by Sharon Kleve
With Great Affection,
Your Niece, Tatiana Langdon
ABOUT SIBELLE STONE
For me, the battle with cancer is personal. I was diagnosed with cancer of the salivary gland seventeen years ago. The treatment was to remove a piece of my face. No chemo, no radiation, but having a surgeon cut my face was pretty traumatic. I was lucky, I had a great plastic surgeon and have been cancer free since then.
But, a month ago my niece, Megan, who was a beautiful bride this past summer was diagnosed with lymphoma. She just started chemo, but it’s going to a tough battle for a while. I know she’s got this, though!
Sibelle Stone is the pseudonym for award winning historical romance author Deborah Schneider. Sibelle writes sexy steampunk and paranormal stories, filled with mad scientists, dirigibles, and strange creatures. Deborah writes historical and contemporary romance. In her spare time Deborah creates Victorian costuming, makes jewelry and watches a lot of HGTV.
She lives in the Pacific Northwest and is employed by one of the busiest library systems in the country. She was named 2009 Librarian of the Year by Romance Writers of America and her other awards include and EPIC award for best Western romance
One Night in London by Kim Knight
Contemporary Romance
CHAPTER ONE
London Call Girl
Noon Park Lane, central London
It’s a grey and drab day in February, as I gaze out of the revolving doors of the Park Hotel at the winter sky. The end of the winter months can’t come soon enough for me, I think as I look out at the busy pavement, full with city workers on their way to lunch.
I’m behind the large reception desk of the Park Hotel in my smart receptionists’ uniform, and a freshly made up face. I glance around at all the luxury the hotel has to offer. Marble white flooring, a large curved black reception desk, a large screen TV and black leather sofas pushed against the walls. Park Hotel attracts some of the most high profile clientele. From both the UK and abroad. Another day another dollar I tell myself as the phone rings.
“Hello Park Hotel. This is Rita, how may I assist you today?”
“Hi, I’d like to book two rooms please, from tomorrow for two nights.”
“Certainly sir. We have single and double rooms available, as well as the luxury suites. How many people to a room?”
“Two luxury rooms please, just one person per room.”
“OK and your name sir?”
“Richard Clarkson.”
“I can’t see a previous reservation; will this be your first visit to the Park Hotel?”
Over the other end of the line, Mr. Clarkson’s accent makes love to my ear. I wonder where in the United States he’s calling from.
“No, never this is our first time. We’ll be flying in from New York for a business trip.”
“Great, we’d be happy to accommodate your stay. When you’re ready Mr. Clarkson, I’ll need to take your debit or credit card details to secure your reservation.”
As Mr. Clarkson reads out his debit card details, I smile and bite my lip. I imagine a tall handsome man walking through the revolving doors striding toward me tomorrow.
“Thank you sir. Have a safe flight. We look forward to welcoming you to the Park Hotel tomorrow.”
I replace the phone receiver and glance at the clock. Only five more hours to go of my seven hour shift. Don’t get me wrong I’m grateful for my job, and for the most part I enjoy it. Each day, a rush of rich and wealthy men and women come through the doors as guests. As for my second job as a call girl and dancer, other than the money it’s all about the thrill of the job.
“Hey Rita, how are you?”
Craig, the head chef walks in through the revolving doors toward my desk. He’s wrapped up in a thick scarf and a woolly hat.
“Yeah, same old, same old Craig. Nothing much exciting going on with me. What about yourself?”
“Yeah not bad, can’t complain. It could always be worse I suppose.”
I let out a small girly giggle and study Craig’s weathered face, with deep crease lines on his forehead. He reminds me of the famous chef Gordon Ramsey, as he removes his woolly hat and runs his fingers through his floppy mop of dark blond hair.
“So, what are your plans after work? I know it’s Monday but maybe we can go for a drink at the bar? I finish at 7:00p.m. tonight.”
“Ah Craig, I’m sorry I can’t. I’m on an early shift today I finish at 5:00p.m. and I’ve made plans after work.”
I try not to flush bright red at the thought of entertaining another one of London’s top executives, while I escort him to one of his business functions over in Kensington later this evening.
“No problem. Maybe next time?”
“Sure, it’s a date.”
Craig waves goodbye and makes his way over to the bar area to get ready for his shift. I turn my attention back to the revolving doors and look out at the damp grey London pavement, now filled with city workers rushing by trying to shelter from the rain. I hope the rain eases by the time I’ve finished my shift.
5:00p.m. James & Clarkson Partnership in Manhattan, New York
Richard is looking forward to tomorrow’s business trip to London. So much so, he decided to make the hotel reservations for him and his business partner himself, rather than have his PA do it. He’s not seen London in many years. The last time he recalls was after his divorce during the period he was free and single. At thirty- nine he’s happily divorced, and doesn’t intend on seeing if he can get marriage right a second time around.
The last he recalls of London was when he and fellow shareholder in James and Clarkson Ltd, Dan James, along with a few mutual friends hopped on a flight across the Atlantic to the “Old Smokey Eyes” for a week. That was many moons ago. He’ll never forget the diverse people, the narrow busy pavements of central London, and most importantly, the women. There’s something about British women, to Richard they ooze class, intelligence and style.
“Excuse me sir, sorry to bother you Mr. James is here to see you.”
Richard spins around and turns his attention from the coffee machine to Nina his PA.
“Sure, sure Nina send him in.”
“Will do.”
A few moments later Dan James swaggers into Richard’s office.
“Rich, hey you all set for tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I’m about to go over the meeting notes now and—”
“Nah, I mean are you ready for the thrill—real fun?”
Dan gives Richard a cheeky wink and he cottons onto what he means … the women.
“Of course! Ready is not the word. I can’t wait for the break.”
“Good, let’s go over the meeting notes one more time quickly, then go for a Beer. What do you say?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
5:00p.m. Park Hotel, London
I head to the ladies’ room to powder my nose before I clock off from my shift. Tonight I’m entertaining John Cavanagh, a Scottish client of mine who likes to wine and dine me at some of London’s finest restaurants. He and his business associates will dine at Gordon Ramsey’s Grill restaurant at the Savoy Hotel restaurant on the Strand in London tonight. Yours truly is his escort.
I exit the ladies’ room and walk out into the main reception area, making my way to the revolving doors. I say goodbye to Sophie my co-worker on reception. I then step out onto the busy Park Lane pavement. Damn, it’s chilly tonight. The rain has cleared at least. I clench the waist on my trench coat extra tight for some warmth, and double wrap my cashmere scarf before I start my swift walk along the busy road, in my running shoes. I head toward the bus stop by the corner of Marble Arch underground station and jump on the first bus I see heading to Victoria Station. Once there I’ll pick up a number two bus straight to Brixton in southwest London where I now live.
The atmosphere changes from a sea of city workers in suits swiftly making their way home in the cold chilly air, to a vibrant and buzzing boiling pot of diverse cult
ures and people, as I ride along on the top deck of the number two bus. I jump off outside Brixton underground station, then walk toward the Ritzy cinema. As I walk past, I see buskers standing outside Starbucks playing a catchy jazz tune on their saxophones. A crowd gathers to watch the two men display their musical skills. I drop a few pounds in their can of change as I walk past nodding my head to the beat.
Ritzy cinema’s outside area is buzzing and packed with film lovers sitting on the benches, smoking cigarettes and drinking their beers while they wait for their Monday night film to start.
One thing I love and missed about London while living in the midlands, in the north of the UK, as a Travel and Tourism student is the buzz and diverse people. No matter what time of day, this cultural spot of southwest London always bursts with locals and those that flock to the local pubs, bars and restaurants Brixton has to offer. In 1948, the first wave of immigrants, mainly from the Caribbean, came over to the United Kingdom and settled in Brixton. Now the area is so diverse, you will find anything from Caribs, Irish and Portuguese residents. In the 1980s, Brixton was a melting pot of tension between the local ethnic communities and the London Metropolitan Police, and a riot broke out. The community cried out for social change and racial justice.
Leaving the jazzy sounds of the saxophone and busy main road behind me, I turn off onto Flamenco Road and swiftly walk to number eleven, an old Victorian house.
Dashing up the stairs, I visualise my wardrobe and what outfit will be suitable to attend a dinner date, at one of London’s top Michelin star restaurants. I decide to go for a close- fitting black body-con dress, that’s off the shoulder. I’ll team up my little-black-dress, with my five-inch gold open-toe gladiator-style Christian Louboutin heels.
After a hot shower, I clean off the steam on the mirror and look myself in the eye. I’m Rita Lane, I’m thirty-five years old, single, and for the most part happy with this status. I don’t come from an affluent family, sadly. I was born and raised in south London by a working class Irish mother and father. Mum and Dad relocated to London in hope of a better life than what they had in Dublin, Ireland as a young married couple. In the 1980s, they set up a home on a large housing estate in Elephant and Castle south London. That’s where I grew up.
It’s easy to see how I got my escort name, Red. I’m five-foot-ten in height, a slim dress size twelve, pale skinned, with large almond emerald green eyes, a small straight nose and full lips. The name Red was given to me the day I walked into my manager’s office for an interview as a new escort. My mass of thick waist-length wavy red hair stunned Lou- Lou, or “the boss lady” as we call her, over at Elite Escorts of London in St Pancras Kings’ Cross central London. The day of my interview, she said to me “you’re stunning” and “very different looking” from her large collection of blonde, brunette and ethnic escorts. When I said my name is Rita, she laughed. “Too Irish sounding, “Red,” that’s your name honey.” Since then this is the name I’ve gone by as an escort and lap dancer around London. My phone beeps with a message just as I start to apply my lotion.
From: Elite Escorts
To: Red
Red, your client will meet you at The Savoy Hotel in the Grill restaurant tonight at 8:00p.m. One of our drivers will collect you at 7:30p.m. Your client has booked you for twenty-four hours until 8:00a.m. Enjoy! Lou-Lou.
With a smile, I think of the money I’ll make in the next twenty-four hours. With that thought, I finish rubbing on my lotion, then spray on a light touch of Chanel No5. perfume and slip into my dress.
CHAPTER TWO
R is for Redhead
8:00a.m. Gatwick Airport, London
Richard Clarkson and Dan James exit Passport Control at one of London’s busiest airports, and then head over to collect their luggage. Both men have a massive headache. Flying international first class both helped and hindered their journey.
Throughout the seven-hour flight from JFK Airport, New York to London, Gatwick Airport both men laughed, joked and drank Jack Daniels on tap like water. The two men then nursed their drunken states with the luxury of full flat reclining seats.
Stepping outside of the airport into the chilly winter air, both men pull on their winter coats over their suits and wrap up with a scarf.
“OK, this is us I think Rich.”
Dan says as he gestures with a nod, at the black Addison Lee taxi pulling up beside the taxi rank area. The driver lowers his window and calls out to them.
“Good morning gentlemen, I’m here for Mr. Clarkson and Mr. James.”
Both men smile at their driver’s crisp well-spoken English accent and wave.
Their driver promptly gets out of the car, then opens the door for both men, before he loads their luggage into the boot.
“I have here the Park Hotel as your destination gentlemen, is that right?”
“Sure is, thanks.” Richard chimes in.
“Is there anywhere we can stop to grab a coffee to go on the way?” Dan cuts in.
“Yes sir, we have a Costa Coffee on the way, just before we hit the A-23 carriage way to London.”
“Perfect, let’s not miss that!”
10:00a.m. Park Hotel, London
“Good morning sirs, how can I help you?”
“Hi the names are James and Clarkson. We have reservations for two luxury rooms, under the name of Clarkson.”
Richard confirms as he eyes the redhead behind the desk area.
You can knock me over flat on the floor with a feather. The two gorgeous looking men, standing in front of my reception area take my breath away. One of them is black, tall, athletically built with hypnotising light brown eyes. The other is tall, white, athletically built with a dashing smile. I’m not sure which one I’d rather … maybe both. I try to keep my eyes on the screen of my computer as Sophie checks them in, and hands over their room passes. Mr. Clarkson eyes me closely. I can feel him. I lean in a little toward my computer, as I tilt my head away from him to the right. To show off my bare neck. I lick my painted full lips and raise my lashes to look Clarkson in the eye.
Today, I’m wearing the shade “Sin” one of my favourite lipstick shades, from the M.A.C. matte lipstick range. A beautiful vampy brick red shade, it’s perfect for winter fashion. The first time I discovered this shade, my best friend and fellow waitress, Pearl at Stringfellows Gentlemen’s Club wore it as bold as brass one afternoon when we met for coffee. The shade, just like its name Sin suggests just how bold of a woman you need to be to wear it. In the day time especially.
Pearl is the total opposite to me, and the shade complements her chocolate colour skin perfectly. The day I saw her wearing it, I loved it so much we headed to the bathroom so I could try it on. Against my pale freckled skin, emerald green eyes and bright red hair, a complete vamp stared back at me in the mirror. I remember I smiled, I loved the dramatic look against my pale skin. At the sight of my bare neck, Clarkson pouts to hide a smile and looks at Sophie.
“Enjoy your stay, gentlemen.” I say as both men gather their bags and head toward the lift entrance.
“Did you get a load of them girl? Umm-hmm. Made my day. I love an American accent. Where do you think they’re from?”
I laugh at Sophie and look over at the lift, I catch Mr. Clarkson looking out at the reception area, just as the doors close.
“Yep, I sure did. Trouble is I don’t know which one of the two I’d rather! I took the reservation, they’re from New York.”
Sophie laughs a small girly giggle and smooths over her blonde hair she’s pulled up into a neat bun.
“Hmm. I’ll take ‘em both Rita.”
“Ha! Ditto.”
Richard and Dan freshen up and put on their sharpest suits and ties. They enter the lift to make their way to the hotel’s sixth floor conference room.
“Did you get an eyeful of the redhead on reception?”
“Sure did Rich. Now she looks like the kind of girl who can show a man a good time.”
“That’s what I mean abo
ut these British girls. Who in the world wears that shade of lipstick—for a day job, not an evening out or to a club?”
Dan lets out a laugh as he adjusts his tie.
“Code Redhead downstairs, the little vamp, that’s who. Business before pleasure Clarkson, we got a deal to make. Think about getting your rocks off later.”
Richard laughs as he slaps his friend on the back.
“Yo, I’m thinking about getting more than my rocks of with Code Redhead.”
Both men snigger as they exit the lift and walk into a large conference room. In the middle of the room there’s a large round solid dark wood table. On the table are four notepads with pens set out at each seat, and a large jug of water with lemons and ice. Along the right hand side of the room, dark brown leather sofas are placed along the wall, and a bar is along the left hand side of the room. The conference room is open, airy, and well lit, with large ceiling to floor windows covered with silver blinds. The view from the window looks out over Park Lane’s busy hustle and bustle of black London taxicabs, commuters, red London buses, city workers pounding the pavement and tourists strolling along on their way to Hyde Park, Bayswater or Oxford Street to shop.
“Great, they’re late.”
“Ah they’ll be here soon, probably stuck in traffic. Take a look at this traffic along Park Lane Rich. And we thought New York is bad.”
Dan replies as he shuffles the blinds. The phone rings and Richard snatches up the receiver.
“Hello.”
“Morning, is this Mr. Clarkson or Mr. James? This is Rita from reception.”
“Rita, hi, it’s Mr. Clarkson—call me Richard.”
A smile creeps across Richard’s lips as he stands up straight and puts his free hand in his trouser pocket.
“Morning, Mr. Clarkson—sorry, Richard, your meeting attendees have just arrived. I’ll send them up to you.”