‘Hi. Sebastian Spectre,’ he said, extending a hand towards the girl.
She looked at his hand, then gingerly touched his fingers with her own. ‘Natalya’, she said shortly, and turned back to her truffles.
Why was this mere boy seated on the top table and seated beside her, the sponsor? She recognized him from somewhere and he was unnervingly attractive; she’d tried not to think about how many years it had been since she’d spent a night with a hard-bodied youth.
‘And what is your involvement with the Tringate event?’
‘I’ve sponsored it.’ That should teach this haughty model.
‘You? You’ve sponsored this?’
‘Well, my father has, last year and the year before. What’s your involvement?’
‘I’m this year’s main sponsor.’ That should put this handsome rich kid in his place.
‘You?’ Sebastian asked.
‘My partner is Claude Perren.’
‘Ah, Mr Perren. How do you keep up with him?’ Sebastian mocked.
Natalya pierced him with an unsmiling stare. ‘What?’
‘Just he’s doing big things in Paris at the moment, isn’t he? Is he ever going to slow down?’ Sebastian asked, playing innocent.
‘Yes, he is. And no, he’s not.’ Natalya answered both questions curtly, torn between wanting to gloat about her famous connection and wanting to pretend that she was kind of single. She’d be foolish to jeopardize her future with Claude but the thrill of enslaving a man was addictive, particularly if he was good-looking and rich.
A waiter came round with a choice of red or white wine. ‘I would like vodka,’ Natalya said imperiously.
‘Certainly Madam,’ came the waiter’s polite reply and he returned immediately with a bottle of Grey Goose.
‘I’ll have some of that too,’ Sebastian told the waiter. He was about to ask for some tonic when Natalya picked up her glass and downed the contents in two gulps before calling for some more. Steeling himself, Sebastian swallowed his in three sips and tried not to splutter. Natalya tried not to betray her amusement.
‘So where is Daddy tonight?’
‘He’s at our place on St Barts. Where is Mr Construction?’
‘Buying the rest of France,’ Natalya smirked. ‘Do you have a girlfriend?’
There was a long pause. Sebastian downed another vodka and filled both of their champagne glasses from the bottle of Cristal on the table.
‘I’m kind of seeing someone,’ he said.
‘Lucky girl,’ Natalya whispered.
‘It’s nothing serious,’ Sebastian said.
Sebastian’s readiness to be ensnared was beginning to ruin Natalya’s fun. But then she caught sight of his thigh, taut and toned against the velvet chair. She took a long sip of Cristal and looked again at the gold name-card in front of Sebastian’s plate. Where did she recognize Spectre from?
Sebastian stole a closer look at the marvellous cut of Natalya’s dress. He was devastated to realize that it didn’t reveal anything when she moved or leaned forward. What a tease. He felt his BlackBerry vibrate in the pocket of his trousers and remembered he’d told Abena they’d hook up later. Guiltily he set the machine to divert all calls to voicemail. The truffle plates were cleared away and tender fillets of rainbow trout appeared on the table. Natalya wasn’t in the mood for fish so she placed hers on Sebastian’s plate. By the time the duck arrived, served on a bed of meltingly soft foie gras, the pair were laughing so much they neglected to eat anything. When the waiters came to clear pudding, Natalya was licking lemon and chilli soufflé from Sebastian’s quivering fingers. And by the time the petits fours were set down, Sebastian and Natalya were nowhere to be found.
‘Get it out!’ Natalya ordered.
‘What? Now?’
‘Get it OUT!’ Her fingers trembled as her hand found its way to the bulge in his trousers. Sebastian was alarmed and aroused in equal measure. His cock strained against his jeans but the stony expression on Natalya’s face was terrifying.
Eyes flashing, Natalya ripped open the top of his jeans and knelt down. And then suddenly her mouth was on him.
‘Sweet Jesus!’ He gasped as her tongue flickered across his cock. ‘And I thought you weren’t hungry earlier …’
‘Shut up!’ Natalya came up briefly for air. ‘I don’t want to talk.’
She grabbed Sebastian’s hand and pulled it between her legs. She moaned loudly at his touch, and then, suddenly, she was straddling him, rocking gently at first, then building up to a frenzy. And even though he was talking all the while, groaning, murmuring and stammering his encouragement, all Natalya could hear was the sound of angels and cherubs playing the violin while they floated, pink and chubby, in the clouds above. Yes, she thought, this is what heaven feels like.
Sebastian had taken Natalya to his country estate, having correctly guessed she’d be more impressed by his Sussex mansion than his London flat. Besides, he’d been fantasizing throughout dinner about sliding her naked down his father’s chute and having scorching sex in the pool.
So they made love, more slowly, in the pool, and again, frantically, on a sofa by the south terrace. Finally Natalya was sated. She knew she wouldn’t come again, so while Sebastian was going down on her she calculated the value of the house and its owners. About £9.5 million for the house, she decided, and £350 million for the Spectre family’s net worth – nothing on Claude. And besides, this one was clearly not the settling-down type. She realized his head was still between her legs.
‘OK, thenk you,’ she said, bringing her knees together sharply and sitting upright on the sofa. ‘I want to go now.’
‘Oh. OK, well, I’ll drive you to London, I’m going that way too. I reckon we’ve had a pretty good innings already.’
Natalya rolled her eyes. Why did the English always have to bring cricket into it?
Sebastian couldn’t resist showing off his Chelsea pad and Natalya couldn’t resist another orgasm, so they stopped for one last quickie on the way. Finally he dropped Natalya back home in Mayfair.
Chapter 19
For the fourth time in as many minutes, Abena checked her telephone for a sign that Sebastian had tried to contact her. She’d left a message saying she was going to stay overnight in Bristol and that she would see him tomorrow. She had thought the screening was in London, but it had turned out to be part of a three-day festival near Bristol. So she’d booked into the boutique hotel that Carey was staying at. As it happened, Benedict Lima was staying there too.
‘So anyway, what did you think of the film?’ Benedict asked Abena. ‘Yet another new adaptation of Romeo and Juliet, and still it had me wiping away a tear.’ He grinned sheepishly.
‘Really?’ Abena’s eyes slanted suspiciously. ‘I didn’t exactly have you down as the romantic after all those withering remarks about my boyfriend at the ball.’
‘Please. That wasn’t love, that was a grand gesture from a spoilt attention-seeker. All the world’s a stage …’ He trailed off when he saw how hurt Abena looked.
‘Sorry,’ Benedict shook his head, ‘but that’s not what I’m talking about. Imagine meeting somebody who is everything to you. Really everything, so that when they aren’t there then nothing is left in this life; you die because you can’t go on. I’ve sure as hell never loved like that.’
‘I hope you never will.’
‘You don’t want me to experience passionate love?’ Now it was Benedict’s turn to look hurt.
‘I want everyone to know life-affirming love. A love that makes you happier just knowing it exists. An honest love that doesn’t masquerade as passion when really it’s poison.’
‘But what about when it doesn’t exist? What if your lover dies, like in the film?’
Abena paused for a moment. ‘I think maybe the love can live on – just evolve, and change. The energy can be shared, transferred, grown, whatever. Why should it stay the same? I just don’t think love should cripple, make us less equipped to deal with the
world around us. I think it should strengthen us and make everything we encounter more exciting.’
Benedict was looking at Abena intently, a rapt expression on his face.
‘What?’ she said, quite sharply. ‘Can’t a girl who wears nice shoes have a real opinion?’
‘If you’ll stop treating me like a pretentious über-intellectual because I wear glasses, I’ll try to get over your stilettos. Deal?’
‘But I didn’t …’ Abena paused and laughed. ‘Deal.’
‘Have you heard anything from Mr Universe then?’ He watched Carey wonder off to the other side of the hotel bar to talk shop with some industry acquaintances over from New York.
‘No, it’s strange. Perhaps his BlackBerry is out of juice. He’s crap at charging it. It’s no big deal.’
‘Idiot!’ Benedict muttered with seemingly uncharacteristic aggression.
‘Hey, it’s no big deal!’ Abena laughed. ‘After all, I’m the one changing the plan – or at least I would be if he’d answer the damn phone!’
‘Actually it is a big deal. No one cares about manners any more but it’s just plain rude. No one deserves to be treated like that by their boyfriend, even an independent girl like you who can look after herself.’
‘How very eighteenth-century of you,’ Abena said drily. ‘Sorry, that was rude. Thanks for sticking up for me. And for looking after me at the ball. It was very sweet.’
‘I detest that word,’ Benedict cut in.
‘What, “sweet”? Why?’
‘Oh you know why! “Sweet” is what girls call their little brothers. Or their dogs!’
‘Nonsense, brothers are exasperating and dogs are smelly. Fine, don’t sulk. You’re clever. And a romantic. And sweet. How’s that?’
‘Hmmnn … Getting better …’ He offered her his arm and led her, slowly, in her precariously high heels, to the bar to buy a drink.
‘What would you like to drink?’
‘A glass of red would be great – you must let me get it this time,’ Abena pleaded. She remembered on the boat he’d said he was a runner, one of the few people in the world who earned even less than she did.
‘Don’t be silly, let’s get a bottle,’ he replied, pushing her £20 note away and handing his card to the barman.
As Benedict ushered her over to the corner and on to the comfiest seat, Abena was aware that she should really be trying to network with the high-powered crowd mingling in the bar. But she realized with a shock that really the only person she wanted to talk to was Ben, even if he could be infuriatingly stubborn regarding the central message of Romeo and Juliet.
Looking at her watch sometime later and seeing it was past midnight, Abena realized they’d been arguing and chatting for over two hours.
‘Look at the time! No wonder my stomach’s growling, we’ve forgotten to eat anything.’
They trawled the streets of Bristol in search of somewhere serving anything other than dodgy kebabs. By 1 a.m. it was pouring with rain. Benedict looked at Abena, drenched and shivering. Her hair was in two dripping pigtails, and what was left of her makeup was smudged about her eyes. He was struck by how adorable she looked. He forced a laugh. ‘How about room service?’
Benedict’s room was delightful, with hand-painted white floors, a cosy log fire, a king-sized four-poster bed and a vintage Chesterfield sofa in the corner. In an adjoining room were two distressed leather sofas into which they both collapsed.
By now quite drunk, the pair woozily discussed the other films they’d watched, until the arrival of two big, juicy burgers cut short their analyses.
‘My God it’s exciting to be allowed a burger once in a while!’ Abena whooped as she removed the silver cover on top of her plate. With Sebastian she always felt like a bit of a heffalump eating anything this awkward and greasy.
Once they’d eaten they moved into the bedroom to listen to some music and, sinking on to the Chesterfield, Abena swiftly realized how tired she was. Looking at Benedict, who had now slumped on his bed and removed his glasses to rub his eyes, she guessed he felt the same.
‘Wow! You should take off your glasses more – I had no idea you had those striking eyes … It makes me wonder what you’re hiding under that beard!’
‘You don’t like my beard?’
‘I’d just like to see your face, that’s all.’ Abena yawned. ‘I suppose I should really be going now.’
‘Stay a second, just one more song, my favourite?’
‘OK,’ Abena jumped up to join Benedict on the tall four-poster bed piled high with satin throws and plumped-up pillows. As the mournful voice of Bob Dylan caressed her ears she drifted off to sleep on Benedict’s shoulder. Gently he removed her shoes and covered her with the duvet. For a few minutes he watched the rhythmic rise and fall of her body. Then he stood, slowly so as not to wake her, and switched off the lights. He let himself into Abe-na’s empty room a few doors down and climbed into bed, alone.
****
Natalya,
If you have come to revisit the past, it will come back to haunt you a thousand times over. The past is DEAD and BURIED. Be careful.
Stan
Natalya’s tormentor had caught up with her and there was nothing she could do about it. It was the day after the Tringate Charity Fundraiser and she felt impotent and vulnerable. She knew that the police wouldn’t bother with her case, not after her false claim against Oleg. And besides, despite the insinuations, nothing in the letters was actually abusive. How were they to know how dangerous her father really was? She had no proof of anything, just her mother’s word that a man had come from England in search of a good time and in the process had ruined her life. He had destroyed her self-esteem and her confidence, and demolished her dreams.
Natalya didn’t dare contact her mother about these letters. It would only upset her, and make her beg her firstborn to return to Latvia. No, frightened as she was, the only way forward was to ignore the letters and not allow this ogre to control her life. Not when she was so close to her dream of untold riches, of financial freedom, for the first time ever. She was not about to throw all that away and return to hawking baskets in Riga’s Old Quarter. She would not be cowed by the evil that was her father. She would face him. And she would kill him.
If he did not kill her first.
Suddenly Natalya heard a voice and realized with a jolt that somebody was in the house. Her heart seemed to jump right out of her chest and as the figure advanced towards her she let out a long strangulated scream and backed away until she was stooped, trembling in his shadow.
Then she saw his face.
‘Claude!’
She sighed with relief as she jumped up, crushing the letter into a ball, and flung herself against him, nestling her head in his neck as though he were her beloved soldier husband returning from a war zone.
Claude smiled to himself as he kissed the top of her head. The strange, delicate thing loved him so.
****
Just five grand doors down the road from Monsieur Perren’s newly acquired residence, Reza reached for the loo roll. He was out of paper and made a mental note to fire the head housekeeper first thing in the morning. Sighing at the inconvenience he reached into the back pocket of his chinos and pulled out his wallet, from which he extracted three crisp, new £50 notes. Standing up, he reached behind and gave his rear a couple of vigorous wipes before scrunching the money into a ball and flushing it down the toilet. He pulled up his chinos, washed his hands quickly, ran a comb through his thinning hair and hurried out of his mansion. His Bentley was waiting to drive him to Southwark for an interview with the Financial Times.
Chapter 20
Abena decided to spend extra time on her getting-ready ritual that evening. She hadn’t seen Sebastian for a while and was surprised at how painfully she missed him. She knew it had been her decision to stay overnight in Bristol, but still, the number of times he called had dwindled from a few times a day at the height of his pursuit to absolutely nothing for a we
ek. But at least he’d texted earlier and explained that he’d been busy with ‘business’, whatever that amounted to, and that he’d make it up to her over dinner. Well, she’d blow him away tonight. Every so often a man needs to be reminded of how lucky he is. She hadn’t been sweating it out walking to work every day for fun. She did it to look as good as she could, and she hated to have to blow her own trumpet, but: toot toot!
Examining herself in the mirror Abena was finally satisfied with her softly applied make-up, the ‘natural’ look being, as usual, the most lengthy and laborious one to perfect. Her eyelashes seemed endless, framing her dark eyes, and the gold shimmer on her cheeks lifted her complexion and lent it an air of sunny vitality. The dark circles under her eyes, the result of late nights spent rowing with Tara about her habit, were untraceable underneath a deftly applied layer of Touche Eclat. Her lips were full and inviting and her long dark hair fell in tousled waves about her face. She threw her keys, phone, lip gloss and a spare pair of undies into her clutch bag and treated herself to a taxi.
Sebastian had excelled himself in his choice of restaurant, food being one of the only passions the couple truly had in common. He watched with amused appreciation as Abena devoured in record time a first course of lingua di manzo, salsa verde – ox tongue being a speciality of the exclusive Italian restaurant. He adored girls with good appetites. Women who didn’t cultivate and indulge their sense of taste were usually disappointing where other sensory pleasures were concerned. And by that he didn’t mean women should stuff themselves senseless on pies, burgers and sausages, rather that he was attracted to those with distinguished palates and adventurous tastes.
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