Lynne Pemberton - Platinum Coast

He smiled at himself in the mirror, showing a set of even white teeth. He felt good: alert and exhilarated, his veins pumping with adrenalin, anticipating the battle.

He was sure he would win. Now, at last, he would gain control of Stephen Reece-Carlton’s business empire. His grin widened at the prospect – and at the thought that his triumph would have Stephen Reece-Carlton turning in his grave.

Victoria surveyed herself in the full-length wardrobe mirror of room 263 of the Plaza Hotel.

She saw a slender, stern-faced young woman whose braided blue Chanel suit matched her eyes to perfection. She had pinned her long, black hair into a chignon in order to emphasize the exquisite heart-shaped diamond pendant glittering at her throat.

Tenderly, she touched the brilliant, six-carat stone and recalled the words that had been written in Stephen’s open, scrawling handwriting on the card accompanying it:

When you wear this I’ll never be far away .

Your ever adoring father .

She felt the tears spring into her eyes and gripped the edge of the dressing-table, fighting to stay in control. He had given her the necklace only days before he had died. It had been his last gift.

She fought back the tears. They threatened to mess up her mascara and she hadn’t time to start on her make-up again.

‘Come on, Vicky,’ she said softly to herself. ‘You’re Daddy’s girl. Do what he always told you to do. Come out fighting.’

She smiled bravely at her reflection, pushing a wisp of stray hair out of her eyes, but inside she felt her heart breaking with the pain of his loss. She missed him so much. He had gone so suddenly, too soon for her to have learned all that he had to teach her: about winning people over, making them feel good, while all the time he was manipulating them for his own ends. About continued success and how not to grow complacent. Most of all about power.

Victoria was twenty-one, rich and beautiful. In his will her father had left money in trust for her until she was twenty-five, more than enough to buy her anything she wanted. But none of that was enough. She wanted power.

Now that her father was dead she saw herself as his natural successor. She had inherited much of his wealth, his good looks and his business acumen. She had also inherited his determination. And it was with that, the iron will she had seen him use so often, that she intended to wrest control of the one thing he had not left her – complete control of Platinum Resorts. Or rather – had not left her yet, she reminded herself. Today’s meeting was to determine the reassignment of her father’s shares. Antonio had been asked to attend, but she couldn’t believe that Stephen Reece-Carlton would have been so weak as to make the sentimental gesture of giving away shares to a business partner. No, Antonio’s presence was a mere formality, as was that of her trustee, Robert Leyton. Dear old Uncle Bob. Yet another man she could twist around her finger. Which left Christina.

There was a fierce stabbing pain in the palm of her hands. Victoria looked down in surprise as blood seeped slowly down one wrist. At just the thought of her stepmother she had clenched her fists so tightly that her long nails had drawn blood. Maybe it was an omen? For the first time since her father’s death, Victoria smiled.

The rain had turned Madison Avenue into a blocked artery of horn-sounding yellow cabs, all going nowhere.

Antonio peered past his driver’s head at the immovable jam of vehicles stretching as far into the distance as he could see, then consulted his watch. He turned to stare at the pedestrians scurrying along the sidewalk. No matter how fraught and bad-tempered they were, he thought, at least they were going somewhere. He decided to join them. He might get a little wet, but that would be better than being a half-hour late.

He arrived at the New York offices of Platinum Resorts Inc. damp and agitated. It had been a struggle among the pedestrians on the wet sidewalks. He was fifteen minutes late.

‘The traffic on Madison was hell,’ he announced by way of an apology as he walked into the huge room that had been Stephen’s office. The others seated around the polished American cedar boardroom table looked up. No one smiled.

‘It was bad for all of us, Mr Cellini,’ Kingsleigh Klein grated patronizingly. ‘But, as you see, the rest of us made it for the appointed time.’

Antonio hid his irritation for the arrogant Kingsleigh Klein, who had been Stephen’s choice of lawyer for himself and the company. Klein had always made it obvious he disliked Cellini. The feeling was mutual, and when he had control, Antonio reflected as he smiled ingratiatingly and sat down next to Victoria, one of his first moves would be to get rid of him.

He glanced at Christina sitting opposite and noticed the dark rings around her hazel eyes, made all the more prominent by the exhausted pallor of her face. He nodded briefly to Robert Leyton. So who was the third man, neat and smooth and prissy-looking, wearing gold-rimmed half-glasses that made him look like a college professor?

‘Now that we are all finally here …’ – Klein glanced at him again – ‘perhaps we can begin? We have a lot to get through. Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Herr Nicolas Wagner who has joined us today from Zurich? Like myself, Herr Wagner is a lawyer. Stephen Reece-Carlton consulted him a few months ago.’

Klein looked as if he had swallowed something sour, Antonio was pleased to see, but Wagner seemed to be out of the same mould: boring, precise and fond of the sound of his own voice.

‘Before his death,’ Nicolas Wagner began, ‘Stephen Reece-Carlton left an important document with me. His instructions were that this document was to be opened not less than one week after his burial.’ He produced a large brown manila envelope which he placed on the table in front of him. The room was silent.

Wagner paused for a moment before he went on: ‘This document is to be opened and read to all of those present here today by Mr Leyton.’

The lawyer slid the envelope across the polished table to Robert, who proceeded to open it. Antonio, watching through narrowed eyes, noticed that his hands were shaking.

Inside the envelope was a sheet of white foolscap covered in Stephen’s untidy scrawl.

Robert’s voice cracked slightly as he began to read. He stopped, cleared his throat, and began again.

‘Earlier this year I felt compelled to write this letter in case I met with an untimely death. The building of Platinum Resorts Inc. has been for me a wonderful and challenging experience. I believe that the hotels are a testament to all the effort and time put into making them what I consider to be perfect retreats.

‘I have no regrets. It has been a labour of love. I wish to leave Christina and Victoria 24 per cent of the company each in the hope that, now that I am dead, they may settle their differences and unite to prevent Antonio Cellini gaining control of Platinum Hotels.

‘That is something I do not wish to happen.’

There was a concerted gasp from everyone around the table as they shot Antonio embarrassed looks. His eyes smouldered and he reddened slightly, but he made no comment as Robert continued.

‘Without me there to prevent it, I am afraid Antonio will drag the company down.’

At this he finally exploded. Everyone jumped as he smashed his clenched fist onto the table’s polished surface, rattling the glasses and upsetting Victoria’s cup. Coffee spilled onto her new Chanel suit. She frantically dabbed at the seeping brown stain with a tissue, then glared at him ferociously.

‘I suppose it’s too much to expect an apology?’

‘For Chrissake, shut up!’ he barked at her. ‘I’ll buy you a dozen designer suits.’