Platinum Coast

Tenderly, she touched the brilliant, six-carat stone and recalled the words that had been written in Stephen’s open, scrawling handwriting on the card accompanying it:

When you wear this I’ll never be far away.

Your ever adoring father.

She felt the tears spring into her eyes and gripped the edge of the dressing-table, fighting to stay in control. He had given her the necklace only days before he had died. It had been his last gift.

She fought back the tears. They threatened to mess up her mascara and she hadn’t time to start on her make-up again.

‘Come on, Vicky,’ she said softly to herself. ‘You’re Daddy’s girl. Do what he always told you to do. Come out fighting.’

She smiled bravely at her reflection, pushing a wisp of stray hair out of her eyes, but inside she felt her heart breaking with the pain of his loss. She missed him so much. He had gone so suddenly, too soon for her to have learned all that he had to teach her: about winning people over, making them feel good, while all the time he was manipulating them for his own ends. About continued success and how not to grow complacent. Most of all about power.

Victoria was twenty-one, rich and beautiful. In his will her father had left money in trust for her until she was twenty-five, more than enough to buy her anything she wanted. But none of that was enough. She wanted power.

Now that her father was dead she saw herself as his natural successor. She had inherited much of his wealth, his good looks and his business acumen. She had also inherited his determination. And it was with that, the iron will she had seen him use so often, that she intended to wrest control of the one thing he had not left her – complete control of Platinum Resorts. Or rather – had not left her yet, she reminded herself. Today’s meeting was to determine the reassignment of her father’s shares. Antonio had been asked to attend, but she couldn’t believe that Stephen Reece-Carlton would have been so weak as to make the sentimental gesture of giving away shares to a business partner. No, Antonio’s presence was a mere formality, as was that of her trustee, Robert Leyton. Dear old Uncle Bob. Yet another man she could twist around her finger. Which left Christina.

There was a fierce stabbing pain in the palm of her hands. Victoria looked down in surprise as blood seeped slowly down one wrist. At just the thought of her stepmother she had clenched her fists so tightly that her long nails had drawn blood. Maybe it was an omen? For the first time since her father’s death, Victoria smiled.

The rain had turned Madison Avenue into a blocked artery of horn-sounding yellow cabs, all going nowhere.

Antonio peered past his driver’s head at the immovable jam of vehicles stretching as far into the distance as he could see, then consulted his watch. He turned to stare at the pedestrians scurrying along the sidewalk. No matter how fraught and bad-tempered they were, he thought, at least they were going somewhere. He decided to join them. He might get a little wet, but that would be better than being a half-hour late.

He arrived at the New York offices of Platinum Resorts Inc. damp and agitated. It had been a struggle among the pedestrians on the wet sidewalks. He was fifteen minutes late.

‘The traffic on Madison was hell,’ he announced by way of an apology as he walked into the huge room that had been Stephen’s office. The others seated around the polished American cedar boardroom table looked up. No one smiled.

‘It was bad for all of us, Mr Cellini,’ Kingsleigh Klein grated patronizingly. ‘But, as you see, the rest of us made it for the appointed time.’

Antonio hid his irritation for the arrogant Kingsleigh Klein, who had been Stephen’s choice of lawyer for himself and the company. Klein had always made it obvious he disliked Cellini. The feeling was mutual, and when he had control, Antonio reflected as he smiled ingratiatingly and sat down next to Victoria, one of his first moves would be to get rid of him.

He glanced at Christina sitting opposite and noticed the dark rings around her hazel eyes, made all the more prominent by the exhausted pallor of her face. He nodded briefly to Robert Leyton. So who was the third man, neat and smooth and prissy-looking, wearing gold-rimmed half-glasses that made him look like a college professor?

‘Now that we are all finally here …’ – Klein glanced at him again – ‘perhaps we can begin? We have a lot to get through. Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Herr Nicolas Wagner who has joined us today from Zurich? Like myself, Herr Wagner is a lawyer. Stephen Reece-Carlton consulted him a few months ago.’

Klein looked as if he had swallowed something sour, Antonio was pleased to see, but Wagner seemed to be out of the same mould: boring, precise and fond of the sound of his own voice.

‘Before his death,’ Nicolas Wagner began, ‘Stephen Reece-Carlton left an important document with me. His instructions were that this document was to be opened not less than one week after his burial.’ He produced a large brown manila envelope which he placed on the table in front of him. The room was silent.

Wagner paused for a moment before he went on: ‘This document is to be opened and read to all of those present here today by Mr Leyton.’

The lawyer slid the envelope across the polished table to Robert, who proceeded to open it. Antonio, watching through narrowed eyes, noticed that his hands were shaking.

Inside the envelope was a sheet of white foolscap covered in Stephen’s untidy scrawl.

Robert’s voice cracked slightly as he began to read. He stopped, cleared his throat, and began again.

‘Earlier this year I felt compelled to write this letter in case I met with an untimely death. The building of Platinum Resorts Inc. has been for me a wonderful and challenging experience. I believe that the hotels are a testament to all the effort and time put into making them what I consider to be perfect retreats.

‘I have no regrets. It has been a labour of love. I wish to leave Christina and Victoria 24 per cent of the company each in the hope that, now that I am dead, they may settle their differences and unite to prevent Antonio Cellini gaining control of Platinum Hotels.

‘That is something I do not wish to happen.’

There was a concerted gasp from everyone around the table as they shot Antonio embarrassed looks. His eyes smouldered and he reddened slightly, but he made no comment as Robert continued.

‘Without me there to prevent it, I am afraid Antonio will drag the company down.’

At this he finally exploded. Everyone jumped as he smashed his clenched fist onto the table’s polished surface, rattling the glasses and upsetting Victoria’s cup. Coffee spilled onto her new Chanel suit. She frantically dabbed at the seeping brown stain with a tissue, then glared at him ferociously.

‘I suppose it’s too much to expect an apology?’

‘For Chrissake, shut up!’ he barked at her. ‘I’ll buy you a dozen designer suits.’

Robert looked up from the letter. He was tempted to smile. Cellini had always made him feel inadequate, and now he was enjoying the chance to observe the Italian’s discomfiture. ‘May I continue?’ he enquired with a trace of smug satisfaction.

‘Yeah, you can continue,’ snarled Antonio, ‘but don’t expect me to hang around here if there’s gonna be much more of this crap. Just cut out all the amateur dramatics and get to the point.’

His voice became even more angry. ‘Christ, this is just typical of Stephen! That sonofabitch loved to play power games with people and even now he’s dead he’s still stringing us along. All we want to know is, who’s holding the remainder of the shares? When we know that we can get down to the real business.’

Robert had never been on the receiving end of Antonio Cellini’s legendary temper and wasn’t about to change that now. He became conciliatory. ‘There’s not much more.’

‘Then get on with it,’ snapped Antonio. Robert cleared his throat and continued.

‘Several years ago, for reasons I choose not to disclose, I was forced to part with a substantial proportion of my company. The shareholder, my half-brother Edward Harrington, who holds 28 per cent of Platinum Resorts, has always preferred to remain anonymous and let me act in his best interests but, in the event of my death, I am certain he will make himself known to you.

‘I must warn you that my half-brother is not to be trusted, not under any circumstances, and I am absolutely opposed to his becoming involved in any way with the running of Platinum Resorts.

‘You must always be on your guard against this man. As the other shareholders in the company, you must try to get rid of him in any way you can. Buy him out, but get rid of him. This is vitally important.

‘This is my last wish and I entrust you, particularly Christina and Victoria, with the task of carrying it out.

‘I would like to think that Platinum Resorts will enter the next decade with the same vigour and style that have made it the phenomenal success that it is today.

‘Thank you, Christina, for putting up with my obsession and loving me in spite of everything.

‘Finally, I wish all of you everything I would have wished for myself. Especially longevity.

‘Take care, and bonne chance.’

The sight of Stephen’s signature, still bold and authoritative while his body was now at the mercy of the sea, caused Robert’s voice to falter.

For a while there was a silence in the room, broken only by the soft patter of raindrops on the window panes.

Then Victoria’s voice cut crisply into the silence. ‘This is quite incredible, you know. Daddy and Uncle Edward never got on, barely saw each other. They were only half-brothers in any case. There is absolutely no reason I can think of why my father should leave Edward Harrington a controlling interest in his company.’

The Swiss lawyer glanced at her sympathetically. ‘I appreciate this has come as a shock to you, Miss Reece-Carlton, but your father’s instructions were crystal-clear. It seems that, for whatever reason, Mr Reece-Carlton intended Edward Harrington to benefit.’

‘For whatever reason,’ thought Christina. A lawyerly euphemism if ever she’d heard one. Like Victoria, she could think of no reason why Stephen should have left Edward a stake in the company he had loved. Why, she could remember him refusing his half-brother the loan of a few hundred pounds once. And now to leave him all this? It didn’t make sense.

‘But why all the goddamned secrecy?’ Antonio exploded. ‘So far as I knew, Stephen wouldn’t give his fag brother the time of day. I just don’t believe he could do this! I mean, legally, didn’t he have to notify me? We were partners, for Chrissake.’

Herr Wagner shuddered delicately at the choice of words, but hastened to assure them: ‘Mr Reece-Carlton acted quite properly. On his instructions I formed an offshore company and issued 28 per cent of the registered stock to Mr Harrington. An entirely legal manoeuvre, of course.’

Antonio snorted. ‘Legal, perhaps, but something here stinks. I’m not letting Harrington get his fat little pinkies on my company!’

Christina chose that moment to intervene. ‘Don’t you mean our company?’

For once, Victoria agreed with her. ‘Yes. By my reckoning we three are equal partners, Antonio, dear, holding 24 per cent each.’

Kingsleigh Klein broke in: ‘That’s certainly the current position, but aren’t you forgetting Stephen’s express wish that his half-brother should not be allowed to take part in the running of the company?’ He looked at Nicolas Wagner, who nodded slightly. ‘And I’m not breaking any professional confidences if I tell you that Mr Harrington himself has no intention of becoming involved in the running of Platinum Resorts. I believe you have been talking with him, Herr Wagner?’

The Swiss lawyer allowed himself a careful smile. ‘While delighted by his brother’s generosity, Mr Harrington made it quite plain to me that he does not see business as his forte. He wishes to sell his holding and has instructed me to act on his behalf. Naturally I would approach the other stockholders first.’

‘Now you’re talking language I understand. How much does this bozo want, and how soon can you arrange a transfer to me?’ rasped Antonio.

Christina felt her temples throb with suppressed annoyance. The man was impossible. ‘Hang on a minute, Antonio. There’s more than one guest at this party,’ she reminded him.

So far she had taken a back seat in this discussion. The news of the bequest to Edward had both shocked and surprised her – it seemed such an uncharacteristic move for Stephen to make. But now Antonio’s arrogant presumption had got through to her and she was determined to challenge him. He had no automatic right to those shares. No more than herself or, God forbid, Victoria.

‘Herr Wagner. I take it you would be equally happy to dispose of the shares to any of the existing shareholders?’

He inclined his head. ‘That is so. Mr Reece-Carlton foresaw there might be some – how shall I say? – healthy competition, and I have considered how best to handle it. I presume you will all three be bidding for Mr Harrington’s holding?’

He was looking specifically at Victoria who murmured, ‘Naturally.’ Christina’s heart sank. Her stepdaughter was twenty-one, had never held down a job or even completed her studies. Yet, with all the arrogance she had inherited from her father, she seemed quite convinced that she could step into his shoes.

‘I think, my dear, as your trustee …’ Robert Leyton began to bluster.

Victoria turned huge blue-grey eyes directly on him. ‘Uncle Robert, I know this is what my father would want. Obviously I need your consent to proceed, but you won’t withhold it, will you? After all, I am my father’s daughter.’

He shrugged and glanced slightly shamefacedly at Christina. She was not surprised. Father or daughter, Robert Leyton never could refuse a Reece-Carlton.

‘Then, with Mr Leyton acting on your behalf as trustee, I will accept a bid from you,’ Nicolas Wagner told Victoria. ‘I think the simplest and quickest way of handling this is to take sealed bids from all of you for outright control of Mr Harrington’s holding. I suggest we reconvene here in this office in one week’s time. That should give you all the chance to review your affairs and give me your best offer.’

Antonio was far from happy with this suggestion. ‘Now hold on a minute. Christina, Vicky, come on!’ His tone was heavily condescending. ‘It doesn’t have to come to this, surely? Competing like enemies after all the ties there’ve been between our two families.’ He put one bronzed hand on his heart. ‘If I promise, on the memory of my dead mother, to run the company just exactly as Stephen would have liked, can’t we just forget this competition shit? I mean, surely you do realize how much money I’ve got behind me? This is just a lawyer’s way of beefing up his fixer’s fee.’

It was such a phoney act it was almost laughable, Christina thought. But before she could reject the suggestion, Victoria was replying, her remarkable eyes flashing a stormy blue-grey light.

‘No, Antonio, I’m sorry, but I just don’t believe you’d run Platinum Resorts the way Daddy would have wanted. Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll take my chance in the bidding.’

‘Me too,’ said Christina. ‘Stephen left his family more than well provided for. It was obviously his way of giving us a chance to keep control of Platinum Resorts.’

Victoria gave her a cold, contemptuous stare. ‘Less of the “us”, please. No matter what Daddy might have wished in his letter, I’m acting purely for myself in this. If my bid’s successful, Christina, you’re out. As far as I’m concerned you were never more than an interloper in this family.’

Christina drew in her breath. More than ten years of it, and yet Victoria’s venomous hatred still had the power to cut her like a knife. Such a depth of ill-feeling, just because Christina had had the temerity to become Stephen Reece-Carlton’s second wife.

Stephen, she prayed silently, show me what to do. I miss you so. Why did you push us all into this crazy competition? Was it just to prove how well you had taught us?

Or perhaps it was for another purpose altogether?

Oblivious to the others, wrapped in her own private thoughts, Christina leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes to hide the stinging tears that threatened. Perhaps, by taking part in this battle for control of Platinum Resorts, she could find the answers to the questions that haunted her night and day. Why had Stephen died? Who had entered their house in Barbados and pushed him to his death – for that it had been murder all along she was suddenly in no doubt at all.

Yet the man she had met eleven years before had been kind and generous, rich in more than monetary terms. How could she ever have dreamed it would one day come to this? One company and three contenders equally determined to wrest control. A regular scorpion’s nest after such golden beginnings …

Chapter One 1982

‘I declare the Westside Shopping and Leisure Centre officially open.’ Chris Gowan, the soap star from Coronation Street, smiled broadly at the flashing press cameras.

‘Thank you all for coming today.’ He had to shout above the deafening applause generated by thousands of eager, noisy shoppers gathered outside the huge new shopping mall on the outskirts of Manchester.

Six young model girls dressed in Wild West theme costumes and armed with a stack of promotional brochures walked towards the small rostrum where Chris was standing. Their appearance was greeted by loud whistles and jeers from a group of crested and tattooed punks pushing precariously close to the platform.

‘These beautiful girls will be mingling amongst you today …’ Chris held up his hand for quiet as the youths shouted in unison: ‘Get ‘em off.’

‘Later, lads, later.’ Chris grinned, and the punk rockers roared their approval. ‘The girls are laden with lots of free goodies for all of you.’ He paused before going on to say, ‘Westside Leisure Centre has something for everyone, and we are offering free gifts today and all of next week. Don’t forget to enter our free prize draw and you could be the lucky winner of a holiday for two in Majorca.’

This announcement caused another wave of whooping and yelling.

‘I do hope you will all enjoy shopping at Westside Leisure Centre.’

Chris Gowan stepped down from the small rostrum to join the six models, all wide, gleaming smiles, posed bodies and pouting lips directed at the press and local television cameras. He stood very close to one particular chestnut-haired girl, obviously appreciating the view over her low-cut boned bodice.

‘Do you mind?’ she hissed.

He winked and laughed. ‘No. Do you?’

Christina O’Neill remembered that he was the visiting celebrity and she was just one of the glamorous bodies recruited for the punters to ogle at during the opening ceremony. With a smile fixed firmly in place she moved off through the crowd, handing out brochures.

‘Can I interest you in one, sir?’ she asked a grinning, shaven-headed spectator, and instantly realized her mistake.

‘D’you hear that, lads?’ he asked his mates. ‘She fancies me. Yeah, come on, darlin’. I’d fancy one with you any day.’

Christina was about to tell him to get lost when he hooked his finger through the bright-red garter she was wearing and twanged it so hard against her leg that she jumped and dropped the pile of brochures she was holding. They scattered at her feet, some of them sliding across the ground.

Christina glared at him before bending down to retrieve the brochures.

‘I get so sick of men like you,’ she said angrily, as she rose to her feet and found herself staring, not at the leering youngster, but at a man in a beautifully cut dark-grey chalk-stripe suit. His thick brown hair was brushed away from a high forehead. She caught a hint of the subtle, tangy cologne he wore. Without knowing exactly how, she realized it was a very expensive one.

‘I’m sorry.’ She felt her face flush. ‘I wasn’t talking to you. I was about to tell that creep …’ – she pointed towards the punk, laughing and joking with his gang – ‘… exactly what I thought of him.’

She sighed and added, ‘Men!’

‘Not all of us are like that, you know.’

Christina looked directly into his pale-green eyes.

‘I’m beginning to wonder. So far I’ve had the misfortune of meeting too many of that variety.’ She smiled wryly and added, ‘I’m afraid it’s an occupational hazard.’

He glanced at the scanty saloon-girl’s outfit that accentuated her narrow waist and exposed most of her long, shapely legs, and nodded.

‘I can understand why.’

‘I must be mad, getting dressed up like this for a measly twenty-five pounds a day, but a gal’s got to eat.’ Her laughter held a hint of mischief, and he thought again that she was more than just another pretty girl.

‘At least I’ve met one gentleman.’ She smiled at him under downturned lashes as he handed her the brochures she had dropped. It seemed he was about to speak to her again when an older, slightly corpulent man approached, looking very agitated. She recognized Robert Leyton, one of the mall’s developers, who had contacted the agency to hire girls for the opening.

‘Stephen, there you are! Charles Naylor is waiting in the hospitality lounge. He’s scheduled to tee off at two and would like to see you before he goes.’

‘Mustn’t keep the man from his golf,’ Christina’s rescuer commented, then, before Robert could steer him away, he said, ‘By the way, I didn’t catch your name?’

Robert glared in their direction. ‘Stephen, Charles won’t wait much longer.’

He ignored the impatient voice and smiled at her, showing even white teeth.

‘My name’s Christina.’ She paused. ‘Christina O’Neill.’

‘I’ll see you later, Miss Christina O’Neill.’ His tone was emphatic.

‘Come on,’ Robert shouted, walking ahead.

Christina watched the two men walk away before being tapped on the shoulder by the tattooed arm of the punk rocker who insisted on showing her his fascinating assortment of chains attached to various parts of his anatomy. He took a dozen free offers and asked her out for a drink, much to the amusement of his motley crew of friends, who collapsed into shrieks of laughter when she refused the date.

She spent the next six hours giving away hundreds of free special-offer coupons, chatting to pensioners about the cost of living, placating fraught babies, fending off the unwelcome advances of gangs of unemployed youths, and being battered by an assortment of baby buggies, prams, and huge shopping bags.

‘A free gift of six bags of sugar, three jars of coffee and four boxes of tea with every purchase of food over £50 in Tesco.

‘A record voucher with every two LPs bought at Virgin Mega Store.

‘Two for the price of one with every purchase of an exotic new fragrance from Estee Lauder.

‘A holiday for two in Majorca in the Westside bumper holiday draw.’

Christina’s voice had lost all its sparkle and her throat and head ached as she repeated the list of free offers for the final time and handed out the last of her brochures.

It was seven o’clock and the last few stragglers were leaving the shopping centre. ‘Thank God that’s over,’ Christina said to Janine, a girl she knew vaguely from the same model agency, as they walked into the staff-room.

Janine sighed. ‘It’s bloody slave labour. I wish someone had warned me modelling was going to be like this.’

She took out a packet of cigarettes and handed one to Christina.

‘No thanks, I don’t smoke, but at this rate I think I might have to soon.’

They both sat down on a narrow wooden bench. Christina eased her aching feet out of the high-heeled black patent-leather shoes and wiggled her swollen toes.