Katie Oliver - Prada And Prejudice

“Honour, my arse,” Dominic hissed back. “He’s a nut job!”

The designer came straight to the point once they were seated in his dressing room. “I haf created my first men’s fragrance. I want Dominic to be the face of Dissolute . He has exactly the look I want – insolent, aristocratic, a touch dissipated. Perfect for the print ads…like a modern-day Dorian Gray, no?”

Dominic had no idea what the old queen was banging on about. “I don’t know shit about modelling, and I don’t know Dorian Gray, neither. I can’t do it, anyway. I’m starting a new tour next month. Then I’ll be in the studio. Sorry, mate.”

“We’ll work around your schedule.” Klaus flipped open an enamelled case and withdrew a tiny pinch of snuff, then thrust it delicately up first one nostril, then the other. “You will pose for print ads in the fashion magazines, and film a television commercial. Nothing more will be required of you.”

“Nah, sorry, can’t do it,” Dominic said firmly. “My fans would say I’d sold out.” He paused as one of the models came in to get a cigarette and blatantly eyed him up. He smiled. Hm…perhaps he should reconsider. How bad could it be, if doing this gig for Klaus meant he could hang out with girls like that?

Klaus saw the mingled lust and indecision in Dominic’s eyes, and moved in for the kill. “You’ll be well paid.” He leaned forward almost coquettishly, and whispered a sum in Dominic’s ear.

“Blimey.” Dominic blinked. With the amount of dosh Klaus had offered him, he could pay off his debts, buy that new Maserati Ghibli he’d had his eye on, and still have enough left over to buy a ‘57 Strat…

“So?” Klaus said finally, with a touch of impatience. “What do you say? You will sign with Maison Laroche to be the new face of Dissolute ?”

Keeley looked over at Dominic, her eyes shining, and nodded imperceptibly.

Dominic let out a short breath. He hated to sell out. But he really needed the dosh that von Richter was offering him.

Sod selling out. Sod his fans. Filthy lucre won the day.

“OK,” Dominic said finally, and stood. “Send me the contract and I’ll have my lawyer take a look.”

“Excellent.” Klaus clasped him firmly on the shoulder. “We haf a deal. You’ve made a very wise decision.”

Dominic made no reply. Why did he suddenly feel as if he’d made a deal, all right…

…a deal with the devil?

Chapter 11

“I can’t decide between the Missoni or the Cavalli,” Natalie said with a frown as she emerged from the dressing room with two dresses draped over her arm. “They’re both gorgeous.”

“Well, at least you’ve narrowed it down to two,” Tarquin said with resignation. He’d spent the past hour slumped in a chair as Natalie tried on dress after dress.

“I have to find the perfect outfit for your wedding.”

“What about this?” Tarquin suggested hopefully. He plucked a dress from a nearby rack that cost much less than either of Natalie’s choices.

“I’m not buying off the rack for your wedding, Tark. I need something worthy of the occasion.”

“The newspapers say that Dashwood and James aren’t doing well, Nat,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “Perhaps you should be a bit more – erm, frugal.”

“Frugal?” Natalie echoed. “I know you Scots are famous for thrift, but I refuse to scrimp when it comes to your wedding!”

“Perhaps you should get them both,” Tarquin said finally, defeated.

She beamed. “Brilliant!” She dropped an impulsive kiss on the top of Tark’s head on her way back to the dressing room. “I’m almost done.”

As she changed back into her clothes, Natalie considered possible wedding gifts. She wanted to give Wren and Tark something special – Waterford crystal, perhaps, or one of those hideous metal sculptures Tark fancied – something suitable for his Scottish castle…

…something to show how much his friendship meant to her.

“I have to get you a wedding gift,” Natalie told him a few minutes later when she emerged from the dressing room. “We’ll shop once I pay for this lot.”

Alarmed, Tarquin rose and followed her to the front desk. “I don’t need a present, Nat! Besides, Dashwood and James are in real financial trouble,” he added in a low voice. “Rhys Gordon’s only called in if things are very bad.”

“How did you know grandfather hired Rhys?”

“It’s in all the business pages.” Tarquin reddened slightly and added, “I hate to bring it up, but the tabloids are also saying that you and Mr. Gordon are –erm…”

“—having an affair?” Natalie pressed her lips together. She refused to be embarrassed. Why should she be? She’d done nothing wrong. “We’re not. It’s only for publicity.”

“Well, that’s a relief! He’s bloody awful, isn’t he?”

“Oh, he’s not so bad,” Natalie said airily. “At any rate,” she added as she handed her credit card to the sales clerk, “Dashwood and James have been around since 1854. We’ll pull through this little slump. There’s nothing to worry about.”

As they left, Tarquin came to a stop. “Nat, about the wedding gift,” he said. “You’ve already spent a small fortune on clothing—”

“You sound like an accountant, Tark. Or worse, like Rhys,” she added darkly. “I’m getting you a wedding gift, and there’s an end to it.” She smiled. “And I know just the thing.”

Laden with carrier bags, Natalie strode along the crowded pavement as Tarquin trailed behind, her earlier promise to meet with Rhys Gordon completely forgotten.

“Hannah!” Cherie called out from her dressing table on Saturday evening. “Your father and I are going to dinner tonight. We won’t be too late, should be home by eleven or so.”

No reply from Hannah’s room.

“I’ve left you a casserole in the warming oven. I’ll take it out before we leave.” Cherie applied lipstick and blotted her lips on a tissue.

There was still no reply.

Cherie sighed. She’d survived Holly’s mood swings and teen angst; now it was Hannah’s turn. Overnight, her normally sunny child had turned into a moody, disaffected stranger.

Their house had become a war zone of slammed doors and meals that ended in shouting and recriminations. Cherie knew Hannah’s moods had everything to do with Duncan Hadley.

The phone rang. “Hello,” Cherie said, and cradled the receiver against her ear as she picked up her pearl earring.

“Hello, darling.”

“Alastair! Are you on your way? Or shall I meet you at the restaurant?”

There was an ominous pause. “Neither, I’m afraid. I just got out of a late meeting with Rhys, and he wants me to rework the markdown budget. I’ll probably be working most of the day tomorrow as well.”

Cherie focused on the eardrop dangling between her fingers. “Can’t you work on it tomorrow? Surely it can wait.”

“I’m sorry, darling, but it can’t. Everything has to be reconciled for our finance meeting on Monday. I’m just as disappointed as you.”

“I doubt that,” Cherie said acidly.

“Look, why don’t you go, and take Hannah,” Alastair suggested. “Don’t let the reservation go to waste.”

“Hannah wants nothing to do with me at the moment.” She laid the earring aside. “Which you’d know, if you were ever here. And the whole point of this evening was to have dinner with my husband. Not my daughter.”

“I know. I’ve let you down. Again.” He sounded tired, and defeated. “Rhys is letting Henry go, did I tell you? Poor old chap.”

“Henry? How awful,” Cherie echoed, her disappointment forgotten. “He must be devastated. Mr. Gordon is heartless.”

“He’s only doing what Sir Richard and I should have done already. Henry should’ve retired years ago. It’s madness right now, with Rhys making so many changes. It won’t always be this way.”