Meet Me in London: The sparkling new and bestselling romance for 2020. Perfect escapism, for fans of Lindsey Kelk and Heidi Swain.

by Georgia Toffolo

  Victoria decided she might as well play this game. ‘Do I pass the test?’

  ‘Flying colours. I’m so pleased to see Oliver so happy. You’ve made a real difference to him.’ Stella drew a little closer and grew more serious. ‘I also wanted to talk to you. Really talk, Victoria.’

  Uh-oh. She’d passed level somehow and had progressed to level two of the daughter-in-law test. The last thing she wanted was a heart-to-heart but the woman was taking a break from her sick husband, Victoria could hardly refuse her a little chat. ‘Do you want to come through to the kitchen? I can make us some tea.’

  ‘No. I can’t stay long. I need to get back to Eric. I just wanted to say, darling…’ She covered Victoria’s hand. ‘Not everyone’s like Nana Norma.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘She thrived at Russell & Co. She built a good life and a very good business which we all benefit from. But her children barely saw her. I think she realized later in life what she missed out on, which is why she spent so much time with her grandchildren.’

  ‘That happens. We all have to work. It’s hard to get the balance right sometimes.’

  ‘There is no balance for a Russell. Eric was groomed to take over the business, he didn’t question it, but I know it wasn’t what made him happy. If he’d had his life over, he’d have done something else. Medicine, perhaps, or engineering. But it was his family duty and he couldn’t bear to be the one that walked away or broke up what his parents and grandparents had worked so hard to build. And I know he’s done the same to Oliver. It’s a legacy thing, they feed each other.’ Stella sighed. ‘Don’t let him turn into his father. Put your foot down, draw a line at him working all hours. Please.’

  ‘I’m sure we’ll work it out between us. Things are different these days.’ Although they weren’t for Oliver. The whole family needed to sit down and just talk.

  ‘I got sucked into the firm too and we ended up forfeiting the one thing I wanted more than anything – a family. More babies. Eric was so busy, and I helped share that load, being available at all hours for business dinners and trips schmoozing investors and shareholders. But we put it off and I regret that so much. We should have had more fun and now… now it’s too late.’

  Victoria didn’t know what to say. ‘I’m so sorry. I really am.’

  ‘Thank you, my dear. I know you are. I can see it in your eyes.’ Stella’s own eyes misted. ‘My boy is right; you are perfect for him. For us. Just enjoy each other and your babies when they come. Make him take time off and don’t send your children away like Eric made me.’

  Victoria couldn’t hide her shock. ‘He made you send Oliver away?’

  ‘Don’t be so surprised, it’s Russell family tradition. Same school, same university. And I went along with it… all that stiff upper lip, refusing to hug him before he disappeared into the school hall because it would make him soft. And make me cry. So I held it all in and sobbed on the way home. I did cuddle him, you know, when he was little. I used to hold him for hours. But Eric said our son needed to learn how to be a man. His type of man. So I worked hard to hold myself back when Eric was around and then… well, Ollie went off to school and when he came back he was independent and didn’t seem to need me anymore. Didn’t seem to want me around. We grew apart. He grew up and now… well things are difficult, and I don’t know how to get them back on track without looking like I’m interfering.’

  This was so sad. All of them hurting, none of them knowing how to take the first move towards healing. ‘Talk to him. Tell him how you feel.’

  Stella shook her head. ‘I don’t know if he’d listen. He’s a grown man now. But you can break the mould, Victoria. Don’t make my mistakes. Keep your babies close.’

  Babies.

  This time she couldn’t ignore the word. Victoria couldn’t help run her hand across the gnarled and scarred skin on her belly. There would be no Russell babies for her. For the first time in a long time Victoria felt sorrow and longing swell through her. A baby. Yes. Over the years she’d convinced herself she didn’t want one, that she had enough to offer without producing children. And yet recently she’d begun yearning for what she couldn’t have, since her reality had been brought back into sharp focus by Peter and now.

  But it didn’t matter what she felt, there was no legacy for Stella from this damaged body.

  It hit her then that this poor woman was laying out her hopes and dreams for Victoria to trample over with her and Oliver’s silly deal. Things were going too far. She didn’t want to play this game anymore. She didn’t want to develop a relationship with this woman or this family, but it was already too late.

  She was going to have to talk to Oliver and make it stop.

  Chapter Fourteen

  HER FIRST TEXT CAME during a meeting with his father’s cardiologist. Oliver had to ignore it, but it was the first time he’d ever been distracted from something this important by a woman. First time he’d ever wanted to hear someone’s voice so badly it was to the detriment of everything else, too. But he figured she’d understand if he later explained why he couldn’t reply right away.

  And here was the thing: it shouldn’t matter what she thought, she was a temporary made-up girlfriend – who was getting under his skin. But it did matter. She mattered. Their kisses mattered, more than he wanted to admit.

  He’d learnt, from his parents and from being at boarding school, to keep his emotions in check, to keep a distance and not get entangled in feelings. He’d thought it was the right thing to do, the best course of action to keep a clear head and get through life without being hurt or broken or distracted. But clearly he’d been very mistaken to avoid emotion at all cost, because he didn’t know how to handle the deluge of feelings he was faced with now and that was affecting everything. He couldn’t get her out of his head.

  The next text came as he was cajoling his father to eat something. She wanted to talk. He couldn’t right now. He was torn, but not enough to make him walk away from his father’s bedside.

  Although, if he didn’t get a decent polite word out of his father soon he’d be tempted to take five minutes outside for sanity’s sake. But he’d promised his mother he’d stay until she got back from her errands, so that’s what he was going to do.

  ‘Come on, Dad. The doctor says you’ve got to eat something, or he’ll have to keep you in here until you put more weight on.’ As his dad grumbled and shook his head Oliver thought he’d try to appeal to his father’s miserly tendencies. ‘You know that every day in here costs money.’

  ‘Stop mollycoddling me, Oliver. It’s bad enough having your mother doing it, but not you as well. It’s like you’re a nagging tag team. Why can’t anyone understand that I’m just not hungry?’ The curmudgeonly man threw his spoon onto the grey tray narrowly missing the stew and dumplings he was refusing to eat, even though he’d ordered them from the private hospital menu. ‘Don’t you have work to do?’

  ‘Of course. It’s Russell & Co, there’s always work to do.’

  ‘Then bugger off and do it. Leave me alone.’

  Oliver bit back a smile. He’d almost preferred it when his dad was too sick to shout orders because he was managing to get his job done without interference, but he liked it more that Eric was getting some of his fighting spirit back. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not staying here all day. I’m heading to Paris this afternoon for a meeting with the accountants.’

  His father perked up at the mention of business. Seemed that was all that had ever given him a purpose in his life. ‘Tell Pierre not to accept the offer from Galeries Lafayette. Russell & Co is not for sale.’

  ‘He knows. He’s been batting them back for five years.’

  ‘And tell him—’

  ‘I’ll tell him you said to sell the lot.’

  ‘You wouldn’t dare.’ His old man stared up at him through red, watery eyes. He’d lost so much weight he was barely recognizable. He was a shadow of his formidable former self and Oliver missed it, missed his o
ld dad. The one who’d taught him how to fight in a boardroom, how to remain steely calm under pressure. How to never give up on a deal you believed in. The one who’d taught him to always, always steer with your head not your heart.

  Bloody heart failure. Oliver hadn’t really thought about it before, but his father’s heart had a huge capacity for loyalty and trust and Ollie never wanted to jeopardize that. Was he doing his parents a disservice with this make-believe relationship? Victoria was becoming important to them all, if his parents’ endless questions about her were anything to go by. What had started as a bit of fun to get his mother off his back was getting out of hand.

  But who knew? Maybe Victoria might be around for a while longer?

  He thought about the way she’d moaned at his touch, the way she’d tasted and the way she made him hard and hopeful at the same time. Maybe he could convince her to stay around past the deadline they’d agreed on…

  His father coughed and readjusted the nasal cannula that pumped oxygen into his lungs. ‘Oliver, we need to talk about the Madrid contract. I’ve been thinking—’ Eric pushed the tray table away from his bed as if it was somehow offensive. ‘This food is terrible.’

  ‘You need to eat.’ When it came to his father, Oliver had learnt to use stealth tactics. While his father grumbled and muttered and looked out of the window Oliver surreptitiously pushed the tray table back over the bed inch by slow inch. ‘Thing is, Dad, you’re not coming to the meetings, so I don’t have to listen to a word you say.’

  The unwritten message was there in the congealed gravy and two unappetising lumps of stodge. He had to eat it to get strong again, then and only then could they talk business.

  For a few minutes there was a Russell stand-off. Two alpha males staring each other down, neither of them willing to give in. The old guard versus the new. The parent versus the child. The mentor and mentee. At what point had the baton been handed over?

  Oliver was not going to give in. His father was going to put on weight, he was going to get better. Or as well as he could.

  Eventually, his father tore his eyes away from his son, picked up the spoon and started to eat. Alpha place relinquished. For now. Oliver felt a pang of discomfort. But sometimes tough love worked. God knew, his father had used it with him often enough.

  Eric took a second mouthful of food, forced himself to chew. Swallowed. ‘I’ll make damned sure to be at the next meeting and you’ll damned well listen to my advice.’

  ‘Excellent, we’re finally making progress. The next scheduled Paris meeting after today isn’t until next year and you will be more than welcome to come if the docs say you’re fit enough to travel. But if you put on a few more kilograms in the next few days we can talk about you coming with me to the lawyers next Tuesday for the sign-off on Madrid. And, of course, there’s the opening. You have to be strong enough for that, right?’

  ‘I’ll be there.’ Eric looked as if he was eating a lemon, but he was eating. That was something. ‘Sounds like you’re far too busy to be wasting time here, Oliver. You’d better go to the office and do some damned work.’

  And with that Oliver was summarily dismissed. He could wait outside until his mother came back.

  ‘OK. I’ll come back tomorrow and let you know how Paris went.’ Oliver patted his father’s shoulder, reeling from the fact the parent-child roles had reversed. Aware that he had still to allow his dad to be the father if not the boss. And wishing he could do something to make Eric as strong physically as he was mentally. Watching him fade to nothing was too damned hard.

  Once outside in the fresh air he called Victoria. ‘You OK? You texted twice. Sorry, I was busy with my dad.’

  ‘I hope he’s OK?’

  ‘He’s getting there.’

  ‘Good. Look, we need to talk.’ She sounded distant and tense. His heart kicked hard. Had something happened? Unease snaked through his gut.

  ‘Sure. What is it?’

  ‘I mean, in person.’

  OK. He chose not to push her for more because, evidently, she needed time to explain. He would have cleared his diary for her if it wasn’t for the Paris meeting; that was long overdue and time critical. Maybe he could delay it. ‘I have some meetings later that I can’t get out of. What are your plans?’

  ‘I’ve just finished an early shift and I should be sewing.’ She sounded tired, too. ‘But my back hurts from bending over to peer at my stitches and my fingers are bruised with needle pricks, so I could do with a night off, to be honest. I think I deserve a break. But I have to pop out and get some more things from a haberdashery somewhere so I can finish my dresses tomorrow.’

  An idea crystallized. Maybe…? ‘Give me a minute.’

  He called Pierre and Claude, then called her back, stupidly relieved to hear her voice regardless of the subtext in her tone – this is going to be a difficult conversation. ‘OK. I’m good to go. I’ve pushed back a meeting ’til later. Can you come over here and we’ll grab the car?’

  ‘Of course. Where are we going?’

  ‘I’ll explain en route.’ She’d said she needed to learn more about his world. It was time to show her what being a Russell was all about.

  Oliver Russell had a chauffeur. That was news. She’d been expecting his little open-top and privacy, so this new turn of events made opening her heart to him and calling this whole thing off rather awkward. What she wanted to say didn’t need an audience, especially not one employed by the powerful Russell family. But it could wait until they got to the restaurant or wherever it was he was taking her.

  She hadn’t heard Oliver give instructions to the man in the hat in the driver’s seat, so she had no idea where they were going, so when they pulled up outside Edmiston Heliport her tension morphed into an adrenalin rush. ‘Wow. Where are we going?’

  ‘It’s a surprise.’ Oliver grinned. ‘Forgot to ask; do you have photo ID with you?’

  ‘Driver’s licence OK?’ Somewhere out of the country then. Despite her misgivings her heart did a little dance. A helicopter!

  ‘Excellent. Right. Here we go.’ He tapped the back of the driver’s seat and the chauffeur nodded, turned off the engine and got out of the car and opened Oliver’s door for him.

  This was wild. ‘But, Oliver. Where?’

  Oliver waved the man away with a thanks and a handshake then opened Victoria’s door. ‘Your majesty, your carriage awaits.’

  ‘Idiot.’ But instead of hitting his arm like last time she slid her hand into his and walked through the heliport doors. This was the stuff of daydreams. A freaking helicopter!

  Once inside, Oliver went to talk to the pilot and complete paperwork, then he walked her out to the huge H sign painted on a platform that extended out over the river. He guided her into a sleek silver machine with six seats in the back. Plush cream leather, chrome fittings. There was a little armrest in between them. Flash.

  With the rotorblades going it was difficult to hear anything the pilot and Oliver were saying to each other, but Oliver kissed her cheek and handed her what looked like souped-up headphones. ‘Here’s a headset and mic. Martin will talk you through all the safety stuff, but basically sit back and enjoy.’

  So, she wasn’t going to get a chance to talk to Oliver properly now either. It was going to have to wait a little longer. She pushed the guilt and the worry out of her head and listened to Martin, learning that they’d be flying at two thousand feet. Flight time was ninety minutes.

  Ninety minutes to where? Prague? Dublin? Paris? Her heart danced some more.

  Martin told her he would point out things of interest that… whoa! She looked out of the window, they were already airborne. ‘Oh, wow. I didn’t even notice we’d left the ground.’

  ‘It’s disconcerting going straight up, right? No dramatic takeoff. Look out the window.’

  Oliver was back to holding her hand again and it was warm and strong and safe and she didn’t want to let go. She promised herself she’d hold it when she broke the news to him later
that she was cutting their deal short. And when she did finally let go, it would be for ever.

  For now she’d relish the heat and the promise as his thumb stroked lazily and very sexily over hers, stoking a need she was failing to ignore or subdue. She looked out of the window and tried to find her balance again.

  Below them the architecture she’d come to love in the city she now called home shrank to miniatures. They followed the River Thames, a sparkling silver ribbon threading through London, out towards the south coast until there was nothing below them but sea.

  Once they’d left England behind Oliver twisted in his seat to look at her, his eyes warm and kind. She could see the joy in his face as he watched her reaction to the flight. He pressed a kiss to her cheek. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘This is beyond exciting.’ And unbearably difficult. She liked him. Maybe even more than that. No. Her stomach tightened. She most certainly was not going to allow herself to fall that deeply. But he was everything she’d ever wanted.

  He pushed a lock of her hair back behind her ear. ‘You wanted to talk to me about something?’

  Not here. More ears listening. ‘It can wait. How was your dad, really?’

  Oliver grimaced. ‘Grumpy. But that’s probably a good thing. He’s got a bit of spark back, but not enough. He’s not eating properly and he’s very weak with the new treatment. But the doctors are optimistic. Which is good, because he still has a lot to hand over to me.’

  ‘Are you scared? Of taking control of… everything?’ The family, the business, the legacy they were all so keen on preserving.

  ‘No.’ He looked out of the window and swallowed.

  They were all about the stiff upper lip and not showing emotion, she’d never known a family so staunch. Was it really a weakness to admit to feelings? She couldn’t live like that but it wasn’t her business and she was going to cut ties soon enough, so she let the subject slide. She squeezed his hand. ‘Where are we going?’