Victoria Fox - Tales Of Temptation - Rivals / Pride / Ambition

She grabbed the paper and skipped through the article. We went for hours…the most amazing lover… He begged me to strip… I kept on my stilettos; he likes a woman in heels…

Well, that last bit was true.

Disgusted, Emily flipped the page with force. How could he? Wasn’t having the most beautiful actress in England between his sheets enough? Clearly possessing a fridgeful of steak didn’t mean you weren’t partial to a KFC once in a while. How humiliating! She would never be taken seriously as the actress of her generation while she was associated with sleazy scoops like this.

As Emily was about to demand to be released, already reeling through the catalogue of insults she could throw Christopher’s way, her attention snagged on the subsequent spread.

CACATRA ISLAND—PLAYGROUND OF THE RICH AND FAMOUS.

She frowned, remembering Nina’s infuriating claims about her mega-selective luxury spa. A quick glance revealed it was the same. The piece was studded with images depicting the highest order of indulgence: sparkling turquoise sea and alabaster sand; chalky cliffs and lush green palms; A-list starlets frolicking in bikinis as they swam and caught the rays; bare-chested actors gunning jet-skis and enjoying a cold beer on the beach; helicopters and jets coming to land on the island’s private airstrip… There was a photograph of Reuben van der Meyde, the world-famous entrepreneur, casually leaning against the balustrade of his whitewashed mansion and looking decidedly pleased with himself. So he owned it. That made sense.

Your own stake of Eden hidden away in the Indian Ocean, the jewel in Reuben van der Meyde’s crown is stunning Cacatra Island. Ultimate holiday destination to a galaxy of stars, Cacatra’s opulent shores promise a shelter from the spotlight, guaranteed to cleanse the spirit and soothe the soul. A week’s stay will set you back—

Emily baulked at the expense.

But rest assured this is no ordinary retreat. By invitation only, access to ‘the closest thing on Earth to Paradise’ is reserved exclusively to those with the cash—and credentials—to pay for it .

‘All done, Ms Windermere,’ said the stylist, applying a finishing blast of hairspray. ‘Looks incredible, doesn’t it?’

Emily surveyed her reflection in the mirror. ‘It’s fine.’

‘I meant Cacatra Island. What I wouldn’t give to swop my Ryanair flights for a trip out there!’

Emily resented the implication that she, too, were contemplating a dismal week in some squat in Alicante. After Kate Middleton she was the loveliest woman in the country. Wasn’t that credentials enough?

‘Keep dreaming, girls.’ A shadow passed over the print and Nina Tarot came to rest in an adjacent chair. ‘That’s where the big kids hang.’

Emily raised a hand to ward off the sun. ‘Excuse me?’

‘The big kids. You know, the most important people alive?’

‘How depressingly hierarchical,’ muttered Emily, whose every perception of the world relied on the presumption of a hierarchy in which she held supreme rank.

‘I wouldn’t say that,’ drawled Nina as the stylist took a brush to her hair. ‘Earn and reward, it’s a straightforward principle.’ Emily tried not to get distracted by the bulge of cleavage bursting forth from Nina’s coral taffeta dress. She looked as if she’d just stepped off the Moulin Rouge.

‘And you earned it, I assume?’

‘If earning it amounts to being a world-famous actress who vacuums up so many drugs she doesn’t know what day of the week it is, apart from the day she catches her darling husband nailing the poolboy up the ass, then, yeah, I did. That island saved my life.’

Emily shuddered.

‘You gotta know people, sweetie. Even those kids who’ve got more money and celebrity than’s good for their health, even then they’ve got to get the invite, and even then they’ve got to sit on a list for however long…’

‘Who do you know?’

Nina looked at her sideways. ‘Why?’

Emily shrugged. ‘In case I wanted to see what the fuss was about.’

This time the American turned to face her. Was that pity in her eyes?

‘Honey, I’ve got to be straight with you. I’m not being mean here, but I really don’t think…’

‘You don’t think what?’

‘I know you’re famous in the UK and all, but…well, to be frank, I’m not sure you fit the bill.’

‘What bill ?’ Emily spluttered, humiliated.

Nina sighed, as though obliged to explain something basic to a simpleton. ‘They’re selective,’ she said. ‘ Very . I’m talking aristocracy. Government leaders. Olympic idols. It’s an A-listers’ game—’

‘But I’m an A-lister!’ This was unbelievable.

‘Maybe in this part of the world, sugar.’

Emily huffed a laugh. ‘Nina, please be assured that everyone I meet finds me utterly charming.’ She lifted her chin. ‘Your contacts would be safe with me.’

‘But would you be safe with them?’

She squinted. ‘Excuse me?’

‘This is an arena you know nothing about,’ Nina remarked gently. ‘You’ve got no idea what or who you’d be dealing with…’

Emily gritted her teeth. That was enough. She stood, flung the paper down and marched into the house, prompting a cluster of assistants in the main hall to fretfully disperse.

Who had been chosen to present live on Saturday at the charity ball? Who was tipped for an Onscreen Trophy at this autumn’s awards? Who was set for international stardom once this film was released?

Who was Nina Tarot to say she didn’t fit the bill?

Christopher passed her on the stairs. He grinned lasciviously and clasped her waist, drawing her close. ‘Lucinda,’ he rasped under his breath, ‘the mere sight of you fills me with rapture; promise to extinguish my pining.’

‘Sod off, Christopher,’ she said, pushing him away. ‘I’ve got places to be.’

‘Let me get this straight. Emily Windermere stole your boyfriend?’

‘Yep.’ Julia rested her chin on her hand. They were in a booth in her favourite Italian, days after getting raucously drunk together at Isaac’s promised pub: she had mentioned the restaurant once, ages ago, and he’d remembered. ‘Emily just grabbed him one afternoon and rammed her tongue down his throat. I caught them, in the changing rooms. I hated gym class even more after that.’

‘Did they get together?’

‘No. She got bored after a week.’

Isaac frowned. ‘I’m sorry. That sucks.’

‘She only did it to hurt me. She didn’t even like him.’

‘Why?’

Julia considered it. ‘He had nice eyes, I guess, but he was a bit chubby. And then there was chess club…’

He laughed. ‘No, why did she do it? Why would she want to hurt you?’

‘Because that’s what Emily does: she belittles people. Ever since we were small and our mums made friends at nursery. Whenever we played make-believe I’d be the Post Office clerk to her management, the Jason to her Kylie, the hunchback to her Esmerelda…’ She sighed, batting away Isaac’s amused grin. ‘Pretty much like now.’

‘So she couldn’t handle it when you got a guy.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s a control thing. Insecurity. The thought you might actually be capable of happiness terrifies her. Trust me: it says more of Emily than it does of you.’

‘The irony is, she wasn’t always idolised at school—it was only when she was the first one to get tits and all the boys wanted to date her. Before that she used to get called Windy Rear in the playground!’

‘Nice!’

Julia smiled. ‘Even though part of me wanted to join in calling her names, I didn’t. I was always her friend. And then see how she repaid me.’