A Promise of Passion

by Maggie Carpenter

  “I have to call Gustav, and then Harry. I know there’s a dinner planned, but I don’t know the time.”

  “Then you make your calls, and I will ring you later. I’m going out too.”

  “Okay. I miss you.”

  “I miss you too.”

  Ending the call, Vivien leaned back and closed her eyes. The dream, floating through her mind, was still painfully vivid.

  You’re right, Dominic. I shouldn’t try to figure it out. My head is too foggy, though it’s obviously about Harry and all his money, and that picture frame with the heart is obviously about you, but why was that key so heavy, and why was I standing a cloud? Oooh, I can’t think about it another minute.

  Blinking open her eyes, she looked at the phone still in her hand, and taking a breath, she called Gustav.

  Sitting behind his ornate seventeenth-century French desk, Harry deleted the sensitive files and powered off his computer. He was always amazed how well his empire clicked along in his absence. He knew there were people with fingernails bitten to the quick waiting to hear from him, and places in the world that were still in the middle of their work day, places in which he had companies that depended on his steady hand at the helm. He’d long since stopped trying to be everywhere at once, and was no longer frantic about getting back to people. If a phone call was a day late, people waited for him. If he didn’t send a check until two days after he’d promised, nothing happened. He was rich and powerful and no-one wanted to make a fuss and piss him off, so they took whatever he dished out.

  Almost every day he had to make seemingly impossible decisions, the kind that would make most men wobble, but he’d never suffered from lack of nerve, not even when millions of dollars were at stake. In the early years, when he’d been building his empire, he’d learned to ignore his losses and hail his achievements, so people began to see him as a man who never failed. One day he was reading about the power of the mind, and a particular sentence jumped off the page.

  What is expected, tends to be realized.

  It clanged in his brain, and though he’d been tremendously successful up to that point, he became passionate about putting the seven-word phrase into practice. Very quickly his millions became billions, and Harry Harrison believed he had learned how to manifest anything he wanted.

  But sitting behind his desk, pondering Alana’s disappearance and waiting for Vivien to call and tell him, yes, she would love to know him better, he had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. His belief in his unlimited power to create whatever he wanted was wavering, and he didn’t know why. Checking the time on his watch he saw it was almost six-thirty. Alana had not reappeared, and Vivien had not called.

  Why the hell do I care that Alana hasn’t come back? Fuck! I do, and I hate that I do, and Vivien, why haven’t you surfaced yet? You can’t still have that headache, not if you took those painkillers I gave you.

  His phone rang, startling him, and shaking himself he stared at the screen.

  “Finally,” he muttered, picking it up and hitting ACCEPT.

  “Vivien,” he said smoothly, “did you manage to get some sleep? How’s your head feeling? Gustav was very worried.”

  “I did get some sleep,” she replied, “and my headache isn’t gone, but it is better. I think I’m up for dinner. I assume it’s in the bigger dining room?”

  “Excellent! Yes, it’s called the formal dining room, and everyone’s meeting there around seven-o’clock.”

  “Everyone? Who’s everyone?”

  “Let’s see, Peter King, the photographer-“

  “Gustav is using Peter King?” she interrupted. “What happened to Raphael?”

  “You’ll have to ask Gustav,” Harry replied. “Apparently Peter is pinch-hitting. Is that a problem?”

  “Not at all,” she said earnestly. “Peter was amazing. I’m really pleased he’ll be behind the camera. Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. You were telling me who else would be at dinner?”

  “I believe the wardrobe woman, Patty, I think her name is, and a tall, dark, handsome male model. I think his name is Franco. Gustav pointed him out to me in the lobby.”

  “Franco Vincenzi? Cool.”

  “You know him?”

  “Absolutely, and I’m looking forward to working with him again. Everything happened so fast I didn’t have a chance to ask Gustav if he was using a guy in this shoot.”

  “So, we will see you at dinner?”

  “Yes, you will, though I’m not sure how long I’ll stay after the meal.”

  “Vivien?”

  “Yes, Harry?”

  “Did you have a chance to think about what I said?”

  “Not really, though I did have a dream. I’m still trying to figure it out. So much has changed in my life so quickly, I’m just trying to keep up and make sense of it all.”

  “There is nothing so constant as change,” he declared. “Do you know who said that?”

  He was met by silence, and for a moment he thought the call had been dropped, but then he heard her take a breath.

  “I suspect it was someone who had a hard time making up his mind,” she said slowly, “and I also suspect he, assuming it was a he, must have been very unhappy, and never did know what it was he wanted, so he never got it.”

  Her response took him completely by surprise, and he suddenly felt strange, almost as if he was out of his body.

  “I have another call,” he said hastily. “I’ll see you in the dining room.”

  “Oh, okay, sure, I’ll see you then.”

  Harry dropped his phone on his desk and ran his hand across his face.

  “What the fuck,” he grunted, feeling a hot flush move through his body. “I don’t know what’s happening, but it’s completely unacceptable!” Taking a breath and trying to calm down, his gaze traveled to the window, and as he stared outside to the magnificent grounds, he muttered, “And where the fuck is Alana?”

  Alana had been walking through the gardens of the majestic estate, and had stumbled across a small, picturesque lake, complete with swans and weeping willow trees. There were tables and wicker chairs scattered along the bank, and she could easily imagine the naughty picnics that had been enjoyed in the warm summer months. Sitting down to catch her breath, she spied a man walking in her direction. Snappily dressed, and whisking the grass with a long thin branch trimmed of its foliage, he was attractive, probably in his thirties, and carried himself with a swagger.

  “Afternoon,” he smiled, his upper-class British accent immediately apparent.

  “Afternoon,” she replied.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  “No, be my guest.”

  Sitting down in the chair next to her, he studied her for a moment, a slight frown crossing his brow.

  “Don’t I know you? Have we met?”

  “No,” she sighed.

  “Sorry, did I say something wrong?”

  “It’s something I get a lot, and then I have to explain who I am, and I find it boring.”

  “I see,” he replied, raising his eyebrows. “Don’t feel you have to explain anything to me, and the last thing I want to be, is boring. I simply didn’t wish to be rude if we’d met and I didn’t recognize you, though, I’m fairly sure I’d remember,” he grinned.

  “No, I don’t believe we’ve met,” she assured him.

  “Is this your first time at the Chateau?”

  “Yes, and I suppose that’s the equivalent of, do you come here often?”

  “Good observation,” he nodded, “it is, but I actually meant it. I was curious. It’s the first time for me, and I’m very impressed. Makes a brilliant change from my work.”

  “What do you do?” she asked, deciding he might be worth a conversation.

  “Nope, you didn’t tell me, so I get the same right to privacy.”

  For the first time since she’d arrived at the decadent French palace, she smiled.

  From the moment they’d arrived, and Vivien had left them in the lob
by, disappearing into the elevator to go to her room, Harry had been strangely off-hand. Alana had not appreciated his abrupt coolness, and making her wait for him in the small dining room had been the last straw.

  “You operate on a barter system?” she asked, scrutinizing the stranger with a modicum of interest.

  “That rather depends,” he said, returning her gaze. “I have found it to be effective at times.”

  “I’ll just bet you have.”

  “American,” he suddenly declared, “hints of New York, but more the sound of Southern California. I’d say, born on the East Coast, but most of your adult life lived in the West. You’ve got a good brain, but you’re exceptionally beautiful, so you were plucked from the halls of academia by offers you couldn’t refuse. You’re either a model or an actress. That’s why I recognized you, and I’m guessing a model.”

  “Why?”

  “The actresses I’ve met are overly friendly. It has something to do with their insecurities. Models just have to be beautiful and know how to work a camera. The demands put on them are different. Actresses have a much tougher time, and most have an insatiable appetite to be liked. You don’t really care.”

  “I rarely say this,” she remarked, studying him, “but I’m impressed.”

  “I’m pleased that you’re impressed, but was I right, or are you not going to tell me?”

  “You deserve to know, so yes, you were one-hundred percent right.”

  “Excellent, that means I’m still at a 99.9% success rate.”

  “Who did you miss?”

  “A very pretty girl dressed in purposely torn designer jeans, and a rather sexy leather jacket. Her diamond Cartier watch, Prada handbag, and her party animal, but decidedly aloof attitude, caused me to think she was a daughter of the nobility.”

  “She wasn’t?”

  “No, she was a con artist. Everything she was wearing was counterfeit.”

  “NO!”

  “Indeed,” he sighed, raising his eyebrows. “It was most unfortunate. I rather liked her.”

  “I can tell,” she grinned. “Your eyes lit up when you talked about her. Did she manage to con you?”

  “I uncovered the truth before she was able to. That’s why I’m prepared to give myself a 99.9%, not 99%. I should have noticed the fakery right away. She was exceptionally talented.”

  “How did you catch on?”

  “I looked more closely at her watch. Not sure why, instinct maybe? Anyway, the second hand paused between the ticks. It was being run by a battery, not sophisticated mechanics.”

  “Wow. Dare I say it again?”

  “That you’re impressed, certainly.”

  “What happened?”

  “What do you think happened?” he asked, leaning across the small space separating them.

  “You played along, lured her back to your place, and spanked her mightily.”

  “Exactly! Simultaneously scolding her, of course.”

  “Of course!” she laughed.

  “You have a lovely smile, and a delightful laugh. You should do both more often. You’re rather sad much of the time.”

  “Good grief,” she exclaimed. “Are you a descendant of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle?”

  “I wish I could claim the heritage, but alas, I am not, though I admit to being a huge fan.”

  “My turn,” she said, loving the game. “You are from an aristocratic family that can be traced back centuries, and you have an obsessive curiosity. You’re a Professor at one of the better Universities, probably Oxford or Cambridge, and you study something…something…cerebral, like…”

  “You’re doing well,” he grinned. “Like?”

  “Not literature, though you are drawn to it.”

  “True, but I can see you have the guess in your head! You want to say it. I know you do. It’s on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t want to be wrong. Go on, take the leap of faith.”

  “All right, I will. Quantum mechanics, or quantum physics, if you’d prefer.”

  “Good heavens!” he exclaimed. “Now it’s my turn to say I’m impressed.”

  “Physics was what I wanted to pursue,” she said, shifting her eyes to the swans gliding by.

  “And possibly why you’re unhappy?”

  “Possibly, but at the moment, it’s something else.”

  “Something, or someone?” he said knowingly.

  “I must remember you actually are a modern day Sherlock Holmes.”

  “It’s not that difficult. A beautiful woman at this special resort would be rarely unaccompanied. Finding you sitting alone, looking mournfully across the lake, it was the first thought that sprung to mind.”

  “I believe I’ve been hoisted by my own petard.”

  “Famous words,” he remarked.

  “Hamlet,” she murmured.

  “Yes, I know,” he replied. “Would you like to talk about it?”

  “That’s a very kind offer.”

  “Normally you’d say no.”

  “I would, but you’re not normal, and I mean that as a compliment.”

  “Of course you do,” he smiled. “Let’s go into the village. There’s a charming cafe there. We can have dinner and talk.”

  “I’d like that,” she nodded.

  “Such a shame,” he sighed.

  “What is?”

  “You’re sitting there thinking, this lovely man checks all my boxes. Attractive, age appropriate, shares my intellect, successful, and probably single, but I can’t stop thinking about…and you can fill in the blank.”

  “You’re scary,” she remarked, a wry smile curling the ends of her lips.

  “I’m Henry, by the way.”

  “Such a pleasure to meet you, Henry. My name is Alana.”

  “Rings a bell, but I still can’t place you.”

  “I’m a model. A supermodel, actually,” she muttered, as though she thought it meant nothing.

  “Such a burden, a superior brain and stunning beauty. Come on, let’s chat about what’s happened. Maybe our two brains can come up with solution.”

  “If nothing else,” she said, rising to her feet, “I believe we have just become great friends.”

  “I agree,” he said, taking her hand. “I believe we have.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Walking into the formal dining room, Vivien paused to gaze in wonder at its splendor. A huge crystal chandelier towering over the center of the expansive room sparkled its shimmering light, and looking beyond it, she couldn’t begin to guess the height of the domed ceiling. A gigantic fireplace set against a far wall was made even more imposing by the stone mantle that featured carved lion’s heads on either side. It wasn’t burning, but she could almost see a roaring fire as a chilly snow outside was turning everything white.

  “I want to be here in winter,” she murmured. “Oh, I do, so much.”

  “Vivien!”

  Breaking away from her daydream, she turned around and saw Gustav striding towards her.

  “So good to see my star,” he exclaimed, kissing her on each cheek. “Come, I want you to sit next to me, and after dinner you must join me in the dungeon so you can see the decadent glory that will be your backdrop. How are you feeling?”

  “It’s good to see you too,” she smiled. “I’m feeling better.”

  And she was, though a little odd, almost as if she’d a glass of wine too many. Her headache had been lurking as she’d dressed, so she’d decided to take two more of the magic pills Harry had provided, reasoning that if one had sort of worked, two would do the trick.

  Franco, the handsome model who would be featured alongside her, stood up from the table as she approached, repeating the French greeting of the kisses on her cheeks, and Patty, the woman who was in charge of Gustav’s precious collection of clothes, hurried over and did it again, then introduced her to the other members of the crew gathered around the table. Peter suddenly appeared, out of breath and looking disheveled, and waved at Vivien as he took a seat at the end
of the table.

  “I think he’s been enjoying himself,” Gustav grinned as he pulled out Vivien’s chair for her. “Perhaps to gain a better understanding of what he’ll be photographing.”

  “A true professional,” she smiled. “I don’t see Harry. Isn’t he here?” she asked as she sat down.

  “I’m sure he will be soon,” Gustav assured her, pouring her some wine. “That empty seat on the other side of you has been reserved for him,” then speaking quietly, he said, “I am sorry this shoot was so rushed. I have deadlines for the magazines, and my catalogues and so forth, but I had to wait for you, my sensuous star. You were the magic last time, and you will be again.”

  “It has been a whirlwind,” she smiled, “but I’m so incredibly flattered that you’ve been so patient, and I wish I could have come back sooner.”

  “After we finish here, I have promised Dominic that you can have some days off, then we will shoot more. I have so many ideas.”

  “When will I be needed for Bare Beauty?”

  “The, what do you say, the compounds, oui, the compounds are ready, and now we are designing the labels and the packaging. We are having problems with the images. Nothing has been perfect yet for me,” he frowned, “but to answer your question, the personal appearances where you will start to spread the news will begin in about a month.”

  “That soon, wow.”

  A waiter appeared and placed some appetizers on the table, and feeling abnormally thirsty, Vivien picked up her glass, had two swallows of the rich red wine, then placed some of the gourmet treats on her plate.

  “Here he is,” Gustav announced, rising to his feet.

  Looking around, Vivien saw Harry approaching the table, but to her surprise Alana wasn’t with him, and though he was smiling, she thought he looked agitated.

  “Evening everyone,” he said, sitting down. “I hope you ordered and didn’t wait for me.”

  “Just the munchies, and I’m sure you must be extremely busy,” Patty gushed, obviously thrilled to be having dinner with such a powerful and wealthy man.

  “There’s always a crisis somewhere.”

  “But you’re always so calm,” Vivien remarked, surprised he hadn’t yet said hello.