Pretty Shore: an Astonvale novel

By Carla Caruso

It's summer time and the temperature is rising in the small coastal town of Robe, where Astonvale's A-list comes to catch up, dress down and be seen. 

Professional organiser Celeste Pretty has a summer getaway planned in well-to-do Robe, the 'Hamptons' of Australia. She's staying at the beach 'shack' of her hunky new builder beau, Lenny Muscat. The first week she'll de-clutter the holiday home of fashion designer Sabine Cloud with her assistant, Flip Belmont. Then she'll enjoy loved-up bliss with Lenny.

But despite Celeste's penchant for organisation, things have a way of veering off-script. She soon discovers the last person who occupied Sabine's pad - the designer's model daughter, Romy - died from a possible overdose. Plus, Sabine's uber-glam real estate agent seems intent on throwing herself at Lenny. Meanwhile, Flip is distracted by the bad-boy son of a rock star, Blaise Zenith, who some say is responsible for Romy going off the rails.

And Celeste thought sunburn and sand in the house were all she'd have to worry about these holidays.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Dec 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781460704110

Carla Caruso

Carla Caruso was born in Adelaide, Australia, and only 'escaped' for three years to work as a magazine journalist and stylist in Sydney. Previously, she was a gossip columnist and fashion editor at Adelaide's daily newspaper, The Advertiser. She has since freelanced for titles including Woman's Day, Cleo and Shop Til You Drop. These days, she writes fiction in between playing mum to twin sons Alessio and Sebastian, making fashion jewellery, and restoring vintage furniture. Oh, plus checking her daily horoscopes, jogging, and devouring trashy TV shows!   Find out more on Carla's website, or follow her on Instagram and Facebook. 

Book preview

Chapter One

If there was one way to kick off a summer holiday right, according to Celeste Pretty, it was having a carefully packed suitcase. One in which the clothes were neatly rolled and folded, the toiletries were safely packed away in a smaller case, and footwear was stored in delicate shoe bags.

Celeste glanced from her own opened suitcase to her beau Lenny Muscat’s as she kneeled at the end of his beach pad’s king-sized bed. Clearly, he was of a different opinion. The contents of his luggage looked haphazard, at best. Like he had thrown everything in at last minute. Even though this was meant to be a special occasion: their first holiday after almost four months of dating. An entire fortnight together.

Well, for her, the holiday would officially start in one week. After she had done a little professional organising work — and some property styling — at the holiday home of fashion designer Sabine Cloud. Yup, Sabine Cloud, whose celebrity clientele included Miranda Kerr, Princess Mary and Jessica Mauboy. For Lenny, however, the holiday started right that very minute. He had promised to leave his work behind and just chill, which was something he rarely did.

The difference between Celeste and Lenny was that she had just started her business, POPink, and couldn’t afford to turn down any opportunities, whereas Lenny hadn’t had a vacation in the five years since starting his building company.

As luck would have it, his beach abode in Robe — The Hamptons of South Australia — was right next door to Sabine’s. But he had never actually rested his head there before. Only friends of his had. He had just bought the steel-and-glass, two-storey ‘shack’, which led right onto the beach, as an investment. So very Lenny.

Celeste pulled her gaze away from his suitcase, determined not to give into petty thoughts on their very first day in Robe, and looked up at Lenny, who was sprawled across the humungous, all-white bed, reading a newspaper — fully clothed, of course. It was a Sunday afternoon and they had just arrived. Plus, Celeste’s twenty-one-year-old assistant, Filippa Belmont — widely known as Flip — was staying downstairs until Celeste’s dad and Flip’s grandma rolled into town, on their road trip in a retro caravan.

Yes, the old pair were dating … Deep breaths in. Celeste really needed to be more Zen, especially since a test had revealed that she didn’t carry the genetic mutation that could put her at risk of ovarian cancer, which her mum had died of. There were bigger things in life to worry about than who her father chose to date, as tacky or not as Dolores might be.

‘So Flip and I are meeting with Sabine today just to go over things — break the ice really. We should only be an hour or so. The real work starts tomorrow,’ Celeste told Lenny. ‘You’ll be fine here?’

Lenny ran a hand through his dark, mid-length, wavy hair, which Celeste would hate to ever see him cut short, and winked. ‘I’m a big boy. Think I can take care of myself.’

Celeste got to her feet, carrying a handful of her shirts to his old-fashioned wooden wardrobe. Unpacking straightaway was another way to get off on the right foot on holidays. ‘You know, a walk along the beach might be nice for you. Guichen Bay looks gorgeous from here. I’ve never seen water that blue before, not even in postcards.’ She crashed around with the coat hangers. ‘Although, on second thoughts, it might be good to do a beach walk together later. After dinner. I read there’s a golf course, too, but maybe go for a hit when I’m away a bit longer. Hmm … did you pack any fishing rod—’

Something moist and velvety-soft landed on the back of Celeste’s neck, making her jump. She hadn’t even heard Lenny climb off the bed. Then again, his mattress probably cost more than Celeste’s fourteen-year-old Holden Astra, so good springs were a given. Even if business had been good for her from the get-go, she was light-years away from being in Lenny’s league financially.

Turning towards him, Celeste breathed in a lungful of Oceanic cologne, which she had to hand to him suited the location to a tee. The sight of his midnight-black eyes, deep olive skin and sexy stubble up-close was sometimes still too hot to handle, however.

‘I wouldn’t mind having a sleep, actually, after our early start.’ He ran his hands down the sides of her nautical-striped shirtdress, his fingers grazing her breasts before parking at her lower hips. He licked his bottom lip. ‘Maybe you could help get me in relaxation mode.’

‘Lenny, I want to unpack before my meeting. And’ — she lowered her voice — ‘Flip’s downstairs.’

As much of a Maltese spunk as Lenny was, she needed to be in an unruffled, professional state of mind for her meeting. Not a love-drunk, sticky mess, her freshly-dyed honey-brown, chin-length bob resembling a bird’s nest.

The builder hadn’t moved his hands. ‘It’s going to be a long week if her being here bothers you. We’re not an old married couple yet.’

Celeste wasn’t sure whether that meant he thought she was marriage material or that tying the knot spelled monotony. She covered for herself by making a pointed retort. ‘Maybe unpacking would help you relax.’

Lenny shook his head, his chin’s cleft appearing particularly deep and shadowy. ‘Just sounds like work to me.’ Then, before she saw it coming, he had planted a hard kiss on her lips and thrust in his tongue. Which was hardly fair. Eventually, she came up for air, her head a daze.

‘I-I really should unpack …’ she protested feebly.

‘Let me get you started by helping you out of these clothes first.’

It was futile to resist, even though she knew he wasn’t really helping at all. Obediently, she stuck her arms up in the air as he loosened her frock’s tie-belt and pulled it over her head. Then, feeling drugged, she stumbled with him towards the bed.

A loud, screeching sound cut through the air. Celeste darted a look towards the whitewashed floorboards and discovered a chocolate-and-cream bundle at her feet.

‘Oh, Lenny! I think you just trod on Custard’s paw.’ She quickly knelt to comfort the scowling Siamese cat.

‘Don’t blame me — it was your idea to bring the bloody cat on holiday,’ Lenny growled.

To say Lenny wasn’t really a cat man was an understatement. With that, he stomped towards his suitcase, rummaging through it, not that Celeste was really sure how he was going to find anything in there. Lenny was tidy in the main, just not in the smaller areas where he didn’t think it counted.

‘You know I had no one to leave him with,’ Celeste objected. ‘Araminta’s holidaying in New Caledonia, Dad’s caravanning, and Betty-Lou’s here playing nanny to the triplets.’ Which reminded Celeste — she had to text her best friend to let her know she had arrived.

‘You could have put him in one of those cat-boarding places,’ Lenny countered.

‘Custard’s a male diva. A divo! He wouldn’t have lasted in a facility like that for five minutes.’

She knew it wasn’t ideal taking a cat on holiday. That there was a risk of him running away, being a new place and all. But the plan was to keep him indoors for a few days until he got used to the sights, smells and sounds, before letting him venture further.

Lenny held up a pair of navy board shorts like he’d found a winning lottery ticket. Obviously any bedroom activity was over. Well, good! ‘Think I’ll go for a swim, actually. The water does look good.’

Celeste peered out the floor-to-ceiling window and glass balcony to the Tiffany-blue sea where some girls around Flip’s age were hanging off a pontoon. Hmm … She hoped Lenny wouldn’t be doing the sidestroke in that particular direction. No, she was just being silly. She wasn’t the jealous sort, even if Lenny was always attracting stares of the female kind. After her meeting with Sabine, they would properly settle into January holiday mode.

Celeste was just about to ring Sabine’s silvery doorbell when she heard a throat-clearing sound behind her. And it wasn’t Flip, who had accompanied Celeste, wearing a fuchsia baby-doll mini dress with army boots and her dark brown hair fashioned into pigtails. There was no telling Flip about professional dress codes: she had also recently added a bulletproof fringe and face-framing highlights to her repertoire.

Spinning on her bejewelled sandal, Celeste found herself face-to-face with a woman with a burgundy-tinted mane, iridescent green eyes, and endless legs encased in black leather. It was Sabine Cloud herself, looking about half her forty years. She must have gone out for an espresso and a cigarette. Or whatever famous fashion designers did when they were on holidays.

Celeste had expected to meet one of Sabine’s ‘people’ first, not the celebrity dresser herself. Apparently an associate of Sabine’s from the well-heeled Adelaide suburb of Astonvale, where Celeste had her own kennel-sized abode, had recommended Celeste’s services. It had been a while between celebrity clients for her, busying herself with everything from tidying a hot-desking office wanting to up its productivity, to reorganising the shed of a dear old widow, who liked regular breaks for a cake and a natter. This latest project would no doubt prove interesting, too.

Sabine flicked her unsmiling gaze over Celeste’s nautical outfit. Perhaps she had gone out looking for an espresso and cigarette but, crucially, hadn’t had any luck. ‘I assume you’re Celeste Pretty.’ The designer’s gaze moved to Flip. ‘And you’re her assistant, Filippa.’ For a millisecond, Sabine’s expression thawed. ‘Cute look, by the way.’

Huh. And not one word about Celeste’s ensemble, which she had spent hours mulling over in an attempt to look suitably beachy and professional.

Flip just tugged her frock’s frilly hem and grinned. ‘I have the Salvation Army and eBay to thank.’

With a smooth nod, Sabine climbed the slate steps and inserted her key in the front door. ‘I used to bargain-shop and scour thrift-stores when I was a young girl, too — many, many moons ago. And let me tell you, a lot of the stuff you’d find there is better than what’s sent down the runway at Fashion Week.’

As Sabine pushed open the heavy, metal front door, Celeste felt the urge to share, too. ‘My dress was actually half-price at Sussan!’

Sabine merely stared at Celeste. It was obvious she didn’t think Celeste was fluent in fashion-speak, so it was probably best not to try again. Besides, Celeste had been called there for her own special skills. Better to focus on those. Even so, it looked as though Sabine was going to be one of those hard-to-crack clients.

Inside, Celeste quickly discovered the beach house may have been almost identical to Lenny’s outdoors, but the interior was another matter entirely. It looked worse than a crime scene — and Celeste had only made it as far as the hallway. A wooden cabinet’s doors were flung open, revealing an assortment of junk inside, a bookcase looked as rummaged through as a two-dollar box at the flea market, and stacked cardboard boxes spilled over with random things such as a turquoise feather boa and a half-empty boxed tea set. Sabine’s chic mode of dressing was obviously a façade for the strung-out artist who lived within. But, as a professional designer, Celeste left her judgement at the door.

‘Your home’s beautifully built,’ Celeste said confidently, her voice bouncing between the high ceiling and black-polished floorboards. ‘With a little polishing, selling it for the right price won’t be a proble—’

‘Let’s face it: it’s a disaster zone,’ Sabine cut in bluntly. ‘My daughter stayed here last, and she never was the neatest girl. She was only meant to be having some time out before I put the place on the market this summer. It looks even worse than I remember it, frankly.’ Sabine’s voice grew quiet. ‘I haven’t been able to bring myself back here since her visit.’

‘Oh, you’re not staying here?’ Celeste asked, curiously. It seemed a little odd. But then people with buckets of money could afford to live bizarrely.

‘No, no, I’m at a little bed-and-breakfast down the road, overlooking Cape Dombey where the old obelisk is. I’m working on a new collection and need to be in the right headspace. I just want to sell this place and … move on.’

Could a broken heart be in the mix? Sabine had alluded to being ‘married to work’ in her email, so Celeste assumed her partner — and daughter’s father — was no longer on the scene. Perhaps she should have done more research on Sabine before arriving, but she had wanted to come in with no preconceptions. Deal with Sabine as she would any other client. A blank slate. Celeste attempted to steer the conversation onto a lighter topic. ‘How old’s your daughter?’

A line indented the space between Sabine’s pencil-thin eyebrows. ‘She was eighteen last birthday. You might have heard of her … Romy Cloud.’

The name rang very, very faint bells. Then again, Celeste had been in a bit of a bubble since dating Lenny and trying to build up her business. Who had time to read the papers? Especially if it meant having to see gossip snippets about her former interior-design boss, Imogen Karmel — a whole other story.

‘Oh, yes. Romy Cloud! She’s an international model, isn’t she? A drop-dead gorgeous blonde. I didn’t put two and two together that she was your daughter. Gosh, you must have such fun swapping designer clothes—’

Celeste almost gasped out loud as she felt a sudden pincer-like grip on her arm. The culprit was a discreet Flip, who was wearing a funny expression on her face. ‘I’m sure Ms Cloud’s very busy. Maybe we should quit the small-talk and let her show us through the rooms?’

Flip had obviously forgotten who was the boss and who the assistant. Really.

But Sabine murmured, rather dryly, ‘fabulous idea’, and with a swish of burgundy hair marched down the hall in her suede, spindly-heeled boots.

Each room was worse than the previous one. Everything in the house was obviously expensive, but seemingly no care had been taken with the items. Sabine’s model daughter must have been more accustomed to people picking up after her than clearing up herself. Even if Celeste had had a one-roomed shack as a youngster to holiday in — which sadly she hadn’t; her parents not having the funds — she would have taken more care. The last stop was Romy’s bedroom.

Padding inside, Celeste was surprised to find that it looked like any other teenage girl’s bedroom, celebrity beach house or not. Fairy lights were strung around the dresser’s mirror, magazine pictures were taped above the queen-sized bed, and a shaggy magenta rug was laid on the floor. It was the neatest room in the house — not as neat as a pin, but girlish and homely still.

‘What a lovely space!’ Celeste gushed. ‘Now this shouldn’t need much work.’ When Sabine didn’t respond, but rather looked paler than ever, Celeste decided just to push on. Perhaps Sabine’s desire for a caffeine-and-nicotine hit had become dire.

‘So I guess I should explain how I usually like to tackle projects. First comes the de-cluttering and sorting: working out what can go to charity, what can be put in storage, and what just needs a lick of paint. Then it’s time to work on the aesthetics. I don’t usually like to hire furniture for any property styling — that just means bringing in more unnecessary stuff — so I try to use what’s already here. Would you be okay to work side-by-side with us through most of the project? It’s usually the best way to ensure things are as you want them, although I know your time is restricted.’

Last year Celeste had worked for the famed health and fitness guru Natalia Samphire, who had just wafted in and out of her mansion as Celeste and Flip worked. Since then, Celeste had been adamant that clients be more heavily involved, in order to educate them and ensure they could live in an organised fashion thereafter.

But Sabine pressed red-polished fingernails to her throat. ‘Oh, no, it was hard enough coming here today. It would be too overwhelming. I really don’t mind what’s kept or what’s gotten rid of. I’m going to sell the place fully furnished anyway.’

‘Look, please don’t feel in any way ashamed by Romy’s … disorderliness. The situation here is quite mild and completely doable, trust me,’ Celeste assured. ‘We’re experts and we deal with this sort of thing every day.’

Still, Sabine sadly shook her head, her jade-green eyes wide. ‘I don’t think you quite understand: Romy’s dead.’

Chapter Two

Flip was already beginning to regret her decision to join Celeste and Lenny for dinner. They were in the beer garden of the Caledonian Inn — a cool, old, stone building in the main street, apparently built around 1859 and owing some of its timber to a couple of historic ships that had wrecked offshore.

The location was good. As an architecture student — well, former architecture student, not that she had told many people that yet — she always appreciated old-fashioned design. And the food was great. She had gone for a fish burger. After all, when in Robe …

It was feeling like she was the pair’s tag-along daughter that wasn’t much fun. Especially when Celeste seemed to be trying too hard in Lenny’s company. The girl needed to chill out a bit or she was going to scare Lenny away. Their first holiday together didn’t need to be that big a deal.

Celeste had a lot going for her beneath her neurotic insecurities, after all. She didn’t need to stoop to that kind of stuff. Even if she had put her foot in it that afternoon. Badly. Who didn’t know Romy Cloud — famed for her ash-blonde waves and the gap between her front teeth — had killed herself a few short months ago by swallowing a handful of sleeping pills?

Seriously, if Flip had thought that Celeste did not know about it when she had taken on the job, she would have filled her in on the drive up instead of catching some zeds on the backseat. Celeste and Lenny probably thought she had slept due to partying the night before, but really she had been up all night working on some fashion illustrations — a little hobby of hers. Professional organising was what paid the bills right now, though, and she had begun to find it almost meditative.

‘How’s your steak?’ Celeste prompted Lenny as he wiped the corner of his mouth with a serviette. Flip had once thought Lenny was kind of handsome, but ever since Celeste started dating him, it had taken all the attraction away. The idea was totally creepy now — he was more like a big brother.

‘It’s cooked to perfection,’ Lenny told Celeste.

‘My fish pie’s sublime, too.’ Celeste directed a gaze at Flip. ‘And your flake?’

Blimey. What a conversation. ‘Edible,’ she deadpanned.

Celeste distractedly stole a chip from Flip’s plate and turned to Lenny. Nice. ‘So did you get up to much after your swim this afternoon?’ Celeste suddenly frowned. ‘While I was buggering things up royally with Sabine Cloud.’

Lenny put a hand on Celeste’s forearm. ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. You weren’t to know—’

‘Oh my gosh — Lenny Muscat!’

Flip looked in the direction of the oestrogen-laced squeal. A dark-haired woman with blood-red lips, who could have been Kim Kardashian’s long-lost sister, hovered in front of their table.

‘Hi …?’ Lenny ventured. Celeste, meanwhile, was in danger of giving herself a neck injury as she darted looks between the pair.

The brunette extended slate-grey-tipped fingers towards Lenny. ‘To jog your memory, I’m Hera Mirzoyan. I presented you with a building award at a ceremony in Adelaide not long ago. I’m in property, too — real estate sales.’

‘Oh … yes … of course.’ Lenny