by Karen Swan
‘I know, it’s incredible what they’ve built up; so quickly too.’
‘Do you enjoy your job?’ he asked.
‘I love it there, I love everything about the job – the variety, the daily challenges, no two days are ever the same. Ordinarily, I’m the Corporate Partnerships lead here; I only relocated from London five months ago.’
‘And why did you move?’
There was a question. She gave a sort of chuckle, wondering what she could say. ‘Well, Jack needed help developing that side of the business here for one thing. It wasn’t practical to keep managing all our link-ups from London alone. There’s big business here that we weren’t tapping into, and our membership here belongs to a different culture; it’s a different clientele. We need to make sure we’re offering a personalized fit, whilst still maintaining a global reach. So that’s my remit.’
His eyes narrowed, as though alighting upon something. ‘What was the other thing?’
She had the feeling he hadn’t heard a word she’d just said. ‘Sorry?’
‘You said they needed help developing that side of the business here for one thing. What was the other?’
Her mouth opened but it was a moment before any sound would come out. ‘Well, I had always wanted to live in the Big Apple of course,’ she said, her finger and thumb rubbing together. ‘It was the ultimate dream come true for a country girl like me.’
‘. . . I see.’ His expression changed, and it was as though an arctic wind had blown through the door. She felt suddenly cold, chilled. He went to stand. ‘Well, it was nice to meet you, Miss Marston.’
‘W-wait!’ she said, jumping to her feet and staring at him in alarm. What had she done wrong? ‘Where are you going?’
‘I believe I was very clear that I cannot work with people I don’t trust. And it seems I cannot trust you.’
What? ‘But you can,’ she protested desperately, not caring that the men on the sofa had stalled their conversation to openly listen to theirs. The bodyguard was on his feet too. ‘Please—’
‘No, you are lying to me. And if you would choose to deceive me over something as trivial as this, how could I ever trust you on the important things?’ He glowered at her, those eyes which had been so warm and approachable just moments before, now fathomless and blank.
The bodyguard was standing by his shoulder now, looking down on her as though she was a potential risk to her client. She stared at Alexander, panic coursing through her like a pinball, that he was leaving, that she had blown it again. First Rosaria, now him.
He turned to leave.
‘I . . . I had my heart broken. The man I loved got engaged to someone else,’ she blurted out, her own eyes suddenly hot and wet. She felt humiliation that she had to say it out loud, to have her weakness and shame paraded in front of him. Him, of all people! ‘That was why I came here. I couldn’t stay in London after that.’
Alexander paused, his chin tilted up interestedly.
‘I’m s-sorry,’ she stammered. ‘I should have just come straight out with it, but I didn’t think it—’ She swallowed. ‘I didn’t think it would be interesting, or . . . or appropriate, even, to confide something personal like that to you. It’s not supposed to be about me.’
He took a step closer to her. ‘Of course it is,’ he said strongly. ‘Don’t you see? This relationship is personal. If we go ahead, you will know more about me than my own wife. My mother. Do you think that can work if you are a stranger to me? Do you think it is not relevant that you have uprooted your life because of this man, that you have had to start all over again?’
She swallowed, shaking her head anxiously as his eyes held her up again as surely as hands under her arms. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I have to know you will be honest with me. I require – no, I insist – upon full disclosure every time, no matter if you think it is unimportant or trivial. I will decide what matters.’
‘Absolutely. Of course.’
‘I am a man with many enemies, Miss Marston – it is impossible to reach my station without them. It is part of the process and I accept that. But it means my friends become even more important. Trust is everything.’
She nodded, blinking rapidly to push back the wetness in her eyes.
He stared at her for a long moment and it was like watching the winter snows melt on a meadow – beauty, colour and softness emerging from the frozen blanket. ‘So, you came all the way to New York to escape the man who broke your heart, huh?’ He nodded. ‘That tells me you are impulsive, strong, independent . . .’
He was leading her back in to a second chance, an opportunity to redeem herself, to save this situation. ‘Yes. It was a sort of “now or never” moment,’ she said quickly. ‘I found out on the Thursday. I was here by the Monday.’
‘A woman with the courage of her convictions, I like that.’ He looked impressed, his sternness all but gone now. ‘But tell me this – is New York far enough away from him, this man?’
‘Oh yes, plenty far,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s over. Done.’
Steven came back with their drinks, hesitating as he saw their toe-to-toe stand-off, the bodyguard hovering. Alexander gave an almost imperceptible nod and the bodyguard stepped away, Alexander stretching one arm out to receive his drink.
‘Then that deserves a toast,’ he said as she received her drink too. ‘You know, we have a saying in Russia: you do not miss the cow until the barn is empty.’
Chloe fixed her smile in place. Huh? Joe Lincoln had pretty much likened her to her Labrador and now Alexander Subocheva was likening her to a cow?
‘Whatever your Englishman did, he must know by now he has lost something very precious.’
Was he right? She thought back to her conversation last night with Tom, him wanting to come over here, chasing her down.
‘I, on the other hand, make a point of appreciating the cow. I have built my career by seeing opportunity where others see only difficulty; I do not let my cows leave the barn.’ He smiled. ‘I mean to say, Miss Marston, that his loss is now my gain. So I propose a toast to absent friends—’
‘Absent friends,’ Chloe said with hearty agreement.
‘But also to us – I believe this is the start of a beautiful working relationship.’
She let him clink her glass, the sound sonorous and sweet as she allowed herself to relax once more, victory snatched from the jaws of defeat. ‘To us.’
Chapter Eight
‘Listen, the dude is paranoid as,’ Xan said, standing on his beloved skateboard and jigging side to side on it beside her desk. ‘I heard the Kremlin, the FBI and Lorenzo Gelardi have got tails on him.’
‘Oh, you heard this?’ Chloe grinned, sitting back in her – Poppy’s – chair and sipping her coffee. ‘Well I didn’t know you had eyes in the FBI,’ she teased. ‘Why didn’t you say? That shit can be useful.’
Xan pouted. ‘You did well to wind his neck back in, is what I’m saying.’
Chloe spluttered at his surprisingly correct deployment of a British colloquial phrase. ‘Oh, Xan!’ she said, crossing her hands above her heart like a proud mother. ‘My work here is done.’
His eyes brightened. ‘Yeah? Did I get it right?’
‘You can move to England and live like a native,’ she laughed, just as her phone rang again. ‘Hello, Chloe Marston speaking,’ she said, watching as Xan air-punched his way off, in search of more gossip and hopefully a bag of peanut M&Ms. ‘Oh hey, Mike, how are you? How’s the album coming along today?’ It turned out that when Mike was ‘back in contact’, he really was back in contact. He called at least every couple of hours and Chloe felt she had a better grasp on his week than her own.
‘Fucking slowly, since you ask,’ he rasped. ‘Turns out our lovely lead singer, thanks to his four-day bender last week, has come down with what looks like a nasty case of the clap – balls the size of coconuts and pus oozing from . . . well, I don’t like to be indelicate but let’s just say it was from a place where pus should
n’t ooze.’
‘Yikes, I’m sorry to hear that,’ Chloe replied, covering her eyes with her hands and trying not to gag.
‘Yeah, ’e’s in a right state; rolling around, groaning – although that’s probably the comedown as much as anything.’
‘Comedown?’
‘From the smack. We’re gonna need a medic out here quick, someone we can trust to keep quiet. I can’t get anyone local, it’d be all over the island quicker than a dog with two dicks.’
Chloe pulled another face. ‘No, quite.’
‘Sort it for me, will ya? We only got the studio booked another two weeks and at this rate, we ain’t even got a B-side. I need him doing that thing he do by tomorrow.’
‘Absolutely. I’m on it. I’ll text you an ETA when I get it.’
‘Thanks, babe.’ And he was gone.
Chloe shuddered; even just the conversation made her feel grubby. ‘Right, I need a doctor in Hawaii,’ she murmured to herself, clicking open the West Coast file. ‘Doctor in Hawaii . . .’
Behind her, an uptick in the buzz of conversation registered vaguely as she scrolled to see who headed the team in the LA office, her ears picking up on the sound of chairs being scraped back, greetings hailed. She punched the number in the phone and pressed it to her ear, listening to the ringing tone as her eyes slid to the small mirror on the corner of her screen. Jack was coming out of his office. Lifting her head, she saw why.
‘Well, well, well, the prodigal son returns!’ Jack said wryly, leaning against the doorframe and watching as Tom moved slowly through the room like an A-lister on the red carpet.
Her jaw dropped open at the sight of him. This couldn’t be happening. Not only had he defied her express wishes that he not come here, he must have pretty much caught the next plane after she’d hung up on him; she clearly remembered he’d said he was coming out next week! Had he known she’d try to dodge him again – take some annual leave or hide out in the Hamptons for a bit once she heard he was coming over anyway? Ducking her head down low below the line of the screens, she watched the action, her heart pounding at triple time that he’d caught her on the hop, unaware and unarmed. She glanced in the small mirror again to find her cheeks were flushed and she cursed herself for reacting to him.
She watched as Tom got to his old friend, stopping several metres short and throwing his arms out. There was a pause before Jack walked into them, the two men backslapping one another like brothers, genuine affection flowing between them. They had been friends since prep school, sharing almost a lifetime of memories together.
‘How are you holding up, mate?’ Tom asked.
‘All right. You know how it is.’
‘Yeah, I do. You look like shit.’
Jack cracked a smile, running a hand through his floppy hair. ‘What are you doing here? Did I miss a memo?’
Tom gripped Jack by the shoulder and squeezed. ‘I just wanted to show my face and give my support. It’s been a crap week, right? I thought you could do with a helping hand. I bet you’ve barely slept.’ Jack shrugged but the dark circles under his eyes told the truth. ‘How’s she doing, our Pops? Any change?’
‘Same. Holding on.’
‘Shit, mate, I’m sorry, I know what she means to you. All of you,’ he said, suddenly inclusive, sweeping his arm round and collectively, psychically, gathering the team in his embrace as his gaze swept the room.
In the mirror, she saw his eyes find her – or rather the back of her – the phone still in her hand even though the ring tone in her ear was now a disconnected alarm. They stayed on her for a moment, the confidence in his expression flickering momentarily, like lamplights during an electrical surge.
‘The papers have gone nuts back home,’ he said, pulling his gaze back to Jack.
‘I’ve seen. I’ve been fielding calls from reporters all week.’
‘Just hang in there. They’ll lose interest soon.’
There was a pause. ‘. . . Mmm.’
Tom frowned but Jack simply nodded his head in the direction of his office and walked into it. Tom glanced back at the office, taking in their group quizzical look. ‘Everyone, drinks at the Howard at 6 p.m. tonight, on me. I hope to see as many of you as possible; it’ll be good to catch up. We could all do with a little light relief after the week we’ve had.’
His eyes slid over to her back again – still inert, still all he could see of her – before he followed Jack into the glass office and closed the door.
The rest of the team dispersed, that familiar buzz of chatter filling the room again as their two leaders stood with crossed arms and deepening frowns. What were they discussing? Chloe wondered, spying from her make-up mirror. She watched Tom as he began to pace, looking good – so good – in his skinny brick chinos and pale-blue shirt. His swept-across hair was longer and he’d lost a little weight from when she’d seen him last; both changes suited him, goddammit, making a play of his already sharp cheekbones and emphasizing his blue, lively eyes.
‘Well that sounds fun,’ Xan said, across the way, eyes dancing with mischief.
She lifted her head up to see him properly. ‘Huh?’
‘Drinks tonight with our handsome co-founder. It’s not often he blesses us with his presence. You gonna come?’
‘Oh –’ She pulled a sad face. ‘Can’t. I’ve already got plans.’
‘Yeah?’ He looked crestfallen. Without Poppy, their little gang felt fundamentally diminished. ‘Not even a quickie?’
‘Sorry, I’m going for dinner with Elle.’ She felt bad about lying, but then again lies were simply part of the landscape with Tom. Always had been. They tainted everyone he touched.
Xan smiled affectionately at the mention of the name. ‘And how is that girl?’
‘She’s great. She’s got a new gig now at that cabaret place in Midtown. Oh, what’s it called?’
‘Not Feinstein’s/54 Below?’
‘Yeah, that’s the one.’
Xan gave a low whistle. ‘Then she’s going places. She’ll get a recording deal no problem if she’s playing there.’
‘Hopefully,’ Chloe sighed. ‘She’s so good, she deserves to find an audience.’
‘With that glorious hair and bod of hers, I can already see the album cover,’ Xan said with a sigh. ‘Glitter eyes, liquid satin . . .’
‘We’ll make sure you get the styling credits.’ She chewed on her pen lid, watching him. ‘So you’re actually planning on going to the drinks tonight then?’
‘Of course. We love it when Tom comes over.’ Xan winked at her.
‘I take it that’s the royal we?’
He shrugged happily.
‘You’re not his type,’ she grinned.
‘How would you know?’
‘Because I know his fiancée.’
‘Spoilsport.’ Xan wrinkled his nose and disappeared below the parapet again.
Chloe stared at her screen for a moment, not seeing it or her reflection in it, but Tom’s fiancée Lucy, with her symmetrical smile and perfect teeth, sleek blonde hair that never had roots or frizzed in the rain, her neat figure and predilection for ballet pumps that seemingly encouraged her to hop and skitter lightly, like a fawn. Tom had told her he was going to break it off with her, promised her; he’d said that it was only the fact she was so fragile that had stopped him before . . .
She blinked, breaking the reverie, shaking off the spell. What did it matter what he’d said? It was bad enough that she’d believed him for so long. But he had made his choice, finally, and she’d made hers. Her life was here now and she had a client with a client with the clap. She was needed!
Picking up the phone again, she dialled LA and got down to business.
It was a hot night, one of those times when the very walls of the city seemed to sweat, disgorging its citizens onto the streets, people swarming everywhere – sitting on the steps of the brownstones, leaning against the walls of bars, bare feet kicked over the balconies of terraces and tiny verandas. She walked home
at a shuffle, still eating the popcorn she hadn’t finished on her own in the cinema; it was cold now and not how she liked it, but holding the box against her chest, one hand dipping in every so often, it was something to do. She felt restless and agitated, like a night moth that couldn’t settle, throwing itself at the lights, wings beating frantically.
When she rounded the corner onto Perry Street and saw him sitting on the steps of her building, it wasn’t surprise that she felt. Deep down, she had known he would come looking for her, just as he had probably known that she wouldn’t go to the drinks. They knew each other too well. The only time he had ever surprised her had been on that Thursday lunchtime, when she’d seen him – them – coming out of Asprey on Bond Street with bright eyes and loving kisses, the cab whisking her past in silent dismay, her face pale behind the glass as if she was watching through a TV screen, a voyeur of her own tragedy.
By the time he’d realized she knew, she was already in New York, taking up the new post she’d created for herself. Jack had been taken aback by the sudden speed of it, naturally, but Tom – unable to tell the truth – had been forced to corroborate her story, and the transfer had gone unquestioned; Jack had been trying to get her over here for years anyway.
And her escape had largely worked. Apart from accidentally picking up his FaceTime earlier in the week, she’d done well at avoiding him, making sure they were never alone on conference calls, blocking his emails on her personal account, his texts. What was there to say anyway? Asking another woman to marry him was hardly accidental. And if she was being honest, it had been on the cards all along, Chloe had just refused to face up to it. She had wanted to believe the promises he whispered in her ear – that Lucy was more of a friend than anything else, that accepting her father’s seed money in the business made it difficult to extricate himself from the family, especially when a return on his investment was all but impossible during their rapid global expansion roll-out. Chloe had told herself over and again, as she spent Christmas and birthdays without him, that he was simply trying to do the honourable thing, the right thing, by a woman and her family who had bound him as tightly to them as any wedding band. He was in a fix, already beholden to a woman he didn’t truly love by the time she came along, and many times over the years Chloe had ended it with him, refusing to be the ‘other woman’ as first one deadline, and then another, slipped past and still he was with Lucy. But he always won her back; it was simply impossible to avoid him when she had to see him every day in the office, and it was just too hard to resist his anguished looks of longing across the room as she resolved, this time, to be strong.