A waiter approached them. He was naked except for a white thong and after he had handed them some champagne and turned away, they could see a tattoo on his right buttock that said ‘This way, please.’ They both burst out laughing.
‘So. Has it been a useful trip?’
‘What do you mean?’ said Cassandra coyly.
‘You never let a little thing like being on holiday get in the way of work. Have you persuaded Serena Balcon and Tom Archer to do a cover?’
‘Giles, you do insult me,’ she chided.
He raised a groomed eyebrow. ‘Am I not correct?’
Cassandra laughed.
‘Not both of them together – couples just don’t sell. But yes, Serena has indicated that she might like to do something special for us. Of course I will leave it up to you to think of what that something special should be.’
She glanced at her Cartier watch. It was almost eleven o’clock. At some point she wanted to slip away and call Max but right now there was a more important phone call to make.
‘I’m just going to the bathroom,’ she smiled, handing Giles her glass of champagne.
She moved through the villa admiring Leopold’s fabulous art collection; a Bacon, some Keith Harings, a couple of Hockney poolscapes. Whilst they were a joy to behold, they only served to remind Cassandra that she was not yet operating at the most lucrative end of the fashion industry. She went to the bathroom; she always felt more powerful with a slick of red on her lips.
Finding the room empty, she was refreshing her make-up when the door burst open. Clover Connor staggered in and, grabbing the hem of her skin-tight white Alaia dress, wriggled it over her head and dropped it on the floor, leaving her completely naked.
‘Clover! Are you OK?’ asked Cassandra. The model was swaying like a willow in the breeze, her eyes completely glassy.
‘I need a pee, I need a pee,’ she repeated, before slumping to the ground.
‘Clover! Clover! Are you all right?’ asked Cassandra leaning over her. ‘What have you taken?’ Clover’s drug use, which was an open secret in the fashion industry seemed to be sliding from recreational to something much worse. Cassandra wasn’t so much concerned for the girl’s physical or moral wellbeing. No, she was more worried because an addicted model was an unreliable one and Clover was one of the few models whose presence on a cover always guaranteed a sales uplift. Concerned that she might get vomit on her ivory Le Smoking, Cassandra ran out of the bathroom to look for Giles. She found him coming down the corridor towards her.
‘Quickly, come with me,’ she ordered.
‘I was just looking for you,’ replied Giles quickly. ‘Leopold says Ste Donahue is totally strung out on the balcony in his bedroom. He’s been looking for Guillaume to remove him but I think he has already left for the yacht. There are wagging tongues everywhere, we need to do something quick.’
Tania bounded towards them holding a flute of champagne aloft. She had stripped down to just a white string bikini.
‘What’s wrong?’ she trilled.
‘Ste isn’t feeling too well,’ said Giles diplomatically.
‘I was going to say the same about Clover,’ said Cassandra through her teeth.
Giles grasped the situation immediately.
‘Where is she?’
‘In a bathroom, on the next floor.’
‘What’s the problem? We’re not going already are we?’ said Alex, strolling up to the group.
‘Possibly,’ murmured Giles. ‘Alex, can you go and get Security? Failing that, someone big and muscly. You shouldn’t have a problem around here.’
‘But I was just on my way back to the pool,’ he replied, a note of whine in his voice.
‘Just go!’ snapped Giles, his usually gentle voice now clipped and firm.
‘Now, Tania, get someone with one of those golf carts round to the front.’
‘Mmm, Giles. You can be so butch when you want to be,’ smiled Cassandra approvingly.