Page 64

‘With pleasure,’ Paulo replied, falling into step behind her.

The door flew open, and Isobel looked up as Camille and Nicolas walked in.

‘What the hell is going on?’ she demanded, as she jumped to her feet. ‘Did you seriously tell someone to lock me in here?’

Camille’s gaze was like ice. ‘Yes, I did. I didn’t want you to have the chance to cause any more damage.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘You can drop the innocent act, Isobel. We know why you’re here, what you’re planning. We know that you interned for Camille Andre.’

Shock registered on Isobel’s face, then she regained her composure. ‘Yes, I did. I’m surprised you remembered. You barely paid any attention to me at the time.’ Camille’s eyes flickered briefly to Nicolas, and Isobel had a flash of realization. ‘You didn’t remember, did you?’

‘Do you know how many interns we had come through the offices over the years?’ Camille defended herself. ‘I was running a business, not a crèche. Of course I can’t remember them all.’

‘Perhaps not. But you would think you’d have remembered the one who designed the bag that revolutionized your company.’ Isobel’s breath was coming fast, her blue eyes blazing. She felt triumphant. She’d dreamed endlessly of confronting Camille over the years, and now she finally had the chance to say everything she wanted.

‘So it was you,’ Camille declared, turning to Nicolas. ‘You admit it!’

Isobel followed Camille’s gaze, taking in Nicolas Martin. She knew who he was, of course. She’d seen him at the yacht party, and she knew that he and Camille were old friends; that he’d been one of the founders of the business, and that he now worked for American Athletics, who would be launching their collaboration with Camille Andre any moment now.

‘Of course I admit it,’ Isobel laughed. ‘You’re the one who’s been keeping it a secret all these years, taking credit for my work. I designed that bag, Camille, and you know it. You made a fortune from it and took the credit. You’re a liar and a fraud!’

‘Please, Isobel, you sound pathetic,’ Camille scoffed. ‘I took what was little more than a scribble on a piece of paper and turned it into one of the bestselling bags of all time. Do you think you’d have done that on your own? Your sketch would have ended up in the bin if Andre hadn’t picked it up. Besides, I think you’re forgetting about the contract you signed – everything produced remained the property of the studio. Even our head designers don’t get name checks – they design for the company, for Camille Andre.’

‘But … but it’s wrong!’ Isobel exploded, suddenly feeling uncertain. This conversation was not going the way she’d planned, and after being hit with the shocking news of Stuart’s affair, Isobel wasn’t sure that she could take much more.

Nicolas stepped forward, placing a hand on Camille’s shoulder. ‘The most important thing is that we’ve found out the truth and the show can go ahead. Everything else can be dealt with afterwards.’

But Camille wasn’t easily pacified. ‘No, Nicolas. I won’t be accused of something I didn’t do. We tried to find you, Isobel. I asked Andre how he got the sketch. He spoke with Personnel, and we were told that you’d left, gone back home. You hadn’t even given us any warning – you simply didn’t come back.’

‘My father was dying!’ Isobel burst out, her voice breaking at the memory. The day after I drew that sketch, I went back to my apartment on cloud nine. I knew Andre had taken it to show you, and I was ecstatic, thinking that my career was about to take off. But when I got in there was a message on my answering machine from my mum, telling me my dad had had a heart attack and I needed to come home right away. I didn’t even hesitate, just threw a few things into an overnight bag and got a taxi to the airport. He died the following week.’

Camille softened, just a little, at this. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said gently.

‘I wanted to come back, but I couldn’t. I had to stay and look after my mum. There was no way I could leave her, alone and grieving, while I went gallivanting round Europe, following some frivolous dream. It was over,’ Isobel said distantly. ‘Can you imagine how I felt when I saw that photograph of Naomi Campbell carrying my bag? The one I’d designed. I had to watch your career, your company, go stratospheric, whilst I was stuck in Edinburgh, mourning my father, caring for my mother. That bag was in every magazine, carried by every celebrity, and all my friends bought high-street rip-offs. You were out there, living the life that should have been mine.’

Camille shifted uncomfortably, and Isobel knew her words were hitting home. Camille had had the backing of Andre and Nicolas and the juggernaut that was Camille Andre.

‘You had the money to make it happen, but I had the vision. The bag’s success proved that I was talented, that I should have had a wonderful future ahead of me, snapped up by one of the big fashion houses. Instead, I’ve been little better than a trophy wife, running a boutique financed by my husband, who – it turns out – is a lying, cheating piece of shit.’

Camille frowned, and Isobel went on, ‘Yes, the wonderful surgeon who treated your precious son has been having an affair, and you can read all about it in the papers next week. Maybe I’ll tell my side of the story – I’m sure the press would be very interested in what I have to say.’

Camille and Nicolas exchanged glances. ‘Isobel, I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but it seems like you’ve been through a lot and perhaps I can understand why you’ve behaved the way you have, even if I can’t forgive it. We’re not going to pay you the money, but perhaps we can find a way to avoid getting the police involved.’

Isobel’s mind was spinning, but she slowly registered Camille’s words. ‘Police? What are you talking about?’

‘The threats, Isobel. The blackmail. The smashed wing mirror, the bag covered in blood …’

Isobel’s mouth fell open, and she looked stunned. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Oh, come off it, Isobel. It all fits. You said it yourself – I had the life you should have had. So you talked yourself into believing that it was justified? That you deserved my money, and would stop at nothing to get it?’

‘No, I—’

‘Was it really a coincidence that you were here this week, when I was launching the new range? Your husband told me that you have a whole collection of “Camille” bags.’

Isobel looked ashamed, seemingly caught out. ‘No, it wasn’t a coincidence,’ she admitted. ‘I knew you were going to be here. I … I don’t know what I thought exactly. I wanted to know if you’d recognize me. Maybe I thought about confronting you. But I don’t know anything about threats or blackmail or anything, I swear to you.’