Original Sin (45 page)

Liz was so shocked by the turn of events that she couldn’t speak. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Undettered, William ploughed on.

‘The cosmetics industry is not a one–size–fits–all business any more, Liz. Properly targeted niche brands are the future,’ he said, as if she might actually believe this had been his plan all along. His cowardice and weakness made Liz want to vomit.

‘Just think of it,’ he said with excitement. ‘We could go on a shopping spree to acquire more niche, up–market brands. Brands that would be a strategic fit with our new identity. We could do licensing deals with fashion houses and really reach out to the Chinese and Indian markets.’

But Skin Plus is mine,
Liz felt like yelling.
I created this
and now you’re claiming it for your own, to save your ass.

‘It’s the perfect time to be repositioning ourselves as a more up–market proposition,’ said Meredith, looking brighter now their plot was out. ‘Brooke’s wedding is millions of dollars’ worth of free advertising for the company.’

Liz looked out of the window, her mind reeling. Greg the gardener had now taken his shirt off, but his bare chest didn’t even register on her consciousness.

‘What’s wrong, Elizabeth?’ asked Meredith, unnerved by her daughter’s silence. ‘Don’t you agree?’

Finally Liz could hold it in no more. ‘Of course I agree!’ she spat. ‘This is
my
strategy; I am the one who created the Asgill luxury brand. I built Skin Plus up from nothing and now you are proposing to take it away from me to cover up
his
screw–ups?’ she yelled, gesturing contemptuously at William.

‘Elizabeth, this is a family company,’ said Meredith.

‘And I am the only one in this family with a successful track record,’ shouted Liz. ‘I have spent the last ten years using my talents to prop up this company and now I am the one made to suffer!’

Meredith flashed her a warning glance. ‘Be careful, Liz,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t do or say anything foolish.’

Liz glared at her mother.
Oh, I haven’t even started
, she thought.
You will pay for this; you will both pay
.

Her fury hadn’t blunted her instincts, however, and she was a shrewd enough businesswoman to know that confrontation was not the best option when dealing with a stubborn, short–sighted enemy. And without a doubt, her family had just become her enemies. As she saw it, she was left with no choice, for one simple reason. Meredith and William’s plan had completely failed to address the true problem:
them
. The strategy of selling off the outdated part of the company and using the proceeds to create a more modern, forward–looking business was actually quite sound. But the reason Skin Plus had worked was not because it was a niche brand or a luxury label: it had succeeded because of her, Liz Asgill; her vision, her hard work and her talent. Her mother clearly intended to create a brand–new, repositioned Asgill company, with the old management still in place. That was her mother’s fatal flaw. She simply didn’t know her children. Despite his repeated failures and ineffectual leadership, she still thought William was capable of running the company.
And me?
You really have no idea what I am capable of, do you?
thought Liz, staring at her mother.
You really have no idea.

‘So what do you think?’ asked William nervously, glancing across at Meredith for support. ‘Do you agree to the plan? Because, if you do, I’ll get a meeting in the diary with Bruno Harris as soon as we’re back in the office.’

Liz didn’t say anything for a moment; it was as if she hadn’t heard him. William and Meredith exchanged worried looks.

‘Liz?’

She glanced back at William, then simply nodded and walked towards the window. In her direct line of vision she could see an old oak tree on a stretch of grass that ran down to the river. It was where she used to go to sit and think. She would go there this afternoon. It was time to make a plan of her own.

CHAPTER THIRTY–TWO

Since Tess’s arrival in New York, it had become a tradition that once a week she would have a catch–up with Brooke. Although their first meeting had been more like a council of war, Brooke had slowly come to enjoy their meetings, which were now more usually held at a lunch or at her flat over drinks. As much as Brooke had wanted to dislike Tess Garrett, assuming she would be pushy and sleazy like every other tabloid hack she’d ever met, to her surprise she had found the pretty English girl to be smart and refreshingly straightforward. On the face of it, their meetings were about work – which press had been offered or turned down, which stories had been deflected or buried, which events Tess thought Brooke should attend – but they often quickly descended into long girly gossip sessions that she rather enjoyed.

Her intercom buzzed just as she had finished showering and changing into her favourite cashmere jogging pants. Tess was early, she thought, worrying that she had no time to blow–dry her hair, then laughing out loud at herself.
It’s only Tess
, she reminded herself.
Those best–dressed lists have gone to my head
. She buzzed her in and poured a chilled Sauvignon from the fridge. It felt cold and fresh as it slipped down her throat.

‘Hi. Sorry, I’m a bit early,’ said Tess breathlessly as she bustled into the apartment laden down with bags and folders, dumping the lot on the B&B Italia dining table.

‘Don’t worry,’ smiled Brooke, handing her a glass of wine.
She probably needs it
, she thought. Brooke had heard through the grapevine that Tess had just split with that handsome English boyfriend of hers. Tess took a long sip of the drink.

‘Cheap wine. Yuck,’ she said. Brooke looked up with alarm before she saw a smile break out on her publicist’s face.

‘I’m joking,’ smiled Tess. ‘Sorry, English sense of humour. That is the most delicious Sauvignon I have ever tasted. Brooke, you have the best wine, the best clothes, the best men. I hate you.’

Brooke thought that this so–called English sense of humour seemed to comprise of sarcasm, half–truths, and irony, but she was too polite to say so.

‘I shouldn’t really be drinking,’ said Brooke, taking a seat at the table. ‘I’ve just had a crazy session with my new personal trainer. Apparently I’ll have a muffin top over my strapless wedding dress if I don’t lose another one per cent of body fat.’

‘Do you trust him?’ asked Tess.

‘My trainer? He has good results with other girls … ’

‘I don’t mean that,’ said Tess seriously. ‘Can you trust him to keep quiet? I mean, if you’re giving him details about your wedding gown being strapless, that sort of information can get out.’

Brooke felt herself blush. Obviously she hadn’t thought about that when she’d told him.

‘Sorry, I didn’t think.’

Tess smiled. ‘Don’t be silly, I’m probably just being cynical and paranoid, but then that’s my job, I’m afraid.’

‘Well, we should probably talk about my trip to LA next week,’ said Brooke, a little disappointed to be talking about PR matters so soon. ‘I know the paps are pretty vicious out there, although really it’s just an in–and–out trip to see the Studio and then home.’

Tess was already reaching into her leather document case.

‘First I think you should look at this.’

Brooke glanced up at Tess; she recognized the ‘calm before the storm’ coolness in her voice.

‘A contact at one of the tabloids sent me this. It’s a pap picture sent to her from Splash Pictures, one of the big photo agencies. My contact just wanted to check the designer of the jacket you’re wearing because they plan to run the picture on the fashion pages.’

Brooke frowned. She couldn’t see any reason for her publicist’s concern, unless she had made some unforeseen fashion faux pas. Then Tess handed her the print and Brooke’s heart leapt into her mouth. The picture was of herself and Matt Palmer. Since their day out to Amish Country, Matt had called several times suggesting they meet for drinks or the movies. Most of the time she’d refused – there didn’t seem to be enough hours in the day for anything non crucial like
friends
these days – but last week Matt had called just as someone had cancelled on her for lunch. Matt had stepped into the breach and they’d met for pasta in Luigi’s restaurant, back in the booth where they’d reconnected months ago. He’d told her a funny story about a young man who’d been brought into ER with a foreign body inside him which turned out to be a Barbie doll, while she’d told him about her difficult time in Newport and her forthcoming trip to LA. All very relaxed, just two friends catching up, yet Brooke looked down at the photograph with a sense of shame. It was certainly a poor picture, grainy and blurred, but it was obvious where they were, just emerging from the restaurant. Matt had been wearing sunglasses and on this shot his head was down. From that angle it looked like David, which surprised her because the similarity had never struck her before. Brooke kept quiet, waiting for Tess to speak first.

‘Luckily, this isn’t a big thing, Brooke,’ she said, ‘because the press clearly think it’s David.’

Brooke had been so busy staring at the picture and worrying about the implications that she hadn’t read the caption below the shot – a standard paparazzi agency practice – which read, ‘Brooke Asgill and David Billington go shopping’.

‘But it isn’t David, is it?’ said Tess. Her voice wasn’t accusatory, but there was a definite note of concern. ‘Similar build, but the angle of the cheekbones is different, as is the shape of his chin. And this guy looks about six foot two, but David is only six foot.’

Brooke could feel her cheeks redden. ‘It’s Matt Palmer,’ she said as casually as she could.

‘Really?’ said Tess, tapping the photo. ‘You must have forgotten to mention how good looking he was.’

Momentarily Brooke stopped to marvel at how good her publicist was. Astute and accurate and detail–obsessed, like a good detective. In fact, she was exactly the sort of woman you wanted on your team – except when they were about to catch you out. But Brooke bristled at the implication; she had nothing to hide.

‘He’s just a friend Tess.’

‘Are you sure, Brooke?’ asked Tess. ‘Because I need you to be honest with me here. Are you both pretending you’re just good friends when really you want to jump each other’s bones?’

‘Of course we don’t want to
jump each other’s bones
.’

An uncomfortable memory shifted to the front of her mind. It was so vague she half wondered if she’d dreamt it. She was in a club with Matt, some time after her final examinations, and she’d been drunk. Really drunk. The music had been loud; they’d been dancing together face to face, laughing, beer bottles clinking, when he’d leant forward and said to her, ‘I think we should go home together.’ Or at least that’s what she thought he’d said over the pumping bass line. She’d ignored him, pretending not to hear, and he’d got the message.

She felt hot with embarrassment.

‘We’ve known each other a long time and he’s a really good listener.’

Tess rolled her eyes. ‘Shit, Brooke. A shrink would be less bother.’

‘When this picture was taken we’d met for lunch. It was in a public place, we weren’t hiding, and I haven’t mentioned him to you before because, well, it doesn’t matter. There’s no point whipping up trouble where there is no scandal, is there?’

Tess looked at her searchingly. ‘Are you sure, Brooke?’

‘Yes, I’m sure,’ she replied, her skin prickling.

‘Okay, fine,’ she said, ‘I know this is hard for you, having to monitor friendships, having to be careful who you’re seen with – and I’m sorry to give you the third degree. But at least you know I’m watching out for you, and at least you know it’s not forever.’

‘But it is, isn’t it?’ said Brooke softly. ‘This is what I’ve signed up to. A lifetime of being watched.’

Tess couldn’t really disagree. Brooke drained her wine glass.

‘I like the fact no one knows about Matt,’ she said. ‘I like the fact it’s a little part of my life that’s closed off, just mine.’

Her publicist was shaking her head. ‘I wish I could tell you it was okay to have friends like that, but there are different rules for people like you. Just be careful, okay?’

‘So, what do we do about this?’

‘Well, you were smart to take Matt to a public place,’ said Tess. ‘I think you should do it again, somewhere really high profile, somewhere where he can be photographed with you and David so it looks as if you are all friends. In fact, make sure he gets to know David.’

Tess looked at Brooke.

‘And Brooke, if Matt really
is
just a good friend,’ she said, ‘then that’s what you should be doing anyway.’

*

Tess stared out of the cab window, watching Manhattan slip by in a blur. For a smart, decent girl, Brooke Asgill could be incredibly stupid, she thought. Okay, so maybe it was all above board and innocent, but that doctor was gorgeous! Some girls have all the luck, she smiled, making a mental note to get Jemma to keep an eye on Matt Palmer. The cab pulled up on Perry Street. Inside her apartment, Tess went straight to the fridge to see what she could cobble together. It was true what they said about New Yorkers living off takeouts, but tonight she couldn’t wait. She found half a jar of pesto and stirred it into a bowl of piping hot penne and took it outside onto the deck with a glass of wine and a big stack of magazines. It was a balmy night, the faint sound of hip–hop in the distance, plus occasional honking cabs and police sirens: it was pure New York.