Bad Heir Day by Wendy Holden Read Free Book Online Page A

her red-nailed fingers. Some people thought them vulgar, but they were wrong. If you could never be too rich or too thin—and she was hell bent on being both—you could certainly never have jewellery that was too big. She hadn’t got where she was today by being subtle.
    Cassandra reached for the small gold bell which always stood by her laptop and shook it. “Lil!” she screeched. “Lil!”
    “Yes, Mrs. Knoight?”
    A wrinkled apparition with orange-pencilled eyebrows, lips a painted purple bow, and hair the chewed yellow of a bathroom sponge poked its head round the door almost immediately. The cleaner, Cassandra realised, must have been next door attending to the latest interiors innovation, a perfume bathroom devoted entirely to scent bottles. Cleaner— that was a joke. Filthier ,more like. Lil invariably left more smears behind her than she found, especially on the scented candles whose black smoky bits she never quite managed to clean off, to her employer’s intense irritation. Nor, despite Cassandra’s compiling and captioning an album of photographs of each room for her, showing exactly how each cushion, ornament, and curtain should be arranged, did the house ever look really up to scratch. But there were always lots of scratches. Cassandra groaned. She felt terrible after the party last night.
    “I’d like a large gin and tonic, Lil,” Cassandra ordered, thrusting a cigarette between her violently red lips. She always sat down to work in full makeup. After all, you never knew when a TV station might suddenly appear on her doorstep wanting to interview her, or whether a celebrity fan might pop in at a moment’s notice. Princess Diana, she’d been told, had loved her books and, as Kensington Palace was practically at the end of her garden ,Cassandra had always cherished the hope…until…Tears filled her eyes. “ Diet tonic,” she ordered, her hand suddenly shaking.
    As the door closed behind Lil, Cassandra sucked on her cigarette like a Hoover in those hard-to-get-at corners of the staircase—well, Lil found them hard to get at anyway—and groaned anew at the memory of last night’s gathering. The drink had been dreadful; it had, after all, only been warm white wine for the local Neighbourhood Watch coordinator’s birthday. Admittedly, she’d had a glass or two more than was advisable—assuming any of it was advisable. It had come out of a box ,for Christ’s sake. In Cassandra’s experience, the only good boxes worth opening were pale blue and marked “Tiffany & Co.”
    Still, she’d needed some rocket fuel after that wretched publishers’ meeting. It had been tough, but she’d managed to buy more time—and half a case of Bombay Sapphire on the way back to help her recover. But she’d been left in no doubt it was her last chance. She simply had to get on with this book.
    The thought of it made her feel sick. Compounding her nausea was the memory of last night’s conversation with that ghastly Fenella Greatorex at number 24 who had banged on practically all night about her son getting one of the coveted invitations to Savannah and Siena Tressell’s birthday party.
    Cassandra’s skin had almost blistered with the heat of her envy.Zak had to, she resolved, simply had to get an invitation too. Otherwise her life would not be worth living. And, hopefully, when—not if—Zak was invited, Otto Greatorex’s wouldn’t be worth living either.
    Cassandra ground her teeth. Then she’d had to listen to Fenella Greatorex crapping on about her wonderful new nanny. This was doubly infuriating considering Fenella’s new one was none other than Emma, Cassandra’s old one. Fuck Fenella, thought Cassandra; still, she’d looked a lot less smug after Cassandra had pointed out a few home truths to her. “Oh yes,” Cassandra sneered as the alcohol took hold. “You bloody well stopped at nothing to get that girl out of my house. Offering her money, cars, paid holidays, her own bathroom, the lot. You