But Sally and Helen were special. They could have whatever the hell they wanted. Jane would see to that. Either in Shop Smart, or someplace else.
Jane Morgan needed her friends. But despite what Rhodri Evans said, she didn’t need anything else.
She absolutely was not interested in finding a man.
There was a knock on her office door.
“I’m busy,” Jane said, not looking up from her screen. It was Friday, and her reports from the Southwest were due in.
The door swung open and Rhodri Evans put his head around it.
“You’re always busy. Make some time.”
She smiled and clicked the spreadsheet shut.
“For you, sure.” Jane glanced at her diary. “I have a free lunch—would you like to go and get something?”
“I’ve always believed in miracles,” the Welshman said. “Come on, then, I want to have a chat with you.”
She took him to Le Cirque; if they were going to eat on the company’s dime, Jane figured it should be a good meal. They weren’t paying her well enough as it was. She ordered caviar, smoked oysters, and a rare steak to follow; Rhodri, not used to quite such luxurious surroundings, stuck with a salad and roast duck. Jane insisted he take a glass of champagne. It was a new decade, and sackcloth and ashes were all the fashion; the stores did a roaring trade in lumberjack shirts, as everybody wanted to be Kurt Cobain; the designers were into black and gray aesthetics, monklike chic.
But Jane rebelled. Even though she was twenty, she thought of herself as a true child of the eighties. Luxury, aspiration, pulling yourself up by your bootstraps; all that was in her blood, and it would never die. The movie Wall Street had been a huge smash, and it was meant to be negative, a morality tale. But when Jane sat in the cinema and watched Bud Fox walk into that giant office with the enormous glass walls, the camera following him lovingly, and all Manhattan stretching out beyond them, she was thrilled to her bones. That was what she wanted. That was what she worked for.
“And you?” Rhodri wanted to see her relaxing, too.
“Not for a couple of months.”
He raised a brow. “Surely you’re not telling me you’ve never had champagne.”
“Of course not. Just that I don’t want to be asked for I.D. in a restaurant I take business contacts to.” Jane smiled coolly. “I have some Krug chilling in my refrigerator. But I never fight a battle I can’t win.”
“We’ll toast you in here on your birthday.”
“That’s a deal.”
She sipped at her freshly squeezed pomegranate juice while her friend enjoyed his champagne.
“So how did it work out with Peter Ralston?”
The M&A specialist from Chase; newly divorced, older than her, considered handsome. Smooth, certainly.
“We had a couple of dates,” Jane said. “Went out for sushi … I just don’t think we clicked.”
“Why?” Rhodri was upset. “You never seem to get on with anybody. Are you really making an effort?”
“I’m an orphan. Shouldn’t I at least get a pass on nagging about my love life? What, are you going to complain you’ll never have grandchildren?”
Jane chuckled, and Rhodri smiled back. It was good to see her laugh. He worried about Jane; sometimes he wondered if he had done the right thing, giving her that first promotion. She was so unnaturally absorbed in business.
“But he was perfect for you.”
“Evidently not,” Jane said, wryly. In fact, Ralston had said first that he thought they should knock it on the head, and she’d been relieved. He was coming on too strong; obviously expected her to jump right into bed. And she hadn’t wanted to. He just didn’t excite her. She didn’t know what she wanted, exactly, just that Peter Ralston wasn’t it.
“Then I have somebody else you should meet.” Rhodri nodded, determinedly. “Somebody different from anyone you’ve seen before.”
“I’m not interested. Really, I’m so busy. And I’m young… .”
“But this guy …”
“Another damn banker or congressman or high-paid lawyer. I don’t think I can deal with that. Face it, Rhodri, I’m just not ready to date.”
“He’s none of those things. A little slice of home, I’m thinking. Maybe that’s what you need. He’s English. His name is Jude Ferrers.”
That brought Jane up short. “English?”
“Yes. From Sussex. His parents own a farm near the sea. Some place called Rye.”
“I know Rye,” Jane said. She took a large swig of pomegranate juice to cover her confusion. For some reason, she actually did want to meet this one. English, like her? Maybe it was fate. But her lack of interest in all men had just evaporated.
“He went to Eton. No title but lots of cash. He’s in town buying a place in the Hamptons. Just broke up with a girl, the daughter of some earl or something. I met him at a party last night. And he wants to meet you.”
Her response surprised him.
“Yes—that’d be great,” Jane said.“Give him my direct line. Do you know if he’s free tonight?”
“I don’t …”
“Because I am. And if not, tomorrow.” She beamed at her friend. “Thank you Rhodri, he sounds intruiging.”
Cheered, Rhodri tossed down the rest of his champagne. Finally, then, he had solved it, cracked the puzzle. What Jane needed was a guy from her own culture. He’d been born in the States, of Welsh parents, but never felt the need to go back to the motherland—Jane, on the other hand, had spent her childhood in the UK. And that’s what she was hankering after.
She seemed to come alive at lunch, animated, chatting, telling jokes. What a transformation, he thought. He could not believe it. As soon as she had paid and jumped into a taxi, Rhodri Evans telephoned his new acquaintance to give him the good news.
It put him in a good mood for the rest of the day. The young woman had fascinated him since the day he had met her, so brave and so tearful. He would love to see her find success in love, as well as a balance sheet. Because without that, what good was anything?
Jane enjoyed the rest of her day.
The call had been a good start.
“Miss Morgan?” The clipped tones reminded her of her father. It was a joy to hear somebody who sounded like she did. “I hope I’m not being presumptuous, but our mutual friend Rhodri suggested I call …”
Classy, Jane thought. A million miles away from the losers she’d been dating recently.
Jude was going to pick her up tonight at eight and take her to a concert. How romantic! Carnegie Hall … a candlelit dinner; his voice on the phone had sounded gentlemanly and urbane. It charged her; she was curious, impatient.
Unusually, she had rushed home at the end of the day, leaving her assistant openmouthed. They usually worked till at least half past six. But today Jane had better things to do.
She dressed with exquisite care: her favorite Azzedine Alaïa dress, black and tight, bands of brilliantly cut black silk tapering around her body, ending just over the knee; high Manolo Blahnik heels, with crystal-cut buckles; Wolford tights; Hermès 24, Faubourg as her scent. Jane went to the hairdressser’s first, and had her glossy brown mane blown out, smooth and beautiful, around her shoulders; she chose to make up with a daring plum lipstick and charcoal liner, emerald green shadow on her lids. Vamping it up. A bold look, but the mirror told her, without a doubt, she had pulled it off. Among all the drab little minimalists, Jane would look like a flashing butterfly, a glorious Purple Emperor.
She finished the look with a dress watch, a slim gold Cartier set with diamonds; a present to herself from her last bonus.
Jane paced up and down her apartment, trying to contain her excitement. Come on, she told herself. He might be ugly … he might be short … he might be far too skinny, or fat as a house.
But it didn’t work. Jude had sounded so different, with his modulated voice and easygoing, unpressured tones. So cultured … not like the investment bankers, who always gave the impression of wanti
ng to check their phone messages.
Whole parts of herself that had been submerged for years now were starting to wake up, Jane thought, and she liked it. At least she wanted to see him. And that made a change….
The doorbell rang and she raced to answer it.
He stood on the doorstep with a large, expensive-looking bunch of roses, dark red, set with berries and twigs and glossy foliage. He was a tall man, light brown hair, hazel eyes, a handsome enough face, and wearing a good suit that looked a bit rumpled.
Jane felt her heart flip over in her stomach as Jude casually gave her the once-over; she suddenly, ardently, wanted to be found pleasing.
“My goodness,” he said. “You might just be the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”
“That … is the right answer,” Jane said, and they laughed.
He was absolutely smooth. He ticked every box. He held open car doors for her, walked on the outside of the pavement, offered her his arm as they climbed the stairs in Carnegie Hall to the box he had hired. Jane sat, fascinated, at dinner, almost unable to eat because of the butterflies in her stomach, while he told her all about himself, his parents’ interests in land and property, his own desire to do “something in art history.” Jude was “finding himself,” and didn’t want to work. He told her he had no desire to join the rat race. Jane envied him, and thought it amazing he could be so detached.
“But you’re buying a place in the Hamptons?”
They cost a fortune; several million bucks for a decent house. She certainly couldn’t afford one.
“I have a trust fund.” He shrugged.“You know, the idea we all absolutely have to spend our lives working our fingers down to the knuckle is very recent. Did you ever read any Jane Austen?”
“Of course; all of it.”
“Well, Darcy never went and toiled in an office, did he? And nor did Elizabeth. So why should I, when I don’t have to?”
“I think that’s wonderful,” Jane said, a little starry-eyed.
Gosh. Wasn’t he handsome—and urbane. So charismatic, so confident! He reminded her, she supposed, of her father—something of Thomas Morgan’s self-possession. But of course, this was a date. And unlike Thomas, Jude actually seemed interested in her.
Jane wanted to retain a modicum of detachment. She was enjoying Jude’s company. More than that, maybe. Being with him was like entering another world, a half-forgotten world. But her job was still there.
Jude wooed her with commendable patience. He took care to dazzle; they ate out three times a week at the best restaurants, went to a couple of the classier nightclubs, a Broadway musical. Jude squired her to the opera, and dined with her in the city’s ultraexclusive Metropolitan Club.
He talked to her about his leisure pursuits, his fishing, his beagling, his holidays in Scotland shooting grouse.
“Do you never want to work?” Jane asked.
He shook his head. “I’ll leave that to you, babe.”
Jane wondered a little at that. But Jude was so charming, it was easy to overlook. Besides, he gave no indication of wanting to stifle her career.
Jude seemed to enjoy New York. Jane dressed up whenever he took her out. He clearly enjoyed showing her off to his friends. She knew they made a handsome couple. And day after day, Jane let herself go a little more. Her work was challenging, but pleasing Jude became very important to her. Every time he paid attention to her, she felt good about herself.
It was a whirlwind schedule of dates, and Jane enjoyed them all.
“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” Jude reminded her. “Maybe you could come out to the Hamptons with me. I’m going round a few more places.You could see them, help me choose.”
She beamed back at him, and wondered if this was what love felt like; she basked in him, Jude Ferrers warmed her. Briefly she thought of Sally, who had disappeared, and never called her again. That’s what Jude made her feel—golden, just like Sally Lassiter.
The next day she went for smart-casual, as English as she could; tailored corduroy trousers, green Wellington boots, and a tight, cute cashmere T-shirt; loose hair, neutral makeup for day, and a necklace of seashells.
“You look delicious,” he said, kissing her boldly on the cheek. And then, when she responded, lightly on the lips.
Jane blushed and smiled; she wanted him to desire her. It had been building for a while now. And she’d hardly been able to sleep, waiting for him to turn up today. A completely new experience for the ice maiden.
They took a helicopter ride to the Hamptons, and Jude showed her around: a modern, glossy house on the seashore; a cute four-bedroom white clapboard cottage, old by American standards; a redbrick Victorian in the center of town. Jane loved each one; they were two million bucks apiece. She envied him such an effortless progress through life, and wanted that for herself. Jude bought her lunch at a clam shack, where they drank a delicious, rough Italian white and ate deep-fried soft-shell crabs, whole, and red currants with lemon sorbet for pudding, then a shot of espresso with a sour cherry dipped in bittersweet chocolate to finish it off.
Jane could not remember the last time she had enjoyed a meal so much. She sat, absorbed, as Jude told her all about Rye—a glorious medieval town, she remembered now, full of buildings from history, Queen Anne,Tudor, earlier … and the flat fields and rolling downs of Sussex. And she started to fantasize about what might happen. If he liked her …what if she switched firms? Or started a branch of the company in London? They could date more over there, slowly build a future….
Jane was careful not to eat too much. He told her about his exes, the models he’d dated. Code for “I like skinny girls.” About the social-register parties he attended, the London Season, the big events in Paris and New York.
He said he wasn’t interested in buying anything on the spot. Jane waxed lyrical about the white clapboard cottage, but Jude’s eyes glazed over. After a few minutes he interrupted her.
“There’s the Old Shipping Inn in the center of town. They have a suite open—I checked. It’s Sunday tomorrow, you don’t have to go to work, do you?”
Jane shook her head.
“I thought maybe we could stay over. Steal a night. Like honeymooners.”
She nodded her head, briskly, her throat dry, and he whisked her away to the hotel—in fact, despite the name, very modern and sleek—and up to the promised suite, which was nearly as big as Jane’s apartment.
“Ever since I saw you in that tight little dress, I wanted to unwrap you, all shiny and new, like a Christmas present.”
Well … it had been a month, one month and lots of dates. How could Jane object? Jude had been patient, hadn’t he? She nodded, half-eager, half-terrified.
“Mmm, baby, you’ve got fabulous legs,” he said. “Long legs, like a colt’s. Let’s see what you’ve got up there.”
And he deftly undid her jeans while somehow popping open his own shirt, and tugged her, half-naked, onto the bed.
“A virgin.”
He smiled afterward, as though he’d won a prize. Propped up on one elbow, gazing down at her proprietorially.
“I can’t believe you were actually a virgin.”
“Everybody has to start somewhere,” Jane joked, although she was afraid it sounded lame.
“But you’re twenty years old. I thought virgins that survived their teens were myths. Like unicorns.” He ran a hand across her thigh, touching the drying blood that lay there. “You can be my pet unicorn.”
“I’ll take a shower,” Jane said, feeling gauche, embarrassed.
“How was it?” he yawned. “What you expected?”
“Fantastic,” she lied. In fact, she’d been dry and tense; he had started too soon. But she blamed herself. She hadn’t told him she was a virgin….
“Well, I’ll soon have you trained up to be an expert.” He rolled over on the bed.“Sex always makes me sleepy … I’ll take a nap, we can do it again later.” As an afterthought, he added, “You better get on the pill, darling, we don’t want any compl
ications. I just hate those, don’t you?”
“Oh—of course,” Jane said.
She went into the shower; he had already closed his eyes.
She washed herself for a long time, covering her body in fragrant gel, scrubbing the embarrassing blood from her legs. It felt as though the world should seem different now, as if the sky should have a different color. But it didn’t; everything was normal.
Except, she told herself hopefully, for Jude.The first man she’d ever felt something for. He had taken her virginity, and she was glad. As she dried herself and dressed, Jane snuck a look at him, lying there on the bed. So handsome … so charming. Rhodri had said all the women were flinging themselves at him. No wonder, she thought, and I’ve got him!
It was a brilliant feeling.
When Jude woke, he suggested they check out anyway.
“Nobody wants to wear the same clothes two days in a row. I’ll pick you up tomorrow for brunch.”
“Okay,” Jane said, happily enough. She had been looking forward to spending the night with him, but tomorrow would do.
He dropped her off at her door with a little pat on her ass, and Jane spun round to kiss him, deeply, romantically. But Jude laughed, and said, “You’re a lot of fun.”
She didn’t like that. Something profound had just happened—okay, they’d only been dating a month, but still—surely he must feel the chemistry, must feel the instant rightness of it all?
She went to sleep in her own bed, alone, and not wholly happy. But she tried to suppress her doubts. After all, Jane knew very well how beautiful she was. Men were always trying, and failing, to impress her. Jude would understand his luck … surely?
He did call. Bright and early, and picked her up at eleven.The brunch spot was crowded and hip, and Jane nervously picked at waffles with strawberries, while Jude polished off bacon and eggs and a mug of cinnamon coffee.
“So after this we’ll go back to my hotel,” he suggested, throwing down a hundred-dollar bill, carelessly. “Work off the meal. If you want to. And then tonight … we could go to that book launch at the Metropolitan, and back afterward for more?”
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