He sat back on the edge of the bed and Molly knelt behind him to give his shoulders a rub.
‘How’s Evie?’ she asked playfully. ‘As gorgeous as her granddad?’
Alexander turned to face her. ‘Do you have to remind me of my advancing years?’
She wrapped her arms around his body, her fingers probing between the fold of his robe. ‘You’re only as young as the woman you feel Alex.’
‘Since you ask, Evie is a delight. Donna on the other hand …’ He paused. ‘I’m sorry, she is a friend of yours, I’m being rude.’
Molly sat back on the bed and took a drag of her cigarette to stop herself smiling. Do-gooder Donna was no friend, just someone useful. ‘Please, be my guest and continue,’ she said, lying back on the pillow.
‘It’s just her plans for the estate,’ he said, pacing around the floor with visible irritation. ‘I assume you’ve been?’
Molly nodded. The Delemere estate comprised two main parcels: the main house, a vast Queen Anne mansion often described as an ‘architectural national treasure,’ where Alexander and Vivian lived, and a smaller manor house on the edge of the grounds, where Donna and Daniel resided and where Donna had spent the best part of last year renovating the barns to create the Delemere farm store and spa.
‘She spent the better half of two million pounds on her little alternative health and farming fantasy. Two million pounds,’ continued Alexander, his eyes blazing like dark coals. Molly knew that, while she could reduce him to a purring kitten in the bedroom, Alexander Delemere had not built up one of the country’s foremost industrial empires by being soft.
‘That she is spending my son’s money as if it were water is one thing, but the fact that she has hoodwinked my wife into this New Age mumbo-jumbo folly is another. They are partners now apparently in this ridiculous New Age business. Vivian,’ he paused, seemingly embarrassed to utter his wife’s name, as if it might summon up her physical presence in the room. ‘Vivian is now insisting she use our money, my money to expand.’
Molly didn’t like to point out that the Delemere shop and spa was probably a very good business investment where London’s social elite flocked to buy overpriced sausages and organic cheese or pick up an expensive facial. Organic ‘natural food’ destinations were hot, but she suspected Alexander didn’t want to hear that point of view. ‘It is a rather absurd notion,’ agreed Molly, pulling a sheet around her body. ‘Then again, Donna has always been – how can I put this politely? – on the make.’
‘Really,’ said Alex coolly, suspecting she was a sympathizer. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘Oh nothing,’ replied Molly, taking a lengthy drag of cigarette. ‘Just things I hear.’
She really had his attention now.
‘Well, if you ever hear anything else, please let me know immediately,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I will not have that woman go through my son’s money, my wife’s money, my money as if it were her own. I won’t have it.’
The doorbell rang. It was a bellboy with tea.
‘Mmm … why don’t we have our Earl Grey in bed, Alex?’ purred Molly. ‘Shame to let it get cold.’
16
Summer Sinclair stood waist-deep in the warm Caribbean waters, hands placed provocatively on her hips, and pouted. Her skin glistened with grains of pinky-white sand, the sun had toasted her a pale bronze, while hair and make-up artists hovered in the background to ensure that Summer stayed the right side of casually sea-drenched.
As Dan Stevens snapped away with his Nikon camera, Summer wondered whether she was doing a good enough job. This was by far the sexiest shoot she had ever done, and for the first hour she had felt completely self-conscious; she had spent hours preparing for the shoot. No other model she knew did homework, but Summer had pored over Sports Illustrated, old Pirelli calendars, Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar editorials, photography books from David Bailey and Helmut Newton, scrutinizing poses of the great, sexy models past and present: Gisele, Cindy Crawford, Jerry Hall; angle of head, the facial expressions, the hair and make-up. She had spent her entire life in the shadow of her gorgeous mother but today, standing in the bright Anguillan sunlight, she felt like her own woman.
‘Okay. Let’s take a break,’ shouted Dan Stevens, looking up from his camera. ‘Summer, put something else on and we can try another setup.’
Karin looked at her watch and stalked over the sand to Dan. ‘Well I’m due back at the hotel. D
on’t start before I’ve returned.’
‘The light is going to start going soon, Karin,’ complained Dan, looking irritated. ‘We have to get a move on.’
‘I’ll be twenty minutes,’ she mouthed, walking to the huge white hotel in the distance.
Mike, the genial photographer’s assistant, handed Summer a towelling robe and she looked over at Dan anxiously.
‘Is everything okay?’
‘You look gorgeous, honey.’
‘Have you got the shot?’
He shrugged and then laughed.