put in twice as much effort. She never arrived late for a job, never had sex with a photographer or a client, never took drugs or drank too much. Instead of partying, she perfected a regal bearing that made her stand out in a city awash with young exotic beauties. Even so, Paula was never quite flavour of the month, but shoots for St John and Escada kept her in work until she had met William when she was twenty three. That was when all the hard work had paid off.
Just then, husband William walked in and dropped his overnight bag on the floor with a grunt. A tall, athletic–looking man with a full head of sandy hair and an open face, he looked tired and slightly world–weary; inevitable, thought Paula, considering his job as a senior executive at Asgill Cosmetics.
William moved behind her and nuzzled his lips into her neck. She giggled, genuinely pleased to have him there, holding her. It was getting dark and it felt a little isolating to be on her own on the estate.
‘What kept you?’ she asked, turning to kiss him.
William sighed. ‘I would have been here an hour ago, but I was waiting for Liz. Then she decided she was going to make her own way here.’
‘Typical Liz,’ snorted Paula; her sister–in–law’s selfishness was one of those things that made William’s job that much more difficult than it had to be.
‘Well, David’s mother called two hours ago wanting to know if we want to take a couple of horses out,’ she continued, gesturing towards the window. ‘Apparently from the ridge over there you can see the whole Manhattan skyline. Do you think it’s too late?’
‘We can go tomorrow morning,’ smiled William in his easy–going, almost placid way. ‘Besides, think it would be wise to check with security. There were already extra guards on the gates when I came through, and I’ve heard a couple of choppers already. I’m not sure whether it’s paparazzi or party guests arriving.’
Paula sat down in front of an antique dressing table and began to pad the underside of her eyes with foundation. She had always been skilled with cosmetics; she could do it better than any make–up artist.
‘Great place, isn’t it?’ said William appreciatively as he looked around the cottage. ‘We should do this more often: get away for the night without the twins.’
Paula shook her head. ‘I hate leaving them,’ she sighed.
‘Honey, it’s just for the night.’
She gazed at her reflection in the mirror.
‘I think it would do wonders for the twins if we had a place in the country. Somewhere with stables where they could keep their own ponies,’ she said finally.
‘We’ve got our own place,’ said William, referring to Parklands, the Asgill’s country place in Connecticut.
‘Oh, that doesn’t count,’ she pouted. ‘Parklands is your mother’s.’
William stood behind her, gently running his fingers though her hair. Irritated at the way he had ducked the issue of the country retreat once again, she pulled away.
‘Please honey. It was blow–dried this morning.’
William held up his hands. ‘Hey, I’m sorry. I like my wife’s hair. Sue me.’
She pulled her stool forwards. ‘Can you just pass me my bristle brush? It’s in the cream suitcase. No, not the paddle brush. The round one.’
As she watched him in reflection, she felt a little pang of affection. For all his faults – I mean, how many CEOs with a multimillion–dollar shareholding would think twice about buying a weekend retreat? – William Asgill was loving, loyal, and decent, all of which were rare attributes this high up in society and, for Paula, they were the glue that held their marriage together. It was, however, an unfashionable point of view among Paula’s circle of friends, most of whom had one eye on their current marriage and another eye on someone else’s more successful husband. Five years ago, such trading up had been rampant. In fact, it had been one such adventuress named Lynette who had married and
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