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

‘Have you ever been to Beijing?’ he asked. It was the sort of question that veered towards an offer. Serena felt her anxiety diminish. ‘No, I haven’t,’ she said earnestly, ‘but I did stay at the Amanpuri in Phuket last winter,’ she said seriously.

‘A Thai holiday resort is hardly the new global commercial headquarters,’ replied Sidney, a disapproving tone in his voice.

Serena’s back stiffened.

‘Unbelievable city,’ he said suddenly, stroking the side of his face and continuing in a more benevolent tone, ‘when Bay Ling and I opened the Beijing store three months ago, I swear the queue was as long as the Great Wall of China!’ He guffawed lightly to himself. ‘It makes the opening up of Russia as a commercial territory insignificant. China is the future.’

Serena had to suppress a bored sigh. She was not in the mood for a lecture on global economics. ‘Well, perhaps you could arrange a visit for me. I’d love to see it all,’ she smiled, taking a delicate sip of tea. ‘It’s probably about time all the Jolie spokeswomen met up anyway,’ she said generously.

Sidney laughed, a little forced.

‘Anyway,’ said Sidney more brusquely, ‘I suppose we’re here to talk about your contract?’

Serena smiled and recrossed her legs. ‘Just the broad strokes,’ she smiled playfully, ‘the rest we can leave to my agent. That’s what I pay him fifteen per cent for.’ Inwardly, Serena shuddered at the thought of that figure. If she was about to be made Jolie spokesperson for North America as well as Europe, that was a deal in excess of £5 million a year. Fifteen per cent of that was … she couldn’t do the maths, but it was certainly a lot of money, she thought, suddenly feeling a little cross.

Sidney paused, moving his swivel chair from side to side. ‘Lysette and I have been giving the renewal of your contract a lot of thought in the last few days.’

‘How is Lysette?’ asked Serena, smiling broadly.

Sidney nodded. ‘Very well, very well indeed. As you know, I have enormous faith and trust in her opinions about the direction of this company.’

‘She is a very astute woman,’ nodded Serena sagely.

‘She is indeed,’ agreed Sidney, rubbing his chin. ‘Not only is she my wife, she is my line of communication to the general public. She was right about signing you up three years ago, and I trust her instincts about your position now. Having moved to New York and taken up with Michael Sarkis –’

Serena jumped in eagerly. ‘I know!’ she gushed. ‘Moving out there is the best thing I have done in years. It has raised my profile Stateside enormously. I can understand why you were initially hesitant to make me the face of North America as well as Europe but now, yes, things are much different.’ She smiled.

‘I didn’t mean that,’ said Sidney without emotion.

‘Oh …’ said Serena. ‘Then I’m not sure I …’

Sidney leant forward on the desk, shuffling up the sleeves of his dark navy jacket. ‘Your relationship with Michael Sarkis has been damaging to the brand.’

The smile fell off Serena’s face.

‘Well, as you are no doubt aware,’ said Serena quickly, trying to sound confident and in control, ‘I found my ex-boyfriend in a compromising situation in Cannes and I terminated the relationship immediately. I felt that was the responsible thing to do.’

‘And you’re pregnant,’ said Sidney matter-of-factly.

‘Yes,’ answered Serena with a little annoyance. ‘Men and women in a relationship often conceive a child.’

Sidney leant back in his chair as far as it would go, seemingly anxious to put as much distance between them as possible. ‘You are a very, very beautiful woman,’ said Sidney, with the hint of a smile. ‘But we took you on because you represented certain things. Elegance. Class. Tradition. They are the cornerstone values of Jolie Cosmetics.’

‘And I remain all those things,’ said Serena indignantly.

Sidney let the silence hang in the air for a few moments. ‘Lysette feels, and I agree with her, that the revelations of this week have changed things considerably. It looks messy, Serena.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Serena haughtily. ‘So Michael revealed himself as a playboy. I did the decent thing and got rid of him. I’m having a child. This is the twenty-first century. Plenty of children are conceived out of wedlock.’

‘We are a traditional company,’ said Sidney slowly, emphasizing every word. ‘You know how Midwest America is a conservative market. It is vital for our company to be seen to be projecting the correct values.’ He cleared his throat. ‘This, er, threesome, the prostitutes …’

‘Does this mean I’m not going to get North America?’ said Serena, visibly flustered. ‘But we discussed –’

Sidney appeared to ignore her. ‘As you are aware, your European contract is up for renewal, and we feel that at this time it is not appropriate to renew it.’

Serena began to feel a rage swell up inside her. ‘If this is because I am pregnant, you do realize there are laws against this sort of thing?’

‘Your contract is at an end and it is entirely up to our company whether we renew it. Or not,’ he added. ‘In any event, Bay Ling has been so successful for us in China we feel it may be the appropriate time to increase her profile in the west. We think that will drive even more sales out in the Far East.’

Serena stared at him. ‘You’re going to replace me with her?’ she screamed, her voice a quivering, shrill sound. ‘You sell in this country and all over Europe because of my English Rose image! It’s successful! Why replace me with someone who looks like, who looks like … they work in a chip shop?’ she ranted.

‘We’ve made our decision,’ interrupted Sidney calmly. ‘It really has been a pleasure working with you over the years. Lysette and I would like to give you this as a small token of our appreciation.’ He reached into his top drawer and pulled out a Jolie powder compact that, from the way he lifted it, looked as if it might have been made from solid gold.

‘Please, give it to Bay Ling,’ said Serena, mustering up as much dignity as she could. ‘It looks like she needs it. I’ll see myself out.’

Sidney simply nodded as Serena rose. He flipped open the compact and looked at his reflection in the mirror, rubbing a tea-stain off his teeth with his finger. Then he snapped it shut.

28 (#ulink_bf7e6059-4b9a-59df-b938-67a1a127da33)

It was a perfect day for polo. Possibly not for the players: the sun was quite ferocious for a late May afternoon but, sitting in the shelter of the big marquee at Staplehurst Polo Club, Camilla sipped her Pimms and thought there could be few better ways to spend a Sunday. Watching a few chukkas, eating a good lunch and being seen at one of the most high-profile social events of the season: it wasn’t too taxing. She didn’t particularly enjoy exhausting the social calendar in the way Serena did, but having just been accepted onto the Conservative Party’s approved list of candidates, Camilla knew she had to step up her profile. Potential politicians didn’t just have to be seen and heard, they had to be seen at the right places, and Staplehurst’s Annual Charity Day seemed as good a place as any to start. Especially when she was here at the special request of club owner Josh Jackson, bass guitarist of legendary rock band Phoenix.

‘So then, where is he?’ asked Cate, straining her neck to look around the tent, where everyone from actors to the local aristocracy were knocking back champagne and pretending they knew about polo. Although Sand magazine was two days away from going to press, Cate couldn’t refuse Camilla’s offer to join her at the Staplehurst Charity Day at the invitation of the great Josh Jackson. Not only was Phoenix’s music one of her guilty pleasures – she’d revised for her A-levels listening to their multi-platinum album Albatross, but their bass guitarist was gorgeous and she couldn’t resist the chance of an introduction.

Camilla pointed to a lone figure on horseback, cantering across the emerald-green polo pitch and swinging a wooden mallet with a muscular, bronzed arm. ‘There he is,’ she said. ‘He’s playing in the game after lunch so I’m not even sure he’ll be eating.’

‘That’s a shame,’ smirked Cate. ‘You mean we’ve come all this way and I don’t even get to say hello.’

They were sitting on a table with eight other guests, so Camilla turned her head to be out of earshot. ‘I’ve only come to be polite,’ said Camilla, lowering her voice so no one could hear. ‘You know I’ve never been one for polo but, when a client invites you, you have to make an effort.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Cate with a sceptical smile. ‘And why did Josh invite you again?’

‘I acted for him in a case recently. His accountant had siphoned off over three million pounds from his various bank accounts. A clear instance of fraud. We won. I guess today is a thank you.’

‘No, I mean, why did he really invite you?’ smiled Cate as a starter of asparagus in lemon butter arrived in front of her.

Camilla’s face clouded. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Well, is the instructing solicitor here, or is it just Josh’s favourite gorgeous lady barrister?’ probed Cate playfully.

Camilla tried to look shocked. ‘OK, his solicitor isn’t here, but don’t go reading anything into it, OK? I won the case, he’s grateful. Case closed.’

Although Cate had never passed judgement on any of her sisters’ boyfriends – she had never once mentioned to Camilla that she considered Nat Montague to be a boorish, philandering waster – she’d have been delighted to see her hooked up with one of rock’s most eligible bachelors. With his upright sinewy body, dark skin and intelligent grey eyes, it was impossible to believe that Josh Jackson was in his late forties. Twenty years earlier he’d traded LSD for yoga, drink for detox and had spent his songwriting royalties buying a three-hundred-year-old Jacobean manor, attaching a four-pitch polo club and taking up the sport with such gusto he gave a whole new meaning to rock royalty.

‘Now we are going to start the bidding for some of this afternoon’s fabulous prizes.’

With lunch over, rock singer and legendary lothario Rich Clark stood up to begin his stint as auctioneer. ‘Be generous. You know why we’re all here. Dig deep. We’re not starting any game of polo before we’ve got at least two hundred thousand quid in the kitty. For the first lot we have a week for two at the One&Only resort, Le Saint Géran, which has been kindly donated by Exit Travel. Can we start the bidding at two thousand pounds?’

An excited buzz rumbled around the marquee as the bidding climbed to four, ten, then twenty thousand pounds, fuelled by sun, champagne and social competitiveness. A home-cooked dinner prepared by Gordon Ramsay went for £10,000, a fortnight at the Amanpuri fetched £30,000, five nights at the Copacabana Hotel in Rio was a bargain at £8,000. Camilla looked around the marquee, spotting the minister for sport and culture, four well-known benefactors of the Tory Party and two newspaper editors and decided that it would be a wasted journey if she didn’t make herself and her philanthropy known. No one here would know she had already joined a committee to fund a battered wives’ shelter in Notting Hill, or signed up for three 15-kilometre ‘fun’ runs in the name of charity. She was here to impress, and if you were going to do that today, you had to put your hand in your pocket.