Prima Donna (34 page)

‘No, I want it cut down to here,’ Pia said to the seamstress, who, even if her mouth hadn’t been full of pins, still couldn’t have replied. Pia had
demanded changes to every single one of her nine costumes and the wardrobe department were going to have to work through the next three nights to get the changes made in time.

Pia admired her reflection in the mirror. She looked good. The canary-yellow stiffened tutu – which would make anyone else look sallow – made her skin glow, and the extra starch
she’d demanded on the tulle had lifted the skirt even higher, so that her butt would be perfectly on show at all times. It was certainly on show at the moment without the tights on. She put
her hands on her hips and looked critically at the seed pearl embroidery on the bodice. ‘And these aren’t strong enough. They’ll be lost under the lights,’ she said.
‘Replace them with rubies.’

‘R-r-real rubies?’ the seamstress stammered. You never could be sure with Pia Soto.

‘Of course not. Paste,’ Pia muttered. Who did the silly woman think she was? Elizabeth Taylor? ‘Now, my tiara,’ she said, moving on to the next set of problems.

There was the sound of boots stomping heavily up the steps and the door was suddenly flung open.

‘Oh!
You’re
in here,’ Tanner said disapprovingly, his eyes flicking up and down the trailer. He was wearing chaps over his jeans and a brown T-shirt; bits of straw
were poking out of his hair.

Pia rolled her eyes. The man was a pig. She was still mad about his comments to her in his kitchen. ‘Why shouldn’t I be in here?’ she retorted. ‘It is my dressing
room.’

Tanner looked at her. She had her full make-up and costume on and looked extraordinarily exotic. Again, he couldn’t help but think how many millions of miles away she was from being the
limp, grey girl he’d dragged from the water. ‘I was looking for Silk. They told me I’d find him in here. It’s like a bloody circus out there,’ he muttered. ‘This
is his final invoice.’ He waved an envelope at her.

‘I’ll take it,’ Pia replied, chucking it insolently on the sofa. She turned around, placing her back to him. ‘You can go.’

Tanner felt his anger rise. He’d had enough of her arrogance. His eyes travelled down her back to the juicy bottom that was peeking out from beneath the tulle, and, instinctively, he
lightly flicked his whip over it.

Pia screamed and whirled round furiously to face him. Tanner had to suppress the urge to laugh.

‘I’ve warned you before about your manners,’ he said, his eyes glittering, before turning on his heel and stomping back down the steps. ‘Be sure the account’s
settled in full before he leaves next week or the next visit will be from the bailiffs.’

Pia gawped after him in disbelief, and was only roused from her indignation by the seamstress, who was chuckling with a mouth full of pins.

‘Anyone seen Pia?’ Will asked loudly as he strode past the newly erected stage.

Everyone shook their head, baffled. It was obvious when she was about. It was like another sun had risen in the sky.

He strode up onto the terrace, and looked back down at the industry below, pleased by what he saw. They were into the final phase now, with three days to go till the gala, and there must have
been two hundred people milling about his lawns: stage crew, dancers, groundsmen, lighting and sound men, caterers and wardrobe mistresses. And that was just for starters. The event planners,
publicity people and security were all due in the next two days as well.

Emma, his assistant, came running over, wielding armfuls of paperwork. Her breasts strained beneath her tightly structured suit and she was out of breath when she got to him. Will listened to
the sound of her panting. It had been a while since he’d heard it. He’d recently spent so much time down here and away from the office.

‘Highgrove needs your signature for this. It’s for the princes’ security detail on Saturday,’ she said.

Will scanned it briefly and signed it. ‘You haven’t seen Pia, have you?’

‘I think she’s in the dressing rooms with wardrobe. One mistress has resigned already,’ she sighed.

‘Well, just as long as you don’t,’ he said in a low voice, winking at her. Handing back the paperwork, he headed for the trailers, which had been set up behind the stage.

Pia had changed out of her costumes and was on her way down to the studio for a rehearsal of the
grand pas
sequence with Robert Washington, one of the male soloists. Her partner on the
night, Rudie, would not be arriving until Saturday and they would have only a couple of hours in which to rehearse together, but Evie had been adamant that Pia needed to get her confidence back
with the lifts. For the past few weeks Pia’s energies had been so focused on working up her physical strength and fitness that she suddenly felt besieged by doubt and fear now that the K
wires were out and she had been given the all-clear to dance fully again. The doctors had told Pia her body was ready, but the question now was: was her head?

Evie had been able to do only so much – she’d played the male role in their rehearsals so that Pia knew how Rudie’s steps correlated to her own – but Pia needed to get
back into being thrown and caught in the air again.
The Songbird
featured several tricky, virtuoso lifts that would have the crowd on their feet, but the accident had taken away her nerve
as well as her mobility, and she needed to re-establish trust.

Will watched them as Robert said something that made Pia laugh out loud and she put a friendly hand on his arm. It was clear she was relishing the company of dancers again, of being part of a
production, part of a team. She was wearing a floaty baby-blue chiffon skirt over a plum-coloured cat suit and he saw that she was back in her
pointe
shoes. The K wires had been out for
eleven days now and she was walking without a limp. Will gave a satisfied smile. She was bang on schedule. Everything was going according to plan.

Pia looked up and saw him watching her. She hesitated, then smiled and waved him over.

‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Who’s this?’

‘Someone who wanted to meet you.’

Pia looked at him curiously as the Labrador pulled her lead out of his grasp and excitedly torpedoed up to her feet. Pia bent down to pat her.

‘Oh, she’s gorgeous,’ Pia beamed, as the dog fell into submissive mode and rolled onto her back. Pia rubbed her tummy. ‘When did you get her?’

‘Today. I picked her up from the kennels this morning. She’s off heat now.’

Pia looked up at him, sharply. ‘You mean – you mean this is the dog you had with you when you pulled me out of the water?’

‘The very same. I think she remembers you, don’t you?’ Pia looked down at the daft dog that was lying across her feet.

‘
This
is Custard?’ she asked.

‘Yep. What’s wrong with that?’

Pia stood up, bemused. ‘Well, nothing, I guess’. She cocked her head to the side. ‘Except for the fact that she’s black.’

Tanner had caught the first train up to London with a sigh of relief. It felt so good to get away. Violet had hit the barn roof when he’d said he was shooting off to
London on the day of the party. He didn’t know why she was so stressed about it. Jonty and Lulie had booked party planners to deal with everything – from cleaning and decorating the
house to sending out the invitations and blowing up balloons. All she had to do was buy a new dress.

He’d not given her any explanation of why he was going up, or why it couldn’t be rearranged. She didn’t need to know Velasquez was only in town for one night before moving on
to Paris. She didn’t need to know anything. She could keep her scepticism to herself. The business was his, after all.

He jumped out of the cab at Claridge’s and handed the driver a twenty. As he waited for his change he fixed the cufflinks on his blue shirt and looked up at the familiar grand red-brick
hotel that stretched along Brook Street. It had been a long time since he’d been here. The memories of his last visit had stayed with him for a long time, too long, interrupting his life.

He’d had to bury them, for sanity’s sake, but he let his last glimpse of Veronica surface now. He could see her sitting up in the bed dressed in a scrap of champagne lace, the
pillows scented with her Annick Goutal scent – even now, he could detect that perfume in a roomful of thousands – her eyes pleading with him to change his mind.

His eyes hardened with the memories. He hadn’t been the one who’d needed persuading. She had been the one getting married.
She
was leaving him. She had made her decision,
chosen the guy with the money.

He wondered whether they were still married, whether it had lasted. He’d met Violet soon afterwards and tried to lose himself in her, but Veronica had cast a long shadow over the
relationship. She was the one who’d got away.

A courier sped past on his bike, motioning angrily for Tanner to get out of the road, and he stepped onto the pavement, trying to focus. He needed to get his mind on business, not bed. This was
no time for sentimentality. The future of the business was on the line. Landing Velasquez as a client would mean a far bigger account than Silk’s and would wipe out all his financial problems
at once. But if he didn’t pull this off he’d have more to worry about than the irritation of Violet saying, ‘I told you so’.

Squaring his shoulders and straightening his tie, he walked briskly through the revolving doors. It was like a second home to him, though a lot of the staff had changed and it had had that big
revamp back in the noughties. His father had spent much of his twenties living here, and after his wife – the boys’ mother – had died, he had brought Tanner and Jonty up here
every Christmas as none of them knew how to cook a turkey.

With relaxed familiarity, Tanner walked straight through to the bar and ordered a whisky sour. The place was packed with shoppers and tourists. Tanner saw Vittorio Velasquez was already seated
in the Snuggery at the back. It was reservation-only for twenty or so people. Clearly, he wanted the meeting to remain private. Tanner took his drink and walked over.

‘Senhor Velasquez,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘It’s a pleasure to see you again.’

The man rose from his chair. He was Tanner’s physical opposite in every way: short, stocky and darkly tanned. ‘Thank you for making the effort to come here to see me, Tanner. I
appreciate it.’

‘No problem,’ Tanner said lightly, putting his drink on the table. ‘How are you?’

Velasquez nodded. ‘Very well, my friend. Please, sit.’

They settled down in the red leather chairs and Velasquez reached into his crocodile-skin brief case. He pulled out a leather folder and placed it on the table between them, pushing it towards
Tanner.

‘Have a look at this. It’s my portfolio for the grass season.’

Tanner picked up the folder and flicked through it quickly. Thirty-six ponies, eighteen of which were high-goal; three stallions and four foals – and this was only half his stable. The
other half was in Florida for four months for the American season. Tanner raised his eyebrows appreciatively. It was a plum pick.

He studied the photographs. ‘What are they? Argentine polos?’ he asked, squinting at them all.

‘Yes. We find them to be faster. They are athletic and bold, and they turn on a sixpence.’

Tanner nodded, determined not to betray his excitement. The ponies looked like winners, every last one of them, with deep girths, short backs, long necks, and good strong chests and rumps.

‘What’s the drop of the withers for these ones?’ he asked, scanning the page.

Velasquez leant forward and pointed to a table at the bottom.

‘Between sixty-one and sixty-two inches.’

Tanner nodded.

‘Well, for our part, we’ve got what you need in terms of facilities, location and expertise,’ he said slowly. ‘We spent most of last year upgrading our stabling to
American barns; we’ve got three polo pitches, a stick-and-ball field, two horse walkers, a schooling arena and a quarter-mile all-weather canter track. The grooms, physio and vet live on site
and are on call twenty-four seven,’ he said mildly, flicking through the rest of the pages. ‘Who’s your high-goaler?’

‘My son, Paolo.’

Tanner kept his surprise to himself. Paolo, as the indulged son of the patron, was well known on the circuit for reasons other than his stick-and-ball skills; but although he was a good enough
player, he wasn’t the obvious choice to lead the team on the field.

‘I’ve never met him but I watched him closely in Florida last summer,’ Tanner said, keeping his eyes down. ‘He’s a great player.’

Velasquez watched Tanner’s impassive face. He was impossible to read. ‘I heard you’ve evicted the Black Harbour stable.’

Tanner’s eyebrow lifted fractionally. ‘Evicted?’ He shrugged lightly. ‘No. The contract was up. It was time for a change – for both parties.’

Velasquez pursed his lips, unconvinced. ‘A brave move. William Silk’s got a fine record: winners of the Gold Cup three years running, runners-up at Guards; and he’d probably
have won at St Moritz this winter if he hadn’t pulled out to rescue that ballerina.’ He frowned. ‘What was her name?’

Tanner lifted his drink and took a sip. ‘Pia Soto,’ he mumbled.

‘Ah yes, Pia Soto.’ Velasquez pressed his hands together and raised his fingers to his lips. ‘How could I forget? She’s a national icon back in Brazil.’

‘Is she?’ he muttered. She was a monumental pain in the arse over here.

‘Mmm. Very sexy girl. I’d be after her myself, but I’m realistic enough to know that if it’s a question of my millions, or Silk’s, she’ll choose the man
thirty years younger.’ Velasquez chuckled.

Tanner tried to smile.

‘You must know her, of course, if she’s living with Silk. You’re neighbours, I understand.’

‘That’s right.’

The older man raised an eyebrow conspiratorially.

‘Tell me – is she as luscious in the flesh as she was in the Pirelli calendar?’

The image of her toned buttocks yielding to his whip flashed past Tanner’s eyes and he took a deep breath. ‘She’s too thin for my liking,’ he said dismissively.
‘And a spoilt brat.’