Betrayed(4)

“I didn’t realise, baby. No wonder you’ve been depressed, but how has this happened?”

“You tell me…. Cash flow, stuff stuck on the shelves, material to buy, you know how it is.”

“Not really, but go on.”

“The trouble is, people interested in buying, say that to push ahead with the deal, the designer, me, stays put for at least two years. They want it written into the contract.”

“I’m not surprised. I’d want the same. I’ve seen those outfits of yours floating around the clubs. They’re chic. To be honest, Kat, I’m surprised you haven’t shoved them on the big catwalks.”

“Who do you think we are, Versace? We’re a frock factory, think back-street shops not catwalks.”

“Hey baby! Don’t belittle yourself. I love your outfits to death. They’re special. I thought they’d have made you a fortune.”

“Ah, you’re talking about Italian Concept. That line costs a fortune to manufacture.” Kat screwed her nose. “And we need to run up more than one a week. We can’t churn them out fast enough to make a profit.”

“Darling, have them made out!”

“I’ve looked into it,” Katrina made a face. “It will cost a packet. Anyway, Italian Concept isn’t the mainstay of the business. It’s my little indulgence. Dad tolerates it, but as far as he’s concerned it’s a whimsy.”

“Whimsy? God, what’s wrong with the man, he hasn’t a clue.”

“He thinks money comes from quantity. He likes volume turn over. Never mind the quality, feel the width, that’s dad, and even if we geared-up, we still can’t run them up fast enough. I have to design them individually, and we simply aren’t scaled to do it. I have the rest of the stuff to look after as well.”

“It could become the mainstay. Have you talked to him about it?”

She shook her head.

“Hey, by the way, how is that fabric going? Any success?”

“Not yet, not enough hours in a day I’m afraid.” Kat shrugged. The fabric was a pipe dream. It would need a large investment before she could do anything, but banks weren’t as friendly as they made out. Anyway, Dad simply wasn’t into it.

Rain streamed down Kat’s face. This was ridiculous. She suddenly straightened and slammed the hood down. “Enough!”

Francine wrinkled her nose. “I’ll bet your father is really hacked off.”

“Dad? He’s his own worst enemy.”

“Perhaps he is, but he still won’t want to lose the business.”

His drinking and benders at the casino were the problem. If not for that, they might have scraped by.

Kat said, “It’s doing my head in. Debts are mounting but he can’t meet them. He needs money, like yesterday”

Francine mouthed a silent, “Oh!”

Kat wiped her face on her sleeve. They were out of cash and no one wanted to know. Dad was hell-bent on destruction and dragging her with him. It broke her heart, but Italian Concept stood no chance. She’d thought if she developed the new fabric for the Concept range, it might save them. In her mind, she'd even seen the fabric as a toehold on the ladder to fame. Now her dream of her own fashion house had gone belly-up. She hated the idea of losing Finery & Frocks, especially Italian Concept, but James Julian Bligh urgently needed rescuing.

“How long has it been going on?”

Kat screwed her face. “I don’t know, forever. I blame her.”

“Her? Who do you mean?”

“My mother!”

Francine frowned. “I thought she left years ago. Why put the blame on her? Is she back in the scene?”

Kat shook her head, spun and headed for the house. Francine teetered behind on high heels, trying to keep the umbrella over them. Kat said, “Dad’s new saying is, he‘s ‘frangible’, whatever that means. He sits at night with his head in his hands, instead of doing something constructive.”

She fumbled the kitchen door open and they dived out of the rain. Francine shook the umbrella and folded it. Kat turned on the tap, and washed her hands. They wouldn’t come clean, and she scrubbed them angrily with a stiff brush.

“Shall I put the kettle on, baby?”

“Please. I’m desperate for a cuppa!” She examined her nails, they were still grimy and she had to pick under them. “Dad reckons Las Modas Ibéricas are the best hope we have, but I’m amazed he’s even considered them. Mum was Spanish you know, and he reckons anything Spanish is crap.”

“Has he thought about getting them interested in an investment program, instead of a total buyout?”

She shook her head. “He wants to sell. He’s adamant.” She rinsed her hands under the tap and inspected them closely. They needed a dose of TLC, a long soak in glycerine. For now, hand-cream would have to do.

“And he wants you to butter them up?”

“Something like that! But what does he expect me to do? Drop my panties?”

“He doesn’t want anything of the sorts; he just wants you to be co-operative.”

“God, I wish it was done with.” Katrina swallowed back a wave of self-pity. “Right,” she muttered. “That’s me finished.” She tossed the towel over the rail. She wouldn’t place bets on anything to do with her father. He had a loose tongue when drunk, and when she’d been younger, she’d found out things she wished she hadn’t. She said, “Apparently the production director is coming to meet me.”

“There you are then. They think enough to send a director.”

“He’s still Spanish. You know what Latin types are like with women. They think women are second class citizens.”

“God, you’re cynical.”

“Word has it he’s a firebrand. They call him El Fuego in the newspapers.”

“I wouldn’t take too much notice of that. You know what newspapers are like.”

“Whatever, Dad says it’s up to me to clinch it.”

***

Kat’s suit was delicately pinstriped, the jacket smart without being revealing, the pencil skirt not too short. She felt good but nervous.

She checked in her mirror to make sure she was intact. Her makeup looked okay, her hair, reasonable. She sucked in a long draught of air. First impressions were everything. She had to get this right. The careless elegance about Kat, wasn’t natural, it was a thing she affected; an act that had been hard to master but which had become very necessary in her business armoury. ‘Breathe deeply,’ she told herself, ‘Remain calm; he’s only a man. Men can be manipulated. Forget his reputation.’

A secretary showed her into the suite. The production director sat behind a desk, head down, scribbling notes, and the secretary directed Katrina to the chair in front of the desk then left.

She almost pulled out the chair to sit down then stopped herself at the last moment, mustn’t sit without being asked, put him at a disadvantage; make him feel apologetic about ignoring her. He remained head down. Kat flicked her gaze over him with dispassionate regard. He finally finished writing and pushed back his leather seat, raised his head and met her gaze….

“Señorita Bligh I believe?” He rose and held out his hand.

Katrina’s mouth opened involuntarily as she allowed her fingers to touch his. This was surely some bizarre hoax. He’d filled out, taller than she remembered; still absurdly attractive; angular cheekbones, penetrating eyes, strong eyebrows, mouth with a startling provocative twist. He’d always been indecently sexy and he was no different now. It fooled opponents into thinking he was a push over; they were wrong.

“Or should I say, Kat?” he said smoothly. “They warned me you’d become exquisite. They didn’t say how much.” He indicated for her to take a seat, and sat himself.

His voice had matured. In her nervous state, it affected her more than it should. She might display savoir-faire to the world but she was still insecure, still an incurable romantic. She watched as his mouth flickered with amusement. She said stupidly, “I didn’t realise you’d be here.”

“My Papá owns Las Modas Ibéricas.”

“You never said.”

His eyes abruptly narrowed. “And would it have made a difference, if I had.”

She didn’t want to rake up old times, too many memories; too many heartaches. She cleared her throat. “So how has the big world been treating you?”

“Probably better than I deserve. And you?”

“Not as good as it could, but okay I suppose. Most of us want more than we get. That’s life. ”

“Married, I presume?”

Kat walked on eggshells. She shook her head, quick uncomfortable movements. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her. She said uneasily, “Maybe we should get down to business.”