"What makes you think I'm ... shagging your dad?
"There's candle wax on the bedroom floor and ‘Music for Lovers’ in the CD player. My dad eats breakfast with a stupid grin on his face. Then he asks me three times what my plans are for the day, and he tries to put the coffeepot in the refrigerator. You have the same stupid grin, and your cardigan is buttoned up wrong. What am I supposed to think?"
"Oh?” Georgina looked down her front, and saw the child was right. All least about her buttons. She started to fix them. Rick's watchstrap rattled as her fingers worked their way down the cardigan.
"What's that? Andy asked, eyeing her hand with curiosity.
"It's your father's watch,” Georgina said. At this point, she decided the smart thing was to drop all pretense. “He left it on my bedside table."
"I was wondering why he asked to borrow back his old one,” Andy said. “So, are you going to be his girlfriend now? Are you going to keep shagging him?"
Georgina frowned. “If you say one more word, I'll repeat this conversation to him. All of it."
"There's no need to get all hot and bothered.” Andy looked offended, and then she frowned at Georgina. “I thought my dad was going out with you tonight. He got all glammed up, like. He was wearing a new suit."
"Oh? What kind of suit?"
"A real sharp one. It had two rows of buttons on the front. And he put some yucky stuff in his hair."
"Do you know where he's gone to?” Georgina asked. Dear God, she was pumping the child for information. Did she have no shame at all?
"He always leaves contact details in case there's an emergency.” Andy stepped back and shifted through the bits of paper stuck on a cork notice board in the hall by the front door. “I don't have to stay with Mrs. Donati unless he's going to be out all night. Tonight he said he'd be back by eleven. Here.” She handed a piece of paper to Georgina.
"He's gone to the Marriott,” Georgina blurted out.
"Right. He'll be in the restaurant. But I can only call if there's an emergency."
"Got it,” Georgina said. “This isn't an emergency. Just give him the watch."
Andy hesitated, turning the watch over in her hands. Then she passed it back to Georgina. “I think you should give it to him. Otherwise he'll know that I know. You know what I mean?"
Georgina stared at her. “You're not going to tell him that you know?"
"Of course not!” Andy looked horrified. “It would embarrass the shit out of him. I'll just have to pretend I'm dumb."
"But you told me."
"Or course,” Andy said, raising her hands in the air and sounding exasperated. “I can tell you. You're cool. Dad's a jerk. All men are jerks."
"I see.” Georgina nodded. That was one proverb proven right. Out of the mouth of children came the truth.
Georgina accepted the watch and waved Andy a distracted goodbye. Then she raced up to her apartment, where she rushed into the living room and flopped on the sofa. Every nerve, every muscle in her body had gone completely numb. She stared through the balcony window at the cotton-wool clouds sailing in the fading evening light. Tears welled up in her eyes.
Then, with a jerky motion, she pulled the telephone into her lap and dialed Annabel's number. “Annie. I'm sorry to bother you at home."
"Are you all right?” Annabel said. “How did it go last night?"
"It went to plan,” Georgina replied miserably. “That's not the problem."
"There's some other problem?"
"Yes.” Georgina gripped the cord and began to wind it around her hand. “He left his watch in my apartment."
"Why's that a problem? If you don't want to see him again, you can just shove it in his mailbox."
"I've just been down to his apartment to return it.” Georgina's voice became shrill with distress.
Annabel let out an audible sigh “And...?"
"And he's gone out. To the Marriott. All glammed up. In a new suit with two rows of buttons, and yucky stuff in his hair."
"What are you talking about?"
"That's what Andy said. His daughter."
"This guy has a daughter?"
"Annie, will you go out to the Marriott and see who he's with? I have to know."
"Don't be so stupid,” Annabel said. “Why are you so upset?"
"I slept with him,” Georgina wailed. “And now he's gone out on a date with someone else. I need to know if I'm just a notch on his bedpost. I can't go and check it out myself. It would be too humiliating to be caught spying on him. Will you go? I'll send a taxi to take you there and back."
"No,” Annabel said firmly. “I've just opened a bottle of Merlot and I've got The Last of the Mohicans on DVD. I'm not going anywhere."
"Annie! Please. I don't want to be a notch on someone's bedpost."
"Too late for that,” Annabel told her. “You should have thought about it before you started your idiotic project."
"I've got to know what the other woman is like. If she's a blonde bimbo with big boobs, I'll know he's a moron, and I can stop thinking about him."
"Let me make some phone calls,” Annabel said with a resigned sigh. “I'll try to find someone to go with you. You can pretend you're out on a date, and it's just an amazing coincidence that you've gone to the same restaurant. It will be obvious, but it won't be as humiliating. I'll call you back."
Georgina paced up and down the apartment while she waited. The instant the phone rang, she snatched up the receiver.
"You won't believe this,” Annabel said. “I've found you someone who's already at the Marriott. He's an art dealer. He is doing a private showing for some important clients. He's hired a function room to display the works. You can pretend that you're with him."
"Do you know this person?” Georgina asked. “Will he mind?"
"He's a good friend. I told him what the problem is. He'll help you. When you get to the Marriott, go up to the reception and ask for Trenton Wakefield III. They'll tell you where to find him."
It took Georgina twenty minutes to find a limo service that could dispatch a car immediately. Then she dressed in her evening clothes. The little black velvet dress by Oscar de la Renta had sequins at the collar and cuffs and looked suitable for a business function. She fastened her hair on top of her head. Then, almost as an afterthought, she went to the small wall-safe at the back of the bedroom closet. Punching in the numbers of her birthday, she waited as the door whirred open. Then she pulled out several leather cases in varying sizes.
Pearls give a girl a touch of class. Georgina watched her reflection in the mirror as she fastened Grandma Ethel's five-strand choker around her neck. And gold gives you courage, she decided as she clipped on a pair of big square earrings.
Plain black shoes with medium heels on her feet. A Chanel bag dangling over her shoulder. A Platinum American Express card clutched in her shaking fingers.
She had everything she needed—everything except her pride and dignity.
* * * *
Georgina had imagined Trenton Wakefield III as a stern middle-aged man with thinning gray hair and a lanky build. Sort of Abraham Lincoln type, but without the beard.
The man who handed her a glass of champagne when she entered the business centre at the Marriott was no more than thirty-five. He had the tanned skin and the sun-streaked curls and the lean body of a surfer. Only the sober suit kept him from looking like an aging beach-boy.
"Are you Georgina?” he said. “You're absolutely perfect."
Georgina frowned at him. “Perfect for what?"
"To repay a favor with another favor.” He guided her to the open doorway. “Can you see that canvas on the easel at the far end?"
"The one with the young chap in a ponytail standing next to it?"
"That's the one. Walk up to the painting and admire it. Go gaga over it. Say you've got to have it. Ask the young man lots of questions. He's the artist."
"What? Does he need his ego boosting?"
"No. Do you see the couple in the
corner? The brassy blonde? With the old guy in tow?"
"The woman wearing the red dress that's too small?"
"That's the one. She wants the painting, but sugar daddy is being tight-fisted tonight. But I know the guy well. He's incredibly competitive. If you march up to the painting and announce that you're buying it, he'll decide that he wants it. He'll elbow you out of the way."
"Let me get this right. You want me to go inside and pretend that I want to buy the painting standing on that easel?
Trenton Wakefield III nodded, contemplating her with a pair of twinkling blue eyes. “Yes. Do you think you can do that?"
"Watch me,” Georgina said. She handed her champagne glass back to him. Then she strolled into the room. She lingered a few seconds over a cluster of mediocre seascapes, before making her way over to the nude portrait propped up on the wooden easel.
"Wow,” she said. She froze on the spot and stared at the painting. “This is excellent.” She turned to the artist and raised her voice. “I didn't really come here to buy, but you might be able to persuade me otherwise."
"Trent does the selling,” the ponytail said. His fresh complexion and plump cheeks were as far as one could possibly get from the image of a starving artist.
"Did you use a live model?” Georgina quizzed him. Bending closer to the painting, she observed the couple from the corner of her eye. The blonde was tugging the old guy's arm, trying to steer him back toward the easel.
"I used a live model for the body. The face I took from someone else. I painted that from memory."
Georgina examined the painting. “That's a shame,” she said.
"Why?"
"Because you were in love with the girl whose face you painted. You were not in love with the girl who modeled for the body. There's a mismatch in how you portray them."
"That's the idea,” the artist said. “If you don't get the one you truly love, you'll always know the difference."
Georgina stared at him. Then she gave a decisive nod. “How much?” She could hear the clip of heels behind her, and she knew that the blonde was getting near.
"Trent does the negotiating,” the artist said.
"I'm not negotiating,” Georgina told him with an arrogant toss of her head. “I'm asking for the price of that painting."
An aggressive voice boomed behind her. “I'm afraid it's reserved."
"Oh?” Georgina turned. She succeeded in looking down her nose at a man who towered several inches over her. “I don't see a red dot on it."
"We were hesitating between the nude and the still life with fruit,” the man said. “We've decided on this.” He gave her a belligerent stare.
"Wait a minute,” Georgina challenged him. “If you have only just made your decision, then I'm in the queue before you."
"Cue?” The man said. Ignoring Georgina, he turned to his lady friend. “What's she talking about?"
"I think she means line, Harry. She is trying to say she is in front of you in the line to buy that painting."
The man returned his attention to Georgina. He puffed up his chest and bristled.
At that point, Trenton Wakefield III drifted over. He slipped his arm around Georgina's shoulders. “Georgina, honey, I'm so sorry, but Mr. Sykes did express his interest before you. He's a longstanding client. I really do owe him the courtesy of first refusal."
"Even if I outbid him?” Georgina said in an icy tone.
The art dealer pulled his arm away and cast a hurt glance at her. “Georgina, honey, you know that's not the way I do business."
"In which case Mr. Sykes needs to make up his mind,” Georgina said. “I've just sent the Gainsborough to Sotheby's, and there's a faded square on the dressing room wall. I need something to cover it up. That nude would be perfect."
Trenton Wakefield III turned to face the couple. His voice rang smooth and apologetic. “Mr. Sykes, if you are not quite sure, then perhaps it might be best if you let the painting go to Miss Coleman."
The blonde tugged at her companion's sleeve. “Please, Harry. I'd be real grateful. She rubbed her fingers over his arm and leaned forward to display cleavage. “Real, real grateful,” she purred.
"Sure, Claudia, sure,” the man said expansively. “It can be an early Christmas present."
"Thank you, Harry.” The blonde wiggled up on her toes and planted a kiss on the old man's cheek.
"I guess I'll have to see if anything else catches my eye,” Georgina said petulantly. She addressed her next comment to the woman. “Where's that still life?"
"I'm afraid that's also reserved.” The old man slapped his lady friend on the rump. “More suitable for the dining room, if you know what I mean."
"I guess it's not my day.” Georgina gave the art dealer a curt nod. “The least you can do is buy me a drink at the bar. Something stronger than champagne. I need it tonight."
"I'll escort you up as soon as I've dealt with Mr. Sykes's purchase. Why don't you have a look around anyway, while you wait?” He left Georgina with the artist. Next to a pile of empty packing crates in the corner, a trestle table was set up with a laptop computer and a printer. He sat down and prepared the invoices.
A few minutes later, Georgina and Trenton Wakefield III stood in the elevator on their way up to the restaurant on the first floor.
"So, you think your boyfriend's done the dirty on you?” he said. The twinkle in his eyes made Georgina's temper flare.
"He's not my boyfriend,” she said curtly.
"No need to take it out on me. Although I do owe you. I'll pay you commission. You were excellent."
"Don't bother. Just stand next to me and pretend you're with me."
"Are displays of affection required? I'd be happy to kiss you.” He sent her another amused look. “I can assure you, it wouldn't be a hardship."
Georgina found the edges of her mouth curving up. “I'll let you know,” she said. “For now, just concentrate on standing next to me and looking gorgeous."
He tugged at the lapels of his suit. “That, I can handle. By the way, it's Trent."
"I know,” Georgina told him. “With a numeral. I thought you'd look like Abraham Lincoln."
Trent roared with laughter. He was still smiling broadly when the lift came to a halt and the doors slid open. Two matronly women in floral polyester dresses waited outside. They stopped in the middle of their conversation and gaped at Trent, as though he was a Greek God stepping down from Mount Olympus.
"This way,” he said, taking Georgina's arm. “I'll buy you that drink."
The long bar was lined with mirrors that multiplied the array of bottles. Georgina asked for a glass of sherry. She ignored the people leaning against the counter. Instead, she craned her neck to inspect the dining tables through their reflection in the mirror.
Crystal and silverware glinted over white damask cloths. She failed to spot Rick in any of the occupied seats. Perhaps he wasn't there at all. Andy could have made a mistake. Georgina whirled to face the room. She scanned the tables again, less concerned now about being seen.
At the opposite end of the room tall windows that overlooked the street were framed with heavy dark drapes. Outside, the daylight had faded. Candles flickered in glass bowls over each table and cast a warm glow.
Georgina let her gaze roam. At first she carried on past Rick, not recognizing him. He sat at a table in the far corner, some twenty feet away from her. He was dressed in a boxy suit with big shoulders, and his hair was slicked back. A striking Hispanic girl wearing a low-cut petrol-blue dress sat next to him. Georgina watched as Rick bent his head to the girl and kissed her lightly on the lips. Then he dragged his mouth along her jaw and nibbled at her ear.
Georgina's lungs stopped working and she thought she was going to choke. She clenched her fists until her nails dug into her palms. Somehow, she got her breath back. She could still remember exactly how it had felt to be kissed by Rick like that. Now she knew it was just a move. Something he pulled out of his bag of tricks when it suited his
purpose.
"Let's go,” she said to Trent. “I've seen enough."
"It's not the big guy in the awful suit, is it?” Trent said with narrowed eyes. “Georgina, I credited you with some taste. What's going on?"
"I want to leave.” Her eyes pleaded into his. “Just get me out of here before I burst into tears."
"He's not worth it. Trust me.” Trent wrapped an arm over her shoulders and pulled her close. “He's a fool to trade you for that floozy."
"She is beautiful,” Georgina said quietly.
"So are you,” Trent replied. Georgina could feel the gentle pressure as his lips brushed against her hair. She wanted to bury her face into his shoulder and sob until her heart stopped hurting. Instead, she squared her shoulders and fiddled with Grandma Ethel's pearls.
"That's the spirit,” Trent said. “Face him down."
"Oh no.” Georgina drew a sharp breath. “He's seen us. He's getting up. He is coming this way."
"Do you want me to kiss you? Show that bastard you're doing great without him?"
Before Georgina could reply, Rick had crossed the floor and stood next to them. “Georgina,” he said in a voice so flat it sounded dead. “What are you doing here?"
"My friend is running an art exhibition down in the business centre.” She gestured at Trent with a shaking hand. “I've been helping him. What a surprise to see you in here.” In the back of her mind, she stored a reminder to find something Andy wanted so badly it would allow her silence to be bought.
Rick turned to Trent. Georgina let out an audible gasp as she spotted the small gold hoop in Rick's left ear. Something inside her shifted and settled, giving her strength. Why was she getting all worked up about a man who was so obviously lacking in taste? Her heartbeat steadied, and her mind filled with a strange calm.
"Rick,” she began, but broke off with a sudden cry when he gripped her forearm so hard she knew the skin would bruise.
"Don't say my name,” he growled. “And don't mention it to your friend.” He gave her a piercing stare. “Do you understand?"
"No.” Georgina met his eyes. “As a matter of fact, I don't."
"I'm working,” Rick said. “It's not what you think."
"I don't think of anything,” Georgina said.
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