Special Relationship

by Fox, Alessandra

  "You didn't receive another one?"

  "No, mysterious texter seems to be otherwise engaged."

  They finished the coffee and grabbed a taxi back to the office where Adrian and Suzanne seemed at first to be working diligently, but not for long.

  Adrian looked up. "Nice weekend, Alex?" he asked trying to keep a straight face. She looked at him and then at her office manager, who had got up and turned her back, to give the impression that she was looking for a file.

  "Good thanks, Ade. And you?" she asked with her best poker face.

  He nodded and decided not to risk ribbing his boss any further, hiding behind his computer screen so she couldn't see him snigger.

  Alex's phones went a couple of times before lunch and her heart skipped as she heard the ring tone. But they were only business calls. Maybe now he'd bedded her he would go AWOL, she feared.

  His name finally flashed on the screen late in the afternoon, just she was packing up ready to go home, and after she had checked her phone countless times to check there were no missed calls or texts.

  She was pleased that her three employees had already left, allowing her some privacy, but she still had to compose herself before answering. "Hi Nick."

  "Sorry, he said, wanted to call earlier but investors rather hijacked my day."

  "No probs. Where are you?"

  "Still in the office, be here till about nine, then I thought I'd have an early night and catch on some sleep as I didn't get much last night, thinking about, you know, the weekend."

  She was worried about what he was going to say next, so played her cards early.

  "Nick I had a great weekend, loved it, but I can understand that we move in different circles and maybe we should leave it with just the happy memories of Sandbanks – beautiful place by the way – and I'll always remember it."

  "You are joking?"

  "Well, like I've said, I'm not really sure the jet set lifestyle is for me. And..."

  He interrupted her. "Jet set lifestyle? Frank's cafe and lying on a beach and playing the horses for fifty pence in a tacky arcade?"

  Alex didn't know what to say.

  "And when we go to Paris we're taking the train, no private plane or even private helicopter."

  "Nick, we are not going to Paris."

  "You don't like me?"

  "Of course I like you, dummy."

  "OK, I have a meeting there on Friday. I'm sure you'll be able to amuse yourself for an hour or two and then we can have all weekend together. And I'll book the crummiest, cheapest hotel – a pension – that I can find, just to show you."

  She laughed.

  "I'm on the internet now. Here's one, we have to share a dormitory and a bathroom with six others but it's only thirty euros."

  "Shut up, Nick!"

  "I'm booking it now."

  "OK, you win, but I don't do sharing. Go just a bit more more upmarket."

  He said he'd book it and they spoke for twenty minutes a bit about business – before he told her had to go to Dubai for "a couple of days" – but they mostly talked about Sandbanks.

  "And have you recovered from our horse ride?"

  "Before I first sat on a horse I imagined it would be easy – you know the horse doing all the work – but I have again been reminded how much work the rider has to do. I can barely walk across the office."

  "I bet that's got your colleagues gossiping."

  She giggled. "Oh, don't say that. They've been desperate for the details all day," omitting the fact that she had already told Kerry everything. "I don't know what they'll think when I mention next weekend."

  "I can't wait," he said, sounding as though he really meant it.

  When they finally broke off, she sat back and thought of him some more. She sensed again that he'd missed some fun in his youth while he built his empire, and that, in her, he saw someone with whom he could take that time back.

  He seemed at his happiest delivering her cheesecake, eating at Frank's cafe and playing the machines at the amusement arcade and at his most bored dealing with the business and the many people who relied on him to increase their already considerable wealth.

  In his youthful sense of fun and the obvious enjoyment he derived from doing simple things, she saw herself. She had forfeited years of her young life for different reasons and now maybe she too was, at long last, ready to make up for lost time.

  Chapter twenty: Reality and fantasy.

  While Nick was in Dubai, Tavis and Alex finally met up for their long-postponed 'behaving badly' afternoon, touring the pubs and bars of Soho.

  He was as charming as he was at the races but not nearly so inquisitive and Alex, having already called Nick before his Dubai trip, was prepared for any difficult questions. "He knows we went to Sandbanks together, that's all. Please, let's keep it that way," he had had told her, with surprising firmness.

  Alex thought Nick must have his own reasons for keeping quiet about the behaviour of two consenting adults. In her case, she, had yet to tell Kerry about the forthcoming Paris trip, believing that the conversation between the two of them had recently centred too much on herself.

  When Tavis did ask about Sandbanks, pouring whisky into her glass, she commented only on what a nice part of the country Dorset was and nothing in detail about the events that took place there.

  A more awkward question was when she was next seeing Nick. "I don't know," she lied. "He is good fun and we said we'll meet up soon," while realising that he might already know about their plans.

  "So he's in Dubai now?" she asked, knowing the answer but trying to change the subject as best she could.

  "Yep, him, a couple of advisors and Katherine all on a flight first thing yesterday."

  The thought that Katherine was with him somehow made Alex feel uneasy. "But of course she'd be there – she was his PA," she thought, trying to be logical.

  "Do they get on well together...Nick and Katherine?" she asked.

  "Like chips and mayo," Tavis replied which wasn't exactly what she wanted to hear. She noticed him glancing at her as if to gauge her reaction.

  And though she tried not to give away anything by her expression, she remembered the words of his previous PA, the drunken Olivia at the after-races party, something like that she was more than a PA to him, and began to wonder whether Nick was a serial seducer who conquered women as easily as the markets. She had little doubt that Tavis would have read those thoughts.

  But by the time they parted, as the swarm of office workers were making their way home, she was more upbeat. She kissed Tavis on the cheek and told him "behave yourself", before indulging herself in another shopping spree in readiness for Paris. Who cares about a stupid credit card, she thought.

  The next day, Nick arrived back in London and in the car back from the airport he told Katherine that she'd need her to look after the Mayfair office rather than accompany him to Paris.

  "Are you sure?" she asked, surprised. "Are you up to date with everything?"

  "Yeah, no worries. It's only scheduled for an hour and it's the French – they know as much about finance as we Brits know about cooking."

  She looked at him suspiciously. "British cooking has improved," she said. "And so has French finance."

  "I'll handle it."

  "Is Jamie going with you?"

  "No, I think it's unlikely I'll be abducted on the Eurostar."

  Katherine thought some more, wondering why she hadn't even been asked her to arrange the tickets or the hotel. But she soon guessed the answer.

  When he got back to his apartment, he called Alex. "How did the trip go?" she asked, pointing to her phone and mouthing 'Nick' to Kerry sitting opposite.

  "Oh fine, boring business stuff and all that, but probably worthwhile. What have you been up to?"

  She told him that she had met Tavis for drinks. "He is a very bad influence, as bad as you. I've never drunk so much since I met you guys."

  "We'll abstain after Paris. I booked us breakfast in, err, th
e champagne bar at St Pancras tomorrow."

  "Oh, great, my liver will be pleased."

  "Sorry, it's going to be an early start - my meeting is at two - but shouldn't last long and after that we'll be free to explore the romantic city of lights."

  "And we are staying where?"

  "Well, you said you didn't want to slum it, so we're in the Shangri-La, fantastic terrace overlooking the Eiffel Tower and a beautiful swimming pool, so bring your gear. Oh, and I booked just the one room, is that alright?”

  “No, Mr Hensen, after Sandbanks I am still tired and would prefer to rest in my own room.”

  “Pity, they are otherwise fully booked,” he replied. “See you tomorrow. Christos will pick you up at 7.30.”

  She called Kerry into the stockroom for a conference regarding her Paris trip.

  “What, he asked you just now?”

  “No, early in the week but I didn't tell you because I wanted us to spend time like we used to – in the pre-Hensen days – talking about both of us rather than just me, me, me.”

  “You are so silly,” she said, looking at her affectionately. “Look, at the moment, you are dating the rich celebrity fund manager. Next week I might be having an affair with Prince Harry and I'll be the big story – so get over it woman and I hope you have a fantastic weekend.

  “I'm really excited for you - and when Hensen and Anderson merge – the companies that is - I'll expect a mega pay rise,” she laughed.

  The next morning the ever-cheerful Christos arrived punctually and soon they were on their way to St Pancras for what Alex thought was going to be another fairytale weekend. She sat in the front seat again and they chatted cheerfully about it being her first trip to Paris and how excited she was to see the world's most romantic city.

  “I'm a humble driver, Alex, but I get the feeling that you and Nick might be liking each other?” he asked impudently, but smiling with the charm of someone from a part of the world where enjoyment of life, and love of family and friends, came above all else.

  “Christos! I'll report you to your boss,” she laughed.

  “Ha-ha, he won't sack me Alex, he'd have to get the bus.”

  When she had stopped laughing, she told him about the book she was reading The Magus which was set on the Greek island of Phraxos. “I'd love to go there,” she said.

  “Phraxos? Never heard of it Alex. You sure it's an actual place?”

  She thought. Maybe it's not, maybe it's just a fictional location. Like the character in the book she was finding it hard to know these days what was real and what was fantasy.

  “Oh, I'll check the internet when I can,” she said.

  “Don't worry, nowhere is more beautiful in the whole world than where I came from, blue skies, mountains, wonderful sea. One day I hope you and Nick will visit as guests of my family.”

  She laughed and lightly slapped his arm. “I'd love to Christos - with Nick or not! - and I'd like to come to one of your big Sunday lunches with all your family and friends there.”

  He quickly backed the car into a space barely designed for one of its size and carried her two bags through the main entrance to the striking gothic-style station and to what he told her was the longest champagne bar in Europe.

  It was on the concourse separated from the rail line by just a glass screen. Nick, sitting at a table next to it, watched the trains with a childlike curiosity. He wore a light, tanned suit with white shirt and deep grey tie. His dark hair seemed to have grown since she'd first met him and it looked lightly waxed into a casual, unfussy style. He maintained enough facial stubble not to alarm more conservative business clients, but enough to add to his allure for those for whom his making of wealth was not his prime attraction.

  He kissed her on both cheeks. “Bonjour,” he said as Christos put her bags down by the table and wished them a good weekend. They both thanked him and he went away smiling, looking forward to any gossip he might pick up on Sunday evening.

  “You speak French?”

  “Mais Oui,” Nick said.

  “Tell me what time our train leaves, in French,” she said sitting at the table.

  “Mademoiselle, la... le train departes ... à...neuf...seventeen."

  "Mmm...perhaps a bit rusty?"

  One of the impressive Eurostar trains arrived at the platform opposite and Alex watched the people alight, the businessman, the tourists and then a group of excited French schoolchildren presumably on a day-trip to London. She looked away quickly.

  Above her was the magnificent station roof built at a time when Britain ruled the waves, a two and a acre-glass structure that stood today as testimony to the country's 19th century confidence.

  She enjoyed history but she could never grasp how a little island off the coast of Europe built the biggest empire the world had ever seen, and invented much of the stuff that made up modern life.

  Only Grand Central beats this, she thought as she took in the atmosphere of the station.

  “We haven't got long to check in Alex so I'm going to forsake the full English breakfast for smoked salmon and scrambled eggs which conveniently enough come with a glass of champagne. There are pastries and healthy fruit if you prefer.”

  “No the eggs sound good,” she said before standing up. “There's something I want to see, be back in a minute.”

  “OK, I'll just look after your bags,” he frowned.

  She walked to the end of the concourse to see the 30-foot bronze statue 'The Meeting Place' which depicted a couple in an amorous embrace. It was, she had read, portraying a French woman reuniting with her English lover, bringing together two different cultures.

  The frieze on which the couple stood showed startling scenes of solders departing and returning from war, a copulating couple, drunken vagabonds, and debauched figures from London of long ago. And then there were were depictions of the modern day, of struggling commuters, angry youth and a woman embracing her partner while looking over his shoulder at her mobile phone.

  It fascinated her and she reached inside her jacket to pull out the words of the artist she had printed out the night before. The frieze, he had said, portrayed the joy and loves of human life and also its loss and tragedy.

  She walked around the concourse before rejoining Nick. “Sorry,” she said. “I saw a thing on TV about the sculpture a long time ago and I've always meant to see it.”

  “The couple in an embrace at the station. Are they meeting or separating?”

  “They are meeting. She's French and he is English.”

  “How do you know they are meeting?”

  “Because they don't look sad.”

  After breakfast, he went to find a trolley and dragged the bags on to them. “You sure don't travel light,” he remarked. “Oh, and did you bring your passport?,” he asked as one of Britain's richest men pushed the trolley towards the Eurostar terminal.

  “I maybe blonde, Nicholas, but I know that Paris is in France and France isn't part of the UK.”

  “Just checking.”

  He apologised that he would have to take calls on some of the trip but that after his meeting was over he would switch off his phone off for the rest of the weekend.

  While she looked out at the Kent landscape, she heard him arguing to someone about how an IT company, with lots of money in the bank and no new ideas, should be making higher dividend payments.

  Then there was a call from Katherine in which she seemed to be reminding him of his need for security. At one point he said, “alone” and she wondered whether that was a reply to the question of who he was with. But the call was interrupted as they entered the 31-mile long tunnel and the train continued its journey under the seabed.

  Nick pointed out of the window. “Pretty, this tunnel, isn't it. Don't say I'm not showing you the world.”

  After they emerged into continental Europe, both their phones bleeped to inform them they now had connection with a French telecoms provider, and soon they were crossing the sparsely-populated farmland of north-
eastern France. Villages, the odd town and imposing but lonely-looking châteaus split some fields from others, but for the most part people seemed few and far between.

  “Phone off now,” Nick said. “Just didn't want to make a complete arse of myself this afternoon.”

  “Don't worry, enjoying the scenery,” she said from the opposite seat.

  “And when in Paris what's on your list?” he asked.

  “I looked at the internet last night. My list is so long we might have to be here for two months not two days.”

  “Suits me,” he replied. “How comes you haven't hopped over, or under, the Channel, since you arrived in London?”

  “Dunno, I guess too busy, and maybe I have just never met anyone to see it with.”

  “And you have now?”

  “Possibly,” she said looking at him with a smile. He gave a boyish grin back.

  The outskirts of the city were dominated by large rather scruffy-looking apartment blocks and there was hardly a spare space of any wall along the rail tracks that wasn't covered by graffiti. “It's funny, “ he said. “When most people think of Paris they think only of its beauty but the suburbs can be quite grim. There are areas which are effectively no-go zones even for the police.”

  “I read about the banlieues in the New Yorker. It has a charm, though doesn't it? There is something about its bleakness that I find, well, I don't know, bewitching?”

  “Well, put the banlieues on your list then, but I think we'd be safer in a car than on the metro.”

  “Perhaps I'll leave them for my next trip,” she said.

  As the train pulled in to the the Gare du Nord, he suggested they took two cabs, one for her and the bags to the hotel, and the other for him to his meeting at La Défense.

  “The hotel is on the Avenue d'Iéna,” he said, writing the name on a serviette, “but the driver will know it.” He switched on his mobile which promptly bleeped several times. “Any problems just give me a call, remember to put 44 in front of my number and leave out the first zero. You'll need some euros,” he said reaching for his wallet.