Free Guilty Pleasures by Tasmina Perry Page B

period at the moment?’
    ‘You got it,’ grinned Ruby, happy her mother had taken the bait. ‘… And seeing as I got an A in my paper, are you going to take me to Paris? You did promise at Christmas … ?’
    The fact that Cassandra was the mother of a 13-year-old girl was an open secret in the industry, but it was not something she flaunted. There was no shame; over the years, Anna Wintour’s child Bee Shaffer and French
Vogue
editor Carine Roitfeld’s daughter Julie had been seen on the front row. But Ruby looked nearer eighteen than thirteen; Cassandra was only 35, and did not want people doing the maths and getting it wrong.
    ‘Now, darling, I know I promised you could come to a couple of shows this year but
Rive
is throwing a big party in Paris and I don’t think it would be appropriate for you to be there. Maybe for couture in July, mmm?’
    ‘I really wanted to go to the Louvre,’ said Ruby in a low, disappointed voice.
    Cassandra so wanted to please her daughter, to give in to her demands. She’d love to show Ruby off, but she had to be strong. She couldn’t let Ruby’s disappointment interfere with her plans, not now. She was doing it for both of them – didn’t she understand that? Sometimes she felt so close to her daughter that she was almost part of her, other times it seemed as if they lived on different planets.
    ‘When am I going to see you again?’ said Ruby grumpily.
    ‘I’m away for a little while. Milan, Paris and then I have to go to Mexico. But I think your grandmother is coming next weekend.’
    Ruby looked up at Cassandra; her teenage barriers were all stripped away now and she was just a little girl who needed her mum.
    ‘I miss you,’ she said.
    ‘I miss you too,’ said Cassandra, her voice wobbling. ‘But you know why I work so hard, don’t you?’
    ‘For us?’
    Cassandra nodded, then reached under the table for a stiff paper bag.
    ‘Here,’ she said, ‘I’ve been saving this.’
    Ruby peeked inside, rifled through the tissue paper and then looked up beaming.
    ‘Groovy. A Chanel quilt!’ she said.
    ‘The Chanel 2.55,’ corrected Cassandra. ‘So named because …’
    ‘… because it was introduced by Coco Chanel in February 1955, I remember,’ said Ruby quietly.
    Cassandra felt a pang of disappointment and concern at Ruby’s interest in the works of Leonardo da Vinci above those of Coco Chanel. While her daughter’s quick-wittedness and spirit suited Cassandra’s image of herself, to be too academic might be detrimental to Ruby’s long-term prospects. Intelligence put too many men off, which was why brainy bluestockings like Emma Bailey ended up alone.
    Cassandra had such high hopes for her beautiful daughter. She wanted her to be the belle of the Crillon ball. She wanted her to have a good marriage; a spectacular marriage, perhaps the son of an oligarch or the scion of some great American family. She wanted her to have glamour and power and money. She wanted her to have everything.
    The car stopped back outside Briarton Court and they got out.
    ‘Are you coming in to say goodbye?’ asked Ruby. ‘I have to be back in the dorm by nine.’
    ‘I won’t come to the dorm. I might get accosted for more autographs,’ said Cassandra following her into the entrance hall.
    ‘Don’t pretend you don’t love it,’ smiled Ruby, twisting the chain strap of her bag around her fingertips. Cassandra kissed her daughter on the cheek and felt a shot of warmth course through her body. As Ruby ran down the corridor, her mother watched her go, only turning round when she heard the tapping of shoes coming down the stone floor towards her.
    ‘Miss Broughton,’ smiled Cassandra extending a hand to the matronly headmistress of Briarton.
    ‘A wonderful talk, Miss Grand,’ she said, although Cassandra detected a look of disapproval in the woman’s expression. ‘I have a love-hate relationship with the career talks. On the one hand, it’s wonderful to be able to make use