by Liz Fielding
‘Well, yes. Apart from the fact that he’s married, Oliver is far too much a gentleman to have done anything of the sort.’
‘Not too married, or too much of a gentleman, to be above asking you out to dinner.’
‘Too much of a gentleman to have boosted his ego by implying I was sleeping with him.’ Then, furious with him for being so dense. ‘The man’s an incorrigible flirt, Max, but it doesn’t mean anything.’
‘It might have meant nothing to you, but I can assure you that given half an inch of encouragement, he’d have been in like Flynn.’
Jealous, jealous, her heart sang…
‘He didn’t have any encouragement because I never mix business with pleasure,’ she said, firmly. ‘As for Cal, he’s like a big overgrown puppy. He understands the word no, but believes that if he ignores it, I’ll forget I said it.’ Then, because it was suddenly vital that he was absolutely clear. ‘The most intimate exchange between us was that kiss under the mistletoe at the family party. In full view of everyone.’
‘But you went home with him.’
‘Yes, well…’ She turned away, feeling hideously exposed, but knowing that she had to clear the air between them if they were going to work together. If they were ever going to finish what they’d started. ‘Taking Cal home wasn’t my idea of fun, but Jodie found the idea of sharing her honeymoon with her brother-in-law less than enthralling and, since she’d sent him gift-wrapped as my date for the evening, I returned the favour by letting him stay in my spare room.’ She looked back at him, willing him to understand, cut her some slack. ‘It’s what sisters do, Max. They help each other out. You’d have done the same for Jack, wouldn’t you?’
‘Taken home a good-looking woman who fancied the pants off me to give Jack some space with Maddie? I could see how that might work,’ he said.
‘Oh, forget it!’ She grabbed her bag, headed for the bathroom.
‘No.’ He raked long fingers through his hair, ruffling it in a way that she found unbearably sexy. ‘I’m sorry. Tell me.’
An apology from Max now? They were coming along…
‘There’s nothing to tell, Max. That’s the point. Except that Cal now treats my flat like his own personal hotel, turning up unannounced whenever he’s passing through.’
‘I’m sorry, Lou.’ Another apology? ‘I should have called you, offered to take you to the Christmas party.’
No, this wasn’t an apology. It was something far more significant…
Afraid he’d see, read the unbearable yearning in her eyes, she turned quickly away with, ‘Oh, right. Like I’d have said yes.’
She didn’t wait for his response, but scooted into the bathroom, not coming out until she’d combed her hair, freshened her lipstick. Wiped the need from her face.
‘I’ll see you downstairs,’ she said, when she emerged, heading for the door before he could say any more. Not looking at him, because to look at him was-as it had always been-to invite disaster.
She rang the bell, explained about the rooms, asked for tea, and by the time Max joined her the footman had returned with a tray laden with tea things, accompanied by a maid with a three-tiered tray containing tiny sandwiches, cakes, pastries.
‘You know, I don’t think we need a hotelier,’ Louise said as she handed Max a cup of tea. ‘I think we just need to keep these people on to run the place.’
‘I doubt they’d want to trade the quiet life they have at present for the long hours and hard work of the commercial world.’
‘I was…’ Joking. ‘Never mind.’ She shook her head, putting down her own cup. ‘I’m going to take a look around.’
Without waiting for him, she walked out into the magnificent entrance hall with its marble tiled floor, grand staircase, open hearth in which a fire had been lit since their arrival.
‘This would make a perfect wedding venue,’ Max said, joining her. Then, taking the lead, opening the door to a richly decorated banqueting room, ‘It’s not quite the way I imagined it would be.’
‘You pictured stone walls running with damp, cold enough to freeze your marrow?’
‘No, but a fishing lodge does suggest a certain rustic finish.’
‘Yes, well, maybe we were being a little too literal in our use of the word. According to Emma, “going fishing” turns out to have been something of a euphemism within the royal family for meeting the mistress. This place might look mediaeval, but it was actually built as a folie d’amour by some goaty minor royal in the late nineteenth century. It’s practically new by Meridian standards.’
‘You weren’t just discussing ball dresses when you disappeared for girl talk, then?’
She gave him a withering look. ‘It belongs to a branch of the family who spent money like water and lived a hedonistic lifestyle. The owner of this place is what used to be known as a “remittance man”. He’s paid a pension by the old king to stay away. Sebastian takes care of the running costs, pays the staff just to keep them in work. Nothing would please him more than to see it put to good use.’ Then, as if as an afterthought, ‘He is also extremely keen to expand the tourist industry.’
‘I know.’
‘You do?’
‘We discussed all this at length when he rang me last week.’
‘He rang you?’
‘He wanted me to know, if I was serious, that local laws mean I would have to have a Meridian partner, which isn’t a problem. As you already pointed out, we’ll need someone to run the residential side of the property.’ He looked around. ‘He also wanted me to know that it will have to be preserved as it is.’
‘And no doubt Bella Lucia will be responsible for conserving it?’
‘That would be the deal.’ He looked up at the gilded ceiling. ‘It’s a good one, too. We couldn’t hope to find anything like this; certainly couldn’t build it.’ Then, ‘The only thing he didn’t tell me was how beautiful it is.’
‘Maybe he thought you knew.’ She gazed about her. ‘So, was that one of the things you planned to discuss with me on Saturday?’
He smiled. ‘You’ll never know, will you? Shall we continue the tour?’
They found a library, a billiard room with a number of rather splendid stuffed fish mounted in glass cases-possibly the origin of the ‘fishing’ euphemism-a charming morning room and a vast, heated conservatory.
‘Oh, yes,’ Max said, turning slowly to take it all in.
‘You like it?’ Louise asked, only then realising just how important it was to her to have got it right. Demonstrated her worth.
‘This would make a perfect informal restaurant, spilling out onto the terrace in summer. We’d have the formal dining room for weddings, functions, parties and there are a couple of smaller rooms for other private parties.’
‘It would suit those small, high-level business conferences, too,’ she pointed out. ‘There are what? Ten, twelve bedrooms? A honeymoon suite for bridal parties…’
‘It has everything. And it will be completely different from all our other restaurants, too. Meridia’s Bella Lucia will be unique, total luxury.’
‘You already have a name for it?’
‘It names itself. And about the staff, I was wondering if they’d be prepared to stay on and train the new people?’
She smiled. ‘We could ask them.’
He nodded. ‘Maybe you’d like to talk to them tomorrow. While I’m inspecting the kitchens, cellar and the utilities. The public rooms will need very little work. I don’t think we’ll find anywhere else that we can take over so easily.’ He turned, touched her arm. ‘It’s a great start. Thank you, Louise.’
‘You’re welcome,’ she said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Looking at the ceiling, desperate not to show him how pleased she was.
He didn’t let go, didn’t stop looking at her.
‘Louise…’
She waited, certain he was going to say something important, not about business, but about them. But after a moment he shook his head, let her go.
‘I’d better take a shower before dinner,’ she said, needing to escape, catch her breath. ‘I’ll see you down here just before seven-thirty.’
She managed to walk from the room, but then bolted up the stairs, shutting the door behind her and leaning against it. Afraid he’d follow her. Afraid he wouldn’t…
The maid who was waiting for her kept her face carefully expressionless as she said, ‘Shall I draw you a bath, Miss Valentine?’
She took a breath, pulled herself together. A shower. She should take a cold shower…
She shivered at the thought. Rejected it.
‘Thank you…?’
‘Maria, miss.’
‘Thank you, Maria. That would be wonderful.’
‘Since you don’t have any luggage, miss, Her Royal Highness said you might like to choose a dress from the wardrobe.’
The girl opened up a huge walk-in closet lined with racks of dresses, shoes and everything that went with them.
‘Oh, my goodness…’ She walked along the racks looking at the elegant vintage gowns, touching the delicate fabrics. Black, beaded silk, sapphire lace, slipper silk in all colours…‘These are beautiful. Who owned them?’
The maid shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea, miss. The count used to have parties here. In the old days.’
Louise picked out an art deco sliver of pearl-grey silk, held it against her.
‘They shouldn’t be here. They should be in a museum.’ Then, ‘No…’ She’d seen gowns in museums. Dead things. Bits of cloth that looked nothing without a living, breathing person inside them.
‘Yes, miss?’ Louise shook her head. ‘I’ll run your bath.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, then picked up the phone, called Emma.
‘Hi, Lou! What do you think of our little castle?’
‘It’s absolutely beautiful, Emma, perfect, but, tell me, did you know there are dozens of fabulous vintage gowns, shoes, everything here?’
‘The mistress’s wardrobe? I’ve heard about it.’
‘My dear, you should see it! Have you any idea just how hot vintage clothes are right now? You were looking for something special for your ball-well, I think this could be it. A fashion show-I’m sure you could round up some celebrities for that. Then they could be auctioned off-it’s been done before. The press will be salivating, it will bring in all the Hollywood divas and your charity will raise a mint…’
‘Louise! You are a genius. I don’t suppose I could talk you into organising it for me?’
‘Oh, please! Try and stop me!’
‘There’s just one condition.’
‘Anything.’
‘You’ll be doing this for charity so you won’t get a fee, but I want you to have something.’
‘No, I’ll do it for…’ for the family, that was what she’d been going to say ‘…for you.’
‘You’ve already done so much for me, Lou. Now it’s my turn to repay the favour. My condition is that you wear one of those dresses tonight.’
‘But…But suppose I spill red wine down it?’
‘Drink white if it worries you, but that’s the deal.’
‘You know, Emma, since you got to be Queen, you have become so bossy!’ She smiled. ‘Thank you.’
Max, having been shown, with profound apologies for an error that had been no one’s fault but his own, to another room, found a footman laying out a slightly old-fashioned dinner jacket and dress shirt. His initial response was to say thanks, but no, thanks, but it occurred to him that they would have found something for Louise, too, and she wouldn’t hurt their feelings by rejecting it.
He was the only one she didn’t care about hurting. Telling him one thing with her eyes, another with everything she did, said. If she ever found out the truth…
He went downstairs at seven-fifteen so that she wouldn’t be left on her own, took the whisky the butler poured for him, but, too restless to sit in the drawing room, he paced the hall, his head full of the new restaurant, which of a number of world-class chefs he might tempt to take charge of the kitchen, the start-up costs…
All it took to distract him was a whisper of silk and he turned, looked up.
Louise, her hair twisted up and held in place with some kind of exotic jewelled clip, her hand trailing lightly on the banister rail, draped in a slender silk gown whose soft folds displayed every curve of her body, clung to her long thighs as she moved, was slowly descending the stairs.
For a moment he was transfixed.
He’d seen her dressed for an occasion countless times before; looking like a queen for some other man. But this time she’d dressed for no one but him…
Regaining the use of his limbs, he crossed to meet her and instead of the usual sarcastic remark-gauged to provoke a response guaranteed to leave them both despising the other-he said the first thing that came into his mind.
‘You look absolutely stunning, Louise.’
‘Thank you,’ she said as she reached the bottom step. ‘I didn’t intend my entrance to be quite such a Hollywood performance, but the dress is a little long and the footwear…’ she hitched up her skirt an inch or two to display a matching high-heeled sandal ‘…is a little on the large side. The stairs required extreme care.’
‘I enjoyed every moment of it,’ he assured her, then as a clock began to chime the half-hour the butler appeared to announce that dinner was served.
Max extended his arm. ‘May I escort you in to dinner, Miss Valentine?’
She smiled, laid her arm along his. ‘Thank you, Mr Valentine.’
Dinner was served to them in a small dining room that they had missed on their exploration. Richly decorated on the most intimate scale.
It was a room plainly made for lovers, yet despite their surroundings, the wonderful food, fine wines, exquisite clothes, he felt himself retreat a little, become more distant, determined to keep the conversation firmly fixed on the safe subject of business. He laid out his ideas, she offered marketing, PR strategies.
Neither of them wanted coffee, and when they moved to the drawing room so that the staff could clear away Louise didn’t settle, refused a nightcap. His overwhelming reaction was relief. The entire day had been a strain and he needed to escape from this brittle concord before he did, or said, something to shatter it.
‘I’m ready for bed, Max.’
‘It’s been a long day. We’ll take it easy tomorrow, just potter around. Take a load of photographs. Come on, I’ll see you to your room.’
‘I’m not helpless,’ she said as he took her arm, shivering a little at the unexpected contact.
‘Not helpless, but at the mercy of those shoes. I’m not prepared to risk my most valuable asset taking a tumble and breaking her neck.’
She glanced at him, as if surprised, although why she would be when he’d made it plain that he’d do anything to get her to join him, but she said nothing until they reached her door.
Instead of opening it, ducking quickly inside, as he’d expected her to, she turned to face him, said, ‘You never did tell me what you wanted to talk to me about on Saturday, Max.’
‘To be honest I was rather hoping we could both forget Saturday.’
‘All of it?’
Not the moment when he’d seen her standing in her kitchen, hair tousled, flushed from bed. Her wrap hanging open, her lovely legs bare. Not the moment when she’d looked up at him as if he were the only man she’d ever wanted…
‘Maybe just the last bit, where I behaved like a moron.’
‘I don’t want to forget that part, Max,’ she said, her voice so soft that he had to bend his head to catch the words. ‘You wouldn’t have reacted that way if…’
She hesitated as if to say the words would be to expose them both so he said them for her.
‘If I hadn’t wanted to throttle Cal Jameson. If I hadn’t wanted you for myself.’
Now…
The voice in Louise’s head was so loud that she was certain Max must hear it too. But he didn’t move.
&n
bsp; ‘This room,’ she managed. ‘It wasn’t a mistake, was it?’
Max shook his head and, emboldened by a tiny sigh that escaped her, said, ‘It wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision. I realised we’d need more time and when I spoke to Sebastian, I asked if we could stay here. He gave me the number so that I could make my own arrangements with the staff; the butler misunderstood and I didn’t correct his mistake. I thought, hoped that this might be somewhere private, neutral ground where we could continue our discussion about exactly where you wanted me to kiss you.’ He looked up, met her gaze head-on. ‘A place where we could conclude all contractual obligations to your complete satisfaction.’
She came close to smiling. ‘In an icy, rustic stone lodge?’
‘You wouldn’t have felt the cold,’ he assured her.
‘No?’
She shivered, despite the heating, but still he didn’t touch her, even though her body was doing everything but scream at him to go for it, even though she could feel that his hand, still supporting her elbow, was not quite steady…
He was giving her total control. Her call…
She opened the bedroom door and led him inside, turning to face him as the door closed behind them ‘Show me,’ she said, her voice scarcely strong enough to reach him and, lifting her hand, she touched a fingertip to her cheek. ‘Kiss me here.’
His eyes seemed to take on a new intensity and for a moment she was afraid that she’d unleashed a passion that he wouldn’t be able to hold in check but when, after a pause that seemed to last a lifetime, his lips touched her cheek she felt no more than a whisper of warmth. Enough to send a flash of heat through her and for a moment she swayed towards him, dangerously close to flinging herself on him. If he made one move…
But he didn’t. He was leaving her to set the pace, take it where she dared.
If she had the courage.
Responding to his unspoken challenge, she moved her hand, touched her chin.
‘Here,’ she said, on a breath.
His eyes, darker than pitch, warned her that she was playing a dangerous game. Did he think she didn’t know that?
This was their time. Now. It would be brief, glorious but brief, like a New Year’s Eve rocket, and afterwards, when it had burnt out, she would be free of him.