Promises After Dark (After Dark Book 3)

by Sadie Matthews

  Tom considers.

  I make myself sound calm. ‘Honestly, you’ll be doing Dominic a favour. And me.’

  He sits back in his chair and smiles. ‘You know what? You seem like a sane person to me. Dominic’s big enough to look after himself.’ Tom picks up a pen and twiddles it absent-mindedly as he speaks. ‘He’s finding investors for his company. He’s got some great ideas and he’s looking for five or six people to come in with him, each one putting in a sizeable amount of money. He’s off to Paris today to meet a very big fish who lives there, to see if he can hook him.’

  ‘Paris?’

  Tom nods. ‘That’s right.’ He looks at his watch. ‘In fact I think he said he was catching the two o’clock train from St Pancras. If you hurry, you might catch him there.’

  I had thought that the day couldn’t get any crazier but here I am in another taxi, heading north-west this time. My new driver doesn’t seem to be quite as keen on racing along buzzy little back routes as the last cabbie was, and we crawl along the road towards Old Street, making sure that we hit every red light and give way to every bus and pedestrian that shows even the slightest desire to pass in front of us. I’m nearly biting my knuckles with frustration. I stare at my watch, trying to work out the times. The train departs at two, so Dominic will need to check in at least thirty minutes beforehand. But he left Finlay twenty minutes before I arrived, so he would have possibly already got to St Pancras before I left Tanner Square. He’s bound to have checked in. He’s probably going business class, which means he’ll be able to use the business lounge so that’s where he’ll be – unless for some reason, he’s hanging around outside and I can catch him before he goes through the gate. I have to get there before one thirty at the latest and it’s ten past one now.

  We finally get around the Old Street roundabout and head towards King’s Cross, but we’re still stopping at every traffic light along the way. We can’t seem to hit a green. I’m almost bouncing up and down on my seat with a frantic desire to get the taxi moving faster. At last I can see the huge King’s Cross terminus and the imposing Gothic facade of the St Pancras hotel. It’s nearly twenty past one. Just over ten minutes to go. It’s agonising as we wait to make the right turn down to the Eurostar entrance but at last we’re pulling to a halt in front of it. I rummage in my purse for the money to pay the fare and then jump out of the cab and race inside.

  The entrance to the Eurostar is crowded with people. There’s a train to Brussels leaving in an hour and the bulk of passengers are checking in. I scan the crowd urgently for Dominic but there’s no sign of him. Why would he wait in this scrum when he could be in the quiet and peace of the business lounge? Why did I ever think anything else? I glance up hastily and see on the departure screen that the train to Paris is boarding. There are only a few minutes left. Any minute now he’ll be leaving London and I’ll have lost him. I open my bag and check the inner compartment. Yes, there it is. My passport. I haven’t removed it since returning from Russia. I run to the ticket machines behind me and start tapping at the screen, making lightning decisions. I pull out my credit card and press in the numbers with clumsy fingers that have gone all stiff and disobedient.

  ‘Come on, come on!’ I mutter, trying not to shout. ‘Come on . . . please!’

  And then the transaction goes through. The machine starts to whirr as it prints my ticket and spits it out into the dispenser. I scrabble for it and then race over to the ticket barrier. I don’t bother with the ticket reader but hand my ticket straight to the inspector standing there so he can open the gate for me to race through. I can see there’s a queue at the baggage inspection ahead – will I still be in time to make the train? After all, I don’t have any luggage except for my handbag. The inspector takes my ticket, looks at it and then at the screen. He silently gestures to it and I look up. The screen for the two o’clock train reads ‘Check-in closed’.

  ‘You’re too late,’ he says mournfully.

  ‘Please, please let me through!’ I beg. ‘Please, it’s only one minute!’

  He shakes his head. ‘I can’t. Against the rules. Let in one, you have to let in them all. If one minute, why not two or three? Nope. Sorry.’

  I stare aghast at the ticket in my hand. It’s useless. I’ve just spent three hundred pounds on this bit of cardboard.

  The inspector looks at me sympathetically. ‘Listen, I saw you buy the ticket. You take it to the main office around the corner there, and tell them I sent you. You missed the train by one minute. Ask them to change the ticket to the next train. You can still get to Paris.’

  But will I have come to my senses by three o’clock?

  I look at the ticket again. One way to the Gare du Nord. It’s eating me up that the train hasn’t departed yet, that Dominic is still in the station but I can’t get near him.

  What the hell? What have I got to lose?

  I look up at the inspector. ‘Where did you say I can find the main ticket office?’

  Once on the Eurostar with my newly changed ticket, I settle into my seat and look about me. The train is filling up quickly. It’s that time of year, I suppose. Christmas seems to be a good excuse for people to nip over to a foreign city for shopping or a treat. I can see couples, some of them older, perhaps celebrating an anniversary or going for a special jaunt to Paris, the city of romance. People in suits, clearly travelling for work, are already opening up laptops or looking at their tablets. There are plenty of French people returning home and others who will be going onwards into Europe. A young family sits near me, the mother taking out plastic tubs filled with grapes and rice cakes for her small children.

  I take out my mobile and call Caroline. She doesn’t answer, so I leave a message explaining that I’m going to be away from the office this afternoon and I’ll call later to see how Mark is. Then I call Laura at her office.

  ‘You’re where?’ she says disbelievingly when I tell her what I’m doing.

  ‘On the Eurostar at St Pancras, about to leave for Paris.’

  ‘Are you totally insane? Why?’

  ‘Because Dominic is in Paris. He left on the train before this one. He’s probably under the Channel right about now.’

  ‘And you think you’re going to find him?’ Laura’s voice is completely incredulous. ‘Just stumble across him? In the whole of Paris, you’re going to go straight to him? Beth, get off the train now and chalk it down to a moment of madness.’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘I can find him. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I’ll think of something.’

  ‘But when will you come back?’

  ‘The last train goes around nine, I think,’ I say vaguely. I haven’t researched this yet. ‘I can probably get on that.’

  ‘Good God, Beth, you got back from St Petersburg in the early hours of this morning! Now you might be home from Paris at some ungodly hour tonight!’ Then she sounds wistful. ‘It sounds kind of fun, though. I wish I could come with you.’

  ‘Me too! But listen, I’ll keep you informed, okay? Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Beth, I wish I could be so sure. Just be careful.’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ I say again, firmly. I almost believe it myself.

  Once I’ve rung off, I use my phone to look up the return times from Paris. If I can’t get back, I might have to find somewhere to stay, so I also look up some hotels in central Paris. I feel a tingle of excitement. This is mad but it’s making me feel exhilarated with possibilities. I’m not going to let Dominic walk out of my life thinking that I cheated on him. He’s going to know the truth if it’s the last thing that happens between us.

  I remember that I don’t have a phone charger with me, so I turn off my mobile to save its battery and then open a magazine that I bought in the shop on my way through the departure lounge. I don’t quite know how I’m going to be able to calm down enough to absorb anything but maybe that’s okay. Within three hours I’ll be in Paris.

  Once w
e’re under way, I feel the tiredness from my late night begin to overwhelm me and I take the opportunity to sleep as we fly through the Kent countryside and onwards to France. By the time I wake up, we’re making fast progress to Paris. There’s only another half an hour to go. Once I’ve woken up and had a drink of water, I start to realise what I’ve actually done. In a short time, I’ll be arriving at the Gare du Nord – and then what? I won’t have a clue where to go.

  I think for a while and then turn my phone on. It connects to a French network and a text message pings in, telling me I’m now abroad and alerting me to the new charges. I find the phone number for Finlay Venture Capital online and call it. The receptionist puts me through to Tom Finlay.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Tom, it’s Beth here. We spoke earlier about Dominic.’

  ‘Yes, of course, I remember you. Did you catch him?’

  ‘No – I was too late. So, I know it sounds crazy but I’ve followed him to Paris.’

  He laughs. ‘Oh God, I knew I shouldn’t have helped you. You’re a nutter, aren’t you? Great, Dominic’s really going to thank me for this one.’

  ‘He will,’ I say quickly. ‘You don’t know how much. But listen, I have a problem. I don’t know where he’s going to be and I’d like to surprise him. Is there any way you can find out a little bit more for me?’

  ‘Why don’t you just call him?’

  ‘I told you – he’s not returning texts or emails.’

  ‘Yeah, but he might pick up if you actually call him.’

  ‘Maybe . . . I will try that but could you possibly help from your end? Please?’

  ‘Look, I’ll do what I can. Shall I tell him you’re looking for him?’

  ‘No, no, I want to surprise him.’

  ‘Okay – leave it with me. Are you on email?’

  ‘Yes.’ I give him my email address, and we ring off. I sit back, satisfied. If all goes well, I won’t have to waste my time wandering around Paris looking for Dominic, I’ll be able to go straight to him.

  We’re already on the outskirts of Paris when I get a message from Tom flashing up on my phone. I go to my inbox.

  Hi Beth

  I think Dominic must be in his meeting with this big business honcho. He wants around twenty million dollars from him, so I don’t think he’s going to be taking any calls while he’s asking for it. If it’s any help, I’ve been thinking back over what he said today and I’m pretty sure he told me he was going to be meeting this guy at his flat in St Germain and that he was going to stay in the same area, so you could try around there. I’ll let you know when I hear from Dominic.

  Take care,

  Tom

  Good work, Tom, I think. It’s annoying that Dominic hasn’t replied directly but at least I’ve narrowed it down to one part of Paris. I’m going to need a charger, I realise. My phone is not going to take much more Internet use without losing all its power. That will be my first task when we get to the Gare du Nord.

  Twenty minutes later, I’m walking along the platform with all the other arrivals as we make our way to the front of the station. I’ve been to Paris once before on a school trip and I’m instantly taken back to that time by the musical bongs that accompany every single station announcement. I can’t understand a word of the French but I’m elated that I’ve made it here. I find a cashpoint and get some euros out with my bank card, then locate a phone kiosk and manage to make the man there understand that I want a charger for my phone. A few minutes later, I’m the proud owner of a charger wired for European sockets. First mission accomplished. At another tourist kiosk, I get a map of Paris and another of the metro. I’m making big strides.

  I find a quiet corner where I can look at the maps and work out where I need to go. With a little help from some Internet research, I locate the St Germain area and the nearest metro line. Good. No point in waiting around. That’s where I’ll go.

  The Paris metro is so different to the London Underground but it’s fairly easy to find my way around. I decide to go to the station of St Germain-des-Prés, as it sounds as though it’s right on the money, so I make my way down into the metro station, get a ticket from a booth with my terrible schoolgirl French, and take the dark pink Line 4 eleven stops down to St Germain-des-Prés. The square train comes roaring along almost immediately, and I get on wondering if I look lost to the other commuters, not that any of them are taking a blind bit of notice of me. I feel elated as the train passes through each romantically named station – Château d’Eau, Châtelet, Cité – and takes me closer to Dominic. I get off at St Germain-des-Prés and, as I emerge from the station, I realise that my task is going to be harder because night has fallen. It’s one hour ahead here and it’s already early evening but the lights of Paris are lit and, just like London, there are glittering Christmas decorations everywhere. I’m on a square dominated by a large church, its steeple floodlit and piercing the navy blue sky like a great grey-gold dart.

  I can hardly breathe with excitement. Here I am, in Paris! I’m standing on a beautiful square that’s edged by the lighted windows of cafés and bars, there are people walking about and it feels incredibly French. Now all I have to do is find Dominic. How hard can that be? I take out my phone and check it. Nothing from Tom yet. I’ll go to a café and see if I can charge my phone up there while I have a cup of coffee and think what to do.

  I approach the nearest café and instantly feel intimidated. It’s full of business people checking their phones while they drink coffee or a glass of wine, and beautiful women, some with little lapdogs tucked into huge handbags. I’m far too shy to go into a place like this. I make my way out of the square and round the corner and wander along the road for a bit until I see a quieter, cosy-looking place called Chez Albert, with tables outside tucked under warm outdoor heaters. I gather my courage and sit down at one of the empty tables. A waiter comes up and says something in rapid French.

  ‘Café au lait, s’il vous plaît,’ I say in halting French, and he goes off to get my coffee.

  The disadvantage of being outside is that there’s nowhere to charge my phone. I might have to move inside later and do that, but I like being out here with the chance that Dominic might walk by. I imagine him now in this important man’s flat, inspiring him with his rhetoric and passion to invest millions of dollars in his new company.

  If anyone can do it, Dominic can.

  The waiter comes back with a black coffee accompanied by a jug of hot milk, and puts it down beside me, along with a bill. I glance at it. Five euros for a cup of coffee! Well, I suppose it’s like going into a café in Knightsbridge – it’s going to be expensive no matter what.

  What will I do if I can’t find Dominic? It’s not a problem, I tell myself firmly. I’ll take the Eurostar home or find a hotel, if necessary. But considering other alternatives doesn’t seem to be necessary. Something tells me I’m going to find him. And then my phone, down to its last bar of power, flashes into life. It’s an email from Tom.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I’m in the lobby of a smart boutique hotel off an elegant street in St Germain. It’s clear that this part of Paris is very expensive and I haven’t yet dared ask the cost of a room as the white wine I’m sipping has cost me almost a tenner. Tom came through with the name of the hotel where Dominic is staying and I found it with the help of my map app. After a trip to the ladies to spruce myself up, I’m sitting here in the lobby on a very comfortable striped sofa, flicking back through my magazine while I enjoy my drink and surreptitiously observe all the comings and goings in the hotel lobby. It’s a comfortable place to be but I hope Dominic turns up soon because I don’t know how many glasses of wine I can afford – or manage – to drink before he gets here.

  What if he’s going out for dinner and won’t be back till late? How long will they let me sit here? And besides, I’m starving.

  I haven’t had a proper meal all day, I realise. I try not to think about all the marvellous restaurants that must be within a few mi
nutes’ walk, each serving up delicious French food . . . my stomach rumbles longingly.

  Suddenly food is the last thing on my mind. I feel it before I see anything. Like an animal scenting thunder, I am alert to something in the air and every hair on my skin prickles with it. I know beyond doubt, without looking, that the chemistry of the room has altered and that something glorious is happening. It’s as though the room is full of a delicious aroma, or the most divine music has suddenly begun to play, and it fills me with joy.

  He’s here. I know it.

  I turn my head towards the hotel entrance, feeling as if I’m moving in slow motion. I have complete faith in what I’m feeling. I’m responding to the presence I love most in the world, how can he not be there?

  Dominic.

  He’s come in through the outer door and is walking through the small lobby, talking on his phone as he goes to the desk to collect a key. The sight of him makes me quite dizzy and weak. It’s not so long since I last saw him but it feels like for ever. My last glimpse of his face was when he was angry, hopeless and bitter but now he looks serious and intense as he listens to whoever is on the other end of the line.

  My God, he’s gorgeous . . . Sometimes he has the power to hit me afresh with the strength of his attractiveness. His olive skin is darkened by a shadow of stubble around his jaw, his brown eyes are fixed on the ground as he listens, and his mouth, so beautiful with its hint of the wicked pirate in its curve, makes me want to leap up and kiss him. He looks delicious in a dark grey suit, his white shirt tieless and unbuttoned at the neck.

  I don’t know what I thought I might do when I saw him but I try to stand up, only to find my legs buckling underneath me. He has his key and has turned towards me, heading past the small sofa where I’m sitting. In a moment he will walk straight past me and not even notice I’m here. He’s deep in his conversation and oblivious to everything. I force myself onto my feet. My hands are shaking and my stomach is whirling and churning like a washing machine. I feel light-headed and giddy, but also triumphant. So I found him – with Tom’s help, of course, but I found him!