“What time d’you get off tonight?” he whispered.
“Six,” said Sian.
“Great. I’ll pick you up outside the front of Palmers at seven.” After watching Ben vault back over the fence, cleanly this time, and run off down the public beach, Rico turned to Sian.
“You seem to have made a miraculous recovery, Miss Doyle,” he said archly.
“You know what, Rico?” she beamed. “I think I have.”
After the long, boring summer she’d had, a date with a handsome stranger was just what the doctor ordered.
Standing outside Palmers a few hours later in the one good suit he’d brought with him from London, clutching a wilting bunch of roses, Ben was sweating buckets.
What if she thought better of it and didn’t show up? He could hardly blame her. She was stupidly far out of his league anyway, plus he’d behaved like a complete fucking fruit loop this afternoon. If she had any sense, she was probably on the phone to her lawyer right now, sorting out a restraining order.
Then again, sometimes it paid to aim high and have a crack at a woman out of your league. Look at Billy Joel and Christie Brinkley. They used to live in the Hamptons when they were married, before Christie jacked him in for a bloke that didn’t need to wear stilts to kiss her. But then that bloke ran off with a teenage intern. Or something. Come to think of it, maybe Billy and Christie weren’t such a great example…
“Hi.”
His internal ramblings were interrupted by Sian, who emerged from the front door of the hotel in jeans and a cute yellow daisy-print sweater. Ben didn’t think he’d ever been so pleased to see anyone.
“Are those for me?” She nodded toward the flowers.
“No, actually,” said Ben, deadpan. “They’re for Sir Elton. I thought we ought to kiss and make up, you know. After this afternoon. Is he around?”
Sian giggled, and Ben felt his confidence rising. If he couldn’t be Brad Pitt, he could at least be funny.
“You look amazing,” he said truthfully, kissing her on both cheeks.
“Thanks,” she smiled. “I’m absolutely starving. Should we eat?”
He took her to a tiny out-of-town place, where there was no menu to choose from, just a different set meal every night. The concierge at the Herrick, a local boy, had told him about it this afternoon after he’d vetoed all of Lucas’s suggestions—the Almond, Tierra Mar, and the like—as being far too flashy for a first date. It was more like a farmhouse kitchen than a restaurant, with mismatched tables covered with ancient, threadbare squares of gingham cotton trimmed with red ribbon, and the only lighting coming from cheap church candles wedged willy-nilly into old wine bottles. Sian loved it.
Afterward they drove back into town, where Lucas had invited Ben to join him at the launch party of a new club.
“We don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” said Ben, struggling to keep his eyes on the road rather than Sian’s tiny but perfect daisy-covered chest. “My friend Lucas has put us on the guest list, but it’ll probably be a bit of a scene.”
“Lucas?” Sian’s ears pricked up. “You don’t mean Lucas Ruiz, by any chance?”
“Yeeees,” said Ben warily. “Why? Do you know him?”
Please God let her not have already fallen for Lucas. Oh fuck. Maybe she’d even slept with him? That’d be just his luck.
“Not really.” Sian sounded reassuringly unimpressed. “He’s dating a really nice girl…”
“Lola, I know,” said Ben. “She’s lovely. Not as gorgeous as you, mind you.”
“Yeah, right,” Sian laughed. “Anyway, the one time I met your friend he looked right through me like I didn’t exist. Which I guess to a guy in his position, I don’t,” she added philosophically. “I don’t know. To be honest, I didn’t think much of him. Are the two of you very close?”
Ben thought about it for a moment. “We are, actually,” he said. “I’ve known him a long time. But we’re very different. I won’t deny Lucas can be a wanker when he puts his mind to it. He does love himself a bit.”
“A bit?” said Sian.
“But there’s a good bloke lurking under all the bullshit,” Ben qualified. “Honestly. He’s a seriously loyal friend. And he sees through a lot more of the pretentiousness around him than he lets on. I guess in the hotel business you have to make nice with everyone.”
“Maybe,” said Sian. “Then again, he hasn’t been too shy in making enemies around here. Anyway, let’s not talk about Lucas.” Reaching over, she rested her hand on Ben’s thigh and smiled at him encouragingly. “It’s boring.”
“Fine by me,” Ben grinned. “I don’t even know a Lucas. Lucas who?”
Inside Omega, Lucas sat at the bar, rubbing his throbbing temples. How could people come to these places for fun? The music was merciless, pounding techno crap, the sort of violent, tuneless rant beloved only of neo-Nazi teenagers and the clinically deaf, and the cramped subterranean bar was heaving with more hot, sweaty, overexcited people than a Baptist church on Easter Sunday.
To make matters worse, Lola had been stuck to his side all night like fucking Teflon. At least, she had been until a few moments ago, when he’d finally snapped at her to give him some space, and she’d disappeared off to the ladies’ all upset. It was funny: when she wasn’t being insecure and needy, he was genuinely fond of her. But the cocky, devil-may-care party girl he’d had so much fun with last year seemed to have gone for good this time around. It was only a couple of weeks since Alex Loeb’s party, but she’d already started referring to him as her boyfriend—a warning sign if ever there was one—and quizzing him boringly about his movements whenever they weren’t together. Sooner or later, he thought gloomily, something was gonna have to give.
Catching sight of Ben hovering tentatively in the doorway, his eyes lit up.
“Slater! Over here!” he shouted through the din, waving wildly like someone bringing in a plane to land.
“Blimey,” said Ben, once he’d finally battled his way through the crowds to Lucas’s side. “I think my eardrum might have just shattered. Is it legal to play music this loud?”
“I wouldn’t call it music,” grumbled Lucas. “Drink?”
“Er, no, I’m all right. I’m driving,” said Ben. “I daresay Sian would like one, though. Angel?”
He stepped aside to reveal his date.
“Just a white wine spritzer, please,” said Sian, turning to Lucas. “We’ve met, actually. At that awful party out at the Loeb place. I was chatting with Lola. I think it was the night you guys got together. Remember?”
“Sure,” said Lucas, who plainly didn’t. “Hi.”
Sian felt her mood darken. God, he was rude, too self-obsessed even to follow this monosyllabic response with a “good to see you again” or “how are you?” What did Ben see in him?
“Sian and I just had the most incredible dinner,” said Ben, oblivious of the tension between them. “That place your concierge recommended was the bollocks, wasn’t it, babe?”
“Hmm,” said Sian moodily, still pissed about Lucas.
Lucas glanced at Ben and, clocking the puppy-dog eyes he was giving Sian, immediately found himself feeling protective. Who was this girl, anyway? Now he came to think of it he did dimly remember her from Alex’s party: skinny, no tits, those cheap Bridge and Tunnel clothes—a real Polyester Polly. She was in another shocking outfit tonight. What was that flowery sweater all about? No doubt about it, a girl that poor was bound to be after Ben for his money.
“Sian? Is that you?” Lola, back from the bathroom at last, was still looking a little red-eyed. But it didn’t detract from her overall gorgeousness in a tight, chocolate-brown Roland Mouret dress and vertiginous calfskin boots. “Oh my God. You’re Ben’s big hot date! That’s so funny.”
Sian looked teasingly at Ben. “Your ‘big hot date’?”
“I didn’t say you were big,” he mumbled.
“This is soooo great,” said Lola excitedly, grabbing Sian’s hand. “You should hav
e heard him waxing lyrical about you this afternoon. Lucas and I were practically at barf-point, weren’t we, sweetie?”
Lucas gave a bored grunt that could have meant anything, and Sian noticed how Lola’s face fell. Boy, did this man think he was the shit.
“Well, anyway,” said Lola, making an effort to hold it together in public, “it’s great to see you again. We should make sure we swap numbers this time. We should get together.”
“Sure,” said Sian, pulling out her cell phone. “Let’s do it now. In case we’re too drunk later.”
While the two girls punched digits into their cell phones and caught up on the past two weeks’ worth of East Hampton gossip, Lucas pulled Ben quietly aside.
“You can do a lot better, you know, mate,” he said.
Ben just laughed. “As if!”
“I’m serious,” said Lucas. “Are you sure you trust this girl?”
“Yes, of course,” Ben frowned. “Why shouldn’t I trust her?”
Lucas shrugged. “It’s just a feeling I get with her.”
Part of him, he realized uncomfortably, didn’t like Sian because she reminded him too much of himself in his younger days. Despite the cheap clothes, you could smell the ambition on her, and she wasn’t stupid either. For a hotel maid, she’d already done well getting herself invited to the local rich kids’ parties and had obviously come to the Hamptons on the make.
“Well, Lola obviously likes her,” said Ben, nodding toward the two girls, who were huddled together in a corner, chatting like old friends.
“Lola’s a terrible judge of character,” said Lucas.
“Which explains why she’s dating you, I suppose?” Ben didn’t miss a beat.
Lucas grinned. “Touché. Look, I’m only trying to watch your back, that’s all. You’d do the same for me.”
“Thanks,” said Ben. “But I’m a big boy now. I can cope. Anyway,” his chest swelled as he looked over at Sian, “I think she’s bloody gorgeous.”
Just then Esther Cañadas, the Spanish supermodel, sauntered into the VIP section of the club. With the briefest of excuse mes to Ben and not a word to Lola, Lucas took off like a rocket in her direction. “You shouldn’t take it personally,” said Ben, watching Lola’s face crumple. “It’s just work to him. I’m sure he’d much rather be at home, tucked up in bed with you.”
“Well, why isn’t he then?” said Lola bitterly.
“I agree,” said Sian firmly. Why was Ben making excuses for him? “It’s totally disrespectful. Look at him.”
Ben had to admit that Lucas wasn’t doing his own case much good, with one arm around Cañadas and the other coiled around the rather ampler waist of a newly arrived Tina Palmer. The pirate grin, unbuttoned shirt, and cigar clamped between his teeth completed the picture. If this was work, it was hard to imagine what he must look like at play.
“Fuck this. I’m leaving,” said Lola, kissing first Ben and then Sian on the cheeks. She was doing her best to look angry and brave, but it was pretty obvious she was suffering. “Call me, OK?”
Once she’d gone, Sian turned accusingly to Ben. “And you still figure he’s a good guy?”
“He can be,” said Ben awkwardly. “Not always. Look, I thought we agreed not to talk about him. You wanna get out of here too?”
Standing up on tiptoes, Sian kissed him softly on the lips. Being so tall, she usually had to stoop to kiss guys, so the whole tiptoes thing made a nice change.
“Yes, please,” she said. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Later that night, Honor sat slumped over the coffee table in the living room of her private suite at Palmers, catching up on paperwork. Why was it that no matter how many bills she paid or letters she answered, her to-do pile seemed to grow by the hour, like an out-of-control weed?
Rubbing her eyes sleepily, she looked at the grandfather clock against the wall, a relic from Tertius’s days. Shit. It was almost two a.m., and she had a breakfast meeting with the new head chef at seven. She’d better turn in.
On top of the pile of ripped and discarded envelopes lay one addressed to Tina that she’d opened by mistake. It was a note from one of the trustees, upbraiding her for overspending her July allowance to the tune of almost twenty grand. Twenty grand! On what, for fuck’s sake? The girl slept till four and barely set foot outside of Palmers (where everything went on her never-paid tab) from one week to the next. Pulling on her old, coffee-stained robe over her sweatpants and T-shirt, Honor grabbed the letter and slipped out into the hall. Tina’s rooms were at the other end of the corridor. It was too late for a confrontation tonight, and after such a long day she didn’t have the stomach for it anyway. But if she slipped it under the door, they could at least talk about it first thing—whatever Tina’s idea of “first thing” turned out to be.
As she drew nearer, she was surprised to see the door to the suite ajar and music—loud, thumping rock music—coming from inside.
“Tina?” she called through the din. No answer. Pushing the door open, she marched over to the stereo and ripped the plug out of the socket. Typical Tina. They’d be inundated with complaints tomorrow. People didn’t pay a thousand bucks a night to have their sleep shattered by Van Halen at two in the morning.
Wearily, she opened the door to the bedroom. Though how anyone could be sleeping through that racket, unless they were drunk out of their mind, of course, which was always a possibility with Tina…
But the bed was empty. Judging by the wildly disheveled sheets, it didn’t look as if it had been that way for long.
“Tina? Are you in there?” Peering into the en suite bathroom, still clasping the trustee’s letter, the question died on her lips. For there, lying back in the bubble-filled Jacuzzi, with his arms spread wide and a look of rapture on his face, was Lucas.
“You?” Honor exploded. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Lucas’s only response was a beatific smile. Two seconds later, Tina popped up from under the water, sleek and glistening as an otter.
“Hey, baby.” Lucas pulled her naked, bubble-smeared body toward him as she opened her eyes. “I think your sister would like a word.”
“My sister?” Turning around, Tina at least had the decency to look a smidgen shamefaced. Unlike Lucas, who had stood up, naked as the day he was born and apparently completely unperturbed by Honor’s presence, and was making no effort whatsoever to find himself a towel.
“Made you look,” he laughed, catching Honor’s involuntarily glance at his dick.
“Oh, grow up!” she snapped.
Lucas walked past her into the bedroom, and she slammed the door shut behind him before turning her fury on Tina.
“How could you?” she hissed, keeping her voice down so as not to give Lucas the satisfaction of eavesdropping. “Lucas?”
“Look, I’m sorry, OK?” Tina climbed out of the tub, still dripping, and wrapped herself in a toweling robe. “We were both at this new club tonight. I guess we both had a bit to drink,” she giggled. “What can I say? One thing led to another. Does it have to be a big deal?”
“Yes, it has to be a big deal,” said Honor, tearing at her hair in frustration. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she noticed for the first time how awful she looked: tired, with greasy hair and the sort of sallow, waxy complexion commonly associated with heroin addicts. It was typical that the first time she’d seen Lucas since New York should be the one day she’d chosen to wear a shapeless pair of sweatpants rather than the feminine clothes she’d been wafting around in like an idiot for weeks, hoping to bump into him. “Did you tell him anything?”
“About what?” Tina looked baffled.
“About Palmers, of course,” said Honor. “Did he ask you anything? I don’t know, about our bookings rate or…or the electrical problems?”
“Are you for real?” Tina’s nanosecond of remorse was apparently over. “He was fucking me, Honor,” she said witheringly. “You know, that thing you don’t do anymore, where the man puts his penis
inside the woman’s vagina?”
“Oh, Jesus, enough.” Honor put her hands over her ears. “I don’t wanna know.”
“You are so fucking obsessed with this stupid hotel!” yelled Tina. “You really think that’s what we were doing? Talking about Palmers?”
“So he wasn’t pumping you for information?” Honor looked skeptical. “Well, I guess maybe he wouldn’t, not the first time…”
“He was pumping me all right,” said Tina, tipping her head upside down and shaking out her wet hair like a dog. “But it wasn’t information he was after. Hey. Where are you going?”
Honor had stormed into the bedroom, but it seemed Lucas had already made a swift exit.
“I’m going to catch up with him,” she yelled. “Give the bastard a piece of my mind.”
“You’ll only make a fool of yourself,” Tina called after her. “It was a one-night stand, Honor, for God’s sake. We’re both adults. Get over it!”
But Honor was already gone.
After sprinting down three flights of stairs, she finally caught up with Lucas in the deserted lobby, fumbling in his jeans pocket for his car keys. “Ah,” he said sarcastically, seeing her enraged, diminutive figure heading in his direction. “If it isn’t Aurora, Goddess of the Dawn. You know, if you can’t afford laundry detergent,” he glanced disdainfully at the coffee stains on her dressing gown, “you’re more than welcome to pop by the Herrick anytime and use our laundry facilities. Really. Anytime. Mi casa, su casa.”
“Ha-ha,” said Honor, pulling the filthy robe more tightly around her and wishing that she’d bothered to wash her hair this morning. But Devon never noticed, so there hadn’t seemed much point. Lucas, of course, was looking godlike despite the lateness of the hour, his enormous, bronzed biceps clearly visible in a short-sleeved Abercrombie T-shirt and his preppy haircut offset by a dark shadow of distinctly rock ’n’ roll stubble. It was tough getting the upper hand over a living slab of testosterone while looking like something the cat sicked up oneself, but Honor was determined to give it her best shot.
“My sister might not be the sharpest tool in the box,” she said, “but you shouldn’t think I can’t see right through you.”
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