Platinum Coast. Lynne Pemberton
She was new, dark-skinned and attractive, and he smiled at her. He didn’t bother to learn their names any more, they changed so often.
He padded through Susanna’s bedroom suite, which interconnected with his own. He hated the fact that they had separate rooms. He missed waking up next to her.
It has been wonderful, once: to be aroused by the musky remnants of her expensive perfume, to touch the silky strands of her wayward hair, to caress with eager fingers the fine golden hair of her bush. But it hadn’t lasted long. He had realized early in their marriage, after a few cold and indifferent submissions, that Susanna loathed sex in the morning.
And that had been the beginning of their growing apart; the start of what had eventually led to separate bedrooms. It had never excited him to have his women acquiescent. He wanted them eager for it, hungry enough to match his own appetite. His mind strayed to the good-looking maid he had encountered on the stairs. She had possibilities, he thought, and felt his penis stirring into life.
He shook his head vigorously, shaking off thoughts of sex, then smiled to himself. The prospect of a fight always made him horny, and today at the meeting he expected there to be a bloody battle. It was important to keep his mind on business.
Christina, he was certain, could be persuaded to stay out. She had Adam to look after now. Victoria, though, was going to need some careful handling. She always did …
He showered and dressed in a sombre Armani suit, a blue shirt and silk paisley tie, then ran a comb lightly through his hair which, except for the distinguished wings of grey at the temples, was as thick and dark as it had always been.
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