The short-term repercussions were a cause of great delight for at least one girl in Ludbrook’s fine art department.
“Don’t you worry for one moment,” said Lizzy, holding Sarah Jane’s hand as she was wheeled out to the ambulance by two paramedics who had been trying and failing to conceal their amusement at the circumstance of the call. “I will step into your place on the Randon presentation and make sure it goes just as well as if you were there yourself.”
Sarah Jane frowned up at her. Her head was held still by a neck brace. “Thanks,” she said. “Thanks a lot.”
Well, it’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good, as they say. Lizzy was in heaven. There was really no danger that Nat would choose to go to France on his own. He was far too lazy for that. He needed someone with him who could take calls and send faxes and make last minute changes to presentations in PowerPoint. Nat was woefully hopeless at PowerPoint. Olivia or Marcus could have done the job, but of course he chose Lizzy.
The moment work ended that evening, Lizzy hit the lingerie department of Fenwick and stocked up. She blew the best part of a month’s rent on French panties and balconette bras, on lacy thongs and a white bikini with gold trim that would not have looked out of place in a Bond movie.
Back at home that evening she lay out her purchases on the bed and regarded them with adoration. The fact that she was only Nat’s second choice of companion for the trip was long since forgotten. She was going to the Cap d’Antibes with the man she loved.
CHAPTER 37
Carrie Klein had more important things to think about than what she would be wearing by the pool. Mathieu Randon was the most significant potential client Carrie had been asked to pitch to since arriving in London. The night before she flew to France to meet him, she got just four hours’ sleep, working on her presentation until late and getting up early to run through it one more time.
Arriving in Nice around lunchtime, it was as though Carrie had traveled across seasons rather than simply across Europe. She left a gray London for the startling blue sea and sky of the Côte d’Azur. She had swapped the eternal gloom of the United Kingdom for a real summer. If only she were there on holiday.
Randon’s assistant had arranged for a car to meet Carrie at the airport. The driver took the scenic route, following the coast, busy with holidaymakers even though the real start of the season was still a couple of weeks away. Already there was barely room to put a popsicle stick between the brightly colored beach umbrellas that shaded large sun-bathers and small dogs alike. The sea itself was just as busy with swimmers, water-skiers, and yachts that got sleeker and more extravagant the closer they were to the horizon.
Carrie looked out enviously, wishing she were lying on the deck of one of those feeling the sea breeze on her face, rather than in the backseat of a car with the air conditioner on full blast.
After an hour in snail-slow traffic, the car reached the road that curved up around the Cap. Nice’s gaudy Promenade des Anglais with its Rollerbladers and ice cream sellers and overheated tourists suddenly seemed a million miles away as the driver whisked Carrie on through Antibes. Here was tranquility and exclusivity. Tall pines hid more and more impressive homes from view. The road wound higher and higher until finally the car turned through the big gates of the hotel itself. A uniformed guard touched the brim of his cap and beckoned them inside.
This beautiful hotel, built in the nineteenth century, was one of the world’s most exclusive destinations. As the bellboy dealt with her bags and Carrie checked in for the weekend, she thought about the other guests who had stood on this spot in the past. From Rudolph Valentino to Johnny Depp. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald. George Bush. It was quite something to be there on business.
Carrie could not suppress her delight as the bellboy showed her to her room. After more than a year of living in a hopelessly bare apartment, this hotel room was such a visual treat, finished as it was with luscious fabrics and well-chosen ornaments. But the room itself was nothing compared to the aspect. Carrie had a beautiful view of the hotel’s manicured park and, in the distance, the sea, azure blue and dotted with beautiful sailboats. She wondered which of the silhouettes on the horizon was Mathieu Randon’s boat.
She threw open the window and breathed in the salty tang of the waves, feeling her heart lift as she filled her lungs. Such a beautiful place. No wonder it was such a popular spot for honeymooners. Carrie watched with not a little envy in her heart as a couple strolled across the lawn.
Her mind wandered to another hotel room in another town. She saw Jed’s tousled blond hair on the pillow at the Trump Tower. His brown shoulders rising up out of the white sheets. The very thought of it made Carrie’s hand drift to her neck as though to comfort herself for the lack of him. She’d been surprised when she hadn’t heard from him after their night together. He’d seemed so happy to be with her, and yet … It obviously hadn’t meant as much to him as she had thought. For a moment, something like sadness overwhelmed her.
Mathieu Randon had, of course, booked two rooms for Nat Wilde and his assistant. But Lizzy didn’t spend long in the room that had been allocated to her. As she was unpacking her suitcase, Nat called.
“I’ve got a fabulous ocean view,” he said. “Like to see it?”
“I’ve got a sea view too,” said Lizzy.
“I’m sure it’s not as big as mine,” said Nat. “Come on over.”
It was so delicious. So far away from the office, there was no need to hold back or practice discretion. Lizzy abandoned her unpacking and went straight to Nat’s side. He had not unpacked his suitcase either, but he had organized himself enough to order a bottle of champagne from room service.
“Maison Randon, of course. I’m sure the old man won’t mind.”
He handed Lizzy a flute. She giggled girlishly as she took a sip and the bubbles tickled her nose.
“To a very successful presentation,” said Nat. “And a fabulously dirty weekend.”
Lizzy was delighted. She put her glass down on a table, kicked off her shoes, and bounced on the bed.
“That’s what I like to see in my employees,” said Nat, as he unbuttoned his soft white shirt. “Enthusiasm and initiative. I think I might just have to give you an appraisal.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Lizzy’s eyes were wide with disingenuity.
“Well.” Nat let his shirt drop to the floor. “I need to evaluate your performance. Under the most testing of circumstances.”
“Will the test be very hard?” asked Lizzy, playing along.
“Oh yes,” said Nat. “Very hard indeed.”
By now he was standing up by the side of the bed. He dropped his linen trousers and his white cotton boxer shorts (well-pressed ones) at the same time. Lizzy feigned awe as she came face-to-face—or rather, nose to tip—with Nat’s erection. Nat put his hands on his hips and pushed his pelvis forward.
“You can start whenever you like, Ms. Duffy,” he intoned.
“Just a moment,” said Lizzy.
With one hand already wrapped around Nat’s cock, Lizzy took a swig from her champagne glass. She looked up at Nat with naughty eyes.
Then, without swallowing the champagne, Lizzy took Nat’s penis into her mouth in an expert manner that saw not a single drop was spilled. Nat’s mouth formed an astonished O as the bubbles fizzed against the swollen head of his member, ice-cold and effervescent to the point of being prickly. He made a noise that was halfway between shock and delight.
Lizzy let Nat’s cock slide from her mouth as she swallowed the Maison Randon vintage. When she next wrapped her lips around him, her mouth was warm again, moist and luscious.
“You absolute swine,” Nat breathed. But the champagne shock was soon forgotten as Lizzy worked her magic and brought Nat close to coming within a couple of minutes. Just as he was about to lose control, he took over, pushing Lizzy backward onto the bed and taking her without even bothering to undress her first. There wasn’t time. He just pulled her panties to one side
and got stuck in.
“How did I do?” Lizzy asked when the “evaluation” was over. “I want to hear your appraisal.”
“You were very good,” Nat told her breathlessly. “In fact, you were so good, you’ve been promoted. Next time, you’re on top.”
Nat and Lizzy spent the rest of the day in bed, not even emerging from the room for dinner. They ate club sandwiches in their dressing gowns instead. Which was a very good thing for Carrie Klein, who ate a delicious three-course meal in the Restaurant Eden Roc overlooking the ocean. Knowing that she would be sharing her much anticipated cruise on The Grand Cru with Nat Wilde would definitely have given Carrie indigestion.
CHAPTER 38
The next morning, Carrie was awake bright and early. She ate a small bowl of muesli in bed and prepared for the day ahead with a long cool shower. Then she got ready to meet The Grand Cru’s tender, which would arrive at the Hotel Du Cap’s jetty at eleven-thirty precisely. She had no doubt it would be on time.
Carrie dressed in a cream trouser suit, with a peach silk blouse beneath. She wore flat shoes—Chanel souliers in soft gold leather—knowing that while heels may have given her more authority on land, it was unlikely they would be welcome on the doubtless highly polished wooden decks of Randon’s yacht. The Grand Cru was legendary. Just that morning, Carrie had found a photograph of Grace Kelly on board the yacht in a coffee table book about the Riviera. She imagined herself in the princess’s place and dressed her hair accordingly. A boat as beautiful as The Grand Cru required that one make an effort.
She got to the jetty at twenty-five minutes past, full of delicious anticipation. The tender for Randon’s yacht arrived exactly on time. It was a beautiful vintage Riva. There were two crew members aboard, both dressed in dazzling white livery with the legend “Grand Cru” embroidered above their hearts and on the bands of their peaked caps. Trust a man like Mathieu Randon to do everything with such style.
In Nat Wilde’s room, the morning scene was altogether less organized. Nat and Lizzy had also had breakfast in bed. Lizzy had had two pieces of toast and a delicious mixture of yogurt and fruit compote licked from the end of her boss’s cock. After that, they both fell asleep again, waking with just minutes to go before they were supposed to be at sea.
“Old Randon will have to wait for us,” said Nat as Lizzy dashed around the room, gathering together her laptop, brochures, and a sheaf of notes that she had made the previous evening, using Nat’s broad back as a writing desk.
“We can’t be late for this one, Nat,” she told him. “Mathieu Randon’s not one of your mates from your club. He’s a serious businessman. Even more serious since he got that bump on the head.” She pulled a suit from Nat’s case and shook it out so that it looked a bit presentable. Still, Nat looked like he’d had a hard night when he finally arrived on the jetty. Five minutes late.
“You?”
“You!”
Nat and Carrie echoed each other’s horror exactly.
“What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m on my way to pitch to Mathieu Randon. On his yacht,” said Carrie, still foolishly hoping that Nat was just there on a dirty weekend.
“Well, what a god-awful coincidence,” said Nat. “So are we.”
Carrie was aghast. “You’re shitting me?”
“I am not, as they say in your charming country, shitting you,” Nat sneered. “What the fuck is going on?”
“We need to get going,” said the young man who would be sailing them out to The Grand Cru.
Nat and Lizzy remained on the jetty.
“Did you know about this?” Nat asked his rival.
“You think I would be here if I did? I’m not happy about this at all.”
“I’m not surprised. Going to be a bit humiliating for you to have to pitch against me and lose.”
“Oh, I have no intention of losing,” said Carrie. “So perhaps you should stay right there on the jetty to spare your blushes. I mean, I would have thought that Ludbrook’s would send their top man for a pitch like this. Not a mere head of department.”
“My department turns over more than your entire auction house. You’re a big fish in a puddle, Klein, and you know it.”
“Then take your chances against me. Prove you’re so much better.”
“Watch me.”
Nat immediately stepped on board, with as much grace as he could muster. Which wasn’t much. He sat down quickly, before he fell down. He left Lizzy on the jetty with all of Ludbrook’s presentation equipment. The Grand Cru staff helped her. Lizzy had to sit beside Carrie.
“Sleep well?” Carrie asked her politely.
“We were up all night,” said Nat with a leer.
Carrie refused to rise to that. She knew from Lizzy’s secret smile exactly what he was getting at. Did he think she would be jealous? “I’m sorry to hear it,” she said. The thought of Nat in her hotel room all those months ago gave her reason for a secret smile of her own. She should have let the line of conversation drop, but suddenly she was unable to resist telling the smug old boy, “Apparently, making sure your feet are warm is the key to a really good night’s sleep. You should try keeping your socks on in bed.”
Nat’s mouth dropped open. He knew exactly what she was referring to.
“Are we ready?” one of Randon’s crew asked.
“I’m ready for anything,” said Carrie.
Soon the Riva was zipping over the waves like a giant flying fish. Carrie and Lizzy faced forward, relishing the sea spray in their faces.
At the back of the boat, clinging on until his knuckles ached from it, Nat Wilde was soon looking sea green.
CHAPTER 39
Mathieu Randon greeted his guests on the foredeck.
He was dressed immaculately. All in white. His patrician gray hair was slightly longer than in the Vanity Fair pics and was swept back from his forehead in a very flattering fashion. There was no doubt about it, he was a very attractive man. Within moments of having met Mathieu Randon, both Carrie and Lizzy could understand how he had managed to bed so many supermodels and beautiful actresses. He was, in a word, magnetic.
He kissed Carrie’s hand. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
Then he kissed Lizzy’s hand. Nat made a comic scene of backing away when it was his turn to be introduced.
“None of that French kissing for me,” he said. “I’m an Englishman.”
Randon managed a feeble chuckle.
“Ladies and …” He hesitated. “Gentleman. I do hope you’re not too offended to find yourselves sharing this little trip on The Grand Cru, coming as you do from houses I understand to be sworn enemies on the London auction scene.”
Carrie and Nat both made as if to protest that Randon was wrong.
“I know that it’s a little unusual for you to be asked to visit a potential client together, but I hope you will appreciate that I am a very busy man. Since I got out of the hospital in San Francisco, it seems there has been little time in my life for anything but work. Trust me, I had no idea how much of a perfectionist I am until I spent eighteen months in a coma and emerged to find my empire in such a state of disarray.”
Nat, Carrie, and Lizzy all nodded in understanding.
“But we’ll come to business later. I’m being a bad host. Let me offer you a little something to eat and drink.”
Eat? The very thought of it made Nat want to hurl.
Randon invited his guests to seat themselves at a table on the deck. Two stewardesses were on hand to serve lunch, cooked by a chef who had been poached from a Michelin-starred restaurant for the season. There was a whole salmon and salads spiked with fruit and garnished with flowers. Carrie and Lizzy were eager to tuck into the beautiful food set before them. Nat was less enthusiastic. He hoped that a sip of wine might settle his stomach, but there was none to be had.
In any case, no one was going to be putting anything in their mouths until Randon had blessed the bount
y that lay before them. He invited the three auctioneers to hold hands around the table and to bow their heads. The blessing began simply.
“We thank you, oh Lord, for your generosity manifest today in the food on this table before us.”
But it didn’t stop there. Randon launched into a real sermon, asking not only God’s blessing on the food but his support and protection in the trials to come. He asked for clear-headedness and a way to know the righteous path when it appeared before him. After ten minutes, Carrie’s hand in Nat’s was feeling uncomfortably hot. Lizzy was feeling uncomfortable at the thought of Nat holding Carrie’s hand, for whatever reason. And Nat just wanted both his hands free so that he could cover his mouth in the event that he was unable to keep his breakfast down. As soon as Randon said “Amen,” the three auctioneers dropped hands as though an electric charge magnetizing them and keeping them together had suddenly been switched off.
At Randon’s signal a stewardess reappeared with what looked like a carafe of white wine. Nat’s hopes soared and then dived when he discovered it was elderflower cordial. Nat would sooner have drunk his own urine. But he politely accepted a glass of the vile stuff, just as he forced down most of his meal. He could not be seen to pass on anything if Carrie wasn’t going to. He matched everything she did. Nat wasn’t convinced that Randon still had all his marbles. This deal could come down to who had eaten the most roquette.
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