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

Hot and sticky, she decided to go up to her room to change, quickly selecting a tiny Sass & Bide denim miniskirt, a vest top and a glittery pair of Gina flip-flops. Pregnancy had yet to make an iota of difference to her slender figure, she thought happily, admiring her reflection in the mirror by the window. Of all the sisters, Serena had by far the best-appointed room in the house, with two huge bay windows overlooking the lake, giving a view that was more breathtaking than if she had been overlooking the New York Cityscape or the Thames. It was special, natural, stunning.

She felt a sense of belonging as she opened the windows and let the balmy breeze kiss her face. It was the family seat, so she would always feel a special bond with the place, but today she felt even more intrinsically tied to its stonework, grounds and atmosphere. An ultrasound scan the previous day had discovered that her unborn foetus was a boy. She was going to have to investigate the title of Huntsford as a matter of priority, hoping there weren’t any bothersome laws barring children of an unmarried couple from inheriting the title. Surely not: this was the twenty-first century. She smiled as she thought about her child as the eleventh baron of Huntsford. That would give her a powerful grip over the estate that lay in front of her. There was so much she could do with it: not like Daddy, who had let vanity and greed cloud his judgement. With Serena in charge, Huntsford could become one of the great English estates to rival Longleat. She had every faith that her career would resurrect itself, but she was realistic enough to know that fame was transient and that she would not be able to rely on her looks for ever. Plus she had already consulted a lawyer about getting a huge child-maintenance payment off that bastard Sarkis. She was going to take him for every penny she could.

Feeling energized by all these thoughts of money, Serena decided to go and explore the circus outside. Making some attempt at a disguise, she put on a large pair of Chanel sunglasses and fixed her long hair back with a navy-and-white Breton headscarf. As she now had a vested interest in the success of the event, she didn’t want all the male workers now beavering about to have any distractions. As she walked out into the sunshine, Serena had to admit that the young events manager, that poor, plain-looking girl Zoë Cartwright, had done an excellent job. The Lady Penelope Carvery, the main restaurant festooned with cream layered voile and named after Oswald’s beloved 1922 Rolls-Royce, was as spectacular as any marquee she had been in, while Zoë had told her that huge tropical flower arrangements were due to arrive the following morning to give the place the feeling of a botanical hothouse.

As she walked around the impressive site, Serena ran over the short speech she had prepared to deliver the next afternoon to open the event. She was going to enjoy that, she thought. What she was going to wear, however, presented more of a challenge. Her travel trunk was packed full of delicious gowns that Serena knew would make an impact – but which one should she choose? For the first time ever, she found herself favouring something simple. An Armani gown in molten brown with a stunning topaz clasp at the bottom of the deep V of the back. Far less revealing than the sheer, diaphanous black gown she had also brought along, and less showy than the white Grecian Versace number in which she knew she looked fabulous. But it was stunning and appropriate, nevertheless, and it was a gown that said she was a successful, powerful woman who wanted to be taken seriously.

‘Preparing for tomorrow?’ asked a voice behind her. Serena turned to find herself eyeballing a very attractive man in a pair of pale jeans and a white short-sleeved shirt unbuttoned to reveal a laminated identity card dangling over a ripple of taut, bronzed six-pack. His hair was sexily dishevelled, his deep blue eyes flashed at her, wanting to play.

‘Do I know you?’ asked Serena haughtily, caught off guard by the effect that this man was having on her.

‘Miles Roberts,’ he replied, tucking a hardback book under his arm and extending a hand to shake.

‘And what do you do, Miles?’ asked Serena, unable to stop the teasing tone.

‘I’m the artist liaison manager.’

Serena pulled off her glasses and smiled broadly at him. ‘And what does that mean?’ she asked.

‘Oh, I’d have thought a woman in your line of work would know all about it,’ said Miles with a small smile.

‘So you’ll have the pleasure of tending to the every whim of Maria Dante tomorrow?’

‘Something like that,’ said Miles.

‘I hope you’re getting paid handsomely,’ she smiled tartly.

‘Mind if I walk with you?’ replied Miles, dropping into step with her. ‘I only started a couple of days ago and I haven’t quite got used to the grounds. They’re huge, aren’t they?’

Serena smiled. ‘You get used to it,’ she laughed, feeling her powers of flirtation come back to her. After Michael Sarkis, Serena had sworn she was giving up men for at least the summer, but great-looking men were always worth toying with. He was only some festival worker, after all, but he was model-grade handsome, she thought, sneaking a look at his profile. She could allow herself a few minutes of fun, she thought, pulling her sunglasses back onto her face. Besides, it was better that she walked around with a staff member. She was well aware that anybody could be hiding a camera to take snaps to sell to the tabloids, and the last thing she wanted to do was spoil this philanthropic gesture of appearing at Huntsford by being pictured tripping over cables or arguing with security.

‘So where are you walking to?’ asked Miles hopefully.

‘Walk with me to the stage,’ she said, her hand brushing his ever so lightly, ‘I need to go and check it out and look at the view.’

‘Why?’ asked Miles. ‘Are you really hosting the evening? I did hear a rumour.’

‘Not entirely hosting, introducing,’ she said with a coquettish smile. ‘Subtle difference. I intend to be in bed by nine o’clock. Opera festivals really aren’t my scene.’

‘Oh yes, I suppose you must be getting tired, what with the …’ Miles had a sudden stricken look on his face, realizing he’d made a faux pas. He couldn’t help staring at Serena’s firm bronzed midriff poking out from under a little bit of cotton vest top.

‘So you’ve been pregnant, then?’ She laughed, ‘Yes, I’m in that stage commonly known as “knackered all the time”, darling.’

‘Well I don’t fancy your chances of getting a good night’s sleep tomorrow night,’ he smiled. ‘Not unless your bedroom is a soundproofed nuclear bunker.’

‘Oh, so you know about the nuclear bunker?’ laughed Serena.

Miles looked confused. ‘My father built a nuclear bunker in the eighties. Out behind the rose garden, of all places. Can you believe the paranoia, not to mention the waste of money? But you’re right, I can’t imagine it will be the best night’s sleep I ever had. Maybe I should go back to London …’ She trailed off.

‘Oh, but I thought you were staying here for a while,’ said Miles, disappointment in his voice. He stopped, once again embarrassed at knowing details about Serena’s life. ‘Well, that’s what the crew have all been saying anyway,’ he shrugged. ‘It’s caused quite a bit of excitement.’

‘Oh yes?’ she flirted. ‘How much?’

‘A great deal.’

‘That’s good,’ she grinned. ‘I was hoping to make a splash.’

‘Oh you will,’ said Miles. ‘You will.’

The last thing Maria wanted to be doing at that precise moment was preparing for the tinpot festival at Huntsford. Oswald had been in a terrible mood ever since her arrival three hours earlier, solidly grumbling and moaning about the soaring costs of the evening. There had been a dramatic surge in ticket enquiries since the papers had reported that Serena was going to make a public appearance, but she doubted it would be enough to balance Oswald’s gluttonous outlay on the event. And the torrential rain forecast for the following day would surely keep the crowds away on the day. Not that she wanted him to lose money; what use was he to her then? But mostly she was furious that all the attention had shifted away from herself to Serena.

When Oswald had told her that his youngest daughter was going to be involved in the Musical Evening a few days earlier, Maria had been incandescent. Maria had been sure that the talentless little tramp was out of the picture for the time being. Her scandal-filled lifestyle had made Oswald purple with rage at the reflected shame it brought on the family name, yet now he was prepared not only to let Serena lead the event and become the star attraction, but also to pay her for the privilege. Maria almost admired Serena’s gall for her ruthless bartering with her father, were it not for the clear indication of the influence she had over him. Well, that was going to stop. As long as Serena could manipulate her father, she controlled Huntsford, and Maria was not going to stand for that. She wanted to snuff out Serena’s influence once and for all.

She crunched her heels into the grass as she stalked angrily towards the trailer she would be using tomorrow. The sun had sunk behind a line of forest-green trees, so the evening was lit like a partial eclipse, the birds still singing in the eerie greyness. Maria glanced at her watch: 7.40 p.m. She cursed again. Dinner was due to be served at the house at eight and it would take fifteen minutes to walk back there. Her trailer was a standard issue twenty-five-foot Portakabin with a long seat and table at one end and a row of chairs and mirrors at the other. In between was stuffed with rails of clothes, hairpieces and vases of flowers. She knew better than to turn on the huge mirrors that were circled with Hollywood-style bulbs, and instead flipped on a little overhead light that gave the cabin a soft glow. There was a man sitting at the long table smoking a cigarette. ‘Oh, you’re here,’ snapped Maria, looking at her watch again. ‘On time, well done.’

‘We’d better keep this quick,’ said the man. ‘There’re about fifty people still milling around the stage. We’re not going to stop until midnight.’ He pushed an envelope over the table like a poker player folding his cards. Maria picked it up and began counting the crisp fifty-pound notes inside with her long fingertips. The feel of large amounts of money still never failed to give her a sexual thrill, and the poor girl from Puglia in her wanted to feel every last note. She felt the cool gaze of the man at the table and stopped herself, stashing the envelope in her black velvet clutch bag.

‘OK, listen,’ she said. ‘We’ll be starting dinner in fifteen minutes. Oswald never allows a dinner to be finished in less than two hours. He likes to luxuriate over every course and insists his guests do too. There are only three staff in the whole house, so it will be easy for you to avoid them.’ She tossed a plain brown envelope onto the table with a thud. ‘Here is the key to the back door. Her room is straight up the main stairway, the third door along the large corridor at the front of the house. I’m sure you’ll find everything you need in there.’

‘You’re sure?’ asked the man.

‘The girl takes cocaine. I saw it with my own eyes at her party in March. She’ll almost certainly have some on her. It wouldn’t surprise me if she wasn’t drinking spirits and taking pills too. She’s such an irresponsible little bitch.’ In Maria’s Italian accent the word came out ‘beach’. The man smiled in the darkness. He could feel himself becoming turned on as he imagined the glorious shirt-tearing catfight that would be had between these gorgeous, dominant women.

‘Well, we’d better find what we’re looking for,’ he said finally, dropping his cigarette into a plastic cup, where it fizzled out with a hiss in the dregs. ‘The newspaper is paying a lot of money for this.’

‘Oh, you’ll get what you want,’ said Maria Dante, nodding so vigorously that a strand of hair fell across her dark brown eyes. ‘Serena Balcon never fails to disappoint.’

Oswald Balcon sat at the head of the Louis XV table in the Red Drawing Room with Maria and Serena flanked on either side of him like two concubines, each gently picking at their asparagus spears.

‘Oswald Balcon,’ chided Maria lightly, looking up at him with glossy chocolate eyes, ‘I think this is the smallest dinner I have ever attended at Huntsford. What happened to the other girls? I thought it was going to be a family affair tonight.’

Oswald placed down his silver knife and fork pointedly, looking more than a little disgruntled. ‘Neither Cate and Camilla nor Venetia and Jonathon will be attending until tomorrow,’ he said, pursing his lips with disapproval. ‘As you are well aware, I can never rely on family support for anything.’

The comment echoed around the room, which was indeed empty, being large enough to seat twenty. The situation was not helped by the frosty atmosphere between the two women, who were pointedly not looking at each other except when passing condiments. A rumble of thunder could be heard far away, like a growl coming from the core of the earth. The sound brought an anxious look across Oswald’s face; he immediately tried to disguise it.

Collins came through the door pushing a silver trolley laden with cloches. He placed Serena’s dinner in front of her, pulling off the silver dome with a flourish. A seared tuna steak was accompanied by a plateful of potatoes and vegetables.

‘What’s this?’ snapped Serena, looking up at Collins, throwing her napkin down angrily. ‘Look at it! It’s practically raw!’

‘But that’s how you always like your steaks, Miss Serena,’ said Collins, looking a little flushed in the face.

‘That was before I became pregnant,’ sighed Serena, not hiding her irritation.

‘Serena! Stop making such a fuss!’ said Oswald, banging his hand on the table. ‘It’s been such a hot day, I asked Collins to serve something light.’

‘Well, obviously you’ve never been pregnant either,’ said Serena, flashing him an icy stare and pushing her chair out from under the table. She was tired and bad-tempered. Exhausted in fact. She felt as if she would melt into the floor at any moment. All she could think of was her room and getting some sleep. She certainly couldn’t stand another two hours being bored to death by her father and Maria cooing at each other.

‘No, neither of you will understand how I am feeling,’ said Serena, standing up now and placing her napkin beside her plate, ‘but I can tell you, it’s pretty awful.’ She fixed her gaze on her father. ‘If I’m going to be in any fit state to do a decent job tomorrow, I need to get some sleep. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’