Devil You Know

by Bagshawe, Louise

  Daisy shook her head. Never mind about that. First, she had to find some tactful way to get rid of Magnus Soren. He’d been kind, and handsome, and funny, and smart … He deserved a gentle let-down.

  She was there to meet Magnus when the Concorde arrived at Heathrow on Monday morning.

  “Hi.”

  Soren kissed her on the cheek. He was wearing a black suit with a matching overcoat, a gold Rolex, and plain cuffs, and carrying a smart navy leather briefcase.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “I thought you deserved a welcome,” Daisy said.

  Magnus beckoned to his chauffeur, who escorted them out to the waiting car, a sleek Rolls-Royce.

  “What, no limousine?” asked Daisy, once they were settled in the back of the car and the partition had been rolled up.

  Magnus shook his head. “When in Rome, baby.” His green eyes looked curiously at her. “Are you being particularly supportive today? Because of the meeting?”

  “What meeting?”

  He sighed. “The Retson meeting. I take it you don’t read the Financial Times.”

  “Not usually,” Daisy said.

  “I have an important set of meetings this week. Soren Enterprises is attempting a hostile takeover of the Retson Group. If we get it,” he shrugged, “we’re on a different plane. Of course, their board of directors opposes it bitterly.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they don’t want to get fired,” Magnus said.

  “And you’d fire them?”

  “I sure would. They’re all mid-fifties, and they’re stuck in the management philosophy of the Seventies. We can do better. And we will.”

  Daisy found the way he spoke about it rather exciting.

  “You look like you’re spoiling for a fight.”

  He chuckled. “I am. I love it. Back in the old days, men used to conquer countries to get their aggressions out. Now warfare is corporate. I am convinced you get many of the same thrills, with a lot less pain.”

  “Unless you are a fired member of the board of directors.”

  Soren looked unrepentant. “They all have golden parachutes, for far more than they’re worth.”

  The car pulled smoothly and quietly between the lanes of traffic.

  “So you didn’t come over just to see me?” Daisy pouted.

  He looked surprised. “Daisy, I’ve never come over just to see you. I always mix business and pleasure. I don’t have time to do anything else.”

  “Oh…”

  “And anyway,” he added, “you and I, darling, are going to have to have what you Limeys call a chat.”

  “How boooring,” Daisy sighed. A chat. She hoped he wasn’t about to declare his love for her. Or dump her.

  “Let’s say tonight, at dinner. We’ll meet somewhere near you. You can leave a message with my assistant.”

  *

  Daisy spent the day in the Dorchester spa, getting a massage, a mani-pedi, and her hair and makeup done. She couldn’t concentrate on work, and she was feeling unsettled. In which case, she thought, the best thing to do was to look stunning.

  A chat. Magnus Soren wanted to have a chat with her. Daisy didn’t like the sound of that one bit. She liked having him around, she thought sleepily as her flesh was kneaded in a dimmed room to the sound of Tibetan wind-chimes on the CD player. Magnus was handsome, and fun. Business wasn’t Daisy’s thing, but she enjoyed seeing her date rip lesser men and companies to shreds. Like a tiger. Magnus was quite a bit older than Daisy, but for a businessman he was young, a babe in arms. And very masculine. She approved thoroughly of the muscled body and the brash cockiness. He’d earned it, hadn’t he?

  Daisy thought, with a stab of guilt, that Magnus Soren had been her perfect cover story.

  Of course, she hadn’t slept with him. That would be too much like cheating on Edward. Even though she was with Magnus, not Edward … It had never been about sex with Edward, she had never found him physically attractive, just mentally so.

  Magnus, now. Magnus was hot. But Daisy was a romantic. Sex had to be more than just satisfying some bodily urge, didn’t it? She would rather be Mrs. Edward Powers than have the best sex ever with Magnus.

  I’m just not a sexual person, Daisy thought. She’d slept with Brad, and so she wasn’t a virgin. But the way she remembered it it had hardly been worth the effort of undressing …

  *

  Magnus met her at seven at the Café Des Artistes. Daisy had chosen a feminine dress, all floaty chiffon and appliqué roses, and matched it with a chic little Chanel cardigan in pale green that played up her olive skin, newly blow-dried raven hair, and beautiful face, perfectly made-up.

  Magnus grinned when he saw her and kissed her hand.

  “Do you like it?” Daisy asked flirtatiously, twirling around.

  “To be honest? Not really.”

  Her face fell.

  “You’re so beautiful normally,” Soren said. “To me, you look best in a white T-shirt and jeans. All that makeup just obscures your skin. It’s like gilding the lily.”

  “I suppose I should find that flattering,” Daisy said.

  “I don’t bother with makeup myself.”

  “Very funny.”

  They ordered some caviar as an appetizer, then moved on to the hen lobsters. Soren ordered champagne; Perrier-Jouet.

  “Not Cristal?”

  “It’s hideously overrated. And overpriced.”

  “I thought money was no object to you.”

  “It’s not; I just don’t enjoy being ripped off.” Soren looked at her. Daisy was startled by the expression in his eyes. “And so, my beauty, it’s time for us to find out what the goddamn hell is the matter with you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Daisy said, taking a fortifying sip of champagne. It was cold, and it gave her Dutch courage. She didn’t want to have this conversation; Soren was making her squirm.

  “Why am I always attracted to problem women?” he sighed.

  “You date models,” Daisy scoffed.

  “Beautiful women have problems too. Take you, for example. You’re frigid.”

  Daisy started. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Just because I don’t want to sleep with you, I’m frigid?”

  “You do want to sleep with me,” Magnus said confidently. “But you aren’t admitting it to yourself. We’ve been seeing each other for months. We’ve had a good time.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you find me attractive.” He looked at her. “Don’t bother to deny it, Daisy.”

  “I do, yes,” she said, slowly. “Very attractive. But I’m not ready to sleep with you, Magnus.”

  “What? You’re waiting for a ring?”

  “Maybe,” she said, tilting her chin upward.

  His gaze moved over her skin, undressing her, his eyes focusing disturbingly on her breasts. “If that were true, I’d respect it.”

  “Don’t lie,” Daisy said, taking another big slug of her champagne. “Men need sex, you’d never stand for that.”

  “If I need sex so badly, why I am sitting here with you?”

  “You could have another girl in New York,” Daisy said mulishly.

  “I could,” he agreed. “But I don’t. If I did, I would hardly need to hide it from you. I’d just leave you.”

  “You wouldn’t wait until we got married,” Daisy insisted.

  “I’d just marry you.” Magnus shrugged. “Problem solved.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Actually, it is. You’ll find most things in life are simple.” His gaze narrowed. “You are one person who tends to overcomplicate them. That’s always a mistake, Daisy.”

  “I don’t need you telling me how to live my life,” Daisy hissed.

  “Tell me about my rival,” Magnus said, reaching across the table and refilling her glass.

  That surprised her. Daisy had told him there was someone else in the beginning, when they
were at the farm in Dutchess County, but Magnus had never mentioned it again, and neither had she. Daisy had assumed he’d forgotten all about it.

  “That’s … private,” she said.

  “Is he married? Oh, don’t look so surprised. I’m not as dumb as you must think I am. If he were single, you’d be with him, you wouldn’t be sitting here with me.” Magnus shook his head. “Saving yourself for a married man who doesn’t want you. How counterproductive.”

  “How the hell do you know he doesn’t want me?” Daisy said, tears blinking under her lashes. She gripped her champagne flute forlornly.

  “I told you, dear. Things are simple. If he wanted you, he would have got a divorce, and he’d be with you.”

  “Well.” Magnus discreetly passed her a handkerchief, and Daisy angrily dabbed the tears away from her eyes. “You’re wrong, as it happens. He does want me. And he will be getting a divorce.”

  She pushed her plate away. Magnus reached into his pocket, took out a sheaf of fifties, and threw some down on the table.

  “I’ll take you home,” he said.

  *

  When Magnus’s car pulled up outside Daisy’s building, she felt a stab of remorse.

  “Look, I’m sorry how things—”

  “Don’t be. And don’t look so unhappy. I firmly believe in following your destiny. However, my destiny is not to be another man’s placeholder.”

  Daisy went upstairs to her apartment and watched the long black car steal away through the traffic. There was an ache in her heart. But that was natural, right? It had been an enjoyable friendship, until he had started talking about her relationship with Edward.

  She went into the bathroom to wash off the careful makeup job he hadn’t liked. Oh well. Maybe he’d call her tomorrow and they’d still be friends. She knew he was in town for a week.

  *

  He didn’t call. Not the next day, nor the next. Daisy found herself looking at the calendar, wondering if he would call from the airport.

  Nothing. Her phone didn’t ring. Daisy told herself it really didn’t matter. After all, the important thing was that she was going to see Edward.

  She spent the weekend in a fervor of excitement. Finally, she was going to be reunited with him.

  Fifty-Two

  When Tuesday morning came, Daisy remembered Magnus’s advice. She wore no makeup at all, just Clarins day cream and a spritz of rosewater, and she chose a relaxed pair of Joseph navy slacks with a simple cream silk shirt and pearls.

  When she arrived at Edward’s London townhouse, a beautiful Georgian place in Kensington, Daisy wasn’t even nervous. She felt strangely calm. There would be nobody here but herself and Edward.

  She rang the bell.

  “Daisy.” Edward appeared in one of his trademark dark suits. “Come in, won’t you?”

  She smiled warmly at him and walked into the house. Typical Edward: paintings, faded carpet, beautiful dark woods everywhere.

  “I ordered lunch delivered from a restaurant,” Edward said, showing her into the dining room, which was laid out beautifully for two. “I hope you don’t object to risotto?”

  “Not at all.” Daisy sat down, feeling his lack of comfort and slightly enjoying it. She felt powerfully in control.

  Edward uncorked the wine; Château Lafite, Daisy saw, wasted on her, but still, a nice gesture.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked, pouring her a glass, then sitting down in the carved chair at the head of the table.

  “Not really.” Daisy sipped the wine and took a small forkful of risotto. “I mean, it’s delicious, but this lunch really isn’t about food, is it?”

  His face shadowed. “No.”

  “You wanted to talk to me about Magnus Soren,” Daisy said.

  Edward’s pale, drawn cheeks actually flushed slightly. “Ahhm. Yes. I hope you don’t think it’s too presumptuous, but I really think you’re making a mistake.”

  “And why is that?” Daisy asked triumphantly.

  “Because the man’s a playboy. He’s ruthless, he has a string of girls. Pretty girls … none as pretty as you, of course…”

  Edward’s gallantry was making him tongue-tied. He plowed on. “Ahm, and you said you were thinking about having a child with him. But the man’s a bounder. He’s suggesting this and he hasn’t even proposed. You and any child you might have would be very dear to me, and you would both deserve better than that. I really can’t stand to see you throw yourself away like this.”

  “I’m very dear to you? How dear?”

  “Very dear,” Edward said. “I’m surprised you can even ask the question. After all our years of friendship.”

  She waited, but he didn’t go on.

  “Just friendship?” she prompted.

  “What?” Edward said, blinking owlishly.

  “For goodness’ sake, Edward. Why did you call me here except to tell me you love me? It’s not as if I haven’t always known it. You loved me back when I was fat.” Unexpectedly, she started to cry at this, but she went on, even with tears trickling down her cheeks. “You always waited for me. And marrying Wina, you did it too fast, you made a mistake, and now you want to put it right. I know it’s difficult.” He sat stock-still, staring at her. Daisy put a manicured hand gently over Edward’s bony one. “But now is the time, or you’ll be trapped forever.”

  Her words broke the spell. Edward snatched his hand away, spluttering.

  “But—but that’s not it at all. My God, how could you have got it so wrong?”

  He was a dull red now, the tips of his ears livid with blood.

  “What … what do you mean?” Daisy stammered.

  “I love Wina. Do you think I would invite you here to—to—” He looked outraged. “You think I think so little of my wife … that I would … that I…”

  Edward pushed back his chair and stood up. He took a deep breath; he was devastatingly, cuttingly formal.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  Daisy didn’t move. She couldn’t. She felt sick and dizzy, and as though she were going to faint.

  “But Edward! Didn’t you love me at Oxford?”

  “Yes. Then,” he said, his tone clipped and icy. “Then. When you did not return my feelings I moved on. Something I would advise you to do.”

  Daisy stood up. The tears of emotion had become wrenching sobs. She was almost hysterical. Edward looked to right and left, huntedly. Some part of her brain knew that he would not throw her, tear-drenched and gulping, into the street.

  “Calm down,” he said, “for pity’s sake.” His face softened. “I’ll get you some kitchen towel.”

  “Th-thank you,” she wept.

  Edward came back with some sheets of kitchen towel. “Here. Now look, Daisy.” He ran a thin hand through his hair. “You must have been interested in me because I liked you when you were … heavier. But the point is, you were worth liking then and you’re worth liking now. You always made things so hard on yourself. You’ve always been interested in the wrong sort, or people you couldn’t have. I think perhaps,” he said, looking very relieved, because Daisy’s sobs had subsided to miserable snuffles, “perhaps you don’t think you deserve to be loved. At any rate, think about it. About yourself.”

  He waited by the door, and she stumbled into the corridor.

  “But can I call you? Can we talk about this?” Daisy said plaintively.

  “No,” said Edward gently. “I’m afraid we can’t. I think it would be best if I didn’t see you at all for some time.”

  His words were soft, but they had the impact of an oncoming train. Daisy managed a nod and stepped out into the street, with its merciless sunlight, and people looking at her red eyes.

  She heard Edward Powers shut the door firmly behind her.

  *

  Daisy never remembered how she got herself home. She knew she must have cried the whole way. It felt as though her heart had been ripped out of her chest while she was still breathing.

 
Somehow she found herself back in her flat. It was the middle of the afternoon, sun streaming through the windows; her maid had been round, and the place smelled faintly of disinfectant mixed with fresh flowers.

  Daisy went into the bathroom to blow her nose. She was a mess, red-eyed, tear-stained. She looked haggard and drawn, despite her good night’s sleep and a month’s pampering.

  A broken heart could do that to you.

  She sat on her bed and stared into space until the sun went down over North London, and twilight blue calmed her down. She felt detached from her body; no appetite, no interest in anything. But she forced herself to go and take a bath.

  The warmth of the water revived Daisy just a little. She couldn’t pretend to herself anymore that Edward Powers would ever be hers. Her timing had been off, totally off …

  Through the bathroom door she hadn’t bothered to shut she saw the vase of pink roses, the color of sugared almonds, she’d bought when the last flowers Magnus had sent had died. Magnus. Now she’d never see him again either.

  Magnus had told her she was frigid. That she was overcomplicating things.

  Frigid? She just wasn’t that interested in sex. Like most people, probably.

  Then Edward had given her that psychiatry crap.

  Why did men want to run her life? She didn’t want advice. She just wanted love, Daisy thought.

  But something was nagging at her. A sneaking suspicion that Edward might have, in some tiny way, a point.

  No question she had messed things up and kept messing them up. Her love life was about as successful as English cricket.

  Maybe it was all about Daisy, all about how she saw herself. Daisy went to the bathroom mirror and tried to look past the heartbreak pallor and the bloodshot eyes. Yes, she knew she was beautiful. And if not conventionally clever, well, so what? She had done wonders with her life—she was young, and successful, and she’d looked after her parents …

  The first faint tinge of shame started to creep into her thoughts. It was no good trying to cheer herself up with what a great person she was. She’d just tried to take a married man away from his wife. Edward had told her she had a problem with self-esteem; Magnus Soren had told her to grow up.