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‘I was impressed,’ said Victor seriously. ‘Your swimwear is elegant, timeless; sexy, not trashy. Possibly not the perfect fit with St Tropez,’ he said with a smile. ‘But I expect you are wondering why you are here – while I am sure you will be a delightful dining companion this evening, I have a proposition for you.’
Karin stiffened and Victor caught the movement.
‘I am interested in your company, Mrs Cavendish.’
Karin took a deep breath, feeling slightly giddy. After only seven years in business, she did not imagine that it would be ripe for a takeover by one of the world’s biggest retail conglomerates. In bed at night she would do calculations about how much she considered her company to be worth should the day come when someone made an offer for it. Today had been a big day for Karenza swimwear, but it was shaping up to be momentous.
She inhaled sharply to regain her composure. She had learned to be a shrewd negotiator over the years, and to show emotion was to show weakness. ‘And why do you think I would be interested in your offer?’ she asked. ‘Indeed, in any deal which would involve me sacrificing my control?’
‘Because you are ambitious for your brand,’ said Victor. ‘And at the moment you are standing still.’
He held up his hand to stifle her protests. ‘You are a creative woman, Mrs Cavendish, but your marketing is naïve. Yes, you have had some success, fashioning yourself into a brand ambassadress, going to parties in your pretty dresses to remind everyone of your sexy little swimwear brand, but it is little more than guerrilla marketing.’
She felt her skin prickle. The cheek of the man.
‘Mr Chen, in seven years I have built my business from fabric on a kitchen table to a multimillion-dollar business,’ she said, struggling to control her voice.
Victor laughed low and softly. ‘It is not a criticism, Mrs Cavendish. You are a talented entrepreneur but few entrepreneurs can grow their company beyond a fifty-million-dollar business without outside investment and help. Don’t be afraid of accepting help, or skills that complement your own.’ He paused to let this sink in.
‘You have a luxury product that can be commercialized on a much greater scale. How many women can afford to spend five hundred dollars on a swimsuit?’
Karin shrugged her shoulders. ‘I spent twelve months persuading the best factories in Italy to produce my swimwear. It is the best. That is why women are willing to pay five hundred dollars for a bikini.’
‘But how many super-rich women are there? Hundreds? Thousands? The swimwear market is set to explode in the Middle and Far East. You will have access to hundreds of millions of women.’
Karin’s eyes sparkled. The scale of the business Victor was proposing made her head swim. Victor continued in a low, even voice.
He swirled some champagne around the bottom of his glass and stayed silent so they could hear the crickets in the long grass in front of them. ‘I have had one of my analysts tracking your brand for some time and we feel that in partnership with the right group you can capitalize on that demand and become the leading swimwear brand in the world. We could grow from East to West and finally roll out into America. I understand that you are launching a lingerie line next year, which also interests me. With my help, I think we can turn your brand into the next Victoria’s Secret.’ Victor looked at Karin in the flickering light. ‘It is a billion-dollar brand, Mrs Cavendish.’
A billion-dollar brand. The very thought of it made her struggle to catch her breath. In a rush, she thought of the Big Blue and Christina’s Gulfstream and all that De Beers jewellery she had always promised herself. But what sort of compromises would that sort of expansion entail? Victor was certainly suggesting a move away from the luxury brand she had spent years cultivating. For a second she wished that Adam could have been by her side to debate it. But where was he when she needed him? Off on some ‘business conference’ with Claudia Falcon, or even Christina, no doubt.
‘Obviously it’s a conversation we can potentially take further after I have discussed it with my people,’ said Karin finally.
Victor nodded and watched silently as Karin finished her dessert: poached white peaches steeped in Calvados and honey that melted on her tongue. It was now dark and Victor got up and moved behind her chair to pull it out. His old-fashioned manners were quite endearing, but the stillness of the villa unnerved her.
‘That was a most pleasant dinner,’ he said. ‘How long are you staying in town? Perhaps we could go to dinner at La Cavassona tomorrow to discuss things further?’
‘I’m sorry, I am taking the first flight out of Marseilles tomorrow morning,’ replied Karin.
Again, Victor nodded silently. ‘I am scheduled to be in London a week today. Perhaps we could meet then. Do think about it, Mrs Cavendish,’ he said. ‘Many of the top fashion brands have been a marriage between the very best creative and business talent. Partners in life as well as business,’ he added.
As he spoke, he moved closer, gliding forward like a cat. ‘Do you want my driver to take you home, or do you want to stay a little while?’ he asked smoothly. ‘I probably have the finest wine cellar in the Côte d’Azur.’
Victor brushed his hand against her cheek. She smarted inwardly, but let his finger slide down her neck and over her dress, until his soft fingertips rested momentarily on her nipple hidden under the flimsy fabric.
She pulled away with a small cold smile and Victor nodded respectfully. Karin Cavendish had always been the mistress of her own destiny, she had always prided herself on making the right choices. Now here was one standing right in front of her. A billion-dollar opportunity. And suddenly she knew what she wanted. She wanted Karenza to be the biggest, most luxurious swimwear brand in the world, and it would be soon.
30
‘Get your coat. We’re going straight out.’
Julian Sewell had appeared at Erin’s front door at twelve on an early summer afternoon, then whisked her away on a magical mystery tour in his open-topped car. Erin felt as if she had stepped into a Cary Grant movie, which was quite an improvement considering she had never expected the date to happen. True, they’d had a good time that night in the Piccadilly wine bar. Julian’s friend hadn’t turned up, and Candy had slipped off when Erin wasn’t looking, so Erin and Julian had sat at the bar talking and laughing and getting increasingly drunk until it was gone midnight and the barman had told them it was time to close. She’d desperately wanted him to invite her home, but he hadn’t. He said he’d call, but that was what men said, wasn’t it? Until that very moment, when he was standing in front of her in blue jeans, a white short-sleeved shirt and that smile, Erin hadn’t really expected to see him again.
‘Are you coming, or am I going to have to come and give you a fireman’s lift down to the
car?’ shouted Julian as Erin rushed around finding her shoes and bag and keys. Erin still couldn’t quite believe he had called; men like Julian Sewell, – handsome, successful, sexy men who probably had model girlfriends tucked away in their designer lofts – weren’t interested in her. If they chatted you up it was because they were drunk. If they took you to bed, they didn’t remember your name the next morning. But here he was, as large as life and so handsome that she almost burst out laughing.
‘But where are we going?’ asked Erin as she ran down the steps.
