Simply Divine (21 page)

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Champagne looked pointedly at Jane's far from perfect thighs.

Outside, Jane leaned briefly against the wall and took a deep, shuddering breath before attempting to find her way back down the maze of corridors to the exit. Blundering amid the blinding brightness of the shining vinyl floors, she became dimly aware of a voice calling, 'Excuse me.'

She turned. It was the weary-looking, clipboard-laden houseman who had taken her to Champagne's bed.

'Don't worry, she's going to be fine,' he assured her. 'She'll be out in a few days. She's recovering very well, and should be back to normal in no time.'

'Wonderful,' said Jane dully.

Saul, thought Tally, was a revelation. A miracle, no less. Holed up in her remote, crumbling manor house, she had, after the succession of disastrous would-be buyers, almost given up on ever being rescued. She had started to feel like Tennyson's Mariana of the Moated Grange. Marry Anyone of the Moated Grange, come to that.

What was most gratifying was how much Saul seemed to appreciate the house. 'This place is just
wonderful,'
he said as Tally started her tour. He clasped his hands and gazed around, shaking his head slowly in apparent amazement. 'It has such history. Such atmosphere.'

Such
bloody potential,
he thought to himself, keeping his eyes downcast to disguise their avaricious shine. He'd had a feeling about this place as soon as Tally had started to talk about it at the dinner party. And what a bonus that had been. He'd gone to Amanda's to warn that uppity bitch Jane to stop cutting him out of Champagne's columns, and come away with an entree into the best deal of

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his life. Which was just as well considering Champagne had dumped him the next morning. But, if he was honest, that had been something of a relief.

What a lucky dog I am, he reflected gleefully. To lose one golden goose might be seen as careless, but to find another within twenty-four hours was damn near miraculous. And what a golden egg Mullions was. Once you knocked the whole pile down and built a commuter estate in its place, of course. There were
bazilliom
to be made here. But he had to be careful. Tally was obviously obsessed with the old heap. Softly softly catchee bulldozer, Saul warned himself, his head bubbling with plans.

'It has such atmosphere,' he repeated, pacing slowly round the drawing room, unable to think of what else to say. If he meant to be convincing, he'd have to work on his architectural vocabulary. Tally would probably prefer he admired her corbels to her cheekbones. He stole a quick glance at her. Not that she had very good ones. Her face was thin and concave, rather like the reflection in a spoon.

'You mean it's freezing and it smells of mildew,' Tally grinned, self-deprecatingly. But she thrilled inside. Saul's interest was a pleasant and profound contrast to the Krankenhauses, the sandwich king, and most of all Champagne D'Vyne. Not to mention the fact he seemed, well, almost
interested
in her. She shrank from the full beam of his gaze.

Saul smiled at her with something approaching lust in his eyes. Tally really was a gorgeous sight. An estate worth several million standing before him in a baggy sweatshirt and the worst haircut he had ever seen. And, even better, showing signs of being mightily taken with
him.

'Natalia . ..' he said.

'Call me Tally.' Her eyes shone and a blush rose from

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her neck to her forehead. It did not suit her, Saul thought.

'May I look in here?' he asked, approaching the doorway of the Green Drawing Room and almost cringing with veneration for Tally's benefit. He stared, with every appearance of utter fascination, at the portrait of the Second Lord Venery as a be-ruffed, brocaded child. 'Such a noble face,' he said in fascinated tones. 'Even at that age. Such breeding.'

'I think it was more a case of such bleeding,' Tally replied, ecstatic at the intensity of his interest. 'He was a very unhappy child. Got the strap a lot from his father.'

'Oh, a belted earl,' said Saul, grinning at her in the semi-darkness. Tally started, then giggled nervously, and proceeded to lead him from treasure to treasure. 'Miraculous,' declared Saul, apparently almost asphyxiated with admiration on being shown the decorative ostrich egg Queen Victoria had given to the Fifth Earl. What really struck him as miraculous, however, was the fact that Tally was still alive after having breathed in the dank and dusty atmosphere of the house for twenty-odd years. It was incredible she hadn't died of consumption. On the other hand, she wore a lot of clothes. All of them at once, by the look of it. Pretty odd-looking, as well, with that funny snub nose. Still, ugly girls were always easy. They were so grateful.

And Tally
was
grateful. She was thrilled to have someone in the house so interested in simply
everything.
Saul had even been fascinated by the large pieces of lava on the downstairs corridor floor brought back by the Fourth Earl from Pompeii. 'Hot stuff,' he had said wittily, trying to disguise his disappointment that the rocks on the carpet were not, as he had thought, bits of the house that had already fallen down.

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'Splendid,' he had said, feeling a piece of brocaded curtain dissolve in his hands at the precise moment Tally invited his admiration of the Eighth Earl's stuffed bustards. It was more than splendid. The place was even closer to collapse than it looked. Some of the wooden floors were so soggy and worm-eaten they were practically sponges. He probably wouldn't even need to bring in the bulldozers. Just leaning vigorously against one of the doorframes should bring the whole place crashing down.

His stomach surged with excitement. If he could pull this off, it would be the biggest success of his life. He looked speculatively at Tally's layers of sweaters. He needed to pull
those
off, too. If he could make Tally fall in love with him, and even better, marry him, things could really start moving. Big metal things, with cranes and drills attached.

'Oh dear,' Saul suddenly announced as they mounted the staircase under the baleful eye of the Ancestors. 'I've been so fascinated by everything you've shown me that it's
far
too late to drive back to London.' He was speaking nothing less than the truth. He had been
enchanted
by the disastrous state of the house. And Tally had been even more of a pushover than he had hoped. He still needed to push her
over properly,
however. 'I would just
adore,'
said Saul, his eyes fixed meltingly on her, 'to see the Elizabethan Bedroom.'

'Oh, yes, of course,' said Tally, wondering vaguely where Saul might sleep. Beds as most people understood them hadn't been much in favour at Mullions lately. Her own tiny single bed which she had had since childhood was about the only serviceable one left. Tally doubted Saul would want to curl up in Julias smelly old bearskins, still less spend the small hours standing in the garden as Big

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Horn had sometimes done. His idea of a good evening out, Tally supposed. But not everyone's.

She stopped short halfway down the Long Gallery. 'Here's one of our finest tapestries,' she said proudly, gesturing at a murky piece of cloth upon which Saul could discern practically nothing. 'Made to celebrate the wedding of the Fourth Earl and Countess. It depicts the legend of Jonah and the Whale.'

'Jonah and the Whale, eh?' smiled Saul. A mischievous glint stole into his eye. 'Not very flattering for the poor old Countess,' he remarked. 'Large lady, was she?'

Tally turned a horrified glance on him. Briefly, Saul felt his fate hang in the balance. He had dared to make light of the Mullions heirlooms. Then Tally's face split into a smile. 'You
are
dreadful,' she said and led the way onwards.

They reached the Elizabethan Bedroom door. Tally pushed but the door resisted.

'Here, let me,' said Saul, applying himself to the unrelenting oak, which immediately relented to such an extent that the door flew open and they both shot across the polished floor, narrowly avoiding a skirmish with a Georgian washstand.

'Wonderful,' said Saul, picking himself up and gazing upon the house s greatest treasure. The extent of the moth damage on the counterpane's embroidery made his heart sing. The heavy, carved bedposts were obviously as humming with woodworm as they were cavorting with semi-naked gods and goddesses, and his cup ran over when the electricity suddenly cut out. Tally fumblingly lit a candle whose flame sent Saul's profile, his nose curved and lengthened, jerking devilishly across the cracked, whitewashed walls of the room. He turned to look at her, his eyes gleaming. 'You're gorgeous,' he said, addressing not

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Tally but what he had by now estimated as the ten thousand acres of prime building land she represented.

Tally glanced demurely at the polished floorboards and shivered. Less from the cold than the excitement of being completely alone in the proximity of a bed with the handsomest man she had ever seen in her life. And who had just told her she was gorgeous into the bargain. Her heart thumped and her throat felt dry in profound contrast to the distinctly moist feeling in her gusset.

'I want you,' said Saul, urgently, to the rolling, curving acres of the Mullions estate standing before him in human form. A slow smile spread across his face and his eyes glowed as he looked deeply and (quite literally) specula-tively into Tally's. Surrender, he saw, was written there in capital letters. Tm desperate for you,' he told her passionately.

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'Out of hospital and flat on her back again, I see,' said Josh fondly, holding up the centre spread of the
Sun.
Under the headline 'SEE NIPPLES AND DAI' was a huge picture of a scantily-dressed Champagne with her new football star boyfriend. ' "Dancing the night away in a skimpy gold bikini top and matching hot pants",' he quoted.

'Ooh, lovely,' said Valentine. 'And what was Champagne wearing?'

Jane pointedly said nothing. She was sick of Josh, sick of Valentine, sick of the job. Most of all, she was sick of Champagne. Once out of hospital, Champagne had lost no time telling every tabloid editor who would listen about the exhausting, stressful pressures of fame that had led to her near-fatal encounter with sleeping pills. Sympathetic spreads about burn-out syndrome had resulted, along with fact boxes covering everything you needed to know about insomnia.

Insomnia, Jane snorted to herself. It was the first time she had heard staying up all night at Tramp and the Met Bar count as inability to sleep.

Since their encounter in the hospital ward, Jane had been unable even to look at a photograph of

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Champagne without foaming at the mouth. To be told that the person whose life you had saved was not only ungrateful but had actually hand-picked you to do it on the grounds that you were their social inferior was more than infuriating. It was devastating. Jane's self-esteem was currently lower than absolute zero.

Her telephone rang. 'Be quick with that,' Josh rapped out. 'We need to have a features meeting. Everything you've suggested to go in next month is rubbish.'

Jane thrust her middle finger up half-heartedly in the direction of her boss's temporarily turned back and picked up the receiver. 'Is this Jane Bentley?' asked a peremptory cut-glass voice, but one which didn't, mercifully, belong to Champagne.

'Victoria Cavendish here. I'm the editor of
Fabulous,
as you probably know.' Jane did know. Everyone knew. Victoria Cavendish had been around long enough to qualify for fully paid-up legend status. She had edited
Fabulous, Gorgeous $
direct rival, for years, and was supposed to be every bit as shrewd and ambitious as Josh. She was also supposed to be the sort of editor who wouldn't even share a lift with you if you were wearing the wrong length of hemline that season. Rumours about her abounded. Whiplash thin, she reportedly existed on one rocket leaf a day, bathed in Badoit and sent her daughter's school clothes to be unpicked and recut by the Chanel atelier. She had, it was said, once resigned from a job because her office, while vast, was half a centimetre smaller than that of another of the company's editors. Size was also an issue when it came to Victorias staff, some of whom, it was whispered, had been sacked for the ultimate crime of Putting On Weight. If true, Jane thought, it was certainly the most literal

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interpretation of gross misconduct she had ever come across.

Til come straight to the point,' said Victoria briskly. 'I'm looking for a deputy editor. I've heard great things about you and I wondered if you might be interested.'