by Susan Lewis
“Doesn’t everyone look wonderful,” she remarked, as they pushed rather than danced their way round the floor.
“Mmm, don’t they just,” said Bill, looking down at her, and she laughed.
“Your wife seems very nice. How long have you been married?”
“A couple of years. You?”
“Me? I’m not married any more.”
“But you still wear the ring.”
“I know,” she said, looking at her left hand. “I don’t know why. Maybe I should move it over onto my other hand.”
“How long have you been divorced?”
“A couple of years,” she said, and he smiled.
They could hardly be supposed to be dancing, they were stopping so frequently. Bill knew just about everyone, and introduced her to them all. She protested, laughing that she would never remember so many names, and begged him not to introduce her to anyone again, at least for the next two minutes.
He obliged, and devoted his attention to her.
“You haven’t told me yet what Conrad thought of your Mercer Burgess pitch.”
She grimaced. “Ah, well, that’s not easy. I think he liked it, but I’m not sure. Has he said anything to you about it?”
Bill nodded.
“He has? Well, aren’t you going to tell me what he said?”
“No.”
“No? No, just like that.”
“No,” he chuckled, “just like that.”
“Oh.”
“You’ll know soon enough,” he said, repeating what Conrad had said earlier, and she had to be satisfied. At that moment they came across his wife, dancing with Cole Wallace, and exchanged partners.
Ashley didn’t know Cole too well, but he seemed pleasant enough. And he danced well.
“So,” he said, twirling her round, “how are you liking us, here in New York?”
She smiled. “I’m liking you just fine. In fact, given the chance, I think I might grow to love it here.”
He raised his eyebrows, and chuckled. “Don’t you miss London?”
“Terribly, but it will always be there. I can always go back, if I want to.”
“But right now, you don’t want to?”
“No, I’m staying right here. Apart from anything else, I’ve got a major account to win.”
“Do you think you will?”
“Of course,” she answered. “Don’t you?”
“Of course,” he said.
She looked across the room, and through the crowd she saw Conrad talking to some strangers.
“The President of Warners,” said Cole, following her eyes.
A rather drunken couple fell against them, and Cole caught her about the waist. She laughed, and gracefully accepted the rather slurred apologies.
“I think it’s time we sat down again now,” she said, and Cole walked her back to the table.
Conrad didn’t come back, so when Bill asked her to dance again, she accepted, feeling annoyed with Conrad that he was ignoring them all.
“I was wondering,” she said to Bill.
He lifted his hand. “I’m saying no more about Mercer Burgess.”
“No, it wasn’t about them. But I’m determined to get it out of you one way or another. No, I was wondering why Ron and Cole came alone.”
“Ah, the answer to that is simple. Warners always reserve Frazier, Nelmes a table for six, and Conrad decides who the six are to be. He generally invites the Account VPs in charge of the accout. You, Cole and Ron, I believe.”
“Oh,” said Ashley, “so I shouldn’t feel honoured then?”
He chuckled. “Sorry, but this is quite usual.”
“And there was me thinking that Conrad had done something nice for me, for once,” and despite herself, she felt disappointed.
Bill looked at her. “Didn’t he?”
Ashley looked at him curiously. “No.”
“But didn’t he call for you, and bring you here?”
Ashley nodded.
“Then, I suppose you could say that Conrad did do something nice for you, for once. After all, he didn’t call for Ron, or Cole.”
She laughed. “Point taken.”
They were held up for a moment by the volume of people.
“Tell me,” she said, when they were able to move on again, “who did Conrad call for last year?” The question was out almost before she could stop herself, and seeing the look on Bill’s face, she could have bitten out her tongue. It seemed that everyone looked at her that way these days whenever she mentioned Conrad’s name, even her mother.
There was a slight commotion at the door, and Bill looked past her shoulder to see what was going on. She saw him grin.
“Right on cue,” he said. “Don’t look now but the answer to your question has just walked in through the door.”
Ashley looked, and immediately regretted it. Being shown to a table was one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen. She moved across the room with the elegance of a swan over water, and her bright eyes laughed as she stopped once or twice to exchange greetings with someone she knew. Virtually all heads at that side of the room were turned in her direction, and though she must have known it, she seemed unaffected. She had arrived with an escort of three men, and Ashley watched as they sat down at a table, not too far from theirs. Waiters rushed back and forth, bringing champagne and glasses, and small trays of delicacies. The woman dipped her long fingers into them, and put them into her mouth in the most outrageously flirtatious manner.
Ashley turned back to Bill. “Conrad brought her last year?”
Bill nodded.
“Who is she? She’s beautiful.”
“Candida Rayne. Top model and granddaughter of David Burgess of Mercer Burgess fame.”
“Oh,” said Ashley. “I see.”
“I don’t think you do.”
“Does he still see her?”
“From time to time, I think.”
“Would that account for Conrad’s personal involvement in the campaign?”
“Yes.”
Ashley looked away, and back to Candida.
“And yours,” Bill added.
“Mine?”
“All I’m saying is that when Conrad wants something, he knows how to get it. His methods may be a little convoluted at times, not to mention devious, but they seldom fail. And now, as we seem to have stopped dancing, shall we sit down?”
Ashley followed him back to the table completely baffled as to what was going on. But Bill would not be drawn any further on the subject, so she had to try and puzzle it out for herself. She didn’t know where to begin.
Conrad was still talking to the President of Warners when they returned. He was standing very close to where Candida Rayne was sitting.
Ashley turned to the bottle of champagne on the table, and picked it up. She had so wanted to enjoy this evening, but now everything seemed to have fallen flat. Perhaps a little more champagne would lift the sudden dip in her mood.
Bill’s wife, who had been dancing with Ron, came back to sit down too, and Cole, who had disappeared for a while, ambled up to them looking very down in the mouth because his devastating charms had failed to work on the starlet of his choice. Bill slapped him on the back and told him to try again later when she’d had more to drink.
Ashley watched Conrad as he extricated himself from the group around the President, and went over to speak to someone else. But it wasn’t long before he came back to their table again. He seemed to be in an extraordinarily good mood this evening, and Ashley thought that perhaps she could see, at last, why everyone else at Frazier, Nelmes had such a liking for him. This was a side of him she had never seen before.
Cole was sitting beside her; he kept her glass topped up, and not once did she object. She danced with him again, several times, and with Ron too, but Conrad didn’t ask.
It was much later, when Ron was in the middle of one of his mind-stretching stories, that Ashley found herself watching Conrad’s face, and actuall
y liking what she saw. Of course, he was extremely handsome, that she had never denied. But seeing him laugh was something new to her, and she liked it. Like so many men who smile infrequently, the impact of the smile when it did come was much greater than expected. But now he wasn’t smiling; in fact, he wasn’t even listening. His face was serious, and he was looking across the room at something else.
Ashley followed his gaze, and when she saw who he was looking at her heart skipped a beat. Candida was surrounded by men, quite clearly having a thoroughly good time. She tossed back her mane of blonde hair, and her eyes sparkled into those of her companions. God, men could be so hateful at times, fawning around a beautiful woman like she was some Greek goddess, hanging onto her every word. Why didn’t they just peel her some grapes and be done with it?
She looked again at Conrad, and saw that he was still watching Candida. Ashley turned away, moving herself so that her back was half turned to Conrad, and took Cole by the hand. He seemed surprised, but pleased, and with his other hand he stroked her fingers.
“You having a good time?”
She nodded, and hoped that her smile reached her eyes.
She didn’t actually like Cole stroking her fingers, so she excused herself, saying that she must find the ladies’ room.
When she returned, pushing her way through a cluster of people who were standing near their table, Ashley suddenly came to a stop. Sitting down in the chair she had vacated was Candida Rayne. Ashley looked around in panic, trying to think of somewhere else she could go, not wanting to return to the table. She was forcibly struck by an eerie sense of déjà vu, when almost a year ago now, she had returned from the ladies’ room at the Ritz and found Julian at her table, with Blanche. But that was completely different. Her feelings then were not what she was experiencing now. At least, that was what she was trying to tell herself. But what could she do? Bill was looking at her, so she just had to go and sit down. But there was nowhere for her to sit. Surely one of the men would get up. But she didn’t want to sit down at the table while Conrad was talking to Candida. And he was laughing. Candida was making him laugh, and Ashley felt a pang that she had never made him laugh like that. Not that she had ever tried. Was it really necessary for Conrad to look so deeply into Candida’s enormous green eyes? And why, when they were sitting at a table, did he have to hold her hand? Ashley was suddenly aware that her own hands were shaking, and she clasped them together to steady them. She realised, with horror, that she was jealous.
“Dance?” said a voice in her ear. Ashley turned, and found a complete stranger standing behind her.
“Please,” she nodded.
He put his arms round her, and began to sway her gently in time with the music.
She nodded and smiled mechanically in response to his Yuppie small talk, but almost wished that she knew him well enough to ask him to take her home. Her eyes kept straying back to their table; Candida looked like she was settled for the rest of the evening. Ashley watched as Conrad poured champagne into her glass again, and then lifted his own, to drink an intimate toast with her.
“Something the matter?”
Ashley looked at her partner.
“Relax,” he said. “You’re too stiff.”
“Sorry.” She moved her arms further round his neck.
“That’s more like it,” he said.
She laughed, and despite the way she was feeling, she started to flirt with him. She was determined, as long as Candida sat in her chair, that she would not return to the table. If need be, she would remain dancing for the rest of the evening. And her partner wasn’t so bad. Actually, he was rather good-looking. If Conrad wanted to take Candida home, Ashley was sure she wouldn’t have to take a taxi.
The music became even slower, and the man pulled her very close. Ashley didn’t object, and rested her head on his shoulder.
“No, no,” he said, lifting her head. “Not like that. Let me look at your eyes.”
Ashley looked into his face, and she could feel his hands sliding down her back. She did nothing to stop him. Catching sight of Conrad, who was now on the dance floor with Candida, she pushed herself even closer to her partner and pulled his head down to hers. His response was everything she could have wanted.
Then suddenly she felt her shoulder being grabbed from behind, and before she knew what was happening, Conrad was holding her in his arms.
The other man began to protest.
“Sorry, chum,” said Conrad. “My wife has reserved this one for me.”
Ashley gasped, and then giggled as the man turned away, clearly embarrassed, and not a little angry.
She turned back to Conrad. “Don’t you ever ask for a dance?”
“Sometimes,” he said.
“As I remember, you interrupted me once before at a party, when I was quite happy elsewhere.”
“And as I remember, you slapped my face.”
She giggled. “So I did.”
He was smiling as he said, “I trust you’re not thinking of doing it again,” and she felt his hand move across her back, and pull her closer.
“Can I butt in?” said Cole, coming up behind them.
Ashley looked at him in dismay.
“No,” said Conrad.
She laughed. “You seem to be rather adept at making my decisions for me.”
He lifted an eyebrow, and gave a lazy smile. “You’re a better dancer now than when I last had the pleasure.”
There were fewer dancers on the floor than before, and they were able to dance unmolested, and uninterrupted. He watched her as her eyes began to scan the room.
“Are you looking for someone in particular?”
Her eyes darted back to his. “No,” she said. “No, at least, well, uh, I was just thinking . . . where’s Candida? Won’t she mind? You dancing with me for so long.”
Conrad looked at her, surprised that she knew about Candida. “Should she?”
Ashley shrugged, and wished she could stop the blood that was rushing to her cheeks. “Well, isn’t she . . .”
“Isn’t she what?”
“Well, aren’t you, well, seeing her?”
“I was.”
She felt unaccountably pleased at the past tense.
“Would it matter if I was?” he asked.
“Matter? In heaven’s name, no.”
“I believe your husband’s in town,” he said, after a minute or two.
Ashley nodded. “My ex-husband,” she corrected him.
“Why? Does it matter?”
He grinned. “Yes.”
She looked away, flustered.
“I said yes.”
“I know,” she said. “I heard.”
“So aren’t you going to ask why it matters?”
“I don’t know if I should.”
“Why? Are you afraid of the answer?”
She felt her heart beginning to pound, and she wondered if he could feel it too. But he only chuckled when she didn’t say anything.
After several dances he took her back to the table. The others were still on the floor, so they sat down and Conrad poured the remainder of the champagne into their glasses.
“To a successful presentation,” he said, and touched her glass with his own. “I’d like you to meet David Burgess.”
“Of Mercer Burgess?”
“The same. I’ve organised a meeting for Tuesday morning. I think you should look on it as a final, and perhaps the most important stage of the review. It will be the meeting that will decide what is to happen, in perhaps more ways than one.”
She looked at him, and despite the impassive look on his face, she knew what he meant. She wanted to ask him why it was so important that she won this particular account. Why, when she was doing so well anyway, was he holding this one over her? She was beginning to feel that somewhere there was a grand scheme going on way above her head, and that she was a mere pawn in a much bigger game than anyone was letting on. Bill knew about it, of that she was sure, and obviously so di
d Conrad. But it was pointless her asking; neither of them would admit to anything.
She looked at Conrad again. His light-hearted mood of only moments ago had vanished, and again he was the cold and unapproachable Conrad she had always known. She tried desperately to think of a way to get them back on an easy footing, but it was no good, her own spirits were sinking fast. She felt miserable, sitting here with him, no one to interrupt them, unable to think of anything to say, or do.
She watched the deliberate movements of his hands as he picked up his glass, and then as he lit a cigar. From the corner of her eye she watched his face as, seemingly deep in thought, he looked out across the dance floor. Was he looking for Candida? Was he jealous because perhaps she was dancing with someone else?
Ashley turned away from him. She wanted the ball to end now, she wanted to go home, and think. She had had far too much champagne.
At last, Conrad’s car was brought round to the front of the hotel and René, the doorman, opened the door for Ashley to get in. She wanted to say that she would get a taxi, but she was afraid it would sound rude. At least, that’s what she told herself.
To her relief, Conrad drove in silence, and she made no attempt at conversation either. Five minutes later he was pulling the car to a stop outside her apartment block. He switched off the engine, and turned to look at her.
She smiled at him, a little uneasily. “Thank you for a lovely evening.”
He inclined his head, and slipped his arm along the back of the seat.
“I suppose I should be going in now,” she said, making no attempt to do so.
“Yes, I suppose you should.”
“Well, good night then.”
“Good night.”
She looked at him, and saw him smile in the darkness. She felt her heart begin to race again, like it had earlier, when he held her so close on the dance floor.
“Well,” she said, “thank you again. I really had a wonderful time.”
He was still watching her. She leaned forward to take her bag from the dash, and as she sat back again he caught her hand in his, and pulled her round to face him. Slowly, so slowly, he bent his head to hers, and kissed her on the mouth. Unable, not wanting, to stop herself, she wrapped her arms about his neck, and kissed him back.