“A bit of sunshine and peace will help, I’m sure,” the woman said in a slightly nasal tone. It could come across as condescending, but one thing Rosalie had learned in the academic community was to take people at face value. Academics weren’t always cognizant of tone and body language, and it didn’t pay to read that much into things.
“It does make a change,” Rosalie said.
“Is Arthur here?” Paul asked.
“He’s here somewhere,” Margo said, looking around. “We’re sitting over at that table there, you should join us.”
“We will,” Paul confirmed and they moved away. “Margo is the dean of the school.”
“You’ve been telling her about me?”
Paul looked a bit admonished. “We do talk a bit, you know. Nothing prying. She knows dad, so naturally she asked about the family.”
They arrived at the table which had a stiff white table cloth on it and candles floating in a bowl. “The restaurant here is one of the best, so we should be in for a treat. The school is paying. It serves to mingle with these people,” Paul said quietly. “It is their kids we are educating.”
“So these are the locals?” she said, curiously looking around.
“Various expats. The odd local family. A hodge podge of people, really.”
Rosalie saw some stunningly beautiful people around the room, talking while holding champagne glasses. “Actually, I could do with a glass myself,” Rosalie said, looking around for a waiter. It wasn’t hard to catch the eye of one, a handsome boy who had to be of Spanish origin. Well, the waiting staff were a marked improvement on the pimpled students at Oxford.
Placing her glass down on the table, she decided she was pleased that she’d come. It would be good to spend some time with Paul. They had such a similar sense of humour, they couldn’t help laughing most of the time. She also got the sense that he might perhaps be a bit lonely.
At one point a woman came around with stiff hair and large earrings asking Paul how much he’d be willing to donate to the cause. She had a hearty laugh and placed her hand on Paul’s arm. Even though she had a good twenty years on Paul, he was flattered by the attention and offered five hundred euro, to which the woman clapped her hands in delight. No doubt a very successful operative in getting people to part with their money, Rosalie thought with a smile.
The champagne was lovely and it flowed endlessly, and Rosalie ended up having a good time. She wouldn’t remember half of the people she spoke to that night, intermittently returning to the table where Paul sat, also speaking to different people every time she returned.
Chapter 8
It was dark in the back of the Bentley where Alexi sat quietly with Malin’s hand in his. She was dressed in a white and silver dress that floated when she walked, skimming her slim and tight curves. Of course, she looked beautiful. A diamond and sapphire bracelet circled her wrist. She liked holding hands and it was a quirk he allowed himself to be pulled into for her sake.
“We won’t stay too long,” she promised, her eyes sparkling in the darkness. “An hour, just to say hello. It is a worthy cause.” Malin cared for the opinion of these people, what they thought of her. Like him, she was an outsider within this group.
Alexi didn’t really have anywhere else to go tonight and this was a noteworthy event. Many of Marbella’s most important families were here and it was a privilege getting invitations to these—a mark he was being accepted into Marbella’s most important circles. Another tick off the dwindling checklist.
Did he want to go? Hell no, but life was often about what needed to be done rather than what one wanted to do. He’d known this for a long time and it had contributed much of his success.
The outside space with its large courtyard was filled with people. This room represented a good portion of Europe’s money, congregated together.
“Mr. Sumneroff, it is good to see you tonight,” Bernie Fallerman said, shifting his cognac glass to shake hands. Fallerman was a drinker and started before everyone else. He typically got carted off by his wife before the end of the evening.
Malin immediately made her way to some of the wives, grouped together to discuss whatever entered their heads. The wives of Marbella could be vicious, but sheer wealth like his held their tongues, or maybe not. He wondered what they said about him behind his back. Thug, probably. Didn’t stop some of them from hitting on him. Some of these rarefied women would like nothing better than a bit of rough treatment. It held no interest for him. Prowling other men’s bedrooms was not how he bested the competition.
He spotted Toady Mells gesturing, which could only be a discussion on his golf swing. Markets and golf were more or less the only things discussed here. Politics wasn’t—because these men set both politics and policy. The politicians’ jobs were to sell it to the people who enacted it and to make it palatable to the broader public, even when they were robbed blind. A good politician could sell anything.
A woman in red caught his eye, a floating skirt in a slightly lanky walk. Something triggered in his mind, but he couldn’t immediately place it. A ghost of the past had just walked through his mind. Rosalie—that was who that woman reminded him of. Now there was a memory he hadn’t dragged out of the recesses of his mind for a long time. A twinge of discomfort followed as it always did. The path not taken. Ancient history best left buried in the past.
“Mr. Sumneroff,” a man said and Alexi turned. They always referred to him more formally. It was something he hadn’t managed to achieve here, the shift from formal to Alexi.
“Roger,” Alexi said in acknowledgement. “How is the Congo faring?”
“Good. Breakeven right on track.”
“Excellent.” Alexi had lent Roger money to expand a mine. Lending money bought people, just as it had bought Roger. Buying Roger was something Alexi had done when he’d first arrived and it had enabled him entry into this society. “We should sit down and discuss it sometime.”
Roger blustered, clearly flattered. It wouldn’t happen of course, Alexi was too busy to spend time with someone like Roger, but it didn’t hurt to feed the chickens every once in a while.
“Mr. Sumneroff, I’m so glad you could make it,” Magnolia Pihlford said. “I can of course depend on you to assist with the conversation effort to save these magnificent lynxes.”
“Of course,” he said. “Call my secretary in the morning and she will organise.”
Madam Magnolia smiled luridly in her ill applied makeup and patted him on the arm. “Good boy,” she said and Alexi smiled. The madams of society insisted on the structure, with them on top. The real structure underneath was much more complex, consisting of family connection, but also more primitive measures, such as masculinity, but most of all: money.
“You know Margo Rollinger, of course,” Roger said, pulling his attention back from Madam Magnolia. “She’s the dean at the business school here. A solid institution.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” the woman said, holding out her arm. Alexi knew an academic on sight.
“Maam,” he said.
“It would, of course, be such an honor to come have you speak at the school at some point, Mr. Sumneroff.”
“I am afraid I am too busy at the moment,” he replied bluntly.
“Understandable. The students would gain so much if you could spare some time. I must introduce you to Paul. Where is he? Paul!” she called and waved to a tall man. Again, undoubtedly an academic. Alexi wasn’t sure what it was, that slightly dishevelled look, just like his father had had when he’d been alive, a wary member of the communist party more out of necessity than belief in any of its principles.
As Paul walked over, Alexi tried to think of a way to extricate himself from this discussion, knowing full well that academics didn’t always pick up on the subtleties around someone declining their suggestions.
But with Paul came the woman in the red dress, and not only did she remind him of Rosalie, she was Rosalie. Alexi froze.
“You kno
w Mr. Sumneroff, Paul. I was just saying he should come speak to the students some time.”
“Yes, no, of course, brilliant.”
“Alexi,” Rosalie said, standing next to the tall man.
Alexi’s attention immediately went to the man standing next to her, studying his features. No this was not a husband, this was a guy he’d vaguely remembered from her pictures—her brother. The resemblance confirmed it and an urgent question faltered. He turned his attention back to her. “Rosalie,” he said with a nod, feeling what he could only describe as unease running through him. The past had formed solid and appeared before him.
She was tiny, the red dress hugging a slim body. Lipstick matched the colour of the dress, but it was the only makeup she wore. Academics were like that: half committed. She wore no jewellery besides a slim gold necklace, and unadorned nails. Light brown hair was held back with a clips. She looked older, her face more slim, but still pretty in a completely unconscious way.
Rosalie lived in her head. Her body was primarily for the purpose of carrying her mind around. Not that she was completely unaware of her physicality. He remembered well being buried in her thighs, her pants and cries of passion revealing how much she’d enjoyed it. It had been such a long time ago, a lifetime back, when they were nothing but two impoverished students. He’d been there on scholarship and couldn’t afford to eat anything other than what the dining hall provided him free of charge. She hadn’t minded. He had though, and when it had come time to make choices, the constant poverty of the academic life had not been enough.
“I had no idea you were here,” she said. There was no inkling of a lie on her face, even if most people in the world knew where he spent his time. Rosalie, on the other hand, was probably too caught up with her own life and pursuits to notice such things as current affairs or popular culture. “Do you live here these days?”
“I do,” he said, refusing to elaborate further.
“You know each other?” Paul cut in, looking incredulous.
“At Oxford,” Rosalie filled in, turning back to him. “You were there for … what was it? A year?”
“Yes,” he said. A year before he’d realised that Oxford was never going to get him what he wanted in life. Academics knew nothing of succeeding, or even spotting an opening opportunity. Oxford had been a waste of time. Rosalie had made that time more bearable, but in the end, he’d had too many ambitions to stay.
“Good to see you again,” Rosalie said reservedly. “You’ve changed.”
She hadn’t. She was exactly the same. Her cheeks a bit thinner perhaps and her hair kept shoulder length instead of longer, but otherwise very much the same.
“Darling,” Malin’s cool voice said as she appeared beside him, tall, slim and unearthly beautiful. “There you are. There is someone I want you to meet. Hello,” she said, stretching her hand out to Paul. “Malin.”
“Paul, from the business school,” he almost stammered. Malin had that effect on some men.
“Fantastic,” she said with a smile. Alexi knew she couldn’t care less and had dismissed the company already. Malin turned to Alexi, looking expectant, hoping he would come with her to be introduced to people she wished him to see.
“Here, take my card,” the dean said, drawing his attention back. “Please consider it. I’m sure it would be a rewarding experience for everyone.” Alexi took the card between his fingers.
As he shook hands with the brother, he saw Rosalie’s eyes discreetly travel down Malin’s form before her hand came up to her neck. Her eyes returned to him and she nodded. “Alexi,” she said and turned away.
For some reason adrenalin and fury coursed through his veins and he had no idea why. Biting down, he pushed it down and turned back to Malin. He wanted to run, feel his legs pumping, but for once he let Malin lead him away to be shown off to whatever insipid party she was trying to impress.
Chapter 9
Taking a deep breath, Trish stood outside Empire, waiting to go in. She’d decided to meet everyone there instead of going around to the girls’ house, giving herself the option to back out if it felt wrong. Empire was alright, but they went there primarily because neither she, Amber or Chrissy worked there. Nerves made her edgy and she wanted to go home, but knew she had to get over this hurdle. Everything would be fine once she’d just faced this.
Walking into the main space, the bass of the music rumbled in her chest and the lights made everything seem like it was moving. She looked around for the others, finally spotting them in one of the cushy seating areas. First she saw Chrissy wearing a coral dress, her legs looking slim and brown below its high, elasticated hem. Her boyfriend Nathan was standing next to her as she bounced slightly to the beat of the music.
Amber wore a tight black dress and high heels, and she was standing next to Cory, his sandy blond hair a little longer than when she’d seen him last. He looked good; he always did. Trish took a breath. It was just a matter of sucking it up and facing this.
“Hey,” Amber said brightly, tottering over on her heels. “I wasn’t sure you’d come. You look so good. I like your dress.”
“Thanks,” Trish said, looking down at the red, shimmery dress she wore. She’d bought it especially, feeling like she needed the boost of a new dress, and it matched her new hair, which wasn’t something she could say often. Nerves still bubbled in her belly, even though she hated it.
She felt Cory watching her and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Hey,” he said when she’d walked close enough.
She said, “Hey,” back and ignored him beyond that. While he made her uncomfortable, she wasn’t here for him.
“Do you want a drink?” Amber asked.
“God, yes.” Trish looked over at the crowded bar, but she didn’t mind standing in that line for a while, away from her friends and especially Cory. She walked over and tucked her clutch under her arm, waiting for one of the barmen to notice her. She’d already decided on a pre-mix.
“Hey, love,” Chrissy said, appearing beside her. “It’s been ages. How’ve you been?”
“Good,” Trish said, looking over at Chrissy who wore heavy foundation tonight. She looked good. Trish smiled. Chrissy had calmed down a great deal after Adelaide had left, going through a prolonged bitch mode as Adelaide started seeing Quentin. At the time Trish wasn’t sure she’d ever be cool with Chrissy again, but things had chilled out and Chrissy wasn’t so prickly anymore.
“You drinking tonight?”
“I might be tempted.”
“Well, don’t drink too much or Cory will probably have you on your back in some dark corner.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Trish said darkly. Or perhaps she wasn’t quite over her bitch phase just yet.
“I’m just kidding,” she said, nudging Trish in the ribs with her elbow. “He has been asking about you though.”
“And what have you been telling him?”
“That you truly, deeply hate his guts.”
Trish didn’t honestly know how she felt about the statement. It wasn’t that she utterly despised the sight of him, but she hated him, or more like, guys like him, who slept with anything going and then didn’t understand why you wouldn’t put up with that. ‘I’m so hot, I should be able to spread it around.’ Whatever.
She finally ordered and returned to the seating area, sipping from the straw in her drink. She’d ended up with a vodka cranberry at the last minute. It matched her dress.
Chrissy returned to Nathan’s side, running her hand up his back. They’d been together longer than Trish had thought Chrissy capable of, but maybe Chrissy had found the exception to her rule of guys never measuring up. Normally, Chrissy was too much drama for a relationship, but Nathan seemed to thrive on it. A good match, then.
Sitting down on the soft pillow, Trish crossed her legs and took more sips of her drink. The shift in the cushion told her someone had sat down next to her and she turned to see Cory. Oh, okay, she thought, feeling tension creeping up her back. Let’s go
there.
“How’ve you been?” he said with that infuriating partial smile of his—smirk maybe. He had the perfect lips, full and so utterly kissable—kissing so many, it turns out.
“Good,” she said. So apparently they were talking now. “Working mostly.” She felt his eyes on her and she looked away, out across the people dancing on the massive dancefloor. He was silent. God, this was awkward.
“I heard you have a new flatmate.”
“Yeah, Shania.”
“American.”
“She is.”
“I bet you miss Adelaide though.”
“Was there something I could help you with?” Trish said tartly.
Cory looked at her and for a moment she thought he’d get stroppy with her rudeness, but he didn’t move. “I was starting to wonder when you were going to come around.”
“Just felt like taking a break from the scene.”
“I hope not on my account.”
“Of course not,” she lied, in her head yelling, of course it was on your account, you arsehole, but she just smiled and took another sip of her drink.
“I just want us to be cool. I know it didn’t work out or anything, but we can be friends. I’d hate the idea that you were uncomfortable around us because of me.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Seeing anyone?”
“Not at the moment.” She didn’t bother asking the same in return because she was pretty sure he was sleeping with someone. Even when he didn’t mean to, he was sleeping with someone. These things happened by accident to Cory.
“Anyway, I thought I’d make sure everything was cool,” he said, standing.
“No, all good,” she smiled, wishing he’d just go and breathed a sigh of relief when he finally did. “Wanker.” She needed another of these premixes, she decided—maybe two.
Chapter 10
Trish’s appearance felt like a flaming beacon in the room and Cory couldn’t help his eyes seeking her out. Maybe it was her hair, which was the most unnatural colour he’d ever seen on a girl. It was hot though. Sexy. But that was the problem with Trish: she was always sexy in that irresistible way.
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