‘How many times? Once,’ said Cassandra, calmly stubbing out her cigarette.
‘I see. Well, Cassandra my dear, we don’t advertise for your good health, but my company’s,’ said Oscar evenly. ‘Over the last five years we have spent 1.5 million pounds in your magazine and yet we have received only a handful of significant credits. Need I remind you that fashion advertising keeps your magazine alive? Editors who forget that tend to have a very short shelf life.’
‘You and I both know it’s not that simple,’ said Cassandra, shrugging off the threat. She eyed him shrewdly, however. If she had thought Oscar would be a pushover, she was wrong. ‘Everyone knows that simply being in the pages of Rive is endorsement enough. Our readers more than any others come to our magazine for the advertising as much as the editorial – when they see Forden ads in Rive, they accept that we have chosen to run those ads because we are giving the products our tacit approval. We don’t let any old brand buy their way into Rive.’
She wanted to tell him the truth, of course. That with the clothes his company was producing, he would simply be pouring those millions down the drain and that it would take more than pretty ads to be a Chanel or YSL. For that, you had to design and produce beautiful, luxurious things that people would kill to wear, but you also had to go even further, to create a fantasy world that would transform the wearer and transport them to a different place altogether. For that, you needed to have some style. But she thought she would save that information for a consultancy fee. Cassandra lay on her side and watched as Oscar dressed. If he thought he had won this particular battle, she would see how he dealt with this little broadside: ‘Have a nice time with Karoline at the opera tonight.’
Oscar looked over at Cassandra, his eyes lingering on h
er naked skin.
‘You’re well informed.’
She saw the nervousness in his eyes at the mention of his wife.
‘She told me when I spoke to her yesterday,’ smiled Cassandra.
‘Incidentally darling, I am chairing a Charles Worth exhibition at the V&A. We need a very connected committee of members and I thought Karoline would be perfect. I’m meeting her for talks on Friday. I told her to keep it all quiet until we’d firmed everything up.’
There was no mistaking Cassandra’s implication. She let it sink in for a moment. Married men always took their lovers too lightly, thinking only with their poor neglected cocks until it was far too late. If there was one thing men feared, it was a vengeful wife and this was compounded in Oscar’s case, as Forden was owned by his wife’s family. While Karoline Braun preferred to devote herself to child-rearing in a big schloss near Salzburg, her husband had taken on the role of Chief Executive and he wouldn’t want to lose that. Suddenly Cassandra felt aroused by the power she had over him and stretched out her legs longingly.
Oscar was quiet for a minute, busying himself in the mirror with a complicated tie knot.
‘Now, what were we saying about the advertising?’ he said calmly.
Cassandra’s wide mouth twitched with just the suggestion of a smile. She walked up behind Oscar, undid his cravat and tied it for him again.
‘I think you were saying that you were looking at increasing your spend substantially over the next year, possibly tying Forden into a long-term deal. Maybe a solus deal. I think you had realized that our two companies could have a special relationship. I think “special relationship” was the phrase you used.’
Cassandra gave his knot a final tug and stood back, satisfied with her handiwork.
‘Now if you’ll excuse me,’ she said, walking naked into the bathroom, ‘I must go and shower.’
Forty minutes later, Cassandra pressed the bell next to the door of a grand Belgravia townhouse. I should have a fuck before every important meeting, she thought, feeling her skin prickling with the power of sex. She was shown into a wide, light kitchen at the back of the house with a view of the long tree-lined garden through the French windows. This was the impressive London home of AtlanticCorp chief executive Charles Dyson, the man in charge of over fifty newspapers around the world. It was no secret that AtlanticCorp was launching a weekly fashion magazine in the States, a big-selling US equivalent of the weekly French Elle. And after Guillaume Riche had told Cassandra that the editor-in-chief heading up the project was about to be let go, she’d told Guillaume to use his contacts and leverage to let AtlanticCorp know that Cassandra Grand would be a superior replacement.
‘I hope you don’t mind meeting me at home,’ said Charles, sitting down opposite Cassandra at a large, rustic kitchen table and pouring coffee. ‘I get paranoid having meetings in hotels and restaurants. Even in the most obscure places you always seem to be spotted by someone. And it would never do for us to be seen together, would it?’
‘Certainly not,’ agreed Cassandra.
‘I took the opportunity of ordering lunch. I hope you haven’t eaten,’ said Charles while a chef, complete with white uniform and tall hat, brought out lobster rolls and teriyaki beef. They made small talk, both gently flirting, politely probing, neither giving anything away. When the meal had been cleared, Charles pulled a large leather portfolio from behind his chair and placed it on the table in front of him.
‘You know AtlanticCorp would be very interested in having you on board for the new launch,’ he said, meeting Cassandra’s gaze.
‘What about Carrie?’
‘Let’s just say that’s not your problem. Well, this is it: Project Diamond,’ he said grandly.
Cassandra smiled. She was itching to see what they had developed. She lifted one finger towards the file, but Charles pulled it back protectively.
‘You understand that I can’t show you anything,’ said Charles, frowning. ‘Our team have spent six months putting this dummy together, it’s top secret.’
Cassandra was not to be deflected so easily. She simply shrugged.
‘Not so secret that you haven’t already presented to advertisers,’ replied Cassandra, ‘and you know what big mouths they have.’
Charles knew full well that Cassandra had enough friends in the fashion community she could ask for a full written report from each of them on what they had seen at those presentations.
Cassandra lifted a glass of mineral water to her lips. ‘Besides, you can’t even begin to expect me to give up a job like UK Rive to jump ship to a completely unknown entity without seeing something. I’m happy to sign a non-disclosure agreement.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘In blood, if necessary …’