Chelsea Wives. Anna-Lou Weatherley

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СКАЧАТЬ he is, young Asian chap with lovely teeth,’ she said, twisting her napkin nervously. ‘He says I’ve got the big C …’

      Imogen felt her heart miss a beat.

      ‘The big C?’

      ‘Yes, darling, you know, cancer. Apparently, I’m riddled with the damn stuff. I’m afraid there’s nothing they can do.’

      Imogen gasped. They may have been estranged for some years, but this made the news no less shocking.

      ‘Please don’t cry, darling, you’ll set me off,’ Cressida said, reaching her hand across the table and welling up herself. It was easy to cry. All she need do was think about the imminent repossession of her Mayfair pied-à-terre.

      ‘Oh God, cancer.’ Imogen fought back tears. ‘How long have you known?’

      ‘About two months,’ Cressida said gently. ‘Since then I’ve been trying to live life to the full, darling. You know the usual clichés, travel a bit, see a few sights, achieve some goals before it’s a wrap and I head to the giant Prada store in the sky.’ Cressida let out a bitter laugh.

      ‘Don’t joke,’ Imogen said, shaking her head. She couldn’t bear it.

      Cressida sighed deeply.

      ‘The fact is, my name’s down on heaven’s guest list and I’m going in. That’s all there is to it.’

      Cressida watched as a lone grey tear ran the length of her former protégée’s beautiful face and thought how she would burn on a pyre for this one.

      ‘How long?’ Imogen asked, her voice cracking like glass.

      ‘They can’t say exactly,’ Cressida replied, dabbing at Imogen’s tears with her napkin in motherly concern. ‘A few months maybe … who knows?’

      Imogen almost knocked her bread plate from the table.

      ‘Oh no, Cressie, no!’ She began to sob into the white linen napkin. ‘But treatment … there must be something … anything they can do!’

      ‘Come on now, darling, it’s OK, it’s OK,’ Cressida soothed. ‘Look, I’m so sorry to have sprung it on you like this, but when the call from L’Orelie came I thought, well, this is it, one last chance for us to work our magic together.’ She paused for effect. ‘But I appreciate your life has moved on. They say it’s never a good idea to go backwards anyway, darling. Who needs a reminder of their past when they have a future? If they’re lucky enough to have a future, that is.’ Cressida added, wondering if she was beginning to lay it on a little too thick.

      She glanced at Imogen who looked to be in thought from across the table.

      ‘I’ll do it,’ she said after a moment’s pause. ‘I’ll test for the L’Orelie campaign. You’ve been like a second mother to me in the past and, well, it’s the least I can do.’

      Cressida felt her batteries recharging.

      ‘I prefer sister,’ Cressida bristled good-humouredly. ‘But what about Seb?’ she enquired, careful to mask her sense of relief.

      Imogen shrugged. ‘Screw Seb. Seb can deal with it. I owe you, Cress.’

      ‘Really, darling, you’ll do it for me?’ Caught up in the drama of it all, Cressida found herself welling up for real. She squeezed Imogen’s hand tightly and let out a little squeal. ‘It’ll be just like the old days again, darling,’ she said, eyes shining victoriously. ‘You really don’t know how much this means to me. Let’s order a bottle of fizz to celebrate.’ Cressida waved her hand in the air. ‘Marcello darling, a bottle of vintage Krug please … nice and chilled. We’re celebrating.’

      ‘Very good, Ms Lucas,’ he nodded obligingly.

      ‘I’m sorry, Cress,’ Imogen explained, ‘I can’t stay for champagne. I’ve got to be somewhere this afternoon and I’m driving.’ It felt somehow wrong to celebrate after what she’d just been told.

      Cressida pouted.

      ‘Ah well, not to worry, poppet. The test shoot takes place next week in LA. Can you get away?’

      Imogen nodded. ‘Leave it with me.’

      ‘I’ll call you with all the itinerary, flights, hotels etcetera …’

      Imogen stood to leave.

      ‘I hope you don’t mind if I head off. The sooner I get back, the sooner I can square it all with Seb. I promise I’ll celebrate with you properly in LA. We’ll stay at the Chateaux Marmont, get trashed on cocktails, like we used to …’ her voice trailed off, sadly.

      Cressida nodded, understanding.

      ‘You’ve saved my life by agreeing to this shoot. That’s more than enough for me.’ She looked up at Imogen’s dark, soulful eyes and her full lips, which were fixed in a pensive half smile and felt a hideous flash of guilt at deceiving her.

      ‘If only it were that easy,’ Imogen said, leaning in and wrapping her arms tightly around her old friend. ‘I’m here for you,’ she choked, inhaling her familiar scent deeply. ‘Till the end.’

      ‘I’ll call you,’ Cressida said as she watched Imogen leave the restaurant, her silky chestnut hair glimmering in the sunlight. She still had the fabulous strut, she thought as she watched her walk towards the door.

      CHAPTER 4

      Yasmin Belmont-Jones stretched a long, toned leg high up into the air, sighed and signalled for a crew member to come and refill her empty champagne flute.

      A young, attractive deckhand duly made his way over and tried not to stare at her bronzed, firm breasts, which were proudly on display. She adjusted the ties of her Missoni bikini and tightened her matching headscarf, aware of his chaste attempts not to stare, deliberately teasing him. Go on, I dare you, she thought as she twisted her body slightly towards him affording him a better view, get a load of these babies. She watched him intently as he poured the champagne into a fresh, ice-cold crystal flute and did his best to refrain from making eye contact. He could tell this one had trouble written all over her.

      Yasmin peered over her giant dark Dior sunglasses and surveyed the surrounding view with a deep sense of satisfaction. The Magus really was the most stunning boat she could have ever imagined; four polished-wood decks of luxurious, elegant living all on one state of the art 170 foot-long motor yacht. The impressive vessel boasted its own seaplane, a crew of seventeen, a heated top deck Jacuzzi, a freshwater swimming pool, twelve beautifully appointed guest suites and an exotic master suite apartment filled with antiques, embroidered silk fabrics and plush overstuffed furniture. Though he owned a rather impressive (albeit more modest) boat himself, The Magus did not belong to Lord Jeremy Belmont, rather he had won a week’s possession from his billionaire Greek shipping magnate friend, Demiris, in an exceptionally well-executed game of poker, and Yasmin Jones was determined to enjoy everything the boat had to offer.

      ‘Is there anything else, my lady?’ the blonde, blue-eyed deckhand asked.

      ‘Yes,’ she said, taking СКАЧАТЬ