Last Resort (8 page)

Marielle asked coldly.

"I've no idea,"

Penny answered, continuing to lay things out on the desk. After a while she stopped and looked up at Marielle, who hadn't moved.

"I'm sorry,"

Penny said,

"I obviously didn't make myself clear. When I asked if you would sort out the decorators, I meant now."

Then, with a beaming smile.

"There's no point in dragging our heels, is there?"

Marielle's nostrils flared, but, slipping off her coat, she went to sit at her assistant's desk.

Ts there a photocopier?"

Penny enquired, glancing around.

"There."

Marielle pointed at a small, desktop job.

"Well, that's not going to get us very far, is it?"

Penny remarked.

"Make task number two the hiring of a decentsized copier, one with all the magical little functions but no tendency to break down. Incidentally, did you manage to contact any estate agents to find me somewhere to rent?"

"Yes. We have a rendezvous with her tomorrow morning."

Penny nodded.

"Her"

wasn't quite what she'd had in mind, for she'd been planning a blitz on house-hunting, but one agent was a start.

It was much later in the day, after Penny had gone through the laborious task of copying virtually everything in her briefcase for Marielle's perusal, that Marielle at last spoke without prompting.

"Your ideas,"

she said, fixing Penny with her sharp, green eyes,

"are ambitious, to say the least. I am wondering where so much money is coming from."

"From the Starke Organization,"

Penny answered.

"And as to whether they will all be cost-effective, I can't 54

say yet. Again, we need to speak to David, but before we do that perhaps you'd like to put forward any ideas of your own."

Marielle looked down at the single sheet of paper she was holding.

"If I have any/ she said eventually, Til let you know."

Not a particularly satisfactory reply, since brainstorming was something Penny adored. However, it seemed she was going to have to wait until they had a few more people on board for the real fun to begin and, meanwhile, time hadn't been wasted. Several decorators would be arriving over the next few days to give quotes; delivery of a photocopier was promised for the end of the week; a team of boffins from a computer company were eager to explore how best to serve their needs; France Telecom had agreed to come and discuss phones the following week; an office-supply company had already biked round their brochures and an employment agency was lining up security guards, secretaries and cleaners to be interviewed.

Unfortunately, throughout all their endeavours not so much as a crack had appeared in Marielle's polar icecap of a demeanour, which, Penny was thinking to herself as she stretched and yawned, was going to become pretty wearing if she didn't break it down soon. But, she reminded herself, she wasn't looking for a bosom pal and since Marielle's efficiency, grudging as it was, had more than helped to get the ball rolling Penny supposed she'd just have to make do with that for now. It would be a whole lot easier, though, if Marielle would come out with some serious opposition to the changes, or if she'd spit out all the resentment she was harbouring and give them the chance to have a thundering good row and clear the air. But maybe that wasn't Marielle's style.

"OK, time to call it a day,"

Penny said, stifling another yawn as she hefted her briefcase back on to her desk and

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began to refill it.

"What time am I meeting the estate agent in the morning?"

Ten o'clock."

Penny looked at her, waited, then with a long-suffering sigh said,

"OK. Is she coming to the hotel?"

"Yes."

"Does she know which hotel?"

"She will by the morning."

"Fine. Now, if you wouldn't mind dropping me off I'll see what I can do about hiring a car."

After leaving Penny at the fancy Carlton Hotel, Marielle sped out on to the Croisette and raced furiously off towards Cannes la Bocca and the HLM council flat - she shared with her mother. She'd known, even before meeting Penny Moon, that she was going to despise her. Now that they had met, she more than despised her, she loathed her, self-opinionated bitch that she was. Oh, sure, she was going to make a success of this glitzy new magazine - how could she fail when she had the backing she had? Well, that was OK by Marielle, she'd always wanted to lift the profile of the magazine, and if having to put up with Penny Moon for a while was the way it had to be done, then so be it.

Penny Moon wasn't going to last long, though, Marielle already had assurances on that, but she had to make sure that Penny Moon's personal failure did nothing to damage the magazine, so that when Penny Moon went back to England in disgrace it would be she, Marielle, who was the obvious choice to take things over. She gave a snort of laughter. Just one day in Penny Moon's company had been enough to show Marielle where her Achilles"

heel lay, for Penny Moon was, without a doubt, the kind of woman who'd let her heart rule her head. Disastrous! And with the self-esteem problem Marielle had detected the instant they'd met, Marielle didn't see how she could fail. And maybe, now she came to think about it, she was going to enjoy using 56

Penny Moon's emotions as the weapon that would finish her, and, if all that Marielle had been hearing about David Villers was true, then Marielle could hardly wait to meet him.

The next two weeks sped by and what she, Marielle and Clothilde, the mumsy, smiley assistant of Marielle's, managed to achieve in that time was enough to make Penny's head spin. That she all too often felt like Quentin Tarantino might if he were asked to script Neighbours was something she forced herself not to dwell on. Instead, she reminded herself how refreshing it was to find such willingness and enthusiasm in Clothilde, when Marielle's sullen co-operation was beginning to make the telephonists at Electricite de France seem positively helpful. Unfortunately Clothilde could only work part-time, since she had a husband, three children and an ageing father to look after, but what she managed to get through during the hours she was there was enough to convince Penny that, come what may, she was going to keep her on.

The most productive hours of all had been spent with the editor of Nice-Matin, who, amazingly, had yielded up a whole wealth of contacts with such disarming readiness and generosity that Penny had almost felt embarrassed. But that was the French for you, she remarked happily to herself: either all - as with the editor and Clothilde - or nothing - as with Marielle.

She had left Marielle in charge of following up on possible contributors that morning while she went off on a last foray into the villa-strewn hills behind Cannes to look for a house before going back to London the next day. She'd visited so many villas and mas and private domaines that in her mind they were now all starting to blend into one blurry mass of stupendous luxury. But, despite the numerous appealing features and false-start excitements, nothing so far had felt

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totally right. That was until the agent drove her through the meandering, leafy lanes around Mougins, to a villa that as soon as Penny clapped eyes on she knew she would take.

It was fairy-tale time: a blushing, glowing, riotously fertile Eden of tropical colour and breath-taking splendour. The house, all Moorish arches and gleaming white walls, sprawled across the end of the long, curved drive like a secret haven enticing you to come and share its private view of the sea. The lawns flowed across the hillside like gentle, undulating waves, the palms soared and fanned against the backdrop of a brilliant blue sky: the giant cacti bristled with sturdy pride.

As the agent let herself into the house Penny walked round to the south-facing terrace and let her eyes make the slow, entrancing journey from the turquoise-blue pool with a bubbling Jacuzzi at one end and a bougainvillaea-claimed pergola at the other, out to the distant, slumbering red rocks of the Esterel, across the sparkling Mediterranean Sea and on to the pine forest that hugged the boundaries of the property.

As she wandered down the wide, semicircular steps to the edge of the pool she felt like Alice in a wonderland of unbelievable riches. Behind her the agent was pulling open the white slatted shutters to let the bright spring sunshine pour into the house. Penny retraced her steps and followed her from the farmhouse-style kitchen to the vast sitting room with its balustraded mezzanine, ivory grand piano and huge stone fireplace; then on into the two downstairs bedrooms and bathrooms. All the parts of the house were on different levels and each room had its own access on to the sun-dazzled terraces, which were linked by finely mosaiced steps and edged by bougainvillaeacovered balustrades.

Back outside again, the agent showed her the summerkitchen, the utility room, the barbecue area, all the time keeping up her estate agent's spiel, her voice as crisp as

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the air and her appearance as neat as the garden beds. Then, leading the way back in through the french windows to the dining area, she stopped as Penny stood on the threshold and marvelled at the seductive elegance of the place.

The long, glass dining table for twelve with its brass legs and accompanying high-backed, pale linenupholstered chairs was on the upper level of the sitting room, and as Penny wandered down the steps, passing over antique silk rugs scattered across the terracottatiled floor and ran her hands along the backs of voluminous-cushioned sofas and chairs, she couldn't help wondering why the rental was so low for such a magnificent house.

"Because,"

the agent told her,

"the owners will only accept a five-year commitment and they realize that often people want only two years, maybe less."

"And what if I want to leave before the five years are up?"

Penny asked, wandering out into the oak-beamed and stone-flagged entrance hall and making for the stairs.

They will require a minimum of six months"

notice."

Penny didn't think that would pose much of a problem.

"Where are the owners?"

she asked.

They live in South Africa/

"Don't they ever come here?"

"No, the house is an investment,"

the agent replied.

"As you can see, it is beautifully furnished and cared for."

"Mmm/ Penny commented, thinking how surprisingly homely it felt despite its rambling spaciousness and air of grandeur.

"And this,"

the agent said, pushing open a solid oak door on the first landing and standing aside,

"is the master bedroom."

As Penny went past her, the agent flicked on the lights, then went to the double french windows to push open the shutters. Beyond was a cosy little veranda with its own view of the sea and a white, wrought-iron table and 59

chairs set slightly back from the jasmine-covered balustrades.

When the agent turned round, she was bewildered to see Penny shaking her head and laughing.

"I'm sorry/ Penny said,

"but it's so fantastic I can hardly believe it,"

and bouncing on to the king-sized antique brass bed, which was covered in the same white satin and lace of the drapes that fanned down over the wall behind it, she sat surveying the expensive fitted wardrobes, chests and dressing table that lined the walls.

"And through here is the principal bathroom/ the agent said, going inside and switching on the lights.

Penny was already prepared, but, even so, its luxury made her gasp.

Everything, from the long, doublebasined vanity unit with its recessed lights, to the bidet and toilet, to the multi-head shower and deep corner bath, was in a soft, ivory-coloured marble with a hint of green vein running through. The palms and ferns were fake, but it was hard to tell even when she touched them, and the plush, cushiony carpet was deep enough to lose her feet in.

"Well,"

Penny said, as they walked out of the front door and she gazed up at the quaint, sixteenth-century hilltop village of Mougins,

"I think you can start drawing up the contract. I'm going back to England tomorrow, but anything that needs my signature can always be sent Chronopost.

By the way, you did say that the maid and gardeners are paid from the rental, didn't you?"

"That is correct/ the agent confirmed.

"And the pool maintenance. And the security system."

"Incredible,"

Penny murmured. All this for a mere thirty thousand francs a month, which at today's exchange rate was round about three and a half thousand pounds. That was five hundred more than her allowance ... Still, if she didn't manage to beat the price

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down she'd make up the shortfall from her own pocket, because this was probably the only chance she'd ever get to live in a place like this. And with one last, disbelieving glance around, she got back into the agent's car, feeling so good about the extraordinary success of these past two weeks that she was almost looking forward to seeing David, if for no other reason than to gloat at what she'd managed to achieve without him. Childish, she knew, but there was already little doubt in her mind that this forced partnership of theirs was, at best, going to be spiked with feisty little battles of one-upmanship. At worst . . . well, that was something she wouldn't dwell upon for now, since she was still pretty convinced that she had yet to get a full picture of his real involvement here.

She'd spent many hours trying to imagine what kind of subterfuge or chicanery might be afoot behind David's appointment, but so far she hadn't been able to come up with a credible scenario, or at least not one that took account of a magazine of such startling insignificance. In fact, she would have put her suspicions down to her own passion for intrigue if it hadn't been for the wall of silence she had come up against on enquiring when exactly David might be planning to grace them with his presence. It wasn't that she wanted to see him

- she was experiencing an annoying turbulence in her nervous system at the very prospect - but she had expected to have at least received a telephone call by now.