‘So are you telling me you can … ?’
Rob smiled and touched her arm again. An unconscious intimate gesture, that made them both flinch slightly.
‘I’ll speak to her. She owes me a few favours, and she’s angling for a recording contract. I’ll see what I can sort out, OK?’
Emma smiled. It was weak, but it was a smile.
‘I am pissed off, Rob, but you’ve bought yourself some time.’
‘That’s good enough for me, baby!’ he said with a wink.
Emma turned back towards the gate.
‘Oh and Rob? Don’t call me baby.’
20
‘Cassandra, are you ready? Fashion keep yelling for you,’ said Lianne, as soon as her boss had walked through the door. ‘They want to do the run-through.’ Cassandra gave her assistant a rare smile.
‘Certainly, I’m on my way.’
She was in a buoyant mood. She had just come down from Greg Barbera’s office where he had confirmed Jason Tostvig’s departure from Rive magazine to go and join Rural Living as its publishing director. According to Greg, Jason hadn’t been seen in the office since Isaac Grey had announced his change of senior management although he had received a phone call from Jason’s mother saying her son was seeing a doctor about stress and he might need to be signed off work indefinitely.
Cassandra strode into the fashion department for the monthly ritual of examining every bag, skirt, dress, shirt, hat, scarf and shoe that her editors intended to put in their fashion shoots. Not only was the run-through crucial for ensuring that every major advertiser was represented within Rive’s fashion pages, but Cassandra wanted every item in the magazine to have her personal seal of approval. She simply could not trust anyone else’s fashion eye.
‘So. Talk me through it,’ said Cassandra running her fingers along the long rails of clothes.
Francesca Adams, the fashion director, cleared her throat to speak.
‘As you know, I’m doing “Oligarch’s Wife?
?. Belle is shooting the Debutante’s story and Laura is doing the suede story in Papua New Guinea.’
‘Yes, how are we doing with the cannibals?’
Laura Hildon, her blonde aristocratic senior fashion editor popped her head around the rail.
‘It’s proving a bit tricky, to be honest. I thought we might just shoot Giselle next to a bunch of locals and get them to hold up a couple of human skulls but we think there might be trouble at customs if we try and take something like that through. I don’t think Giselle will be too happy, either.’
‘Well, you’d better find some genuine cannibals then,’ snapped Cassandra. ‘Belle. You’d better go first. It’s obvious that Laura hasn’t prepared her shoot properly.’
Rive’s talented young fashion editor directed her boss towards the rail of clothes she intended to take to her shoot.
‘As you know I’m going for the oligarch’s wife in Sardinia vibe. Trash luxe. Lots of metallics. Lots of Cavalli and Dolce.’
‘Will Abramovitch let us use his yacht?’ said Cassandra thoughtfully. ‘We could call it Roman’s Holiday.’
‘We’re shooting at Cala Di Volpe. It’s been arranged for weeks,’ said Francesca cautiously, hoping Cassandra wouldn’t make another one of her sudden changes. Cassandra rifled forensically through the rail, pulling out pieces she didn’t consider suitable or up to scratch and handing them to a fashion assistant who was waiting behind her to catch the fall-out.
‘I love this piece,’ said Francesca holding up a violet Lycra jumpsuit. ‘It’s perfect for hopping on and off a Gulfstream.’
‘I’m teaming it with Roger Vivier pumps and the new Milford 100 Bag which I adore,’ continued Belle. ‘There’s only one sample in the pewter ostrich. It’s coming over from Vogue this afternoon.’
‘Tell them not to bother,’ said Cassandra coolly.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Belle feeling the icy chill sweep through the fashion department.
‘Tell them not to bother,’ repeated Cassandra. ‘The jump-suit and the pumps are fine but we need to find a replacement for the bag.’