She paused, picking at an imaginary thread on her skirt.
‘I fucked the boat boy, Miles,’ she said casually. ‘On the last night, in his cabin. I think he came to find you and I think you attacked him. And I know you were coming from West Point Cove just before we found him.’
His face was like stone. ‘I did not do it,’ he said quietly, his voice betraying just the slightest crack.
‘But you had motive, didn’t you? And opportunity. And it would be just like you to attack someone from behind.’
Their eyes locked.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he hissed.
‘Whatever you want it to mean, Miles.’
Suddenly he jumped up, leaning on the desk. ‘This hangs over you too, Sasha,’ he said.‘You’re planning this hotshot fashion career. You have just as much to lose.’
Sasha laughed. ‘Miles, right now, I have nothing to lose.’
Cursing, he turned away and walked to the window.
‘We all agreed to keep quiet,’ he said, looking down at the street. ‘And now you come here threatening me.’
‘This isn’t a threat, it’s a business opportunity. I’m not asking for cash to keep quiet, I’m offering you a slice of a global fashion brand with the potential to make us all rich. I just needed to get your attention.’
‘Well you’ve certainly done that, Sasha,’ he said, not turning to look at her.
Sasha wondered if she’d pushed him too far. She knew what he was capable of and she certainly didn’t want Miles Ashford as an enemy, but what she had said was true: she really didn’t have anything to lose.
‘For old times’ sake,’ he sighed, ‘and because I actually agree with you about the potential of the fashion sector,
I could offer five hundred thousand for a fifty per cent stake.’
Sasha’s heart gave a lurch. She had him, but she couldn’t let go yet.
‘You don’t appear to be listening to me, Miles,’ she said coolly. ‘Half a million isn’t enough.’
‘It’s all I can afford.’
He had to be bluffing: half a million was pocket change to someone like Miles Ashford. Besides, it was academic: she needed more.
‘Twenty-five per cent of the company for seven hundred and fifty thousand, and that money is in the form of a loan. After four years, if I can pay you back, then your shareholding reverts to me.’
‘I want interest at ten per cent.’
She snorted. ‘You get interest at five per cent and think yourself lucky,’ she said.
It was Miles’ turn to laugh. He put out a hand and they shook. ‘Maybe I was wrong about you having no head for business,’ he said.
‘A head for business, a body for sin, isn’t that the phrase?’ said Sasha, her heart speeding up as she felt Miles run his eyes over her body. Then, abruptly, his face changed, softened.
‘I didn’t kill him, Sasha,’ he said, looking into her eyes.
‘It’s all in the past.’ She shrugged. ‘Like you said, there was no body.’
For a long moment it was like the years had fallen away: they were both eighteen, walking hand in hand on the beach, a life of possibility ahead of them. Then that moment was gone and he dropped her hand.
‘Now,’ said Sasha, smoothing down her dress, ‘when can I expect the cheque?’
She walked out of Miles’ office and down the walnut-panelled stairs, into the ladies’ cloakroom. Sunlight flooded in through a window, dappling the floor with colour. She went over to the sink and looked into the mirror, taking deep breaths. Then she turned away, stumbled into a toilet cubicle and vomited.