Читать книгу Tasmina Perry 3-Book Collection: Daddy’s Girls, Gold Diggers, Original Sin - Tasmina Perry, Tasmina Perry - Страница 27

Milan still cut a glamorous dash, even in the middle of March, thought Nick Douglas as his eyes panned across the Piazza del Duomo. Although the carnival of Fashion Week had rolled out of town two weeks earlier and the city was wrapped in a grey, damp drizzle that reminded him of Manchester, it still buzzed with a sophistication and elegance that was hard to match in any other city in the world. Not even Manhattan’s Upper East Side could boast so many immaculately groomed women shopping for groceries in full-length sheared mink coats and dark sunglasses. New York might be the land of opportunity, where a tie-salesman like Ralph Lauren could become a retail billionaire, he thought, but Milan was the real centre of the glamorous fashion universe, particularly when it came to glossy magazine publishing. Without impressing the city’s fashion giants – Armani, Prada, Dolce & Gabbana, Versace – and securing their lucrative advertising spend, a glossy magazine launch was as good as dead in the frothy, rose-scented water.

Cate and Nick sat in a tiny café in the shadow of the enormous cathedral and celebrated a productive afternoon’s work with a Bellini. Prada had made positive noises about coming in after the first couple of issues if they liked what they saw, while Giorgio Armani, who insisted on inspecting and OK-ing every magazine personally before he would green-light any advertising, had been even more positive. Not only had he committed to advertising the Armani Collezioni line in Sand’s debut issue, they had even talked about doing a shoot and interview with the fashion legend at his sumptuous home on the Italian island of Pantelleria.

‘Have we really only known each other a month?’ smiled Cate, now on her third Bellini and feeling a bit giddy. She was flipping through her pink Smythson diary to make a note to contact the Armani PR and had noticed the line ‘Meet Nick Douglas in Flask’ scrawled on a page in early February. ‘Seems like a lifetime,’ she said.

‘I think you’ll find it’s six weeks,’ corrected Nick, looking over her shoulder to peek at the diary. ‘And you’re too right. I feel like I’ve grown another head – yours.’

She kicked him playfully under the table and reached to scoop up a handful of peeled almonds from the bowl on the table.

‘Want to go and get some dinner? I’m starving,’ she said, peering through the café window at the sky. Pink clouds were floating over the spire of the Duomo and she couldn’t stop a smile spreading across her face.

‘Although I wouldn’t mind changing out of the career-bitch power-clothes,’ she added, looking down at her slate-grey Helmut Lang trouser suit.

‘OK, come on,’ said Nick, throwing a fifty-euro note into the small silver ashtray. ‘Back to the hotel.’

They were staying at the sumptuous Bulgari. The hotel was well over their budget, but it was a suitably impressive address to give to the various fashion PRs. ‘A lot of money just to dish out a posh fax number,’ Nick had grumbled. Still. There was no denying it was gorgeous. The lobby was a riot of black marble and elegant styling. In the rooms, crisp linens lay on huge squashy beds, while the marble bathrooms were laden with white fluffy towels and expensive toiletries.

As she wasn’t due down at the bar until half past seven, Cate took a swim in the gold mosaic swimming pool before returning to her suite. She ran a frothy bubble bath and, for the first time in weeks, allowed herself a long, luxurious wallow. She wiggled her big toe in the balloon-shaped tap, letting the hot water spurt out around her skin and the bubbles rise up her back until she was lying neck-deep in the suds.

God, she felt good. She’d never felt so proud and satisfied with herself, even when she’d got her first internship at New Yorker magazine, or when she’d won the prestigious PPA New Editor of the Year award, or even when Class magazine had first outsold Vogue on the news-stand. Doing it for yourself, under your own steam, was something else – especially when it all seemed to be coming off. She smiled to herself and wondered what Nick was doing in the adjacent bedroom. Hopefully getting ready, she thought with an eye on the time. She imagined him getting into the shower and running his soapsudsy hands over that cute crop of brown hair. She felt herself blush.

What was she thinking? She couldn’t start having sexy fantasies about Nick Douglas! Annoyed with herself she climbed out of the bath, damp hair dripping down her neck, and started vigorously towelling herself down to distract herself. She padded over to the walk-in closet to choose an outfit for dinner, selecting a rust and bottle green Missoni dress with a deep scoop neck that clung to every curve. Inspecting herself in the mirror she was pleased. The colours brought out the russet strands in her thick, wavy hair, and the sky-high beige Manolo Blahnik slingbacks made her long, curvy legs look sensational. Rubbing a musky Donna Karan body cream onto her legs and clipping a sheaf of hair to one side with an antique diamanté clip, she threw her hotel key card into her clutch bag and she was ready. She paused, slightly puzzled – but ready for what?

The Bagutta restaurant was humming. Famous for its enormous Tuscan steaks, it attracted a glamorous crowd that wasn’t afraid to eat.

‘What do you fancy?’ asked Nick, running a finger down the wine menu. ‘I reckon today calls for champagne.’

‘Pink champagne,’ agreed Cate. ‘To go with an enormous chunk of meat.’

She looked at Nick. If she wasn’t very much mistaken, he had made as much effort as she had for the evening out. Instead of his usual jeans and a sweatshirt, he looked suspiciously as if he was out to impress with his tailored grey trousers and black cashmere jumper. He smiled back, his big hazel eyes crinkling at the sides.

‘To us,’ he said, lifting up a flute to clink against hers.

‘And to our magazine,’ she replied, suddenly nervous of the intimacy between them.

Nick looked at her, a twinkle in his eye.

‘Glad you turned the Harper’s Bazaar job down, then?’ he asked.

Cate sat up in her chair. ‘How do you know about that?’ she gasped.

‘Serena told me at her party. She said she was very upset you weren’t joining her in New York.’ He sipped his champagne slowly. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

Cate dipped a piece of bread in some olive oil and swirled it around on her plate. ‘I didn’t think it mattered enough to tell you. Didn’t want you to think I wasn’t committed.’

‘I would never think that about you.’

They looked at each other. She felt uncomfortable. It was the sort of look that lovers might share.

‘I’ll be honest, I might have considered the job if we hadn’t got the money that day,’ she continued slowly. ‘But I’ve lived and worked in New York before. It doesn’t hold that mythical appeal it does for some people. And it’s not like I even particularly wanted to go the first time.’

‘So why did you go?’

She looked at Nick and felt for the first time she could really trust him. They had been through so much over the last few weeks, spent so much time together, she felt a desire to be honest rush over her.

‘I went to get away from my father.’

Nick said nothing. He just looked at her reassuringly, encouraging her to talk.

‘I guess he’s always made me feel so inadequate, and when you’re old enough to get away from it, you do.’

‘Why, what did he do?’ He touched her hand lightly. ‘You have to talk about it, Cate, or you will never get it out of your system.’

She paused and took a deep breath that seemed to go on for ever. But the champagne, her good mood and their growing close friendship made it easier to discuss.

‘You want to know when it started? When my mother died.’ Cate began to play with the ring on her middle finger. ‘My mother was wonderful. Kind, beautiful,’ she said quietly. ‘She was a Dior model in the sixties. She just had this way of making everything seem OK even when it wasn’t, like she’d read me The Wizard of Oz every time I was ill and couldn’t get to sleep.’ She smiled softly, then paused, noticing that his gaze was directly meeting hers.

‘Anyway, when I was seven, she took Camilla and me to see a musical in London. Venetia was at Pony Club camp. Serena was still a baby and at Huntsford with our nanny. We went to see Oliver!’ She giggled at the memory of it, then the smile faded and her face clouded over.

‘I remember my dad was supposed to come with us but he was busy. He was always busy. Some meeting in London – I don’t know what the excuse was at the time. Anyway, we went to the theatre and then came back to our house in Chelsea where we were staying that night. I remember it was a really hot evening. I was running around in the garden in my sundress while my mum was watering the flowerbeds.’

Nick noticed her voice had started cracking, but she carried on.

‘Then she collapsed right there in the garden. I just didn’t know what to do. I was only seven, Nick.’ Cate looked up pleadingly at him, as if she was trying to persuade him to see her side.

‘I couldn’t get hold of my dad. I found an address book in a drawer with all these numbers in and I tried them all, but I couldn’t reach him. I called the ambulance and a neighbour who I didn’t know came to stay with Camilla and me.’

She took a large gulp of wine and brushed something away from her cheek.

‘The next thing I knew, it was the middle of the night. My dad came to the house and told us mum was dead – it was a clot on the brain. He said I hadn’t been quick enough.’ Cate looked at Nick. ‘He said it was my fault.’

She exhaled deeply, and felt strangely liberated. Nick could see the guilt painted on her face, an inch thick. He wanted to come round the table and hold her tightly, but instead he stroked her fingers across the table.

‘No wonder …’ he began. ‘Cate, it’s –’

‘It’s fine,’ said Cate quickly, brushing at her cheek again and looking away. ‘I’m glad I told you. Now I bet they do a great tiramisu.’

Nick knew she didn’t want to talk any more and distracted her with jokes and silliness. Cate giggled. She hadn’t giggled in a long time and it was fun. So much fun that she hardly noticed that the meal was over, the bill had come and the restaurant was emptying out.

‘Wanna walk back or get a cab?’ asked Nick as they moved from their table.

After the champagne and the earlier Bellinis, Cate felt tired but light-headed.

‘Do you mind if we walk? At least some of the way. I hate going to bed with a fuzzy head.’

‘OK. Let’s go and get our coats.’

They joined a small queue of diners at the cloakroom. In front of them a couple laughed as they collected long overcoats from the elegant brunette holding a coat hanger. The man was tall and thickset and his hand looked huge as he stroked the curve of the small blonde woman’s buttocks. The platinum blonde squealed as her companion’s fingers slid down the waistband of her skirt.

‘Inappropriate behaviour for such a refined establishment,’ whispered Nick into Cate’s ear and she laughed.

The couple turned round, and suddenly they came face to face with William Walton and Nicole Valentine. Cate’s giggles immediately dried up and Walton’s mouth dropped open.

‘Catherine Balcon. Erm, hi …’ Walton was stumbling over his words, his face flushing slightly.

‘William. Nicole. What a surprise,’ said Cate in a flat voice.

‘Yes, well,’ said Walton, clearing his throat. ‘Out here seeing advertisers. Getting them excited about Nicole’s appointment to editor and Class’s imminent relaunch.’

Nicole smiled smugly at Cate and cocked her head to the side. ‘On a mini-break are we?’ the American woman asked sugary-sweetly.

‘Actually, no. We’re here for the same reason you are,’ said Cate with as much confidence as she could muster. Nick touched the small of her back for encouragement. ‘We’re in the middle of a launch ourselves.’

‘So we hear,’ said William, trying to repress a smirk. ‘Surprised you got the money to be honest.’ His lips were drawing into a thin, sly smile.

Cate met his gaze firmly. ‘Well, our investors were very impressed with both the product and the team,’ she replied pointedly. ‘I think we’re going to do very well. Very well indeed.’

Walton’s arrogance had returned. He looked at Nicole, his hand moving back to her buttocks.

‘Don’t go trying to poach any of your old colleagues,’ he stopped to grin wolfishly. ‘Not that you could afford them.’

Cate’s eyes narrowed.

‘Well, I’m glad to see you’re getting everything you’ve paid for, William,’ she said. ‘Staff loyalty and all that.’

Nick stepped between them and handed Cate her coat.

‘Goodbye, William. Goodbye, Nicole,’ said Cate as they moved away, her voice refusing to falter. ‘Have a good time in Milan.’ She smiled as sweetly as she could. ‘It certainly looks like you are already.’

William and Nicole stared back. Fuming.

‘You OK?’ On the street Nick put an affectionate arm around her waist. Cate let him keep it there, proud of herself that she had had the final word with Walton and Nicole, but still feeling angry and frustrated. That bitch!

‘You were one cool customer,’ grinned Nick.

‘Well, it all makes sense now,’ she replied angrily. ‘Do you think she was sleeping with him before I got fired?’

‘Almost certainly,’ said Nick slowly. ‘And he’s got terrible taste in women.’

‘But she’s engaged!’

‘Since when did that ever stop anyone having an affair?’

A monochrome lunar light lit the pavement as they ambled side by side through the quiet streets. Cate dug her hands into her pockets and tried to quicken the pace, aware of the arm still there. They turned into a little park where a line of crazy paving snaked across a stretch of grass.

‘Urgh. It’s all wet,’ she laughed, looking down at her strappy Manolos. ‘My toes’ll get soggy. Let’s go back to the street.’

In one movement, Nick bent down and scooped Cate into his arms, her legs dangling in the air. ‘Well, we can’t have soggy toes, can we, Catherine Balcon?’ he said, moving forward in a stumble.

‘Careful you don’t give yourself a hernia,’ she teased, feeling as light as a feather in his grip.

As her arm hugged the back of his neck, she felt a crackle of electricity between them. She let herself relax into the warmth of his coat, her head turning into his neck. He smelt good – of aftershave and freshly washed hair. Her lips were an inch away from his skin. His hold was surprisingly strong and she felt completely protected, a million miles away from William Walton and magazines and everything else. As she relaxed further and further into his arms, everything became suddenly clear. The reason she wanted to spend every waking hour working with him. The reason she flinched when David Goldman came on to her. She didn’t want David when, in her heart of hearts, she wanted Nick.

Nick turned his head. His mouth was so close she could almost taste the trace of champagne on his lips. ‘Cate,’ he murmured, his eyes closing as he moved towards her.

Her eyes shut as he gave her the most gentle kiss. It was perfect.

She let her lips kiss him back and then, just as quickly, Cate came to her senses. His girlfriend. Nick hardly discussed her, but Cate knew she existed. Rebecca. Plus Cate worked with Nick. They were business partners. It was unprofessional. It was no better than William Walton and Nicole Valentine. It was all wrong. She pulled her head away.

‘Nick. You’re with someone.’

She could see him flinch in the darkness.

‘But Cate. You are … I am …’

Her stomach tumbled as she desperately waited to hear what he would say. But she was scared he would confirm that she was second choice.

She got in a pre-emptive strike.

‘Anyway. We work together … It wouldn’t … it would be … awkward.’

He looked so deeply into her eyes that she could see the flecks of yellow in his irises.

There was a long pause that seemed to go on for ever. ‘Maybe you’re right.’

He said it so softly she couldn’t gauge his tone. Was it sadness? Relief? What? He placed her gently on the ground. The current of electricity between them, which seconds ago had burnt and jolted her, dispersed almost as soon as it had arrived. Cate felt nothing except a crushing sense of disappointment.

‘It doesn’t look wet any more,’ said Nick, slowly.

‘No, it looks fine.’

‘Gosh, we’re drunk.’

‘Yes, we are.’

And they headed out of the park towards the hotel.