B004D4Y20I EBOK by Lulu Taylor Page B

balcony that gave a magnificent view of the garden at the centre of the square, which was in the heart of Belgravia, London’s most exclusive postcode. Opposite Jemima’s building was a mirror image of vast, white stuccoed mansions, most divided up into elegant flats; a few, owned by those whose wealth began in the hundreds of millions, were still houses.
    Jemima had not long ago redecorated the flat and had spared no expense. She had had enough of Victorian Gothic at Loxton, and found her mother’s penchant for silks, satins and ribbons sickly. She equally disliked Herne Castle which was a bona fide country house: shabby, dark, full of fabrics, textures, paintings and patterns, no wall left uncovered, no window unswagged, no table without a clutter of photographs, vases, bibelots and lamps. Jemima just couldn’t bear that typically English old-fashioned décor any longer – it was too unchanging, too stuck in the past. She yearned for space, light and simplicity. When the flat, battered by all the high living and wild parties, had started to look worn out, she’d taken the opportunity to embrace the beauty of contemporary style and living.
    The sitting room was her favourite room: welcoming, restful and calm. The pale walls had only one or two carefully chosen paintings. Some beautiful black and white photographs in stark black frames ran along the far wall opposite the windows. One long grey velvet sofa faced a plain white one across an enormous glass coffee table on a white Mongolian sheepskin rug. The basic monochrome colours were lifted by small splashes of colour: a row of lily-green cushions, a red cashmere throw, a giant dark jade glass vase spilling pale hydrangea heads.
    ‘Sit down, darling.’ Jemima kicked off her shoes and relaxed on to the grey velvet sofa, tucking her feet up under her. ‘Sri’s bringing us tea, although I don’t know about you but I could do with something a bit stronger. I’m feeling distinctly shaken up.’
    ‘I’m afraid most of it went over my head.’ Poppy sat down at the other end of the sofa, easing her patent boots off and rubbing her toes which were now throbbing from all the walking she’d done that day.
    ‘We’ll have to wait for Tara to give us her expert opinion, I’ve got no more of a business brain than you have. But even I can see that it’s all looking pretty terrible.’ Jemima looked sombre for once. ‘I’ve teased you for years for trying to live without the family money – but now it seems as if you might have been the clever one all along. If what that Ingliss man said is true, we might have to get used to surviving without.’ She frowned and shook her head. ‘You know, I really can’t believe it. We’ve been living in a dream world. Our parents have conned us – they’ve conned the whole world. Everyone thinks we are vastly rich heiresses – that’s what
we
thought we were – when the truth is, they’ve been selling every asset the company owns just to keep the façade going.’
    ‘But can Trevellyan really be in so much trouble?’ Poppy said wonderingly. ‘I still see our perfumes everywhere, in all the best shops.’
    ‘That doesn’t mean people are buying them. Tell me the truth –’ Jemima leaned forward and stared her sister in the eye. ‘Would
you
buy
Trevellyan’s Tea Rose?
Or
Vintage Lavender?
Or
Antique Lily?
If you had one, would you buy your boyfriend
Leather & Willow?
’
    There was a long pause. Poppy looked down at her hands.
    ‘No. I thought not. I wouldn’t buy it either. It’s grandma stuff, isn’t it? It’s what you picture soft-cheeked old ladies dabbing behind their ears and on their wrists before they go out to their bridge club. That’s who I imagined was still buying it. But maybe all the old ladies and gentlemen who used to buy that stuff are dying out – and no one is taking their place.’
    ‘But the US … Japan … Europe …’ Poppy stammered.
    ‘Yes, yes, it’s been drummed into us how much