‘Don’t look now, but there is somebody very yummy staring at you
just
over there,’ whispered Candy Woodall, tipping back her Chardonnay spritzer.
‘Where?’ giggled Erin, trying to look around the wine bar without making it too obvious. Erin and Candy – Marcus Blackwell’s PA – had come out for a rare girls’ night out after work and the wine and gossiping had gone straight to Erin’s head.
‘
There
. The one who looks like Jude Law,’ said Candy a bit too loudly, pointing a discreet finger in the direction of the bar. Erin’s eyes scanned the bar. It was hard to see in the dim light; this bar was trying very hard to be French brasserie, with sea-green mosaic walls, a long walnut and bronze bar and too much candlelight. Her eyes followed Candy’s now frantic pointing and she finally saw him, sitting on a bar stool. He was very handsome, with nut-brown hair, green eyes and a smart white shirt.
‘Crikey,’ Erin gulped, ‘I think I know him.’
‘Well go over there and talk to him!’ said Candy, making ‘shoo-ing’ gestures with her hands. ‘He’s been looking over at you for the last five minutes.’
Erin felt herself blush. She wasn’t exactly on first-name terms with him; they had met for about three seconds earlier that week when he had come in to see Adam with some colleagues from Dennon Associates, a firm of architects. But she remembered him: the smile he’d given her when she’d handed him a coffee had kept her on a high all week.
Candy pushed a ten-pound note in her hand and gave Erin a gentle shove in the direction of the bar. ‘It’s my round, but you’re buying,’ she smiled. ‘I want another spritzer and you want his phone number.’
Still blushing furiously, Erin made her way to the bar, wishing she had taken more care dressing that morning. Rushing for the tube, she had resorted to cast-offs from her Cornwall days: a white shirt and a black cheesecloth skirt, saved from falling off her now-narrow hips by a wide leather belt. Taking a deep breath, she found a space at the bar next to him but pretended not to notice him, instead waving her tenner at the barmaid to get her attention.
‘I know you, don’t I?’ said a voice to her left. Turning, she saw the man from Dennon was smiling at her. His eyes were the clearest green she had ever seen.
‘I think you had a meeting at Midas this week, didn’t you?’ she said.
‘Yes, I’m Julian Sewell. You’re Adam Gold’s assistant, right?’
‘Um, yes, I am. I mean, that’s where you probably know me from and yes, I’m Adam’s assistant. Erin Devereux,’ she gabbled. It was so long since Erin had had any male attention, she had forgotten how to flirt. It wasn’t as if Chris took her seriously and, much to her daily disappointment, Adam didn’t even seem to notice she was female. Erin stood there awkwardly as the handsome stranger looked her up and down. Why wasn’t she wearing one of the sexy little numbers she’d spent a bloody fortune on over the last couple of months, she scolded herself.
‘Devereux. That’s an unusual name.’
‘I think some distant relatives were Huguenots,’ she smiled.
‘A sexy French name. I like it.’
Erin blushed furiously. ‘So. How did your meeting go?’
Julian laughed. It was a lopsided smile and, as the corners of his eyes crinkled, Erin’s heart did a somersault. ‘Don’t expect much will come of it. We’re only a boutique practice and the Midas Corp tend to use the starchitects.’
‘Starchitects? What are they?’
‘You know. The biggies. Architects as famous as their buildings. Richard Rogers, Norman Foster, Frank Gehry.’
‘As you can tell, I’ve not been in the business long,’ she said with an embarrassed smile. ‘I don’t know the lingo.’
‘Well, then,’ he said pulling up a bar stool for her. ‘I appear to have been stood up by my friend. How about I buy you a drink and you can tell me what you’ve been doing all your life.’
It was six o’clock and Molly was desperate to leave the office, go home and have a hot bath. She applied a second coat of Chanel’s Vamp polish to her nails and wondered how she could while away another forty-five minutes. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy having drinks at Claridges, it was just that she didn’t much enjoy having to do work at the same time. The meeting she had scheduled there was with some guy called Jasper Goodman, about the Midas Christmas Party. It would no doubt be deadly dull, but she supposed it had to be done. Adam had indicated he wanted it to be the biggest, the most extravagant festive corporate bash, but quotes from all the party planners that Molly had contacted were nothing short of extortionate. Not that Midas were strapped for cash, but Molly wanted to impress Adam, to prove herself an indispensable new asset to the company, so when Jasper Goodman, MD of a new company called HangDog Productions had called promising to do the job for no fee, she had agreed to meet him immediately.
Deciding her nails had had enough TLC, she went down to Claridge’s a little early; there was always a chance there might be some Euro prince hanging out there. She took a
seat in the bar, ordered a cocktail and had just begun flipping through American
Vogue
when an outrageously handsome man appeared at the door, smiling.
‘I bet you’re Molly Sinclair,’ he said. He was around thirty, tall, lean, in a slim-fitting navy suit, with dark blond hair and a curl to his lips that made it look as if he was thinking something filthy. Molly felt as if she was going to come just by looking at him.
‘You don’t mind if I have a beer, do you?’ he smiled as he squeezed in next to her and signalled to the barman. ‘I don’t usually drink when I’m presenting to clients, but I’ve have a day from hell and you look as if you wouldn’t say no.’
‘To what?’ flirted Molly, her eyes holding his.
‘To me having a beer,’ he grinned, his hand brushing hers as he pulled a ring-bound folder from out of his attaché case. ‘Now, shall we get started?’
Molly found it hard to say no to anything at the best of times, especially if it involved drink, drugs or men, and she had a feeling she was going to agree to whatever Jasper Goodman asked her.
When he took a sip of his beer, leaving a trace of froth on his mouth, Molly was desperate to kiss it off. For the next half an hour, Jasper took her through the costings for three options of Christmas party: a Bollywood banquet at Hampton Court Palace, an Alice-in-Wonderland themed bash at Shepperton Studios, and a recreation of Lapland in Battersea Park, complete with reindeers, real snow and Asprey baubles in the goody bags. The cost of suppliers seemed very reasonable compared to other quotes she had received and, as Jasper’s company would do it for no fee, it was definitely the most cost-effective pitch she had seen to date.
‘So, what do you think?’ he asked cautiously.
Molly paused, looking at Jasper’s worried expression and enjoying the power. ‘I won’t beat around the bush, Jasper, I’m impressed by the pitch but, as you’ll be aware, Midas are a huge, high-profile company, and everyone wants to be seen to be organizing our party.’
‘That’s why we’re doing it for no fee,’ said Jasper eagerly.
Molly nodded. ‘Well, I’m going to show my boss first thing in the morning and we will make a decision on who we are going to go with immediately after that. Good enough?’
‘Excellent. But how do you rate my chances: “good”, “poor” or “middling”,’ he asked, the flirtation thick in his voice. ‘I know I could definitely get my teeth into this one.’
‘At the current time, I’d say your chances were good,’ smiled Molly as she paid the drinks bill. And getting better all the time, she added to herself as she felt Jasper’s hand on the small of her back, gallantly steering her towards the exit.
‘I don’t suppose you have any literature on the company, do you?’ asked Jasper suddenly when they were out on the street. ‘I think I could tailor something even more tightly towards your boss if I knew a little more about the company.’
Molly smirked. ‘Well, when you think Midas Corporation, you just have to think very up-market, very luxurious, very sexy,’ she smouldered. ‘But I do have some brochures in the office. It’s just around the corner, if you’d like to …?’
They went up through the big granite lobby of the Midas Corporation and took the lift to Molly’s tiny office. The floor was quiet. Just a solitary cleaner sweeping a vacuum over the floor.
‘Nice offices,’ whispered Jasper respectfully.
‘Well, this is what we do. Chic offices, smart apartments.’
Molly handed a sheaf of brochures to Jasper and they walked back into the darkened corridor. The hum of the
Hoover had now gone, leaving just the crackle of sexual chemistry between them.
‘And what’s in here?’ asked Jasper, opening the door to one of the meeting rooms. The blinds were open, the room shadowy-black, with the cityscape sparkling below them.
‘You’re very forward, aren’t you?’ said Molly quietly, as Jasper shut the office door behind them.
‘Forward? You ain’t seen nothing yet, sweetheart,’ he murmured, coming up behind her so she could feel his soft breath on her neck. Molly knew that she often had a strong effect on men, projecting raw sex appeal in a way that could catch men off balance. It was rare for her to meet a man who had the same effect on her, but Jasper Goodman was one. Their mutual desire was palpable in the air as she relaxed into his body and felt his hands on her. Oh, how she wanted him; she felt dizzy with lust. She was sick of tired, balding, middle-aged men. She wanted someone young and hot and hungry, and Jasper was all those things.
She turned to face him and he immediately pushed her back onto the long walnut table.
‘I don’t usually do business like this,’ he mumbled, his firm hands riding up her thighs. ‘But I guess you could call this fringe benefits,’ he said as he spread her legs, peeled down her panties and gave her his very special service.
‘
Bonjour madam, c’est bien de vous voir
.’
Karin air-kissed yet another guest at the launch of her St Tropez store and silently congratulated herself on the evening’s success. She had decided against a big, extravagant party on the grounds of both cost and space, and instead had invited a small, carefully selected crowd for cocktails. So milling around the new Karenza outlet on the harbour were the wealthiest villa owners from the hills beyond St Tropez, visiting celebrities and high-rollers currently staying at the Byblos, and the fashion editors from
The Times, Elle, Le Figaro
and French
Vogue
. It was an eclectic mix, but everybody seemed to be having fun. As numbers were small, she had served the best vintage champagne and fine canapés prepared by the head chef of the Artemis.
Karin had never doubted her ability to throw a good party; what had surprised her was pulling off the Herculean task of opening her first international store in the space of two months. She was exhausted, but exhilarated. She had been working ninety-hour weeks to be in time for the start of the Riviera’s summer season, and it had been worth every minute. It was only a small boutique, 500
square feet, but its location was perfect and it had been fitted in cool pale oak floorboards, cream walls and lots of glass and mirrors to create a pared-down luxurious space. As a concession to the Riviera’s jet-set traditions she had framed blown-up black-and-white prints of Gianni Agnelli on his yacht and Bardot waving from Pampelonne Beach. The stock was presented like works of art on polished brass racks, which only served to make the swimsuits seem more exclusive. Karin had created a jewel of glamour right at the heart of Europe’s most glittering destination.
‘I can’t bloody believe you’ve pulled it off,’ said Diana, who had come over from London for the grand opening. Karin had insisted: Diana was constantly quarrelling with Martin and badly needed some glitz in her life.
‘It’s amazing,’ said Diana, wide-eyed. ‘You’ve had about two weeks to organize all this and look, everyone’s here.’
‘Everyone except Adam,’ said Karin tartly.
She had been furious when Adam had called her at the shop earlier that day to say that he couldn’t make it. He had apologized profusely, muttering about some urgent meeting with a contractor. After three months of dating, Karin was used to Adam cancelling their arrangements at the last minute, but this was one date she wanted him to be at. The fact that Christina had also bailed out of flying to the Côte d’Azur had definitely unsettled her, but Karin was trying to pass it off as coincidence. She had no real reason to suspect that her best friend was sleeping with her boyfriend, except that Karin saw signs of Adam’s infidelity everywhere. Every cancelled supper was a secret assignation with a model or society girl. Every urgent phone call to his mobile was a rival trying to steal her man. That Saturday night of the grand prix weekend, when he had turned up drunk in their cabin at 5 a.m., she hadn’t believed
him when he said he’d been at the casino all night. Karin was jumping at shadows, and she barely recognized herself. It wasn’t that she had never trusted a man before, but this was the first time she really cared.
‘Allow me to introduce myself,’ said a soft voice behind her. Karin turned to find a slight, olive-skinned man with dark slanted eyes looking at her.
‘Victor Chen,’ he said. ‘I think we might have business to discuss.’
The car that had been sent to collect her from the shop wound its way up into the hills behind St Tropez, around hairpin bends, until the port was just a shimmering crescent of blue water studded with yachts the size of white dots. Karin felt elated. It had been the first day of trading at the Karenza St Tropez outlet and it had been a fabulous start. The wife of a multimillionaire Russian restaurateur had bought one of each type of swimsuit in a size thirty-six. The fashion editor of
Le Figaro
had rung to say she was doing a major piece for their Saturday magazine, and there had been a flood of customers walking out with the crisp, white Karenza cardboard bag tied with a forest of green ribbon. Best of all, they had all been exactly the right sort of customer: slim, beautiful and rich.
It had been a good day, but Karin could not help feeling a little apprehensive about this evening’s meeting. Victor Chen was spoken about in hushed tones in the business community, a mysterious semi-recluse who had grown a large family inheritance into a huge global conglomerate that included department stores in the Far East, an American discount chain and an Asian cosmetics line. Karin had recently read that he was one of the Far East’s richest men and, rumour had it, was currently expanding into China where he was almost certain to become even richer. But
what did he want with Karin, and why had he come to the launch of a small boutique?
Finally their destination came into view. A magnificent whitewashed villa hanging on the side of a hillside, large, sprawling and impeccably kept. The car stopped in front of a large underlit fountain and a uniformed servant opened the door for Karin as she sucked in the jasmine-scented air.
‘This way Mrs Cavendish, if you please,’ said a tall elderly man in an impeccable butler’s uniform, leading the way into the villa.
Victor was from Hong Kong but owed his Western features to an English grandfather. Only his pale olive skin and narrow black eyes hinted at his Asian roots. His build was slight, almost effeminate, and he was wearing a black silk turtleneck and a pair of cream slacks. Karin thought he looked a little like a Bond villain.
‘I am so glad that you have decided to come,’ said Victor, his voice soft and precise. ‘I am sure it has been a very hectic day for you. I have had word that you have done very brisk business indeed; congratulations are in order.’
Victor led Karin into an enormous drawing room, which was even more impressive than anything in Christina and Ariel’s portfolio of homes. The walls were covered in the softest sand-coloured silk, high ceilings were painted with frescos, and a dramatic oil painting, which Karin recognized as a Caravaggio, hung over the medieval fireplace.
‘Would you like a drink and we can go out onto the terrace?’ asked Victor, gesturing to the open French windows. Karin took a seat at a round marble table at the end of the terrace, with a view of the dark sea and a clustered wooded hillside, and sipped her wine. A cool breeze cut through the balmy air and made the flares around the garden flicker. They made a little small talk, and Karin discovered that Victor was divorced with two children, a fourteen-year-old
boy at Eton and a sixteen year-old daughter at school in Switzerland. His age, however, was hard to decipher. She would guess that he was around fifty, but his supple, unlined skin suggested younger.
Two white-uniformed waiters came to serve supper, a plate of finely slicely buffalo mozzarella with asparagus and juicy plum tomatoes glistening with drizzled balsamic vinegar.
‘I hope you had a good time at the cocktail party last night,’ said Karin. ‘What did you think of the range?’
‘I was impressed,’ said Victor seriously. ‘Your swimwear is elegant, timeless; sexy, not trashy. Possibly not the perfect fit with St Tropez,’ he said with a smile. ‘But I expect you are wondering why you are here – while I am sure you will be a delightful dining companion this evening, I have a proposition for you.’
Karin stiffened and Victor caught the movement.
‘I am interested in your company, Mrs Cavendish.’
Karin took a deep breath, feeling slightly giddy. After only seven years in business, she did not imagine that it would be ripe for a takeover by one of the world’s biggest retail conglomerates. In bed at night she would do calculations about how much she considered her company to be worth should the day come when someone made an offer for it. Today had been a big day for Karenza swimwear, but it was shaping up to be momentous.
She inhaled sharply to regain her composure. She had learned to be a shrewd negotiator over the years, and to show emotion was to show weakness. ‘And why do you think I would be interested in your offer?’ she asked. ‘Indeed, in any deal which would involve me sacrificing my control?’
‘Because you are ambitious for your brand,’ said Victor. ‘And at the moment you are standing still.’
He held up his hand to stifle her protests. ‘You are a
creative woman, Mrs Cavendish, but your marketing is naïve. Yes, you have had some success, fashioning yourself into a brand ambassadress, going to parties in your pretty dresses to remind everyone of your sexy little swimwear brand, but it is little more than guerrilla marketing.’
She felt her skin prickle. The cheek of the man.
‘Mr Chen, in seven years I have built my business from fabric on a kitchen table to a multimillion-dollar business,’ she said, struggling to control her voice.
Victor laughed low and softly. ‘It is not a criticism, Mrs Cavendish. You are a talented entrepreneur but few entrepreneurs can grow their company beyond a fifty-million-dollar business without outside investment and help. Don’t be afraid of accepting help, or skills that complement your own.’ He paused to let this sink in.
‘You have a luxury product that can be commercialized on a much greater scale. How many women can afford to spend five hundred dollars on a swimsuit?’
Karin shrugged her shoulders. ‘I spent twelve months persuading the best factories in Italy to produce my swimwear. It is the best. That is why women are willing to pay five hundred dollars for a bikini.’
‘But how many super-rich women are there? Hundreds? Thousands? The swimwear market is set to explode in the Middle and Far East. You will have access to hundreds of millions of women.’
Karin’s eyes sparkled. The scale of the business Victor was proposing made her head swim. Victor continued in a low, even voice.
He swirled some champagne around the bottom of his glass and stayed silent so they could hear the crickets in the long grass in front of them. ‘I have had one of my analysts tracking your brand for some time and we feel that in partnership with the right group you can capitalize on that
demand and become the leading swimwear brand in the world. We could grow from East to West and finally roll out into America. I understand that you are launching a lingerie line next year, which also interests me. With my help, I think we can turn your brand into the next Victoria’s Secret.’ Victor looked at Karin in the flickering light. ‘It is a billion-dollar brand, Mrs Cavendish.’
A billion-dollar brand.
The very thought of it made her struggle to catch her breath. In a rush, she thought of the
Big Blue
and Christina’s Gulfstream and all that De Beers jewellery she had always promised herself. But what sort of compromises would that sort of expansion entail? Victor was certainly suggesting a move away from the luxury brand she had spent years cultivating. For a second she wished that Adam could have been by her side to debate it. But where was he when she needed him? Off on some ‘business conference’ with Claudia Falcon, or even Christina, no doubt.
‘Obviously it’s a conversation we can potentially take further after I have discussed it with my people,’ said Karin finally.
Victor nodded and watched silently as Karin finished her dessert: poached white peaches steeped in Calvados and honey that melted on her tongue. It was now dark and Victor got up and moved behind her chair to pull it out. His old-fashioned manners were quite endearing, but the stillness of the villa unnerved her.
‘That was a most pleasant dinner,’ he said. ‘How long are you staying in town? Perhaps we could go to dinner at La Cavassona tomorrow to discuss things further?’
‘I’m sorry, I am taking the first flight out of Marseilles tomorrow morning,’ replied Karin.
Again, Victor nodded silently. ‘I am scheduled to be in London a week today. Perhaps we could meet then. Do
think about it, Mrs Cavendish,’ he said. ‘Many of the top fashion brands have been a marriage between the very best creative and business talent. Partners in life as well as business,’ he added.
As he spoke, he moved closer, gliding forward like a cat. ‘Do you want my driver to take you home, or do you want to stay a little while?’ he asked smoothly. ‘I probably have the finest wine cellar in the Côte d’Azur.’
Victor brushed his hand against her cheek. She smarted inwardly, but let his finger slide down her neck and over her dress, until his soft fingertips rested momentarily on her nipple hidden under the flimsy fabric.
She pulled away with a small cold smile and Victor nodded respectfully. Karin Cavendish had always been the mistress of her own destiny, she had always prided herself on making the right choices. Now here was one standing right in front of her. A billion-dollar opportunity. And suddenly she knew what she wanted. She wanted Karenza to be the biggest, most luxurious swimwear brand in the world, and it would be soon.