have to have a shower.’
13
Gus boarded the chopper. He needed backup, he needed a plan. That meant heading to Paris, because the only person who could concoct a plan elaborate enough to rid him of this whole mess was Perrette.
She had a canny mind and could strategise better than any leader he had ever met. Perrette could run the White House, the United Nations and organise a fashion show all at the same time.
When the chopper touched down in Paris, Gus breathed a sigh of relief. His father was French, and Gus always felt at home there. He hopped into the Audi that was waiting to drive him to the family’s Parisian apartments.
Perrette had said she would meet him there. His mother was having a fitting at Dior, so she would be out for the afternoon, which suited Gus just fine.
When he entered the apartment through the grand entryway, he heard Perrette on her phone. She was speaking in French, and he waved at her across the spacious reception room as he pulled out his own phone.
No news from the villa; he wondered if this was a good thing or a bad thing.
Ludo’s bodyguards had promised to let him know if Ludo did anything rash, and to keep an eye on Cinda and Jonas.
He felt bad about punching his brother, but no-one made him angrier than Ludo.
Perrette finished her phone call and walked over to him, her face barely grazing his as she kissed him on each cheek.
Dressed in head-to-toe caramel cashmere and her usual Hervé Brion signature red scarf, she smelled of money and cigarettes.
‘What’s happening with your idiot brother?’ she asked as she perched on the nearest couch.
That annoyed Gus, even though he knew it was true that Ludo was an idiot. He always felt he was the only one who could call Ludo an idiot, but since he needed Perrette’s help, he let it pass. This was his usual strategy with Perrette.
‘He’s brought two backpackers from Australia to the summer villa.’
Perrette made a face.
‘One of them is a girl, and he seems quite involved,’ added Gus. He didn’t look at Perrette, instead moving to the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows.
‘I assume they’ve slept together?’ she asked, as she lit a Gauloise and sat back, crossing her slim legs.
She’s the epitome of French chic , he thought as he turned to look at her. So different to Cinda. The image of her in Ludo’s oversized T-shirt, stalking down the hallway, came to mind. He felt himself both turned on and angry at the memory. He started as he heard Perrette saying his name.
‘Well, have they?’ she asked, her face pinched.
‘I think so.’
‘Let’s hope she doesn’t get pregnant,’ she said, giving Gus a judgemental glance.
Gus didn’t say anything. Cinda getting pregnant didn’t seem very likely.
‘Women can be dangerous, Gus,’ said Perrette knowingly, seeing his scepticism. ‘I see them when they come in for fittings. Second, third, fourth wives. Scheming all the time. Look at Albert over in Monaco. More illegitimate kids than he can count, it’s ridiculous.’ Perrette stood up and butted the cigarette out in a Limoges ashtray.
Gus sat down and sighed. ‘I don’t know what to do. I tried to confront him but we had a nasty fight. I punched him.’
‘Really?’ Perrette glided over to him. ‘I like the idea of you being all manly for a change. Did you knock him out?’ she asked as she sat lightly on his lap.
Gus let the dig go, like he always did. ‘No, I knocked him off the jetty though,’ he said, shifting uncomfortably as Perrette’s bony butt dug into his thigh.
She leant down and kissed him. ‘Would you ever fight for my honour?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Gus with a smile.
Perrette stood up and led him down the hallway. She untied her scarf as she went, which always meant she was ready for business.
She was sexy in a feline way, he thought as she pushed him onto the bed and undressed for him. So why did he wish it were Cinda undressing for him instead of Perrette?
When they emerged from
13
Gus boarded the chopper. He needed backup, he needed a plan. That meant heading to Paris, because the only person who could concoct a plan elaborate enough to rid him of this whole mess was Perrette.
She had a canny mind and could strategise better than any leader he had ever met. Perrette could run the White House, the United Nations and organise a fashion show all at the same time.
When the chopper touched down in Paris, Gus breathed a sigh of relief. His father was French, and Gus always felt at home there. He hopped into the Audi that was waiting to drive him to the family’s Parisian apartments.
Perrette had said she would meet him there. His mother was having a fitting at Dior, so she would be out for the afternoon, which suited Gus just fine.
When he entered the apartment through the grand entryway, he heard Perrette on her phone. She was speaking in French, and he waved at her across the spacious reception room as he pulled out his own phone.
No news from the villa; he wondered if this was a good thing or a bad thing.
Ludo’s bodyguards had promised to let him know if Ludo did anything rash, and to keep an eye on Cinda and Jonas.
He felt bad about punching his brother, but no-one made him angrier than Ludo.
Perrette finished her phone call and walked over to him, her face barely grazing his as she kissed him on each cheek.
Dressed in head-to-toe caramel cashmere and her usual Hervé Brion signature red scarf, she smelled of money and cigarettes.
‘What’s happening with your idiot brother?’ she asked as she perched on the nearest couch.
That annoyed Gus, even though he knew it was true that Ludo was an idiot. He always felt he was the only one who could call Ludo an idiot, but since he needed Perrette’s help, he let it pass. This was his usual strategy with Perrette.
‘He’s brought two backpackers from Australia to the summer villa.’
Perrette made a face.
‘One of them is a girl, and he seems quite involved,’ added Gus. He didn’t look at Perrette, instead moving to the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows.
‘I assume they’ve slept together?’ she asked, as she lit a Gauloise and sat back, crossing her slim legs.
She’s the epitome of French chic , he thought as he turned to look at her. So different to Cinda. The image of her in Ludo’s oversized T-shirt, stalking down the hallway, came to mind. He felt himself both turned on and angry at the memory. He started as he heard Perrette saying his name.
‘Well, have they?’ she asked, her face pinched.
‘I think so.’
‘Let’s hope she doesn’t get pregnant,’ she said, giving Gus a judgemental glance.
Gus didn’t say anything. Cinda getting pregnant didn’t seem very likely.
‘Women can be dangerous, Gus,’ said Perrette knowingly, seeing his scepticism. ‘I see them when they come in for fittings. Second, third, fourth wives. Scheming all the time. Look at Albert over in Monaco. More illegitimate kids than he can count, it’s ridiculous.’ Perrette stood up and butted the cigarette out in a Limoges ashtray.
Gus sat down and sighed. ‘I don’t know what to do. I tried to confront him but we had a nasty fight. I punched him.’
‘Really?’ Perrette glided over to him. ‘I like the idea of you being all manly for a change. Did you knock him out?’ she asked as she sat lightly on his lap.
Gus let the dig go, like he always did. ‘No, I knocked him off the jetty though,’ he said, shifting uncomfortably as Perrette’s bony butt dug into his thigh.
She leant down and kissed him. ‘Would you ever fight for my honour?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Gus with a smile.
Perrette stood up and led him down the hallway. She untied her scarf as she went, which always meant she was ready for business.
She was sexy in a feline way, he thought as she pushed him onto the bed and undressed for him. So why did he wish it were Cinda undressing for him instead of Perrette?
When they emerged from
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