latest ghost-written book.
‘Third time lucky, as they say in this country,’ she said determinedly.
‘Third time lucky,’ Sylva echoed, sliding the file towards her mother so that she could once again study the magazine shot of Dillon Rafferty and his new girlfriend. ‘Who do you have in mind?’
As if she needed to ask …
The knotty forefinger with its long, nicotine-yellow nail landed on Dillon’s nose. ‘Let’s start at the top of the list and work our way down, as before.’
‘Nothing like aiming high.’ Sylva felt a shiver of excitement course through her. On cue, ‘Two Souls’ started playing on the distantkitchen radio, which Mama kept permanently tuned to Radio Two. ‘Tell Rodney I’m ready for him to start shooting now, Mama.’
Mrs Szubiak gasped, clutching the file to her chest. ‘You are surely not going to let him see our plans?’
‘Of course not,’ Sylva stood up and, turning to the huge Venetian mirror above the ornate fireplace, ruffled her thick blonde hair – a metre long including extensions. ‘I am going to do some gardening with the kids. Plant veggies. Dillon’s got an organic farm shop, hasn’t he? He’ll approve. It seems the perfect start to our masterplan.’
Mama regarded her daughter slyly. Sometimes she couldn’t be quite sure whether Sylva was being serious or not.
‘The children are not here,’ she reminded her.
‘Aren’t they?’ Sylva asked, vaguely recalling that her small boys and their doting entourage of nannies were currently splashing around in the pool of Lissom Hall, the nearby private spa that had made her an honorary member after so many photo shoots staged there. ‘In that case, I’ll plant veggies on my own. Tell Rodney that I’m going to the garden centre in five minutes. They can start shooting me there. I’ll take the Cayenne.’
She raced upstairs to change into denim hot-pant dungarees with nothing but a lacy cream and blue camisole underneath, matched with patterned baby blue wellies and topped with a floppy straw hat that cast a bewitching dappled shadow on her high-cheekboned face.
Sylva knew how to set a scene.
Chapter 5
Dillon and Nell were fast-tracked through customs at Heathrow and, accompanied by his record label PR, Tania, and the super-efficient airport’s VIP liaison executive, pushed their overloaded luggage trolleys past the banks of photographers intent on getting a shot of the global chart-topper and his new squeeze.
Having spent the final hour of the flight locked in a First Class wash room, changing and applying make-up, Nell was now hiding her perfectly painted eyes behind oversized dark glasses, a Hermèsscarf tied over her beautifully styled hair and a long summer mackintosh buckled over the floral playsuit she’d bought in Saks the previous day.
‘Where’s your little girl, Nell?’ one of the hacks called out.
‘With her grandmother,’ Nell said smoothly, despite Tania frantically signalling for her to say nothing while trying to bat all the press away with the aid of her vast Mulberry handbag. ‘I can’t wait to see her.’
But when they were finally ensconced behind the tinted glass of the vast car sent to pick them up, the Louis Vuitton luggage and tens of designer shopping bags crammed in the boot and Tania dispatched in a humble black cab, Nell suggested that they take a suite at Cliveden for the night. ‘The label will pay.’
‘Why should they?’ Dillon laughed incredulously. ‘They’ve already put us up in five-star luxury in New York just so that you could shop all week. I have houses in London and Oxfordshire; I hardly need to stay in a hotel near Henley. Besides, I want to get back for my kids.’
‘They’re still in LA with Fawn, packing their little suitcases,’ she pointed out sourly, having found herself stranded at the Four Seasons for several dull sunbathing and shopping afternoons a fortnight earlier while he spent time with his children and ex-wife at his former
‘Third time lucky, as they say in this country,’ she said determinedly.
‘Third time lucky,’ Sylva echoed, sliding the file towards her mother so that she could once again study the magazine shot of Dillon Rafferty and his new girlfriend. ‘Who do you have in mind?’
As if she needed to ask …
The knotty forefinger with its long, nicotine-yellow nail landed on Dillon’s nose. ‘Let’s start at the top of the list and work our way down, as before.’
‘Nothing like aiming high.’ Sylva felt a shiver of excitement course through her. On cue, ‘Two Souls’ started playing on the distantkitchen radio, which Mama kept permanently tuned to Radio Two. ‘Tell Rodney I’m ready for him to start shooting now, Mama.’
Mrs Szubiak gasped, clutching the file to her chest. ‘You are surely not going to let him see our plans?’
‘Of course not,’ Sylva stood up and, turning to the huge Venetian mirror above the ornate fireplace, ruffled her thick blonde hair – a metre long including extensions. ‘I am going to do some gardening with the kids. Plant veggies. Dillon’s got an organic farm shop, hasn’t he? He’ll approve. It seems the perfect start to our masterplan.’
Mama regarded her daughter slyly. Sometimes she couldn’t be quite sure whether Sylva was being serious or not.
‘The children are not here,’ she reminded her.
‘Aren’t they?’ Sylva asked, vaguely recalling that her small boys and their doting entourage of nannies were currently splashing around in the pool of Lissom Hall, the nearby private spa that had made her an honorary member after so many photo shoots staged there. ‘In that case, I’ll plant veggies on my own. Tell Rodney that I’m going to the garden centre in five minutes. They can start shooting me there. I’ll take the Cayenne.’
She raced upstairs to change into denim hot-pant dungarees with nothing but a lacy cream and blue camisole underneath, matched with patterned baby blue wellies and topped with a floppy straw hat that cast a bewitching dappled shadow on her high-cheekboned face.
Sylva knew how to set a scene.
Chapter 5
Dillon and Nell were fast-tracked through customs at Heathrow and, accompanied by his record label PR, Tania, and the super-efficient airport’s VIP liaison executive, pushed their overloaded luggage trolleys past the banks of photographers intent on getting a shot of the global chart-topper and his new squeeze.
Having spent the final hour of the flight locked in a First Class wash room, changing and applying make-up, Nell was now hiding her perfectly painted eyes behind oversized dark glasses, a Hermèsscarf tied over her beautifully styled hair and a long summer mackintosh buckled over the floral playsuit she’d bought in Saks the previous day.
‘Where’s your little girl, Nell?’ one of the hacks called out.
‘With her grandmother,’ Nell said smoothly, despite Tania frantically signalling for her to say nothing while trying to bat all the press away with the aid of her vast Mulberry handbag. ‘I can’t wait to see her.’
But when they were finally ensconced behind the tinted glass of the vast car sent to pick them up, the Louis Vuitton luggage and tens of designer shopping bags crammed in the boot and Tania dispatched in a humble black cab, Nell suggested that they take a suite at Cliveden for the night. ‘The label will pay.’
‘Why should they?’ Dillon laughed incredulously. ‘They’ve already put us up in five-star luxury in New York just so that you could shop all week. I have houses in London and Oxfordshire; I hardly need to stay in a hotel near Henley. Besides, I want to get back for my kids.’
‘They’re still in LA with Fawn, packing their little suitcases,’ she pointed out sourly, having found herself stranded at the Four Seasons for several dull sunbathing and shopping afternoons a fortnight earlier while he spent time with his children and ex-wife at his former
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