Original Sin (48 page)

‘Well, I’m not going to let that happen.’

‘You? Are you a lawyer?’

‘No,’ said Tess, ‘But I know someone who is.’

They both turned as they heard the front door open, to see Jack standing in the doorway holding a loaf of bread.

‘Is everything okay?’ he said hopefully.

‘It’s going to be,’ nodded Tess. ‘It’s going to be just fine.’

CHAPTER THIRTY–FIVE

‘You’re working late.’

Liz looked up, startled. She was standing at her assistant’s desk by the clutter of office equipment – fax, binding machine, shredder – waiting for a document to come off the printer.

‘Late? Not especially,’ she said. It was eleven p.m. and frankly she was amazed to see William. All the lights on this floor were off and there was little sign of life, except for the low buzz of a vacuum cleaner. Most days her brother left the office by six thirty, and at drinks, launches, or networking events he stayed less than an hour. Benefit dinners and parties were even worse; if you wanted to find him, he would be standing by the door holding Paula’s coat, waiting for his wife to finish socializing so he could go home. Which is why Liz was on full alert now: if he was in the office so late, there must be a very good reason for it.

William perched on the desk and began drumming his fingers on the edge nervously.

‘I’ve been upstairs with marketing since eight this morning,’ he said. ‘There’s a lot of due diligence questions to sort out.’

He nodded to where she was shuffling papers in the binding machine. ‘Shouldn’t you get your assistant to do all that?’

Liz hated having been caught off guard, but hid her annoyance by pushing hard down on the lever. ‘I’m saving you money,’ she said.

William folded his arms in front of him and looked at his sister intently.

‘Liz, I have to know if you are happy with all this.’

‘All what?’ she asked flatly, putting down her document.

‘Selling Asgill’s. Spinning off Skin Plus. I know you expressed doubts in the board meeting and I know how important Skin Plus is to you, but it’s a good offer from Canopus. You have a sharp, clever brain, Liz: you must know this is the right thing to do.’

Sharp, clever brain indeed
, she thought. How she could run circles around him. How she was
going
to.

‘Yes, I’m upset, William, I won’t deny it, but not for the reasons you think. I’m not upset for greed or hurt pride.’

‘I don’t think that,’ frowned William. ‘So why are you upset?’

She paused, tried to look as solemn as possible.

‘I just don’t think Dad would have wanted us to sell out,’ she said quietly.

A half–smile curled up on his face. ‘Come on, Liz, you of all people wouldn’t’ make decisions based on sentimentality. Anyway, we’re not closing down by any means – we’re simply offloading the weakest parts of the business and starting again, debt free, with a brand that has much more potential.’

She had to turn her face away from him, pretending to fiddle with her documents, so he would not see the anger in her eyes.

‘It’s too late to talk about all this,’ she said.

‘Well, you’re right about that,’ he said, misunderstanding her. ‘Paula will be in bed by the time I get home and she’s off to Bermuda tomorrow, so I’m hardly going to see her in the next week.’

Liz had no idea what Paula could be doing in Bermuda but, whatever it was, the thought riled her. Yet more squandering of money, no doubt. William stood up, stretching.

‘Well, I’m glad we’ve talked, Liz,’ he said, touching her arm. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Goodbye,’ she said softly as she watched him disappear down the dark corridor.

And I mean that in every way possible
, she added to herself.

She picked up the document she had been holding minutes earlier and smiled. She had quite enjoyed the illicit thrill of almost being caught. Walking back to her desk, she flipped it open and began to read by the thin cone of light from her desk lamp.
Is there enough here?
she wondered, thumbing through the pages.
Yes, there’s plenty.

She slipped the file into a brown envelope and addressed it – with a label from the printer, naturally; she couldn’t have her handwriting on it – to Hugh Montague, an analyst at Petersen’s. Rav had been delighted when Liz had shown so much interest in his friends at the financial institution. After Rav’s gossipy breakdown of their relative strengths and weaknesses, she had chosen Hugh Montague instantly. He was perfect – just moved over from London and keen to make his mark. Rav had even hinted that Hugh might be involved with some slightly shady offshore deals. Oh yes, he sounded perfect, thought Liz, picking up her coat and heading for the blue postbox on the corner of Fifth. I think Hugh Montague and I are going to be very good friends indeed.

CHAPTER THIRTY–SIX

‘You are going to love it here,’ said Katrina Savoy, pressing her foot down on the gas pedal of her jeep.

Paula turned and smiled, watching her new friend’s hair blow back in the Bermudan breeze. Frankly, Paula couldn’t believe how well they were getting along – it was far beyond what she had hoped for. If she didn’t know better, she would have said the princess was treating her like a genuine friend. Already that morning they’d had a game of tennis at the Coral Beach and Tennis Club, the prestigious and virtually impossible–to–access private members’ club. The following day they had lunch pencilled in with some of Katrina’s Bermudan friends at the famous Tom Moore’s Tavern and, in between, she had promised to help Paula buy a place on this delightful island where she already felt at home. The Jeep stopped outside Paula’s hotel and Katrina stretched over to kiss her on both cheeks.

‘I’m so glad you love the island as much as we do,’ said Katrina, waving goodbye. ‘See you tomorrow!’

Paula waved back, her cheeks flushed with excitement. Even though this trip had started out as a throwaway conversational titbit at Carlotta’s birthday party, Paula was genuinely impressed with Bermuda and its bright sunshine, glorious coloured beaches, and refined Englishness. If she was honest, however, the beauty of the island was simply a bonus. The primary objective of coming here was to further her relationship with the royal family and, even if Bermuda had been a mosquito–infested swamp, she would still have considered buying here if it meant she could boast Katrina as a friend. She had worked on her plan like a military campaign, using Casey’s play–date with Carlotta a week after Carlotta’s birthday party to casually extract from Katrina the dates she would be in Bermuda, then had rushed home to book a suite at the exclusive Pink Beach Club hotel the same week. As it had turned out, the timing could not have been more perfect. Paula had been absolutely delighted to hear about the proposed sale of a majority shareholding in Asgill Cosmetics to one of the big multinationals. She had never been particularly interested in the business, but William seemed incredibly excited about the deal, and a part–realization of his shareholding would give them lots of liquid cash for them to play with. Incredibly, William had even been receptive to the idea of looking for a place to buy in Bermuda. She had raved about Bermuda’s proximity to Manhattan; only a two–hour flight away from New York – less door–to–door if she invited Brooke and David, when they would no doubt fly private out of Teterboro. She pointed out its position as an understated playground for Manhattan’s most wealthy, including its fabulous championship golf courses. But most of all, Paula had emphasized how a second home on the island might make her more relaxed and receptive.

On the night before she’d left for the island, she’d initiated sex and, afterwards, curled into his arms to weave a fantasy of future life for them together. ‘Just think,’ she’d said as she stroked the hair on his chest. ‘In five, ten years’ time, you can take early retirement from Asgill’s and we can move to Bermuda full time. Me, you, and the kids. Lots of them, all running around in the sun. I’d like that.’

William had seemed to like the idea too.

*

The Pink Beach Club was in the exclusive Bermudan enclave of Tucker’s Town. Paula was standing on the patio of her cottage, sipping a freshly pressed orange juice, when she heard a knock at the door. She answered it, to find a handsome, confident–looking man of about thirty–five standing there. His skin was lightly tanned, he had short dark hair; his suit, thankfully, was of the regular variety, rather than worn with a Bermudan shirt as was the custom here. Paula just couldn’t get used to that.

‘Mrs Asgill?’ he said with a bright smile. ‘Are you ready?’

‘Oh, you’re Tom?’

‘That’s right, shall I lead the way?’

She had spoken to real–estate agent Tom Hawsley at length over the phone, but had never met him until now. Their discussions had been long and detailed, as Paula had very definite requirements for a property: something of size, something suitable for high–level entertaining. Sea views were essential, of course, so were at least four guest bedrooms and staff quarters, which did not have to be attached to the main house. A tennis court was also a must, along with at least five acres of grounds and an infinity pool.

Tom led to her towards a silver car and gallantly opened the door for her. ‘We have several very nice properties lined up for you today,’ he smiled as they set off.

As they wound around the narrow, fragrant lanes, he pointed out Michael Bloomberg’s house and a number of other dwellings owned by celebrities. They spent three hours driving round the island; the more Paula saw of Bermuda, the more she loved it. It was incredible to think it was less than seven hundred miles away from the coast of North Carolina. The sand was the pale pink of a ballet slipper; even the air, surrounded by thousands of miles of Atlantic Ocean, smelt fresher and sweeter. The houses, however, were less than satisfactory.

‘I’m not interested in anything that looks like a Fort Lauderdale retirement home,’ she said after the third house had been rejected. ‘I want old school Bermuda. I want class and elegance.’

Tom Hawsley smiled politely. He had gently tried to tell her that the eight–million–dollar price ceiling she had given him was unrealistic given her long list of requirements, but he was sure his objections had fallen on deaf ears.

‘Well, I’ve saved the best till last,’ he said, as they headed back towards Tucker’s Town. ‘This one is a little more than you wanted to pay, but it’s one of the most outstanding properties to come on the market in a long time.’

‘In that case, I’m definitely interested,’ said Paula briskly as she watched the lush countryside give way to a more built–up area.

‘How do you like Tucker’s Town?’ asked Tom, glancing across at her.

‘I love it,’ she smiled. She had been particularly impressed that you had to pass a uniformed guard just to get into the most exclusive pocket of the island.

‘Yes, I think you’re probably best suited to this area,’ he said smoothly, the compliment not wasted on his companion.

‘It’s where my friends live. Do you know Karina Savoy’s place?’

Tom raised an eyebrow and his interest in Paula seemed to click up a notch. ‘Oh yes, I do,’ he said. ‘A beautiful house.’

Swinging left, the car passed through iron gates, down a long drive, and pulled up outside a white detached residence with a large veranda that snaked around its whole perimeter. ‘Now this is more like it,’ smiled Paula, climbing out. The setting was spectacular, with views out to the Atlantic Ocean lying in turquoise and cobalt blue stripes in front of her.

The house was not huge, but big enough, with seven bed– and bathrooms. The interior design was a little too chintzy, but already Paula was making mental notes on what improvements she could make, and imagining taking afternoon tea with Karina and her new friends on the veranda.

‘There are beautiful fireplaces in every room,’ said Tom, handing her a colour sales brochure. ‘The grounds are wonderful, too. Orange, lemon, and avocado trees grow just over there by the infinity pool.’

Paula watched him pace around the room and just for a moment saw a little of herself in Tom Hawsley. He was not of this world, just play–acting, pretending he was comfortable in this environment. It was something she could relate to. During her final two summers at high school, Paula had worked as a maid at the local hotel in Greenboro, a beautiful stately house where she could imagine herself living as the rich, beautiful chatelaine. Back then, she realized, she might even have found Tom Hawsley attractive. She hadn’t missed how lovely his eyes were, a pale grey, with long spidery black lashes.

As Paula had been lost in thought, Tom had walked up behind her. ‘I take it you like it,’ he said, touching her bare arm.

Paula flinched, feeling uneasy with the thoughts now running through her head. She had learnt, long ago, to block anything inappropriate out of her life, and she stepped away from him, flustered. Her mother had taught her that one slip could ruin your life and she wasn’t going to let anything spoil her perfect moment.

‘I think I just need a few moments alone,’ said Paula quickly, taking her cell phone out of her Birkin. ‘I need to speak to my husband about the house.’

She retreated to the veranda, her gaze lost on the blue horizon. She’d always wanted a house with an ocean view. When she had been in Greenboro, surrounded by trailers and broken cars, she swore to herself that, one day, she would live in the light where she could see for miles. People in her hometown used to say that money didn’t matter. Well, whoever had said it hadn’t been here, where the air tasted clearer and the sun seemed to shine through the haze like liquid silk. Excited now, she scrolled down to William’s number and pressed ‘call’.