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

‘Come on, Sin, you are beautiful, talented, funny,’ said Cate, pulling her along.

‘Every man in the world would give his right arm to be at that party and find you single,’ added Venetia. ‘You’re fabulous.’

A weak smile pulled at Serena’s lips. ‘It’s true, isn’t it?’

Camilla smiled to herself. Such confidence in a crisis.

‘And that’s assuming you’ll even be single in a fortnight,’ she added, joining in the family motivation session. ‘Are you sure this isn’t just a tiff? What makes you think the relationship’s actually finished?’

Serena sighed dramatically. ‘The only way he could make this more final is if he hands me a bloody P45. He said he wants to take some “time out”, and he hasn’t even had the decency to call me.’

‘So why don’t you call him?’ asked Cate. ‘By the sound of it, you’ve hardly talked this through.’

‘No. Why should I be the one to ring him?’ Serena said tartly. ‘He was the one that behaved like a disgusting hooligan and then has the cheek to say we should take a break, as if I was the one in the wrong. He can keep that stupid fat country tart and see where that gets him.’

‘But if you don’t give him a ring, it’s going to be stalemate,’ said Cate pragmatically.

They had now reached the edge of the water. Serena looked out over the gleaming lake and began biting one tiny manicured fingernail. She looked sideways at Cate in a way that made Cate instantly on guard. She had a sixth sense when she was about to be manipulated by Serena.

‘You could always call him …’ Serena said slowly. ‘You two always got on. He’ll speak to you.’

Cate smiled and shook her head. ‘Oh no you don’t. Don’t try this one.’

‘Oh, please. I’ll do anything if you just do me this one favour.’

Venetia and Camilla exchanged smirks while Cate kept shaking her head.

‘Please, Catey. You never do anything for me,’ replied Serena sulkily, but seeing Cate’s face, she softened and changed tack. ‘Please. You can have that white Chanel couture coat I know you love. It probably won’t fit you, but you can have it anyway.’

Knowing it was futile to resist, Cate gave Serena a hug. ‘I’ll see what I can do, but I’m not making any promises.’

The moment was broken by a shrill ringing. ‘My phone,’ squealed Serena, pulling it out of her pocket. ‘You answer it,’ she said, thrusting it at Venetia. ‘If it’s Tom, tell him … tell him I’ve run away.’

Venetia refused to take it, so Serena angrily snapped it open, stalking off up the lakeside path towards the boat-house. ‘Yes?’

It was Janey Norris, Serena’s PA, who quickly and officiously ran through the arrangements for Serena’s day as if she was describing the D-Day landings. The ETA of Serena’s suitcases at Huntsford, the time of a meeting with her publicist, an emergency summit with her agent. ‘Your shrink and life-coach are both on holiday until next Friday,’ revealed Janey as Serena took exasperated breaths, ‘but I’ve arranged for a private masseur to come to your house on Tuesday for a hot-stone treatment, relaxing cranial therapy and four wave Hawaiian massage.’

‘Very good,’ nodded Serena. ‘And messages?’ she asked hopefully.

‘Forty-seven since this morning,’ reported Janey. ‘None from Tom, but somebody called Michael Sarkis was insistent he speak to you.’

Serena exhaled and snapped the phone shut, her conversation with Janey immediately terminated.

‘Has Tom called?’ asked Cate expectantly, trotting to catch up with Serena.

‘No,’ snapped her sister, ‘but I have to make a call, if you’ll excuse me.’

‘Who to?’ pushed Cate.

‘Why are you so interested?’

‘Who to?’ asked Cate again, her journalistic instincts sensing intrigue.

‘Michael, if you must know.’

Cate looked up, bemused. ‘Which Michael? Caine? Stipe? Angelo?’ she said with a smile.

‘Michael Sarkis, actually,’ said her sister a little smugly. ‘His GV brought me back from Egypt.’

‘Michael Sarkis the hotel guy?’ Cate lifted an eyebrow.

‘What’s that look for?’ Serena stomped away towards the boathouse as Venetia caught up with Cate.

‘What’s wrong now?’ asked Venetia, linking arms with her sister. ‘It’s so sad. She looks in so much pain.’

‘Pain?’ smiled Camilla cynically. ‘Fear, more like. She needs Tom and she knows it.’

‘You say that,’ said Cate with a frown, ‘but she’s just off for some secret chat with Michael Sarkis.’

Camilla looked worried. ‘She doesn’t want to get involved with the likes of him. He’s semi-criminal from what I’ve heard. Rumours of arms dealing and all sorts.’

All three girls looked at each other. ‘You know what she’s like.’

They did.

Serena had reached the boathouse – a small half-timbered structure on the far side of the Huntsford Lake. She opened the door with a creak, pushed a cobweb away with her hand and looked around tentatively, scared of mice or spiders. It was eerily quiet inside, but the soft eggshell paint of the interior and the tattered padded wicker chairs overlooking the water gave it a sense of calm.

She brushed some dust off the window seat and sat down, dialling the number that Janey had given her. Her fingernails stabbed at the buttons of the mobile – she was angry at Cate’s reaction to the name Michael Sarkis. Totally competitive, Serena assumed everyone was that way and, as much as she loved them, she was convinced her sisters didn’t want her to shin any higher up the greasy social pole.

She stared out at the lake, shimmering dark silver in front of her as the phone rang out. Her thoughts drifted to Tom and how she wanted to hurt him for making her feel so foolish, so humiliated.

The voice was male and businesslike but immediately softened when Serena announced herself.

‘Serena. How are you, my darling?’ he purred playfully. ‘I saw the pictures in Le Monde. I have no idea how they got pictures on La Mamounia. There must have been a long-lens photographer at the dock.’

Secretly pleased that her story had gone international, Serena still adopted a wounded tone. ‘It’s fine,’ she sighed, in a voice that indicated things were far from fine. ‘But thank you so much for the lift to London. I can’t tell you what a relief it was to just disappear after everything that happened. Not that I can actually return home. I’ve had to come to my father’s place.’

‘I know,’ said Michael firmly, ‘which is why I’m calling. I know you must have a hundred places you can escape to from the paparazzi, but I think my villa in Mustique would be perfect. It’s very, very private.’

Serena’s heart fluttered. She’d heard he had one of the most impressive houses on the island – bigger than Tommy Hilfiger’s, prettier than Princess Margaret’s old villa …

‘Does that sound any good?’

Serena paused, trying not to sound too excited. ‘It sounds lovely.’

‘That’s good. I want to offer it to you for as long as you need. Go, take a friend, relax, have a few spa treatments. You might even enjoy it.’

‘Are you sure?’ she breathed flirtatiously.