Murdoch!’ He stepped forward, kissed her on the cheek and thrust a glass into Cate’s hand, instantly wiping out her butterflies. He turned and led her down the long corridor towards the light-filled kitchen.
As soon as she stepped into the room, she spotted Rebecca. Not what she was expecting, she quickly decided. She knew Rebecca would be glamorous, of course. The few times she had been to his flat, Cate had spotted Manolos on the carpet and Marni coats flung over a chair, but she hadn’t been expecting her to be quite this glamorous. God knew Nick was attractive, but he was definitely punching above his weight here. Poker-straight honey-blonde hair framed a perfectly oval face. Her eyes were a startling green, her cheekbones were high and angular, her mouth large and highly glossed. There was no getting around it, Rebecca was beautiful. If she hadn’t been sitting in a Cotswolds manor house, you’d have said her natural habitat was in LA, draped over a Hollywood star, with her wasp-like waist, tiny hips and her large round breasts hidden by an expensive Gucci jacket. But there was definitely a hardness about her face, Cate thought, something too smooth, too polished.
Cate turned her attention to Nick. She knew him well enough by now to see that the smile on his face did not mask the anxiety in his eyes. ‘Hi partner,’ he smiled gently, subtly removing his arm from the back of the chair in which Rebecca was sitting. ‘Did it take you hours to get here? It took us ages.’
‘That’s what you get for living in London,’ laughed Tom, moving towards the terrace doors, ‘too much time wasted in traffic jams. Talking of which, shall we go outside?’ he asked. ‘It’s too nice to be stuck in the kitchen and the chef needs to get some air,’ he grinned.
They moved out onto the enormous terrace which stood above the lawns. It was hardly a balmy evening, but for April there was a surprisingly warm and fuzzy glow to the evening. The shrill, lazy sound of birds singing high in the trees filled the garden, the cherry blossom had just burst into bloom and there was a hazy early dusk light that made the whole scene feel vaguely continental. Knocking back a big gulp of gin and tonic, Cate lifted her face to the sun, letting it warm her for the first time that year.
‘So we finally meet the famous Cate,’ said Rebecca, sidling up to her, sipping from a kir royale. ‘Although it’s amazing we’ve never met before, isn’t it? You being in magazines, me being in PR and all that,’ she added. Rebecca’s voice had a knowing, confident undercurrent, over-friendly in that insincere PR-executive way that Cate had witnessed a thousand times over in her job.
‘I know,’ smiled Cate. ‘Being editor at Class meant that I was pretty much chained to my desk, so I didn’t get out half as much as I should have. I’m sure you must know everyone from the fashion department, though?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Rebecca, putting an over-familiar hand on Cate’s arm, ‘Lucy, Cheryl, Susie – lovely girls. Terribly sorry about what happened with you, though. Just awful. Although you must be glad that your job went to Nicole Valentine and that they didn’t bring in an outsider.’
‘Yes, delighted,’ smiled Cate thinly, trying not to show her annoyance. She could tell it was going to be a night of backhanded compliments and endless chat about Rebecca and what Rebecca did. Nick had always been very sparing in his descriptions of Rebecca, but in the five minutes it took for Rebecca to introduce herself properly, she found out more about her than she had heard from Nick in two months. They had met in New York where Nick was in publishing and Rebecca was working for a PR company. She had returned the summer before and set up her own fashion PR company, which had become, according to Rebecca, instantly successful. After ten months they had already secured accounts for three major fashion labels including Roman LeFey and Clerc, the international jewellers, not to mention several luxury and beauty clients. She had a staff of ten at her Bond Street offices and business was going from strength to strength. Cate was surprised she hadn’t offered her details about the size of her house and how wonderful her sex life was.
As if reading her thoughts, Tom appeared with a bowl of crisps; when he knew Rebecca wasn’t looking, he grimaced at Cate in sympathy.
‘Of course, I will do whatever I can to help your little project,’ said Rebecca as Tom moved back into the house. ‘Nick and I are so close, it’s almost as if it’s my project too. What’s his is mine and all that,’ she said, looking over to where Nick was sifting through a pile of CDs. ‘Anyway,’ she continued, flicking back a strand of hair and pouring herself a glass of Dom Pérignon from the bottle on the wrought-iron garden table, ‘how was Milan?’ She moved out of Nick’s earshot and lowered her voice. ‘I couldn’t bear to come out and meet Nick there, however much he tried to insist. I spend so much time in the damn place, it would have been more torture than treat!’
Cate’s stomach contracted. ‘Oh, I didn’t know Nick invited you to come and join him …’
‘Oh yes,’ smiled Rebecca, her jade eyes opening wide, her voice still low. ‘We love going on little mini-breaks, but they had stopped since you two had been knocking heads together every weekend. But you must remember I will do anything I can to get Sand off the ground. Just give me a nudge. Nick never likes to ask, he’s so sweet.’
Cate reached for a handful of pistachio nuts and watched Rebecca as she drifted off to join Tom and Nick, who were laughing loudly at a private joke. In a funny way Cate was almost disappointed by Rebecca. She’d met a thousand girls like her before. Pretty, yes, beautiful even, but not particularly witty or clever. Just a very self-confident PR girl who could talk and smile and fill the silences with chit-chat about herself. She looked at Nick exchanging smiles with Rebecca and wondered what she had been expecting.
Dinner was a noisy, calorie-laden and haphazard affair. Nick and Tom were both on great form. The two men had not seen each other in a while, so the gossip came thick and fast and the banter swelled between them. The food was delicious: the meat had been cooked in thick game gravy that Tom ladled over the plates. OK, so the mustard mash came ten minutes later, but Tom took it all in his stride, laughing about his lack of coordination and quaking at the thought of cooking a Christmas dinner. The champagne and red wine flowed, and Cate cringed when she saw her bottle of off-licence plonk sitting on the table next to the Château Lafite that Rebecca had brought.
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