Guilty Pleasures by Tasmina Perry Read Free Book Online

called the lawyers. But curiosity got the better of her and it was nothing she couldn’t handle.
    ‘Put her through.’
    There was a click, then Lianne’s voice.
    ‘I have Cassandra Grand for you, Ms Fenton.’
    ‘Phoebe, darling,’ purred Cassandra settling back into her ergonomic chair. She knew Phoebe a little, as they had met at numerous shows and fund-raisers over the years, but she wasn’t a real acquaintance. Cassandra couldn’t afford get too close to celebrities, for obvious reasons. One week they could be hotter than the sun, the next in fashion Siberia.
    ‘Cassandra, honey, how are you?’ said Phoebe warmly. ‘Did you enjoy the shows?’
    ‘Vintage Kors. Calvin was a little predictable. Some wonderful colours at Matthew Williamson and Zac Posen. It was a shame you were in London but then I’m sure you had great fun on our shoot.’
    ‘Actually that’s why I’m calling,’ replied Phoebe.
    ‘Yes, I’m so looking forward to seeing the shots,’ said Cassandra enthusiastically. ‘I love Xavier’s work.’
    There was a brief pause before Phoebe began again. Cassandra could tell Phoebe was picking her words very carefully.
    ‘Cassandra … I’m a little concerned about how things went.’
    A little late for that, darling,
she thought.
    ‘Oh, really?’ said Cassandra, feigning surprise. ‘I heard it went well. Xavier is a genius. We were very lucky to get him in London when the New York shows were on. He makes women look so strong. So beautiful.’
    ‘Yes, I was wondering if we could talk about that. I’m nervous about the shots and the implications of the interview. I was wondering if I could …’
    ‘Darling, you know we never give copy approval. Once we start, everyone wants it and then the whole magazine grinds to a halt,’ replied Cassandra, cutting her short.
    Phoebe paused again.
    ‘Yes, I realize that. There’s just a few things I’d like to explain. In private? I was wondering if you could come over to my hotel for lunch.’
    ‘I’d love to, Phoebe,’ said Cassandra, beginning to enjoy herself, ‘but it’s London Fashion Week now. I’ve got to see the Paul Smith show and I have crisis after crisis to deal with here.’
    ‘Cassandra,’ said Phoebe, failing to disguise the annoyance inher voice, ‘we go back a long way and that’s why I’m calling. I don’t want to get lawyers involved when we don’t have to.’
    ‘Lawyers?’ laughed Cassandra. ‘Why on earth would we need to involve lawyers?’
    ‘Can you come to the Met for one o’clock? I’m in the penthouse.’
    In that case I don’t feel too sorry for you,
thought Cassandra.
    ‘I have a lunch at Cipriani but I could drop by at 12.30.’
    ‘See you then.’
    ‘Looking forward to it.’
    You have no idea how much,
thought Cassandra, and hung up.
    Sitting in the back of the Mercedes, Cassandra flipped open her compact and put on some lip gloss. She allowed herself a small smile at the face looking back at her. Many women would feel inferior meeting a supermodel for lunch but Cassandra honestly didn’t feel that way. She didn’t have their freakish symmetry or gangly frame, but she was undeniably a beauty, with high cheek bones and a feline slant to her vivid green eyes. Her nose was a touch too long, her chin a little too pointed and at five feet eight inches tall she tipped the scales at eight stone dead – to go a pound over might mean not fitting into the sample clothes. And as a modern style icon, that would be career suicide. Not that she didn’t have to work hard at it. Daily Pilates. Twice weekly tennis lessons. Three times a week Joel,
the
top session hairdresser, came to her Knightsbridge apartment at 6.30 a.m. to blow-dry her long dark glossy hair. Plus she visited the Mayr Clinic in Austria once a year to eat spelt bread and Epsom salts for ten days, returning with glowing skin, a flat stomach and an uncontrollable desire for ice cream. No, Cassandra Grand was not a drop-dead beauty, but she