by Jade Beer
‘Remind me, Betsy, what was the name of that piece of business you worked on last year? Where the client took all the other suppliers off the job because you delivered what three recruitment agencies had been hired to do, in half the time?’ She can see the pride in his face, and Betsy is loving that she is able to give him something to show off about to Mark and Jonathan.
‘It was the online marketing start-up, I’m still advising them now actually. We have a really supportive working relationship with them.’ Dylan has absentmindedly left his hand on her arm and she can feel his thumb gently caressing her skin there. Betsy watches as Jonathan’s eyes fall from his glass to that exact spot on her arm. She can feel herself start to tense as his gaze is lingering, then flicking between her and Dylan, searching their faces for confirmation of what he thinks he’s seen. And where might this go if they were alone at this table tonight, wonders Betsy.
‘She’s bloody amazing and I’d be lost without her.’ Dylan tops up Betsy’s champagne glass and breaks into a smile that she knows is intended just for her. The two of them lock eyes and for a moment there is no one else at the table.
‘So, how long have you two been together?’ Mark forces Dylan’s attention back to him.
‘Sorry?’
‘You and Betsy, how long have you been together? Not sure I’ve ever worked with a couple in this business before.’
There is the briefest moment of awkward silence before Dylan regains himself with a gentle chuckle.
‘My goodness, in my dreams, I’m afraid. Betsy is far out of my league, Mark. But I’m lucky to consider her my work wife, since we spend so much time together there.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I saw the engagement ring and just assumed…’
They need to move on quickly, because Mark is starting to look like he’s made some hugely embarrassing blunder.
‘Yes, I’m planning a wedding for later this year, but don’t think that means my eyes will be off the ball at work.’ It’s up to Betsy this time to fill the silence.
‘You don’t need to convince me, Betsy. In fact, that’s why we were so keen to have you here tonight. Dylan, if you can guarantee me that it will be Betsy who heads up this account, then the business is yours. But I want her on it, that has to be the deal.’
Dylan’s gaze flicks to her, quickly assessing this is OK, but surely knowing she wouldn’t have it any other way. She landed this business and it should be her that runs it.
‘Looks like we have ourselves a deal then!’ The delight all over Dylan’s face has sparked the order of another bottle of champagne.
While Mark and Jonathan talk quickly about getting contracts drawn up early next week, Dylan leans in close to Betsy so that his lips just touch her ear, his head turned towards her so no one else can hear what he’s about to say. She can feel his hand on her left thigh, his fingers briefly playing where the slit of her dress stops.
‘You know this is going to happen, don’t you? Tonight. I’m not going to be able to help myself.’ He’s whispering the words, his voice uneven, a little breathless but full of intent.
It’s all she can do to stay sitting upright. She allows her hand to drop beneath the table, lacing her fingers tightly between his and allowing him to push them upwards so they move briefly between her legs. Silent confirmation that she is as willing as he is.
More champagne comes and goes, courses of Peking duck and truffled chicken are followed by a velvety chocolate mousse before finally, Dylan is asking for the bill and ordering the clients a taxi. As the four of them spill out into the cold evening air, Dylan waits until Mark and Jonathan are disappearing out of sight around the corner of Henrietta Street before he takes Betsy’s hand and starts to stride towards the hotel.
They don’t bother with a drink in the bar, diving instead into the lift and heading straight to her room on the third floor. He doesn’t say a word, just grips her hand, and Betsy is too pumped full of adrenaline, despite the five glasses of fizz, to know what to do with herself. She’s leaving it to him; Dylan is deciding what happens next.
As they reach the end of the dimly lit corridor, Betsy’s room is there in front of them. They pause briefly while she delves into her tiny clutch bag, trying to locate the credit card room key that is going to make this door fly open so the two of them can do what Betsy has been fantasising about for months. As her fingers grapple with the clasp on her bag, she can sense him behind her, moving in closer. Then his hands are reaching around the front of her, gripping both her thighs and pulling her dress upwards. Where is the key?
‘Bee, have you any idea what I want to do to you right now?’
She turns to answer him and as she does, he pushes her against the door, collapsing the full weight of him against her, holding her there. He lowers himself so that he is planting a series of gentle kisses across the neckline of her dress, allowing his tongue to trace a line across the very top of her curves. And she knows she is going to let him do whatever he wants, there is no going back now. His breath is panting out of him as she starts to loosen his belt, they’re not even going to make it into the room. Betsy closes her eyes and widens her legs so that she can pull him in between them. As he grabs both her hands in his with an intensity that makes her want to drop to her knees, she can feel her engagement ring dig into the soft flesh of his palm, sensing his grip recoil slightly as it does.
‘Stop, Betsy, no. We can’t.’ The words might be escaping him but Dylan is making no attempt to halt his hands. They are around the back of her now, tugging at her knickers, teasing them even lower.
‘I want to. I want you, Dylan.’ There is no way she can stop this now.
Then he pulls back from her, a look of total anguish replacing the look of pure lust that was driving him a moment ago.
‘Christ, Bee, you’re getting married. I can’t do this to you. I don’t want to be that man. Shit. I’m sorry, this is entirely my fault. You’re better than this.’ He attempts to walk away but can’t force his feet to do what his mind is obviously telling them to.
Betsy wriggles her dress back down, suddenly feeling incredibly sober and exposed in the corridor. Dylan is holding his face in both hands, trying to get his breath back, telling her over and over that he’s sorry but he can’t do it.
She finds the key, lets herself in and slams the door loudly behind. She can hear him still out on the landing, pleading with her to please not be angry with him. As she collapses on the bed, shaken by what just nearly happened, she knows it’s going to. Not tonight, but soon. There’s no way either of them will be able to stop it. As the glint from her engagement ring catches her eye, it’s not Jacob she’s thinking about now. It’s her dad and what he’d think of her. The shame is enough to bring tears to her eyes – but not enough to persuade her that whatever started tonight should stop.
12
Helen
It’s a week after Helen called Nick and now the two of them are sitting at a table in the Coburg Bar at The Connaught hotel, allowing their hands to drop and find each other between the two wingback chairs they are nestled in. The room is dimly lit and alive with the soft murmur of all the discreet conversations going on around them. Shards of colourful light are being cast across the space from behind the rows of unfamiliar spirits lining the illuminated bar. They’re both sipping a martini and letting the scent of fresh Amalfi lemons evoke all the romance of the Italian coast. Everything is perfect.
Betsy is early. She arrived unexpectedly with her boss Dylan and after some brief introductions, those two are perched at the bar to discuss some ‘pressing work issues’, which apparently just can’t wait. No one, it seems, has registered that Jacob is nowhere to be seen. Helen’s pleased, though – it gives her the just-the-two-of-them time she promised Nick he could have if he joined them for dinner tonight. He’s being the perfect gentleman, not pressuring her or even mentioning their last lunch together, just allowing the evening to take them wherever it will. It’s unrushed and indulgent and just wonder
ful. Every time his fingers instinctively find hers and she feels his hold on her tighten slightly, there is a rush of something inside Helen that’s thrilling and nerve-racking and everything in between.
‘Can I see you this weekend, Helen? Are you free, or will you be working?’ Nick is wearing a sharply tailored navy suit and a baby-blue shirt that makes his eyes sparkle in the candlelight dancing between them. ‘Let’s go and see a show? Or how about a long walk, just the two of us, through Hyde Park, then lunch overlooking the Serpentine?’ He’s so alive with ideas, Helen can’t help but laugh and plot along with him.
‘Sounds wonderful. It will have to be Sunday though because I’m working at the London shop on Saturday, it’s so busy.’
‘You need some help, Helen. You can’t keep flitting between the two, surely? London one minute, Gloucestershire the next. I know you have someone who helps with the Cotswold shop, but still, it’s too much for one person to oversee, isn’t it? And you must be missing out on potential appointments, you can’t be in two places at once.’
Maybe he has an ulterior motive and just wants a larger slice of her time, but he is right, thinks Helen, it’s not sustainable. Although she has some solid staff now to help in the Cotswolds, bookings noticeably drop off when brides realise they won’t be seeing her. ‘It’s true, I can’t keep up with this level of juggling, it is a little exhausting but to get back to Little Bloombury, I need someone brilliant in London and, well, who? I’ve spent years building relationships with my clients, Nick, that’s why they come. I’d have to be really sure someone else could do it properly. I knew finding that person was the one part of the new business plan I could never rush.’
‘Let me help. I can put some feelers out, speak to some people who work in the retail business and put some suggestions in front of you…’
Helen should be jumping at this offer, but instead she’s distracted by what’s going on at the bar. Betsy and Dylan have turned to face each other. Their laptops haven’t been opened, but they have managed to drain two glasses of champagne and order two more. Helen can see that her daughter’s heels are resting on the foot bar of Dylan’s stool and his legs are open so that hers are positioned snugly between them. She can also see she won’t get a chance to raise the subject of Nat before Jacob arrives. She had hoped to mildly quiz Betsy on the subject, gauge her initial response to hearing Nat’s name, but no, not now, not tonight. There is an intensity to whatever they are discussing that does not suggest work, not to Helen anyway. And now Nick is noticing it too.
‘How is she?’ Nick nods in Betsy’s direction, doing exactly what Helen is, registering the intimacy between the two of them while desperately trying not to get caught staring.
‘Enjoying his company, I would say, wouldn’t you?’ Helen looks at Nick’s face, keen to see his response, hoping that Betsy knows what she’s doing and that she isn’t going to upset Jacob when he walks in.
‘I wouldn’t jump to any rash conclusions, Helen. Yes, they look close but remember, she brought him here tonight. She knows Jacob is on his way, doesn’t she? I’d say it’s probably a good thing she gets on so well with her boss. I hated most of mine before I had the guts to set up on my own.’ Nick dismisses her worries with a shake of his head and another sip of his martini, then helps himself to one of the giant green olives from the pewter dish between them.
Still, they both watch as Dylan raises a hand and gently tucks a loose piece of hair back behind Betsy’s ear. He does it slowly and deliberately and as he starts to pull his hand away again, Helen sees Betsy fleetingly close her eyes and turn her head towards it so that his fingers move gently across her face and down to her lips.
Nick and Helen lock eyes, neither saying a word, as a waiter approaches them.
‘Mr Delaney, your table is ready. Would you like to follow me through?’
‘We’re waiting for one more guest actually, would you mind if we give him another five minutes, please?’
Jacob is now twenty-five minutes late.
Helen stands and approaches her daughter at the bar, mildly annoyed now that Betsy seems to be doing nothing to find out what’s happened to Jacob. She is so engrossed in Dylan’s company, Betsy doesn’t see Helen until she is standing right next to them with Nick at her shoulder.
‘Is Jacob on his way, Betsy? Our table is ready.’
Her irritated tone makes Dylan pull back from Betsy and sit up straighter. Betsy stays exactly where she is, slightly draped over the bar with her legs crossed now, one leaning against the inside of one of Dylan’s.
‘I’ve no idea.’
Helen can see the champagne has given her an air of nonchalance about the whole thing. ‘Well, have you checked your phone – has he sent a text? Is he stuck in traffic, or train delays?’ Why hasn’t Betsy bothered to find out? She knows how important tonight is for Helen.
‘Why don’t I leave you guys to it? I’m sure you’ve got plenty to catch up on.’ Dylan signals for the bill to pay for their drinks, then pulls his stool back to untangle himself from Betsy’s legs.
Betsy reluctantly pulls her mobile from her bag and casts a quick glance at the screen. ‘There’s nothing from him.’ She clearly doesn’t want to initiate contact herself.
This is awkward, thinks Helen. Do they wait for him and try to push the time of their reservation back, or do they move to the table now? Betsy only seems concerned with the fact that Dylan is trying to excuse himself. Of course it’s up to Nick to step in.
‘Well, it looks like we’re going to be a man down, so why don’t you join us, Dylan? I can’t be expected to entertain these two all on my own, surely!’ He’s joking, of course, but Helen looks disappointed. It’s so important to her that Nick meets both Betsy and Jacob tonight; she’s only made the suggestion because she’s warming to the idea of Nick being part of their little family. Maybe what she really wants is his view on how Betsy and Jacob seem together. Does she really have reason to worry? With no emotional connection, Nick will be able to give her a rational response to all the questions troubling her. But only if Jacob bothers to turn up and he can see what they’re like together for himself.
‘Do you really think Jacob’s not coming, Betsy?’ Helen’s having a hard job believing he could be that rude, or even just so late, despite his behaviour the last time they saw each other.
‘I don’t know, but I’m starving. Shall we just go through?’ Betsy is off her chair now and gathering her things together.
There is a moment of hesitation from Dylan – this was clearly not part of his plan for tonight – but too late, the waiter takes his cue, and they’re off, across the bustling lobby and into a smart wood-panelled dining room with heavily draped tables. It’s definitely a special occasion sort of place, thinks Helen, trying not to let her disappointment at Jacob’s no-show ruin the evening Nick has planned so well for them.
Within minutes Dylan is seeking Nick’s advice on some renovations he needs to expand the London office space, and the two men are exchanging business cards. Then the subject of New York comes up.
‘Yes, we’re hoping to make a trip out there soon. I’m opening a New York office.’
‘We?’ Helen can see the delight on Betsy’s face, but Dylan surely can’t mean her?
‘Betsy and I, yes. I couldn’t do it without her. You have an incredibly talented daughter, Helen, but I’m sure you already know that.’
Perhaps any other time Helen would swell with pride to hear someone talk about Betsy this way but something about the look on her daughter’s face, how she is hanging off Dylan’s every word, is stealing all the pleasure from her.
‘Well, please do me a huge favour, Dylan, and get her to use the long flight time to tick off some wedding planning because there is a lot still to do.’ It comes out a little more clipped than Helen intends, but the point has been made.
Helen watches Dylan’s face closely. How will he react to that? Does he even know Betsy is getting married in less than two months from now?
And then she sees it. The very faintest falter in that perfect smile of his. A slight dip of the head – to hide his disappointment, perhaps. Then, the biggest giveaway, he changes the subject entirely.
‘You must have been to New York, Nick? Anywhere you would recommend we stay? Ideally, somewhere downtown since I think the new office space will be in the financial district.’
‘The newer Four Seasons is incredible, fabulous cocktail bar. Or there’s the W, of course, if you want something a bit cooler.’
As Dylan is plugging this information into his phone, it’s Helen who sees him first. She’s on the window side of their table, with an uninterrupted view back across the entire restaurant. Jacob’s suddenly standing in the entrance to the dining room, looking uncomfortably out of place and woefully underdressed. He has turned up to one of Mayfair’s finest Michelin-starred restaurants wearing a pair of faded jeans and some battered old sneakers. The maître d’ is having a word, furnishing him with details of the dress code, Helen can only presume. She’s not even sure they’re going to let him in. People are starting to stare and before she can adjust her face to look less alarmed, Betsy notices and spins her head around to see what has caught her mum’s attention.
‘Bloody hell, Jacob!’ The words seethe out of her.
Helen doesn’t miss the subtle sag of her daughter’s shoulders and the slow, disappointed blink of realisation that, for her, the dynamic of the evening is about to change considerably. Before anyone can say another thing, Nick is up from his seat and joining Jacob, speaking quickly and quietly to the host, then slipping his own jacket off and over Jacob’s T-shirted shoulders. Helen sees her daughter’s cheeks flush slightly at that and she feels the embarrassment on his behalf too. Why didn’t he look the place up, like anyone would?
As Jacob and Nick approach the table, it’s obvious there is nowhere for their latecomer to sit. The restaurant is full, with no chance of simply squeezing another chair in – it’s just not that sort of place. As Nick sits down, Jacob stands for a moment, looking like he has his father’s ill-fitting jacket on. Betsy simply stares at him, a look of mild disgust lodged in her brow, before she remembers her manners and introduces Jacob to Dylan, who is clearly doing a much better job of pretending this is all perfectly normal behaviour.