Sin Tropez (38 page)

The first thing Sarah did when she got home that evening was call Si. This new job would mean that she wouldn’t have to work so closely with Willy and follow him around
everywhere. If Si could only be made to see that he had nothing to be jealous of then maybe they could give their relationship another try. It was too much to hope that Si had used their break to
let his hair down a little, be a bit more adventurous himself, but she knew him, he would find it in his heart to understand that she needed a bit more excitement in her life. The phone rang only
once before he picked up.

‘Hi,’ he breathed.

He was met by silence.

‘H-hi,’ he repeated. ‘Sarah is that you?’

‘Oh, Si. It’s so good to hear your voice.’ She hugged the phone to her ear. Everything would be fine.

****

Abena was dreading dumping Bertrand. She’d been hoping to go for the gradual fizzle-out but he simply wouldn’t stop calling and texting to tell her how much he
wanted her, so, unfortunately, decisive action was called for.

Arriving at Bertrand’s house, she saw him through the window, sitting at a table with the
FT
in one hand and a glass of whisky in the other. Mrs Brampton Amis was apparently away
again. Did the woman even know what her husband looked like now? Abena made a mental note to ‘See Husband’ when she got married.

Bertrand rushed out of his house and paid the driver, then ushered Abena in ahead of him.

‘Is everything OK, Bertrand? You look stressed.’ Maybe now wasn’t the right time for her news.

‘Sit down, Abena. Drink? I have something to tell you.’

She shook her head. ‘No thanks. What’s the matter? Are you pregnant with my baby?’

They sat on opposite sides of the table and he held her hands.

‘Abena, I’m afraid this has to stop.’ And then, when she didn’t answer. ‘There’s too much at stake. My career, my wife, my family, my … my reputation.
Abena, I don’t think I can leave my wife for you.’

‘What?’ she spluttered. ‘B, you’re interviewing me for a job I don’t want.’

‘Excuse me?’ Bertrand sat up, in tense indignation.

‘I never expected, nor wanted that.’ Abena laughed, and felt relieved. ‘You’ve been so kind to me, and I felt … felt that we sort of connected. But I know your
situation, and I’ve always understood mine.’

Bertrand shook with the galling realization that a player had been played. He’d been a little divertissement for his fascinating mistress who, he guessed, was probably in love with a
younger, fitter and quite possibly better-looking man.

‘You’re too good for the likes of Sebastian Spectre,’ he sulked.

‘Oh my Spectre days are well and truly over,’ Abena said. ‘My days of loving men who love themselves too much to have space for me are
finito
!’

She’d blurted that out as she thought it sounded good in a melodramatic, filmic kind of way, but as she said it, she looked at Bertrand and realized it was true. She got up, unburdened,
now ready to leave Bertrand to his terrifying-looking wife and his next conquest.

Bertrand sat heavily on a chair, facing his former mistress, but couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eye when he asked, ‘It’s been … fun, though, hasn’t it?
I mean, I … I really fancy you.’

Abena saw a man who’d once been beautiful but whose waist was starting to spread and whose hair had to be regularly dyed to erase the grey. She saw a man who had once been able to score on
the strength of his looks alone, but who now had to call in the reserves – his breeding, his education, and his fortune – to get half the female attention he used to get. And she knew
what to say.

‘It’s been wonderful.’

‘Thank you,’ Bertrand replied. ‘I needed to hear you say that.’

‘Baby, this came for you earlier.’ Claude carried a small parcel into the master bedroom where Natalya was having a back massage, performed by her favourite
masseuse, Ingrid. Much to Ingrid’s annoyance, Natalya reached for the parcel mid-massage. It must have aroused Claude’s suspicion if he was dealing with it personally. After all, they
had staff for that.

‘Well? Open it!’ Claude snapped.

Ingrid cleared her throat before announcing, ‘Natalya needs complete silence to fully enjoy the relaxing qualities of Swedish massage.’

A thick-set woman with a fierce demeanour, Ingrid had been a top women’s rights campaigner in Stockholm before opting for a slower pace of life and becoming a masseuse. She could feel
Natalya flinch every time Claude entered the room and she glared at him with a venom even more fervent than the combined outrage of the six thousand construction-company employees he’d made
redundant that morning.

‘No, it’s OK Ingrid, I think we can finish up early today. Thenk you.’

‘As you wish.’ Ingrid pursed her lips and packed up her oils. She kissed Natalya goodbye, nodded curtly in Claude’s direction and marched out of the room.

Claude immediately turned to Natalya and barked ‘What is it?’

With trembling hands Natalya opened the parcel and was at first euphoric that the scrawled, childish handwriting and paper she’d come to dread was absent. But she quickly recognized, to
her dismay, a new threat emerging. The parcel was wrapped in the chic Cartier packaging that had once given her such pleasure.

‘What!’ Claude dropped his voice to a whisper and brought his face close to hers. ‘Somebody is sending you jewellery? You impertinent bitch. How many men do you need? One is
not enough for you? No? Answer me?’

His face was white and the hand that gripped her chin was as cold as steel. Snatching up the compliment slip accompanying the Cartier box, he read aloud: ‘To Natalya, Our favourite and
most talented star, Love everybody at Moda Nova Models’.

‘You see, it’s not from a man, of course not. There is only you, Claude.’

Visibly calmer, and somewhat sheepish, Claude shrugged his shoulders and grudgingly conceded. ‘Hmmn. You know what I think of this mindless modelling anyway.’

He turned on his heel and walked out of the house to where his driver was waiting.

‘Sure, but that won’t stop you boasting about your supermodel girlfriend at parties,’ muttered Natalya to nobody in particular. She opened the parcel and pulled out a large
special-edition Cartier watch. The very model she had dreamed of owning only a year ago. She contemplated it briefly, and then placed it in her wardrobe beside a similar one in a rare shade, which
Claude had bought to match her favourite eye shadow.

The next minute her phone rang. Natalya checked that Claude had left and that there were no spying maids within earshot, then answered.

‘Hello, Gaby. Thenk you for the watch. Very nice.’

‘Natalya. Thank
you.
Kate’s defection hasn’t made even a dent in our bottom line thanks to your success. And now, what a coup! You’ve been chosen for one of the
biggest campaigns of the year. Gucci want you for everything! You’ll work exclusively for them in Milan for a season and you’ll be fronting everything – the perfume, the
sunglasses campaign, you’ll be opening the shows. And it’s a multi-million-pound contract, sweetie. Your first one.’

Natalya closed her eyes.

‘Natalya, you still there?’

‘It’s not the money. It’s just … to be wanted. I’ve never been wanted so much in my life.’

‘Everybody wants you, baby. You’re the best.’

‘When do they need me in Milan?’

Gaby took a deep breath, and just hoped that her trickiest and most valuable girl wouldn’t choose this moment to be difficult.

‘They want you in Milan next week, but we wouldn’t dream of putting you in a model apartment with the other girls, we’ve booked you into a suite at the Hotel Principe di Savoia
for the next few months. Now, we know you wouldn’t like to spend so much time away from Claude, so we’re also arranging business-class flights back to London for you whenever you have
at least two days free without any modelling assignments.’

‘I don’t think this will be necessary,’ Natalya cut in.

‘Now, now, honey,’ Gaby cooed in the baby voice she used on the more demanding models who let the attention get to their heads. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t want this
contract. You know, it’ll—’

‘No. I will accept this contract. But I don’t need the flights to London. I will enjoy a spell in a new city. And I would like to stay with the other models.’

In one moment everything was clear. She loathed her life in London, living in constant fear and repression. She wanted to escape. She felt almost giddy with relief and she wondered why the
thought had never occurred to her before.

‘Fantastic, darling, I’ll have everything booked and forwarded to you in the next hour.’

‘Very good. Goodbye.’

The decision was instant, total and unwavering. She knew, just
knew
it was right. Natalya stood and looked at her watch. She didn’t have much time – Claude would be back in
four hours.

Something had changed inside her over the last few months. She’d come so close to realizing her dream with Claude, only to discover that this dream was in fact a nightmare. What were
untold riches compared with freedom? In Tara she’d seen how a person’s reality could be altered by a single decision and by the courage to see it through. She had also seen that true
happiness was only possible when one learnt to love oneself despite one’s flaws. She had once viewed her own success in the modelling industry as an indicator of her worth as a person, and
the constant setbacks had destroyed her confidence. Since her success with Blue Whisper, she’d come to understand that the key was in her, not in anything or anyone else. Sure, she wanted to
enjoy the high life, and she still would – she was making money herself – but the real success was a new-found sense of worth that came from within.

Just as, at Appletons, Philip had helped to show Tara that she deserved to be loved but that it was up to her to save herself, the fashion industry had, in its warped way, shown Natalya that she
too was utterly loveable.

She thought of Tara, out in the countryside, recovering well, she hoped. Although Natalya had considered hooking her up with her agent as a quirky Stella Tennant-style Brit model, she knew it
would be better for Tara to stay out of London for the time being. She would miss her. She hoped they’d keep in touch.

Reaching into her jewellery cabinet, she pulled out boxes upon boxes of gifts, mostly from men, and the odd piece she had treated herself to. This was almost seven years’ worth of jewels,
with Claude’s diamonds being the crowning glory. Scooping everything into a tote bag, she took a taxi to Hatton Garden and poured the whole lot out in front of a flabbergasted jeweller. After
much deliberation he valued the entire collection at £1.2 million. Fingering the glimmering stones encrusted in a thin gold bracelet, she suspected the true worth was closer to £2
million, but she needed closure.

‘I’ll sell it all.’

Next stop was Claridge’s, where she charmed a concierge into letting her hire their most sumptuous suite. From the comfort of her temporary dwelling, she called Claude’s home and
instructed Sylvie, one of the maids, to pack up her things and leave them in cases in the hallway. Lastly she called her mother to tell her of her recent modelling successes and to invite her and
the boys to London for the week, before she set off for Milan.

‘No, mother dear, do not protest,’ Natalya urged into the phone. ‘I know you are worried about letting the boys experience such opulence, but I’m going to buy you a nice
home now, Mama. I have enough for all of us now.’

And so it was with both elation and fear that Natalya returned home that evening to announce to Claude that she was leaving him. Claude was standing in the hallway when she arrived. His eyes
were narrowed, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, and his head hung low.

‘What is all this? he asked.’

‘I’m leafing you Claude.’

‘Ha, ha!’ Claude laughed, though his face was thunderous. ‘I’ll pretend you never said anything so ridiculous. Go and put on a dress – and put on some jewels. We
have a dinner in Holland Park at nine.’

Natalya stared down at the shoes Claude had given her; the girlie ballet slippers he thought made her look her like a teenager.

‘I’m serious. I’m leaving you. I’m moving to Milan. My flight is booked.’

She didn’t look up at him. She couldn’t. She bit her lip and waited for something. A cry of outrage. A blow maybe? But nothing came.

Slowly, she raised her head. Claude was surveying her meditatively but without betraying his emotions. This was his negotiating face. In the past he’d squeezed extra millions out of deals
with this look, never revealing that while he pretended to contemplate the offer, coolly and at length, he was secretly terrified. It was the same face he’d worn when he’d staked most
of his fortune on a particular deal, in a gamble that could have seen him lose his entire empire.

‘And how do you suppose you’ll support yourself without me?’

‘I’ll model.’ Natalya stood up straight and looked him in the eye.

‘Are you seeing somebody else?’ Claude blinked slowly, though his expression remained impenetrable. ‘You’ve changed. You are different. Somehow.’

‘I hef nobody else, Claude. Thenk you for all you hef done for me, but I hef made my decision.’

‘There are no second chances with me, Natalya. I am going to go and have a glass of wine, a good Romanée-Conti red. Then I will ask you again if you mean what you say. If you have
managed to come to your senses I am prepared to dismiss what you have just said to me as a childish tantrum. If, however, you repeat what you have just told me, I will want you out of my home and I
will not want to see your face again.’ Claude turned and walked carefully towards the dining room.

When he returned, five minutes later, Natalya was standing in the same spot.

‘Well, have you changed your mind?’ he asked.

‘I must go.’

‘Get out.’

He stood in silence as Natalya ushered in the driver of the large taxi she had waiting outside, and instructed him to carry her things to the vehicle. Although she’d already asked Sylvie
to donate twelve suitcases full of her clothes to charity, there was still a lot to move. All the while, Claude stood quietly, waiting until the last bag had been squeezed into the car. Natalya
wasn’t sure what the etiquette should be in this situation – after all, for all its brevity, she had lived with the man, and at one point had thought they might marry. She decided to
kiss him goodbye. As she brushed her mouth against his cheek he closed his eyes but remained silent until Natalya had retreated again and stepped out of the house. Before she could shut the door
behind her, he called her name.