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did promise at Christmas … ?’

      The fact that Cassandra was the mother of a 13-year-old girl was an open secret in the industry, but it was not something she flaunted. There was no shame; over the years, Anna Wintour’s child Bee Shaffer and French Vogue editor Carine Roitfeld’s daughter Julie had been seen on the front row. But Ruby looked nearer eighteen than thirteen; Cassandra was only 35, and did not want people doing the maths and getting it wrong.

      ‘Now, darling, I know I promised you could come to a couple of shows this year but Rive is throwing a big party in Paris and I don’t think it would be appropriate for you to be there. Maybe for couture in July, mmm?’

      ‘I really wanted to go to the Louvre,’ said Ruby in a low, disappointed voice.

      Cassandra so wanted to please her daughter, to give in to her demands. She’d love to show Ruby off, but she had to be strong. She couldn’t let Ruby’s disappointment interfere with her plans, not now. She was doing it for both of them – didn’t she understand that? Sometimes she felt so close to her daughter that she was almost part of her, other times it seemed as if they lived on different planets.

      ‘When am I going to see you again?’ said Ruby grumpily.

      ‘I’m away for a little while. Milan, Paris and then I have to go to Mexico. But I think your grandmother is coming next weekend.’

      Ruby looked up at Cassandra; her teenage barriers were all stripped away now and she was just a little girl who needed her mum.

      ‘I miss you,’ she said.

      ‘I miss you too,’ said Cassandra, her voice wobbling. ‘But you know why I work so hard, don’t you?’

      ‘For us?’

      Cassandra nodded, then reached under the table for a stiff paper bag.

      ‘Here,’ she said, ‘I’ve been saving this.’

      Ruby peeked inside, rifled through the tissue paper and then looked up beaming.

      ‘Groovy. A Chanel quilt!’ she said.

      ‘The Chanel 2.55,’ corrected Cassandra. ‘So named because …’

      ‘… because it was introduced by Coco Chanel in February 1955, I remember,’ said Ruby quietly.

      Cassandra felt a pang of disappointment and concern at Ruby’s interest in the works of Leonardo da Vinci above those of Coco Chanel. While her daughter’s quick-wittedness and spirit suited Cassandra’s image of herself, to be too academic might be detrimental to Ruby’s long-term prospects. Intelligence put too many men off, which was why brainy bluestockings like Emma Bailey ended up alone.

      Cassandra had such high hopes for her beautiful daughter. She wanted her to be the belle of the Crillon ball. She wanted her to have a good marriage; a spectacular marriage, perhaps the son of an oligarch or the scion of some great American family. She wanted her to have glamour and power and money. She wanted her to have everything.

      The car stopped back outside Briarton Court and they got out.

      ‘Are you coming in to say goodbye?’ asked Ruby. ‘I have to be back in the dorm by nine.’

      ‘I won’t come to the dorm. I might get accosted for more autographs,’ said Cassandra following her into the entrance hall.

      ‘Don’t pretend you don’t love it,’ smiled Ruby, twisting the chain strap of her bag around her fingertips. Cassandra kissed her daughter on the cheek and felt a shot of warmth course through her body. As Ruby ran down the corridor, her mother watched her go, only turning round when she heard the tapping of shoes coming down the stone floor towards her.

      ‘Miss Broughton,’ smiled Cassandra extending a hand to the matronly headmistress of Briarton.

      ‘A wonderful talk, Miss Grand,’ she said, although Cassandra detected a look of disapproval in the woman’s expression. ‘I have a love-hate relationship with the career talks. On the one hand, it’s wonderful to be able to make use of the resources our parents offer us, but it does make the girls rather giddy.’

      ‘Well, I have a handful of CVs to show for it,’ said Cassandra, tapping her bag. ‘It’s the sort of initiative I like to see,’ she lied.

      Miss Broughton smiled. ‘I’ll walk you to your car.’

      They stood in the doorway. Outside it was cold; frost was sitting on the ground and creeping fog was settling in the darkness in front of them.

      ‘We didn’t see you at parents’ evening last month,’ said Miss Broughton, a little too casually.

      ‘I was in Paris, I’m afraid,’ said Cassandra, refusing to rise to the bait. ‘I believe my mother attended.’

      ‘When we work so hard we have to work twice as hard not to be a stranger to our children.’

      Cassandra bristled. The cheek of the woman!

      ‘Until last month, Miss Broughton, I have never missed a parents’ evening since my daughter started her education. But her last school didn’t have parents’ days during couture.’

      There was the crunch of car tyres as Andrew her driver drove the Mercedes in front of them.

      ‘I must go,’ said Cassandra quickly tightening the belt of her cashmere overcoat.

      Miss Broughton nodded, but continued to talk. ‘You are aware that Ruby is one of the most able pupils in her year? Independent, although you would expect that from someone who has boarded for so long. Very bright too. But there is a definite rebellious streak there we must keep our eye on.’

      Cassandra gave a small laugh. ‘If we are referring to the orange stripe in her hair I’m going to get that sorted out immediately.’

      The headmistress shook her head. ‘I’ve always felt thirteen is a watershed age. The cusp of womanhood. She needs her mother to guide her along the right path.’

      Cassandra felt herself stiffen. Was there the suggestion in the woman’s words that she was not a good mother, or was she being overly sensitive?

      ‘I thought that’s what I paid you a great deal of money to do,’ said Cassandra, pursing her lips.

      ‘We like to think we have excellent pastoral care at Briarton but we can’t be all things to all children.’

      You hypocrite thought Cassandra narrowing her eyes. You charge the highest fees to make parents feel better about themselves but at the slightest hint of trouble, you throw the blame straight back at them.

      ‘Ruby has an enormous amount of love and attention from her family, Miss Broughton, I can assure you of that. I can also assure you that there are other schools who would be only too glad to take responsibility for a bright, capable pupil like Ruby.’

      She opened the car door and climbed inside.

      ‘As I said, a wonderful talk, Miss Grand,’ Miss Broughton said as Cassandra slammed the door.

      Through the tinted windows, she looked up at the Gothic beauty of Briarton Court and shivered. For a moment she thought about taking her daughter away. That would show the old bitch, thought Cassandra. She wouldn’t want to lose the high grade exam results Ruby was likely to chalk up, would she? But then the reputation of the school was unparalleled and more importantly, the calibre of the pupils, of the friends that her daughter would forge, was also excellent. Besides, she didn’t want the inconvenience of moving Ruby again. She looked away from the school and told Andrew to drive to London as fast as he could. She then turned her attention to dissecting the new issue of Vogue as it started to rain.

6

      Emma told the taxi to go slowly. Past Prada, Gucci and Yves Saint

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