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‘Well, you’re right about that,’ he said, misunderstanding her. ‘Paula will be in bed by the time I get home and she’s off to Bermuda tomorrow, so I’m hardly going to see her in the next week.’
Liz had no idea what Paula could be doing in Bermuda but, whatever it was, the thought riled her. Yet more squandering of money, no doubt. William stood up, stretching.
‘Well, I’m glad we’ve talked, Liz,’ he said, touching her arm. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Goodbye,’ she said softly as she watched him disappear down the dark corridor.
And I mean that in every way possible, she added to herself.
She picked up the document she had been holding minutes earlier and smiled. She had quite enjoyed the illicit thrill of almost being caught. Walking back to her desk, she flipped it open and began to read by the thin cone of light from her desk lamp. Is there enough here? she wondered, thumbing through the pages. Yes, there’s plenty.
She slipped the file into a brown envelope and addressed it – with a label from the printer, naturally; she couldn’t have her handwriting on it – to Hugh Montague, an analyst at Petersen’s. Rav had been delighted when Liz had shown so much interest in his friends at the financial institution. After Rav’s gossipy breakdown of their relative strengths and weaknesses, she had chosen Hugh Montague instantly. He was perfect – just moved over from London and keen to make his mark. Rav had even hinted that Hugh might be involved with some slightly shady offshore deals. Oh yes, he sounded perfect, thought Liz, picking up her coat and heading for the blue postbox on the corner of Fifth. I think Hugh Montague and I are going to be very good friends indeed.
CHAPTER THIRTY–SIX
‘You are going to love it here,’ said Katrina Savoy, pressing her foot down on the gas pedal of her jeep.
Paula turned and smiled, watching her new friend’s hair blow back in the Bermudan breeze. Frankly, Paula couldn’t believe how well they were getting along – it was far beyond what she had hoped for. If she didn’t know better, she would have said the princess was treating her like a genuine friend. Already that morning they’d had a game of tennis at the Coral Beach and Tennis Club, the prestigious and virtually impossible–to–access private members’ club. The following day they had lunch pencilled in with some of Katrina’s Bermudan friends at the famous Tom Moore’s Tavern and, in between, she had promised to help Paula buy a place on this delightful island where she already felt at home. The Jeep stopped outside Paula’s hotel and Katrina stretched over to kiss her on both cheeks.
‘I’m so glad you love the island as much as we do,’ said Katrina, waving goodbye. ‘See you tomorrow!’
Paula waved back, her cheeks flushed with excitement. Even though this trip had started out as a throwaway conversational titbit at Carlotta’s birthday party, Paula was genuinely impressed with Bermuda and its bright sunshine, glorious coloured beaches, and refined Englishness. If she was honest, however, the beauty of the island was simply a bonus. The primary objective of coming here was to further her relationship with the royal family and, even if Bermuda had been a mosquito–infested swamp, she would still have considered buying here if it meant she could boast Katrina as a friend. She had worked on her plan like a military campaign, using Casey’s play–date with Carlotta a week after Carlotta’s birthday party to casually extract from Katrina the dates she would be in Bermuda, then had rushed home to book a suite at the exclusive Pink Beach Club hotel the same week. As it had turned out, the timing could not ha
ve been more perfect. Paula had been absolutely delighted to hear about the proposed sale of a majority shareholding in Asgill Cosmetics to one of the big multinationals. She had never been particularly interested in the business, but William seemed incredibly excited about the deal, and a part–realization of his shareholding would give them lots of liquid cash for them to play with. Incredibly, William had even been receptive to the idea of looking for a place to buy in Bermuda. She had raved about Bermuda’s proximity to Manhattan; only a two–hour flight away from New York – less door–to–door if she invited Brooke and David, when they would no doubt fly private out of Teterboro. She pointed out its position as an understated playground for Manhattan’s most wealthy, including its fabulous championship golf courses. But most of all, Paula had emphasized how a second home on the island might make her more relaxed and receptive.
On the night before she’d left for the island, she’d initiated sex and, afterwards, curled into his arms to weave a fantasy of future life for them together. ‘Just think,’ she’d said as she stroked the hair on his chest. ‘In five, ten years’ time, you can take early retirement from Asgill’s and we can move to Bermuda full time. Me, you, and the kids. Lots of them, all running around in the sun. I’d like that.’
William had seemed to like the idea too.
*
The Pink Beach Club was in the exclusive Bermudan enclave of Tucker’s Town. Paula was standing on the patio of her cottage, sipping a freshly pressed orange juice, when she heard a knock at the door. She answered it, to find a handsome, confident–looking man of about thirty–five standing there. His skin was lightly tanned, he had short dark hair; his suit, thankfully, was of the regular variety, rather than worn with a Bermudan shirt as was the custom here. Paula just couldn’t get used to that.
‘Mrs Asgill?’ he said with a bright smile. ‘Are you ready?’
‘Oh, you’re Tom?’
‘That’s right, shall I lead the way?’
She had spoken to real–estate agent Tom Hawsley at length over the phone, but had never met him until now. Their discussions had been long and detailed, as Paula had very definite requirements for a property: something of size, something suitable for high–level entertaining. Sea views were essential, of course, so were at least four guest bedrooms and staff quarters, which did not have to be attached to the main house. A tennis court was also a must, along with at least five acres of grounds and an infinity pool.
Tom led to her towards a silver car and gallantly opened the door for her. ‘We have several very nice properties lined up for you today,’ he smiled as they set off.
As they wound around the narrow, fragrant lanes, he pointed out Michael Bloomberg’s house and a number of other dwellings owned by celebrities. They spent three hours driving round the island; the more Paula saw of Bermuda, the more she loved it. It was incredible to think it was less than seven hundred miles away from the coast of North Carolina. The sand was the pale pink of a ballet slipper; even the air, surrounded by thousands of miles of Atlantic Ocean, smelt fresher and sweeter. The houses, however, were less than satisfactory.
‘I’m not interested in anything that looks like a Fort Lauderdale retirement home,’ she said after the third house had been rejected. ‘I want old school Bermuda. I want class and elegance.’
Tom Hawsley smiled politely. He had gently tried to tell her that the eight–million–dollar price ceiling she had given him was unrealistic given her long list of requirements, but he was sure his objections had fallen on deaf ears.
‘Well, I’ve saved the best till last,’ he said, as they headed back towards Tucker’s Town. ‘This one is a little more than you wanted to pay, but it’s one of the most outstanding properties to come on the market in a long time.’
‘In that case, I’m definitely interested,’ said Paula briskly as she watched the lush countryside give way to a more built–up area.
‘How do you like Tucker’s Town?’ asked Tom, glancing across at her.
‘I love it,’ she smiled. She had been particularly impressed that you had to pass a uniformed guard just to get into the most exclusive pocket of the island.
‘Yes, I think you’re probably best suited to this area,’ he said smoothly, the compliment not wasted on his companion.
