Tasmina Perry 3-Book Collection: Daddy’s Girls, Gold Diggers, Original Sin. Tasmina Perry
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be seen at the right places, and Staplehurst’s Annual Charity Day seemed as good a place as any to start. Especially when she was here at the special request of club owner Josh Jackson, bass guitarist of legendary rock band Phoenix.
‘So then, where is he?’ asked Cate, straining her neck to look around the tent, where everyone from actors to the local aristocracy were knocking back champagne and pretending they knew about polo. Although Sand magazine was two days away from going to press, Cate couldn’t refuse Camilla’s offer to join her at the Staplehurst Charity Day at the invitation of the great Josh Jackson. Not only was Phoenix’s music one of her guilty pleasures – she’d revised for her A-levels listening to their multi-platinum album Albatross, but their bass guitarist was gorgeous and she couldn’t resist the chance of an introduction.
Camilla pointed to a lone figure on horseback, cantering across the emerald-green polo pitch and swinging a wooden mallet with a muscular, bronzed arm. ‘There he is,’ she said. ‘He’s playing in the game after lunch so I’m not even sure he’ll be eating.’
‘That’s a shame,’ smirked Cate. ‘You mean we’ve come all this way and I don’t even get to say hello.’
They were sitting on a table with eight other guests, so Camilla turned her head to be out of earshot. ‘I’ve only come to be polite,’ said Camilla, lowering her voice so no one could hear. ‘You know I’ve never been one for polo but, when a client invites you, you have to make an effort.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Cate with a sceptical smile. ‘And why did Josh invite you again?’
‘I acted for him in a case recently. His accountant had siphoned off over three million pounds from his various bank accounts. A clear instance of fraud. We won. I guess today is a thank you.’
‘No, I mean, why did he really invite you?’ smiled Cate as a starter of asparagus in lemon butter arrived in front of her.
Camilla’s face clouded. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Well, is the instructing solicitor here, or is it just Josh’s favourite gorgeous lady barrister?’ probed Cate playfully.
Camilla tried to look shocked. ‘OK, his solicitor isn’t here, but don’t go reading anything into it, OK? I won the case, he’s grateful. Case closed.’
Although Cate had never passed judgement on any of her sisters’ boyfriends – she had never once mentioned to Camilla that she considered Nat Montague to be a boorish, philandering waster – she’d have been delighted to see her hooked up with one of rock’s most eligible bachelors. With his upright sinewy body, dark skin and intelligent grey eyes, it was impossible to believe that Josh Jackson was in his late forties. Twenty years earlier he’d traded LSD for yoga, drink for detox and had spent his songwriting royalties buying a three-hundred-year-old Jacobean manor, attaching a four-pitch polo club and taking up the sport with such gusto he gave a whole new meaning to rock royalty.
‘Now we are going to start the bidding for some of this afternoon’s fabulous prizes.’
With lunch over, rock singer and legendary lothario Rich Clark stood up to begin his stint as auctioneer. ‘Be generous. You know why we’re all here. Dig deep. We’re not starting any game of polo before we’ve got at least two hundred thousand quid in the kitty. For the first lot we have a week for two at the One&Only resort, Le Saint Géran, which has been kindly donated by Exit Travel. Can we start the bidding at two thousand pounds?’
An excited buzz rumbled around the marquee as the bidding climbed to four, ten, then twenty thousand pounds, fuelled by sun, champagne and social competitiveness. A home-cooked dinner prepared by Gordon Ramsay went for £10,000, a fortnight at the Amanpuri fetched £30,000, five nights at the Copacabana Hotel in Rio was a bargain at £8,000. Camilla looked around the marquee, spotting the minister for sport and culture, four well-known benefactors of the Tory Party and two newspaper editors and decided that it would be a wasted journey if she didn’t make herself and her philanthropy known. No one here would know she had already joined a committee to fund a battered wives’ shelter in Notting Hill, or signed up for three 15-kilometre ‘fun’ runs in the name of charity. She was here to impress, and if you were going to do that today, you had to put your hand in your pocket.
‘A weekend in New York staying in a loft suite at the Mercer,’ said Rich Clark. ‘Do I have five thousand pounds?’
Camilla felt her hand go gingerly into the air as it was quickly countered with a bid for six thousand.
She nodded towards the auctioneer again as Cate tugged at her arm playfully. ‘What do you want to go to New York again for?’ she whispered.
‘Eight thousand from the lovely Camilla Balcon!’ said the rock auctioneer, recognizing her. ‘Who’ll give me nine?’
With the room ever more drunk, bidding spiralled towards £15,000 as Camilla bowed out, satisfied she had been seen to take part.
When the auctioneer motioned to the rear of the tent and the gavel came down at £20,000, Camilla breathed an internal sigh of relief that it hadn’t been an unnecessarily expensive afternoon.
‘That was a close one,’ smiled Cate as diners began to wander outside to watch the start of the polo. ‘I know you probably want to treat yourself after you got on the approved list, but there are cheaper ways of getting to New York,’ she laughed.
Camilla smiled knowingly. Cate wasn’t aware that she had already treated herself, having a spree at Yves Saint Laurent and buying one pair of shoes, one shirt and one jacket that would perfectly complement Camilla’s precisely coordinated wardrobe, an exercise in restrained but elegant dressing.
‘Bloody hell, don’t look now, but guess who’s coming over.’
Josh Jackson was striding towards the sidelines in white, skin-tight jodhpurs, tall black boots, knee guards, and polo shirt in the Jackson Team’s navy-and-white colours. The sun had brought out a flame of freckles across the bridge of his Roman nose and the lines of his face wrinkled as he smiled in the bright light.
‘Ladies. Good of you to come. I’ve got to shoot in a minute, but I thought I’d come and say hello.’
Cate smiled, trying to think of something humorous or interesting to say, but gave up when she saw that his gaze was fixed entirely on Camilla.
‘Well. It’s a great day for it,’ stumbled Cate. ‘I’m not going to drink too many Pimms, though, or I’ll be stumbling over the divots.’
Neither Josh nor Camilla seemed to be aware of Cate or anyone else. Feeling uncomfortably as if she were intruding on some personal moment, Cate mumbled an excuse and moved off towards the bar. As she left, Josh pressed his fingers on Camilla’s forearm.
‘I appreciate you coming,’ he smiled.
Camilla stared at him, then, as if coming out of a trance, took a small step back, so that his hand fell away from her skin. ‘Yes, it’s a nice day out.’
‘You didn’t have to come. So I thought I’d make it worth your while.’
She smiled, trying not to be playful. ‘How do you mean?’
‘I saw you bidding for the New York weekend.’
Camilla felt a jolt through her stomach which she fought to suppress. ‘Oh. I thought you were practising. I didn’t see you at the lunch.’
‘I had to go to the auction,’ he smiled. ‘Rich Clark was there, God knows what he might say.’
‘Yes, well. The bidding got a little too hot for me,’ stuttered Camilla. ‘Anyway, I was only in New York before Christmas, so it doesn’t matter. I’ll make a donation to the charity, though.’
‘Well that’s a shame.’
‘What? Why?’
‘Because I got the winning bid.’
‘Oh, it was you!’