Authors: Lulu Taylor
He looked shamefaced. ‘I didn’t think it through. I never thought you’d come in unexpectedly. You were mostly at the office. I just had an idea that if you ever said you were coming, I would make sure I was there.’
She half laughed, though she felt like crying. It was so like George not to think it through quite well enough. She caught herself.
I mean, Gideon
. Sadness rushed through her. ‘Did you honestly think that none of this could hurt me personally?’ she whispered.
‘Look, they told me you were a rich bitch, a spoiled, over-indulged It girl who deserved a dose of reality. They said it was just business. I didn’t expect all this to happen. I didn’t plan to fall in love with you. And I saw very quickly how much this all meant to you.’
‘But that didn’t stop you, did it?’ Poppy said quietly. ‘You went on, pumping me for information about our plans, and passing it on.’
‘I had to tell them something!’ he protested. ‘If I stopped, they would have suspected something and taken it all away: the flat, the money, my relationship with you.’
‘So it was the trappings you really wanted, was it? Was it fun playing the privileged rich boy?’
‘It wasn’t that!’ George said angrily. ‘But if I lost it all, I’d have had to explain myself to you and I wasn’t ready to do that.’ He looked at her pleadingly. ‘I told them only the bare minimum, I promise. I pretended that you didn’t like to talk about your work, that I had to persuade you to tell me anything. I even gave them some false leads – I just couldn’t go too far in case they suspected.’
‘When were you ever going to stop? Surely you knew that some day you’d have to tell me the truth.’
‘Yes. I just hoped that I’d be able to sort it out somehow before then. I was hoping that
Tea Rose
would still be launched and it would be a huge success and they would just lose interest. Then, somehow, I’d be able to make you fall in love with the real me. Not George Fellowes. Gideon Wright.’ He looked mortified. ‘I mean, Gideon
Marlow
. That’s my real name. I took on the Wright for my stage name.’
‘Yes. That did make you a little harder to trace, apparently. You’re a man of many identities.’ Poppy got up and began to walk about the room. Then she spoke quickly, as though needing to get her thoughts out before she lost track of them. ‘All right, Gideon – I suppose I should call you that now – here’s the deal. I don’t know what lies ahead for us. Probably nothing. But you’ve done a very bad thing and if you want me even to consider forgiving you, then you’ll have to make it up to me. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, of course. I’ll do anything. I want us to have another chance.’
‘I can’t promise that. If you do what I ask though, I can promise that I’ll try to
think
about a fresh start.’
Gideon looked apprehensive. ‘What is it you want me to do?’
‘I can’t pretend it’s easy. In fact, you probably won’t be able to do it. But I want something very important returned to me. Listen and I’ll explain.’
51
THE NEWS THAT
Neave had agreed to be the face of
Tea Rose
created a welcome moment of joy and celebration for everyone at Trevellyan. Donna danced round the office, whooping with delight. If she were honest, she had begun to doubt that they would ever see the results they wanted from the hard work and money they’d put into the relaunch. Without a face to generate attention and excite the press,
Tea Rose
would be a damp squib, no matter how much they tried to whip up enthusiasm. Sex was such a vital angle. A fragrance like
Tea Rose
didn’t have the inherent glamour of a scent by a house like Chanel or Gucci. It had no designer name to give it an identity. It needed a personality people could understand, an image of beauty, style and femininity they could aspire to, and Neave was that person. She was the sexiest, most womanly supermodel in years. She had enchanted the public like no other, and her appeal seemed universal.
The fact that she was going to be a Bond girl was
the
icing on the cake. With movie stardust sprinkled on her, Neave was all the more exciting and glamorous.
Jemima returned to London in high spirits, thrilled at the news that Neave was on board and keen to get on with the campaign. They were perilously near their deadlines. They had to have images ready for the print advertising, and prepare film for the cinema and television campaign. Poppy, Donna and Jemima would work together to style the adverts. They had hired the most expensive fashion photographer in town to take the pictures, a canny referral from Iris, their friend at
Vogue
. Poppy’s art school contacts had put her in touch with an up-and-coming young ad director who would shoot the twenty seconds of film for the television campaign Donna had hurriedly booked. Just having these people involved would be enough to get the media even more interested in the story of
Tea Rose
.
There was so much to be done, and they had to fit all of it into Neave’s incredibly hectic diary. She only had three windows when she could be available, before she went off to Mauritius on another shoot, and from there to Italy before heading off to the States.
Jemima had wanted to wait until Tara returned from New York before she told her sisters the terrible revelation about Jecca and their father but it was too much to deal with alone. On the evening before Tara was due to return, she and Poppy stayed late in the Trevellyan office, long after everyone else had left, and Jemima told her sister everything Alice had said.
Poppy looked as shaken and sickened as Jemima had. ‘It’s frightful,’ she whispered. ‘Horrendous.’
‘If it’s true, and Daddy did sleep with Jecca from the time she was twelve, that makes her a victim. It’s abuse, Poppy. Clear and simple. It means we have to completely rethink our position.’ Jemima sat perched on the desk, her arms crossed. She was trying to stay as calm and rational as she could but it was hard, given what they were discussing.
‘But …’ Poppy shook her head. ‘Could it be true? She’s lied about so much. Why not this as well?’
‘There’s no one to contradict her. Daddy’s not here to defend himself.’ Jemima paused and then said quietly, ‘Did you ever get the faintest hint that this was happening at the time? Did he ever … did you ever think that he might …’
‘Be interested in me like that?’ Poppy looked indignant and appalled at the same time. ‘
God, no
. No! Never! Did you?’
‘No.’
‘That’s what I can’t understand. If Daddy was in love with Jecca’s mother and, presumably before that, with our mother, well – his tastes were obviously for adult women, not girls. Not children.’
Jemima nodded. ‘But perhaps his passion for Jecca overcame that. She was very well-developed for her age – physically and emotionally. Perhaps as soon as she began to look like a woman, like her mother, he couldn’t stop himself.’
Poppy shuddered. ‘It’s too awful. I can’t believe it, I just can’t. And I wouldn’t put it past Jecca to lie,
either.
She’d stoop as low as she had to, to get what she wants.’ She buried her face in her hands.
‘She’s evil,’ Jemima agreed solemnly. ‘She’s always been the same.’
‘Yes. But you don’t know what she’s capable of. I didn’t want to tell you. It’s so humiliating, so awful …’ Poppy’s eyes instantly welled with tears.
‘What is it, sweetheart?’
The story came bursting out: how Jecca had hired an out-of-work actor to befriend Poppy, persuaded the downstairs neighbour to vacate her flat for a handsome fee, and put Gideon into it, posing as George Fellowes, pleasant, floppy-haired bookseller, as far removed from the world of perfume as he could get. While Jecca may not have been able to force a love affair between the two of them, she obviously hoped that some kind of closeness would result, something that she could capitalise on.
‘It was Neave who found out,’ Poppy finished, her hands clasped tightly together with the strain of telling her story. ‘She thought something wasn’t right. She has to deal with weirdos all the time, she says, and she’s learned to notice the signs.’
Jemima was furious. She strode about the office, looking for things to slam and cushions to punch. ‘God, the things I could do to her! That utter, utter … I can’t think of a word bad enough. The lowest, shittiest, vilest behaviour – it’s unbelievable. This is personal, Poppy, it’s so personal. She’ll stop at nothing.’ Jemima came to a sudden halt on another circuit of the office. ‘We have to tell Tara. We have to
tell
her all of it as soon as we can. She has to know, so she can be on her guard.’
‘We can probably reach her now. It’s morning in New York,’ Poppy said.
‘Does she know about Neave?’
‘We emailed her first thing.’
‘Good. At least there’s something to brighten her day. Shame we have to spoil it with this.’
‘Yes.’ Poppy wondered whether to tell Jemima about her own, private scheme and then decided not to. If it didn’t come off, it would be just another disappointment that they didn’t need.
Tara was glad to escape the midday heat for the air-conditioned cool of the FFB offices, but it didn’t raise her mood.
Just hours ago she had been perfectly happy. One of the meetings the previous day had shown promise. She’d had fun catching up with her girlfriends last night. Then the wonderful news about Neave had come through and she’d danced about her hotel room with joy. After that, she had spent a blissful morning browsing through the gorgeous shops and boutiques on Fifth Avenue, looking for presents for the children and some little pieces to take home for herself and Jemima and Poppy. She had also been looking forward to lunch with Ferrera. To her surprise, she had enjoyed their dinner together immensely. He had been so easy to talk to, full of charm and dry wit, and there was no denying he was very attractive. He had almost made her forget that he was linked to her adopted sister.
She
resolved to stay on her guard for their lunch, and do her best to find out what she could.
Then the call from England had changed all that. Now she had been cast into depression. Instead of feeling light and happy, as she had earlier, she felt weighted down with sorrow. Everything had become black and miserable.
She was shown into Ferrera’s office, a huge room with walls of glass, each one displaying an incredible vista of Manhattan with a view that stretched north towards Harlem and south to Wall Street and the Village, with Central Park far below, a rich oasis of greenery among the hot streets and high-rises of the city.
Richard Ferrera got up from behind his desk and came over to meet her. He smiled openly, holding out his hand in greeting. She took it but returned only a faint smile. His face darkened as he realised that their previous accord was gone.
‘Tara, is there a problem?’
‘Yes, yes there is.’ She faced him square on, her shoulders tense. ‘We can’t have lunch together. I’m sorry, but I don’t think we have anything to say to each other.’
He looked puzzled and surprised. ‘Why on earth not? What’s changed? I thought we had plenty to say the other night, and we didn’t even begin to discuss our mutual business interests.’
‘I’m sure you were looking forward to getting on to that. God knows what you had in mind. Whatever it was, I’m sure it wasn’t nice. Probably unethical. Maybe even illegal.’
Ferrera pulled back, his face grave. ‘That’s a very serious thing to suggest.’
‘It’s a serious thing to do,’ retorted Tara.
‘Where has all this come from?’
Tara stared at him, her eyes glittering with fury. Then she said quietly, ‘Sometimes you have to judge a man from the company he keeps.’
‘Oh.’ Ferrera nodded slowly. ‘I see. You’re talking about Jecca.’
‘Yes, I’m talking about bloody Jecca!’ Tara threw down her handbag and put her hands on her hips. She was angry and here was someone she could direct all that anger towards. ‘You were very clever at dinner – you almost made me forget that you’re in cahoots with her. But I’ve just had a very, very rude reminder of what she’s capable of, and if she is, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t be too. You’re in a relationship with her, for Christ’s sake! I’m a fool if I forget that even for a second.’
‘Actually, Jecca was part of what I was wanting to talk to you about today. It seems that we’ll have to deal with that a little sooner than I was expecting. Please, will you stay and let me explain? We don’t have to go out for lunch if you’d rather not.’
‘You can’t charm me again,’ Tara said rebelliously.
‘That’s not my intention. But I can see that you’ve got the wrong idea about Jecca and me. You think we’re a team and that we’re up to our necks in some joint scheme to cheat you out of your inheritance. You’re wrong about that.’
She stared at him. That was exactly what she thought.
How
could she be wrong? Everything pointed to that conclusion.
Ferrera pressed on. ‘Please. What harm can it do to listen to what I’ve got to say?’
She thought for a moment. She wanted to turn on her heel and march right out. Just being near someone who was involved with Jecca made her feel sick. And yet … could she be wrong? ‘All right,’ she said at last. ‘I’ll hear you out. I’ll give you twenty minutes. Then I’m leaving.’ She sat down on the chair opposite his desk.
‘My relationship with Jecca is a strange one. It may not be quite what you think –’ Ferrera began.
‘You’re sleeping together, aren’t you?’ Tara snapped.
He held up his hand. ‘Please. Just let me say what I’ve got to say. Yes, it’s true that our relationship has been sexual on occasion. But we’re not partners. We aren’t together.’
‘She said you were.’
‘Jecca says a lot of things that aren’t strictly true. And people see what they want to see. They jump to conclusions. Jecca came into my life a few years ago. She targeted me very carefully and bided her time before she made her move. By then, I have to admit, I was fascinated by her. She crossed my path in all sorts of ways, each occasion taking care to spark my interest but not to fulfil it. Eventually, she came up to me at a very exclusive event at the Met, the kind where everyone is influential. She explained to me that she was one of the Trevellyan sisters, that she had broken away from the family firm and wanted to make herself
successful
in her own right and perhaps take control of the family business, revitalise it. She had big plans, she said, but she needed a mentor and partner. She wanted me to be that person.’ Ferrera straightened his cuffs and coughed. ‘I can’t pretend I wasn’t flattered on several levels. I also knew of Trevellyan and was well aware of its potential. It was on my own private list of targets ripe for taking over. And I had no reason to doubt her story – she had the identification, the cut-glass accent, an answer for every question I had. I saw a good opportunity and took it.’