‘Don’t mention it,’ he mumbled as she heard him thudding back down the rickety stairs. Taking off her clothes, she stepped into the bath and slid down until her shoulders dipped under the soapy water. All was silent, except for the evening song of a cluster of blackbirds outside and the gentle popping of bubbles against her skin, and she relaxed, feeling the tension ebb away. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea coming here after all.
Finally she came downstairs in the most casual clothes she’d brought: a pair of cashmere jogging pants and a sheer knit that just took the edge off the cool summer evening air. Philip was standing at the Aga with his shirt sleeves rolled up, grinding pepper into a bubbling pot.
‘Just in time,’ he said as he served up two plates of calorific-looking stew. They went through to the large living room, where a fire had been lit and stacks of papers set up on the table.
‘What’s that?’ she said, pointing to the paperwork.
‘Business school case studies of fashion company buy-outs, everything I could find on Simon Assad, profiles of other investment houses, company accounts . . . loads of other more boring stuff.’
She smiled, unable to hide how impressed she was. ‘You’ve certainly done your homework.’
‘Anything for a friend.’ He smiled, then looked away. ‘Anyway, what I don’t understand is why Assad can’t see the value you bring to the company.’
‘I think he did, but he’s been persuaded otherwise.’
‘By who? Randall Kane?’
Sasha shook her head. ‘On Thursday I saw Miles and Simon go in to Randall’s party together. I think Miles Ashford has poisoned Assad against me.’
‘Miles?’ said Philip, almost choking on a mouthful of stew.
‘It’s female intuition, Phil. I know it.’
‘But why would he do that? It’s just petulant.’
‘Miles always has been angry, peevish and destructive. Plus I think he’s struggling a bit – did you hear how his Dubai project went under? – and he’s pissed off because he cashed in his Rivera investment before he made any real money.’
She paused, taking a sip of wine.
‘And he’ll still be bitter about my relationship with his father.’
‘That was a long time ago, Sasha,’ he said.
She could tell he didn’t want to talk about it, but it was the elephant in the room and she needed to broach it, however painful it was.
‘You do know I was with Robert in the car accident that killed him?’ she said quietly.
‘I heard a rumour,’ said Philip, not meeting her eye.
She reached across to touch his hand. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you, Phil, I really didn’t, but . . . I suppose I was swept off my feet, or something along those lines anyway. I certainly wish I hadn’t been such a bitch to you.’
‘As I said, it was all a long time ago.’
‘Not for Miles,’ said Sasha more fiercely. ‘Miles hates me and I hate him right back.’
‘Hate is a pretty destructive emotion, Sash,’ said Philip. ‘Nothing good ever comes of it. Have you confronted him about it?’
‘As you might expect, Miles and I no longer talk.’
Phil sat in silence for a while, drinking his wine slowly, the cogs turning in his head.
‘Look, there is a way out of this,’ he said finally. ‘You’ve tried appealing to Randall and to Simon but it hasn’t worked and they seem happy to make this deal happen without your consent. You could threaten them, tell them how much negative publicity you could generate for Rivera, but you don’t want to be seen as bitter and unprofessional. So let’s find another buyer. A buyer who will make a more attractive offer than Assad.’
Sasha looked dubious. ‘We haven’t got much time. Simon’s exclusivity on the deal lasts until Monday but he’s going to be ready to formalise it any day.’
Philip shook his head. ‘That doesn’t matter. He’s only made his first offer. It will take months, believe me.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ said Sasha. ‘Randall gave me the impression it was a done deal. I don’t want to take any chances on this, Phil.’