Authors: Lulu Taylor
‘And now you’ve got quite a lot of the good things,’ rejoined Jemima. ‘It’s very admirable. I’m impressed.’ She couldn’t help but feel the contrast with her own background. ‘You obviously worked hard and made a success of yourself.’
‘Yes, I did. I admit it, I’m very rich and very successful. But I’m not finished yet, not by a long way.’ He stared at her intently.
Jemima looked up from under her lashes.
He’s flirting with me, I can feel it. Well, he’s very attractive …
Emma glided up. ‘Are you two having fun? Jemima is one of our most dazzling society figures, Richard. She’s in huge demand so we’re terribly lucky to have her here. Don’t you agree that she’s absolutely delightful?’ She smiled that saccharine smile that Jemima mistrusted so much.
Richard bowed slightly in her direction. ‘Charming. A very lovely lady.’
‘You’re so kind.’ Jemima smiled at him.
Emma gave Jemima her drink. ‘Here you are, darling. I’m so glad you two are getting on. I’ve put you next to each other at dinner. I’m sure you’ve got tons to talk about.’
When they were all seated, she noticed that Emma had put her sister Letty on the other side of Harry, so that he was locked in by blondes.
She saw Letty lean in confidentially towards her husband, revealing a great deal of cleavage and the tops of her breasts as she did so, and heard her say breathily, ‘Oh, Harry, I used to
love
hacking home from the pony club on a Thursday afternoon, with Mummy driving behind ever so slowly to make sure I didn’t get into trouble.’
She rolled her eyes.
Christ, what’s she up to? Don’t tell me that ridiculous little thing is making up to Harry. Well, she’s on a hiding to nothing with that one
. She was quite sure that Harry was not the type to be unfaithful, although she didn’t know why – they had never talked about it. It was quite possible, she supposed, that he was finding some comfort elsewhere, since he had
found
out about her own indiscretion, but she found it hard to imagine. He was old-fashioned, so proper. But still – she regarded the young thing shamelessly flirting with her husband, and watched her toss her mane of golden hair, pout her pretty lips and lean towards him, and felt a stab of something unpleasant in the pit of her stomach.
‘That’s your husband, isn’t it?’ A soft voice sounded in her ear. It was Ferrera leaning in close to her. She smelt a warm gust of his cologne. It was a fresh, clean scent but with a masculine undertone, a spicy blend of citrus and sandalwood.
‘Yes. That’s Harry.’
‘Is it a British custom to treat married couples as if they’d rather be at opposite ends of the room?’
She laughed. ‘We don’t put married couples next to each other. They are expected to sing for their supper by amusing other people for once.’
‘By the look of things, it’s that little girl who is doing her best to amuse him.’
‘Oh,’ said Jemima lightly. ‘We don’t mind about that kind of thing either. It rather spices things up. There’s nothing so boring as a hopelessly devoted married couple.’
‘Really?’ Ferrera turned his dark eyes towards Harry and Letty. ‘Where I come from, such blatant flirting might be considered a little impolite.’
‘Hmm.’ Jemima turned towards him. ‘Let’s talk about something else.’ The staff began to move quietly around the table, putting down the hors d’oeuvre. ‘Tell me more about your business.’
‘All right. Have you heard of FFB?’
‘No. Should I have?’
‘Not necessarily. Let’s try another. Have you heard of LVMH?’ Jemima shook her head.
‘OK. But you’ve heard of Möet champagne, haven’t you?’
‘Of course.’
‘And Veuve Clicquot and Krug. And Louis Vuitton and Givenchy and Marc Jacobs. And Guerlain perfumes, Dior perfumes … I could go on.’
‘Of course I’ve heard of them all. They’re very famous.’
Ferrera nodded. ‘Right. And they are all owned by LVMH, a French company that owns over fifty famous names and luxury brands. Richemont is another similar company – they own Cartier, Chloé, Montblanc and Dunhill, among many others. It’s owned by a South African family, the Ruperts. The other major player is PPR, another French company. Those French love their luxury, that’s for sure. They own Gucci, which in turn owns a host of famous names, mostly designers such as Yves Saint Laurent.’
Jemima frowned. ‘I had no idea. How strange that one company can own so many different things. I suppose I’ve never thought about the business side of shopping all that much – how it all works behind the scenes.’ She picked up her lemon half in its little muslin bag and squeezed it over the pink Scottish smoked salmon on her plate.
Ferrera speared a piece of fish on the end of his
fork
as he continued. ‘No – but a lot of us do. Most of these companies operate by allowing their subsidiaries to work independently, using their talents and going in the direction they see fit. There is an incredible amount of money involved in it – the owners of those companies are billionaires. One of the wonderful things about quality is that people are prepared to pay great sums for it, not just because of the inherent worth of the thing itself, but because it’s a source of prestige. Throughout history, humans have tried to impress one another, to give the impression that they have that touch of something special, something that puts them above the rest of the crowd. A man drives, let’s say, a Porsche. It says many things about him, not least that he can afford a Porsche, which we all know is very expensive. It also expresses his style, his taste, his class. It is the choice he’s made. It tells you almost everything you need to know about him.’
‘Almost?’
Ferrera gave a dark, half-smile. ‘You would also need to look at his shirts, his shoes and his suits – and perhaps his pen.’
‘What if he doesn’t have a pen?’
‘That in itself says something that chills the blood.’ Jemima laughed, amused. ‘And what make is your pen? You obviously set a lot of store by it!’
‘I’m lucky enough to have one custom-made for me by Cartier.’
‘And do you drive a Porsche?’
‘No, I don’t. I usually drive a Ferrari.’
‘So what does that say about you?’ she asked teasingly.
‘I guess it means that I prefer Italian cars to German ones.’ Ferrera smiled. ‘The thing is, you will make your own judgements but you will not underestimate the power of the brand.’
‘So what is that first company you mentioned?’ she prodded.
‘FFB is my own company. Ferrera Fine Brands.’
‘Goodness, how impressive! Who do you own? From the sounds of it, there isn’t a great deal left.’
‘Oh.’ He shrugged and she was struck again by how at ease he was in his own body. ‘There’s plenty left, believe me. There are classic brands to be acquired, ones that will stand the test of time and always endure. And there are the more up-and-coming names, to be spotted, pounced on and brought into the fold. Consumer taste is always changing and it’s important to identify new trends.’
‘So, tell me … who do you own?’ Jemima delicately sliced a piece of smoked salmon on her plate and lifted it to her mouth.
‘I own some big American names,’ he replied. ‘Have you heard of Montrose Home and Garden?’ Jemima shook her head.
‘It’s a very big quality mail order brand in the States. We own that. Also Greave’s.’
‘I’ve heard of them,’ Jemima said, pleased. ‘They make the most fabulous shoes, so comfortable! I’ve got a pair in my car for driving. In fact, I must have several pairs. And I bought one of their gorgeous bags recently too.’
Ferrera smiled. ‘I take that as a huge compliment, Lady Calthorpe. I’m delighted you like them.’
‘Of course I do. Everyone does. And please, call me Jemima.’
‘You see, Jemima, I always wanted a fine leather brand, and now I’ve got one. Greave’s are expanding all over the world, and I’m hoping to move into many new areas with them. The workmanship is superb and I believe they can challenge Louis Vuitton in the luxury luggage market. In a few years, they will, I’m sure. I take a personal interest in Greave’s. Our other lines are very American – New York-based designers and so on.’ He reeled off a list of names, some Jemima had heard of and some she hadn’t. ‘I’m keen to move into European brands at this point. There are some wonderful old French names I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on.’
‘Such as?’
‘Such as Hermès. Now that would be a coup.’ He made a face. ‘But it’s impossible. They are one of the last privately owned companies and they don’t intend to sell. Still, I won’t give up hope. Things may change. Chanel would be another – the Holy Grail, really. But again, the Wertheimer family don’t really have any plans to sell that particular goose and all its golden eggs. There are others I have my eye on though.’
‘Then why aren’t you in Paris?’
‘I often am. But as it happens, I don’t speak French and I don’t particularly want to live there. I can get there very easily from here whenever I need to. Besides,
I’ve
also got some ideas for expansion into the British market.’
‘Really? How fascinating. Do tell me what they are.’
‘I hope you understand that I really can’t do that, Jemima.’ He looked her straight in the eye. ‘You’re being very sweet and innocent with me, but I ought to tell you that I know exactly who you are.’
‘Do you?’
‘Yes. You’re part of the Trevellyan family. That’s a famous luxury brand. I know that your mother recently died – please accept my condolences. It must be a very sad time for you.’
Jemima looked down at her plate, pushing her food around with her fork. ‘Thank you, yes, it hasn’t been … easy.’
‘If you don’t mind my saying, the word is that you and your sisters have inherited the company. Is that right?’
Jemima was surprised. She put down her fork. ‘Yes. Yes, it is. But how on earth did you hear about it?’
He shrugged. ‘I have my sources. So, do you and your sisters intend to continue running it?’
‘What else would we do with it?’
‘Well, you could consider selling it, I suppose.’
She turned to stare at him. ‘Sell it? To someone like you?’
Ferrera gave his sexy little half-smile again. ‘Perhaps. But it’s vulgar to talk business at the dinner table, isn’t it? I’m sure we’ll get the opportunity to talk about it some time soon.’
‘What if we’re not for sale, like Chanel?’
‘Talking can’t do any harm, can it? And it might benefit both of us. This smoked salmon is excellent, isn’t it?’
‘Yes … yes, I suppose it is.’
‘Now tell me, are there any good shows on in London at the moment? I’m going down there in a fortnight for a while. I’d love to hear your opinions.’
She realised that the subject was well and truly changed.
Jemima sat on the bed, fuming. The evening had started so well, and then turned into a disaster. Ferrera had been a charming dinner companion, and they’d talked about all the things he should see in London; the hottest exhibitions, the best plays and shows. Business had not been mentioned again.
She had begun to realise that Richard Ferrera was a seriously sexy man. She loved the smooth American accent and the ease with which he spoke. His beautifully turned-out style and well-groomed body was in no way soft or off-putting – he was resolutely masculine. She had felt herself become seductive around him, lowering her voice and widening her eyes, putting herself in appealing attitudes.
But immediately dinner was over, Emma had pounced.
‘Richard, come and meet Sukie Forbes, she’s a sweetheart and lives so close to you; you’re virtually neighbours. You don’t mind, do you, Jemima? Only we don’t know when we’ll be able to tempt Richard back …’
Ferrera had shot her an apologetic look but had gone off politely with his hostess to meet her other guests. That left her able to observe Harry at the other end of the table and the outrageous flirting that was going on down there. Despite the large meal, he was still very drunk. At home he drank, but rarely to excess, and it was strange to see him so obviously inebriated, talking too loudly and laughing manically at whatever nonsense that stupid girl was coming out with. Letty also appeared to be thoroughly inebriated but Jemima suspected that some of that was an act. Jemima watched, appalled, as the two of them tottered off as soon as Emma led the way back to the drawing room. When she arrived there with the other guests, she saw them at once, cosied up on a window seat together, chattering away like two giggly teenagers keen for their first French kiss. At one point, Harry even pulled the heavy curtains round them so that all that was visible was their feet – one pair of polished black evening shoes and two slender feet in strappy sandals – but they were too drunk to keep them closed for long.
Jemima made small talk with a more sedate crowd at the other end of the room, distracted by her husband’s behaviour and feeling angrier and angrier.
Harry hauled himself to his feet and said loudly, ‘C’mon, Letty … let’s go for a walk.’
‘Oh, yeah!’ screeched Letty. ‘Fabulous idea, Harry!’
And they stumbled out of the room together. A few minutes later, Letty’s laugh could be heard echoing up from the lawn below the house. ‘It’s bloody cold!’ she squealed.
‘I’ll warm you up!’ roared Harry and from the sound of it, he started chasing her around.
The other guests were shooting sympathetic looks at Jemima.
‘Just high spirits, I expect,’ said one, trying to be diplomatic.
‘Spirits certainly have something to do with it,’ snapped Jemima. As soon as was polite, she’d excused herself and come up to bed seething with rage and embarrassment. For two hours there was no sign of Harry.
Now she heard him veering around in the hallway, bumping into walls. The handle of the door twisted as he struggled to open it, then finally he managed to stumble inside.
‘Oh, ’lo,’ he said, registering that she was there. ‘Thought you’d be asleep.’
‘Well, I’m not. I’ve been waiting for you,’ she answered icily.
‘I’ve been exploring,’ he mumbled. ‘Got a bit messy.’ He looked down at his black trousers which were now streaked with mud and grass. ‘Think these’ll have to go to the cleaners …’
‘What the fuck were you playing at?’ she hissed, her anger bursting out. ‘You were all over that little bitch! You made a total spectacle of yourself, everybody was watching.’