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Liz was so shocked by the turn of events that she couldn’t speak. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Undettered, William ploughed on.
‘The cosmetics industry is not a one–size–fits–all business any more, Liz. Properly targeted niche brands are the future,’ he sa
id, as if she might actually believe this had been his plan all along. His cowardice and weakness made Liz want to vomit.
‘Just think of it,’ he said with excitement. ‘We could go on a shopping spree to acquire more niche, up–market brands. Brands that would be a strategic fit with our new identity. We could do licensing deals with fashion houses and really reach out to the Chinese and Indian markets.’
But Skin Plus is mine, Liz felt like yelling. I created this and now you’re claiming it for your own, to save your ass.
‘It’s the perfect time to be repositioning ourselves as a more up–market proposition,’ said Meredith, looking brighter now their plot was out. ‘Brooke’s wedding is millions of dollars’ worth of free advertising for the company.’
Liz looked out of the window, her mind reeling. Greg the gardener had now taken his shirt off, but his bare chest didn’t even register on her consciousness.
‘What’s wrong, Elizabeth?’ asked Meredith, unnerved by her daughter’s silence. ‘Don’t you agree?’
Finally Liz could hold it in no more. ‘Of course I agree!’ she spat. ‘This is my strategy; I am the one who created the Asgill luxury brand. I built Skin Plus up from nothing and now you are proposing to take it away from me to cover up his screw–ups?’ she yelled, gesturing contemptuously at William.
‘Elizabeth, this is a family company,’ said Meredith.
‘And I am the only one in this family with a successful track record,’ shouted Liz. ‘I have spent the last ten years using my talents to prop up this company and now I am the one made to suffer!’
Meredith flashed her a warning glance. ‘Be careful, Liz,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t do or say anything foolish.’
Liz glared at her mother. Oh, I haven’t even started, she thought. You will pay for this; you will both pay.
Her fury hadn’t blunted her instincts, however, and she was a shrewd enough businesswoman to know that confrontation was not the best option when dealing with a stubborn, short–sighted enemy. And without a doubt, her family had just become her enemies. As she saw it, she was left with no choice, for one simple reason. Meredith and William’s plan had completely failed to address the true problem: them. The strategy of selling off the outdated part of the company and using the proceeds to create a more modern, forward–looking business was actually quite sound. But the reason Skin Plus had worked was not because it was a niche brand or a luxury label: it had succeeded because of her, Liz Asgill; her vision, her hard work and her talent. Her mother clearly intended to create a brand–new, repositioned Asgill company, with the old management still in place. That was her mother’s fatal flaw. She simply didn’t know her children. Despite his repeated failures and ineffectual leadership, she still thought William was capable of running the company. And me? You really have no idea what I am capable of, do you? thought Liz, staring at her mother. You really have no idea.
‘So what do you think?’ asked William nervously, glancing across at Meredith for support. ‘Do you agree to the plan? Because, if you do, I’ll get a meeting in the diary with Bruno Harris as soon as we’re back in the office.’
Liz didn’t say anything for a moment; it was as if she hadn’t heard him. William and Meredith exchanged worried looks.
‘Liz?’
She glanced back at William, then simply nodded and walked towards the window. In her direct line of vision she could see an old oak tree on a stretch of grass that ran down to the river. It was where she used to go to sit and think. She would go there this afternoon. It was time to make a plan of her own.
CHAPTER THIRTY–TWO
Since Tess’s arrival in New York, it had become a tradition that once a week she would have a catch–up with Brooke. Although their first meeting had been more like a council of war, Brooke had slowly come to enjoy their meetings, which were now more usually held at a lunch or at her flat over drinks. As much as Brooke had wanted to dislike Tess Garrett, assuming she would be pushy and sleazy like every other tabloid hack she’d ever met, to her surprise she had found the pretty English girl to be smart and refreshingly straightforward. On the face of it, their meetings were about work – which press had been offered or turned down, which stories had been deflected or buried, which events Tess thought Brooke should attend – but they often quickly descended into long girly gossip sessions that she rather enjoyed.
Her intercom buzzed just as she had finished showering and changing into her favourite cashmere jogging pants. Tess was early, she thought, worrying that she had no time to blow–dry her hair, then laughing out loud at herself. It’s only Tess, she reminded herself. Those best–dressed lists have gone to my head. She buzzed her in and poured a chilled Sauvignon from the fridge. It felt cold and fresh as it slipped down her throat.
‘Hi. Sorry, I’m a bit early,’ said Tess breathlessly as she bustled into the apartment laden down with bags and folders, dumping the lot on the B&B Italia dining table.
‘Don’t worry,’ smiled Brooke, handing her a glass of wine. She probably needs it, she thought. Brooke had heard through the grapevine that Tess had just split with that handsome English boyfriend of hers. Tess took a long sip of the drink.
‘Cheap wine. Yuck,’ she said. Brooke looked up with alarm before she saw a smile break out on her publicist’s face.
‘I’m joking,’ smiled Tess. ‘Sorry, English sense of humour. That is the most delicious Sauvignon I have ever tasted. Brooke, you have the best wine, the best clothes, the best men. I hate you.’
Brooke thought that this so–called English sense of humour seemed to comprise of sarcasm, half–truths, and irony, but she was too polite to say so.
‘I shouldn’t really be drinking,’ said Brooke, taking a seat at the table. ‘I’ve just had a crazy session with my new personal trainer. Apparently I’ll have a muffin top over my strapless wedding dress if I don’t lose another one per cent of body fat.’
‘Do you trust him?’ asked Tess.
‘My trainer? He has good results with other girls … ’
‘I don’t mean that,’ said Tess seriously. ‘Can you trust him to keep quiet? I mean, if you’re giving him details about your wedding gown being strapless, that sort of information can get out.’
