Tasmina Perry 3-Book Collection: Daddy’s Girls, Gold Diggers, Original Sin. Tasmina Perry

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       15

      ‘I could have bought half the shop!’ laughed Camilla, stepping onto the Belgravia pavement from the front door of Christian Louboutin.

      ‘You almost did,’ smiled Venetia, looking at her sister struggling with four large bags.

      ‘Well, it is my birthday,’ smiled Camilla, feeling slightly guilty at her splurge. Still, her American Express Black card, given out only to very special customers, could more than cope with a couple of thousand pounds spent on shoes. The girls took one last look at the beautiful high-heeled pumps laid out like precious jewels in the window and started the slow amble through Belgravia. ‘I’ve made a lunch reservation for one-thirty at San Lorenzo,’ said Venetia, turning up the collar on her Fendi jacket. ‘What do you want to do until then? Harvey Nicks? We could even go back to mine for a coffee?’

      Camilla shook her head.

      ‘Oh, sorry, Van. I’d have loved to have stayed out a bit longer but Nat wants me back at the flat for twelve-thirty. He says it’s a surprise.’

      ‘Has he got you anything for your birthday yet?’ asked Venetia, slipping an arm through her sister’s.

      ‘Not yet,’ replied Camilla, ‘but I assume that’s my surprise.’

      Thirty. Ever since she was a teenager, Camilla had been dreading slipping into old age. Except now that the big three-oh had arrived, it didn’t really feel like that at all. Being thirty definitely suited her – and where she was heading. Parliament. She got goose-bumps and butterflies just thinking about it.

      ‘It’s twelve already. Does that mean we’ve got to say goodbye?’ asked Venetia in mock horror.

      Camilla nodded. ‘I’m afraid so. Thank you for my birthday shop, and my lovely, lovely present,’ she smiled, holding up a cream Jo Malone bag festooned with black ribbons. ‘I think I’d better jump in a cab before I collapse under the weight of my shopping.’

      Venetia was sad to see her sister go. Although they lived within a few miles of each other, Camilla worked such long hours she was lucky to see her twice a month.

      The sisters embraced and a taxi pulled to the kerb to pick up the beautiful blonde girl with the armfuls of shopping. ‘Glebe Place,’ she said before sliding back into the seat. She watched the expensive stuccoed streets of Belgravia slip by and wondered what her big surprise could be.

      One of the most beautiful apartments on one of London’s most prestigious streets, everybody who had seen Camilla’s fabulous four-bedroomed duplex flat assumed the interiors were the product of Venetia Balcon’s renowned design talents. In fact, Camilla had taken great delight in turning down Venetia’s offer to revamp the place when she had bought it, and, ever the control freak, had instead set about doing the work herself. She’d chosen every carpet, fabric and curtain, supervising every major structural improvement and even making innovative suggestions to Tom Barrett, the architect, who had been so impressed by her design savvy that he’d nearly offered her a job.

      Camilla clearly had a hidden gift because the apartment was stunning. The walls were chalky white and lined with Diane Arbus prints. The carpets were so thick and soft that they were like a sheet of sheared mink, and the Far Eastern feel of the furniture, in shades of dark teak and cherry, somehow worked alongside the very modern pink neon heart ‘art piece’ and the big stack of photography books on the huge Perspex coffee table. French windows book-ended the apartment, with the back doors stretching out onto a balcony littered with terracotta boxes of flowers and hedgerow. Only a stack of legal files bound in red twine on the big walnut desk hinted that the house belonged to a barrister and not a designer.

      Camilla walked into the reception room to find Nat Montague standing in the middle of the cream carpet, a grey cashmere jumper straining over wide shoulders, a crop of nutmeg hair falling mischievously onto his face. She noticed that his navy-blue eyes were sparkling and that he was standing next to a pile of tan leather suitcases.

      ‘You’re five minutes early,’ he smiled, picking up one of the cases.

      Camilla trotted over to her boyfriend and kissed him urgently. ‘Oh Nat, I hate waiting for surprises,’ she pouted. ‘Tell me what it is! What’s with all the luggage?’

      ‘Your surprise,’ said Nat, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and kissing her bottom lip gently. He slid his warm hand down the back of her jeans to stroke the base of her spine and the top of her buttocks.

      She pulled away, giggling. ‘Nat …’

      He shrugged, disappointed. He would have liked nothing better right now than to peel her clothes off, take her up to the emperor-sized bed and make love to her all afternoon. But, glancing over to the big antique clock on the fireplace, he realized there was not even time for a quickie on the Perspex coffee table.

      ‘Put your shoes and coat back on,’ he smirked mysteriously. ‘We’re off out.’

      Camilla looked puzzled. There was a very cautious part of her that really didn’t like surprises. ‘But Cate is coming round at three …’

      ‘I’ve cancelled her,’ said Nat with a smug look.

      Camilla glanced at her desk, piled high with case files and yellow legal notepads and felt a rush of panic. ‘And I’ve got to do some work …’

      She looked at the irritation on Nat’s face and gave a weak, worried smile. ‘OK, OK, let’s go.’

      It was only when Nat’s grey Aston Martin turned up the Heathrow Airport approach ramp that Camilla realized they probably weren’t going out for dinner for her birthday. At least, not to any restaurant in England.

      ‘Now can you tell me where we’re going?’ whined Camilla, pulling at the sleeve of Nat’s jacket as they hurried to the Swiss Air check-in desk. Nat stopped at the counter, pulling out two airline tickets. ‘Happy birthday, darling,’ he said. ‘We’re going to Megève for dinner.’

      Camilla’s mind momentarily ran over all the work she had to get done for a case that began on Tuesday, but she quickly shook it off. She was going to Megève! She loved the French ski resort more than anywhere else on earth, and Camilla loved skiing almost as much as work. The Balcon girls had all been forced onto the slopes from toddling age. They used to go to Gstaad then, when Oswald would abandon them on the slopes while he disappeared into the exclusive Eagle Club. So now she had found a different winter resort to frequent. Megève was like Paris on the slopes: all chic Europeans, delicious food and laid-back rustic charm, without the St Moritz glitz she hated.

      And of course it was just like Nat to whisk her off there for her birthday. He was prone to flamboyant gestures, and as a rich banker with family money he could afford them – especially when it was in the pursuit of pleasure. In the two years they had СКАЧАТЬ