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of any of the industry overhearing it.

      ‘Yes, I surprised even myself. I never really saw myself being the sort to be in the fashion business,’ said Emma, trying to smile. ‘I’ve never really been bothered about clothes.’

      Cassandra gave a hard, brittle laugh as they stopped in front of an ornate fountain.

      ‘Clothes?’ she said loftily. ‘This business isn’t about clothes, Emma. Clothes are just something to keep you warm. This business is about fashion, and fashion is a language, a lifestyle, a huge, billion-pound global phenomenon.’

      She turned and pointed at a woman on the far side of the courtyard who was wearing a pair of high-waisted trousers. ‘Fashion is the genius of that Balenciaga tailoring. Fashion is the feeling it gives her when she dresses and the sense of taste and sophistication other people see in her when they watch her float by.’ Cassandra reached down and pulled up a piece of her gown. ‘Fashion is this dress, a dress that will be first seen commercially on a catwalk tomorrow and whose photograph will be seen on front pages around the world. This dress won’t even be in the stores until September and the copies of it won’t filter down into the high street until weeks, maybe months later. But this one dress will generate thousands, perhaps millions of pounds in revenue and in its watered-down version, it will change the lives of thousands of women. It will get them laid, make men propose, it will make them miss lunch for a month just so they can afford it. This dress will transform them, make them feel wonderful, take them to a different place. Fashion has that power – it is magic’

      Cassandra took a breath, surprised by the passion of her speech, knowing that it would serve no purpose to vent the force of her anger on Emma. Not yet anyway.

      ‘Although, strictly speaking, Milford isn’t about fashion. It’s about luxury leather goods,’ stuttered Emma feeling completely out of her depth. ‘It only really makes handbags.’

      Cassandra nearly laughed out loud. What did Emma Bailey know about any of this? Look at her in those navy trousers and sensible shoes! This was the most glamorous party being held in Paris over Fashion Week and she looked like an estate agent.

      Cassandra gave a little superior laugh.

      ‘Oh, Emma, darling, handbags are the bedrock of the fashion industry. It’s where the most profit is made. They can account for 70, 80 per cent of a fashion company’s revenue. Do you think Louis Vuitton makes most of its money from ready-to-wear? They make it from Japanese girls spending half their salaries buying three handbags at a time. They make it from average Joe saving up for six months to afford a purse. Handbags are fashion’s golden goose.’

      Cassandra looked at Emma’s clutch bag with barely concealed distain. ‘At least, sometimes.’

      Emma bristled. She hated being bullied by Cassandra and her style knowledge; she’d always felt like a scarecrow in comparison.

      ‘We’re getting off the point.’

      ‘Which is?’ asked Cassandra.

      ‘I need a new designer.’

      ‘Yes. Poor Roger.’

      Emma bit her tongue and refused to rise to the bait.

      ‘I wondered if you might be able to suggest someone?’

      ‘Why don’t you pencil in an appointment with my PA?’ Cassandra replied, looking a little bored.

      ‘Cassandra, I tried, but the soonest she could give me was in five weeks’ time!’

      ‘Well, I’m very busy as you can see. I’m off to Careyes next weekend. Have you ever been? You must. In the meantime, this is my party and I must go and attend to the guests. It’s been lovely to see you and maybe we can put in that lunch?’

      Cassandra began to move away.

      ‘Please,’ said Emma more forcefully. ‘Even if you haven’t got time to help me, remember this is also your mother’s company.’

      Clever bitch thought Cassandra. She exhaled heavily.

      ‘All right. Good accessories designers are hard to find,’ she said finally. ‘The best ones get poached to head up the womenswear of big houses like Frida Giannini at Gucci. The alternative is to recruit a big name stylist and team them with a technically competent designer.’

      ‘I want the biggest name we can get. Where do I begin?’

      ‘Unless you have personal contacts, which I suspect you do not, the big appointments are made through fashion and luxury head-hunters like Claude Lasner. He fixes up the right talent with the right company. Now I don’t wish to be impolite, Emma, but this is a working event. A very important night for me. I’m going to have to go.’ She looked down pointedly at the narrow gold watch on her wrist.

      ‘Can I tell Claude you told me to get in touch?’ asked Emma.

      ‘Of course. He’s a very dear friend. Now I really must go.’

      As she turned, Cassandra walked straight into a body.

      ‘Do you mind if I join in?’ said a deep voice.

      Jean-Paul Benoit handed Cassandra a glass of champagne and curled his fingers around her waist as he kissed her cheek. Cassandra pulled back from the strong scent of cologne.

      ‘Don’t worry, I was just leaving,’ said Emma.

      ‘And who was that?’ leered Jean-Paul, as he watched Emma’s behind disappear into the crowd. At the creative end, the world of fashion was largely homosexual. But the money men and the business brains were not. Jean-Paul had made it clear that he wanted sex with her. While sex, or the promise of sex, was a tool in Cassandra’s repertoire it was one that needed to be used with care.

      ‘That was my cousin needing advice on her little company,’ she said boastfully. ‘She fancies herself as the next Rose Marie Bravo.’

      ‘Really,’ replied Jean-Paul, looking after Emma with interest. ‘And what company would that be?’

      ‘Milford,’ she said quickly.

      ‘I didn’t realize that was in your family. A good heritage.’

      She saw the interest on his face and felt a stab of panic.

      ‘A company in its death throes, I’m afraid.’

      What was happening? This was supposed to be her perfect night, the pinnacle of her achievements so far and a springboard to the next stage, yet here she was, being ambushed by a mousy upstart, while the CEO of a major luxury goods conglomerate appeared to be interested in both Emma and the company. She felt like all her careful plans were coming unravelled.

      Giles appeared and tapped Cassandra lightly on the arm.

      ‘What?’ snapped Cassandra, not trying to hide her annoyance.

      ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ he said, flashing a look of disapproval in Jean-Paul’s direction, ‘you’re wanted at the door.’

      ‘Excuse me, Jean-Paul. Duty calls,’ she said, with a winning smile. ‘Perhaps we can take this up again later on?’

      She walked towards the entrance and through the sea of faces she could make out her brother Tom, arguing with a security guard. Their eyes locked through the crowd. She saw him mouth something to her but she turned her head away from him. All people wanted to do was take, take, take, she thought bitterly. What had anybody ever given to her? Without a backward glance, she turned to Giles.

      ‘Make sure security throw him out onto the street. Publicly.’

      Giles opened his mouth to object before he saw the fury in her eyes. He turned towards the door.

      As Cassandra moved back in to the party, she saw Emma leaving the cloakroom with her coat. She breathed a small sigh of relief when Jean-Paul passed her without any sign of recognition. The last thing she needed was a major luxury goods conglomerate

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