Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
AS NICK CHATTED away beside me, I questioned once again why I decided to come tonight. I’d already heard so many expressions of sympathy over my husband that if one more person said how sorry they were, I’d run screaming from the building.
Unfortunately, Nick read my thoughts and tightened his grip on my arm as he turned to introduce me to yet another benefactor.
“Emerson, this is Donald Watson. He runs a garden centre in West Sussex, and he’s interested in joining our mentoring scheme. Donald, this is Emerson Black.”
Donald stuck out a pudgy hand for me to shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Black.” He addressed my chest, which was displayed a little too prominently in a red dress carefully selected by Bradley. “I’m sorry to hear about your husband.”
Arrrgh. I gritted my teeth. “Thank you, but really, the pleasure’s all mine. And I’m so happy you want to help with our work…”
After five minutes, I finally extricated myself from Mr. Watson’s clutches. He’d seemed enthusiastic, but as he hadn’t looked at my face during the entire conversation, I wasn’t sure whether he was excited about the foundation’s projects or my bra size.
Over at the bar, Ryan was drinking a pint of beer. A quick glance around showed most people had already gone in for dinner, so I took the glass out of his hand and swallowed what was left.
“Bad day?” he asked.
“Nick keeps introducing me to morons. I think it’s payback for the paintball incident yesterday.”
“What do you expect? You shot him with pink. Pink . If you’d used blue or green, he probably wouldn’t have been bothered.”
“I don’t think he was too thrilled with the bruise on his chest either, Ryan.”
“Hey, that’s part of the job.”
“Is your speech ready?”
“As it’ll ever be.”
Ryan was one of the foundation’s kids and a pet project of mine. We’d met five years ago on a dark and stormy night. Such a cliché, right? But it had been raining cats and dogs when I stopped to shelter under a railway arch until the downpour passed.
Turned out I wasn’t alone. Some slimeball—a dealer by the looks of him—was shaking down a homeless kid for his last few quid.
“Leave him alone.” My husband kept telling me to be more tactful, so I refrained from adding something impolite at the end of it. Are you proud?
As I’d hoped, the aforementioned slimeball turned his attention to me instead.
“How about you pay me what he owes instead?”
“What does he owe you for?”
“Rent. Everyone who sleeps on my patch ‘as to pay their dues. And guess what? Now I’m charging interest.”
“Really? In that case, hold on while I get my chequebook out. Or do you take MasterCard?”
He paused, surprised, long enough for Ryan to come haring past and plant himself in front of me.
“Don’t you touch her.”
For goodness’ sake… “Dude, I’ve got this.”
“No way. You don’t know what you’re getting into.”
“Oh, I think I do.”
Ryan squared up to the slimeball. “You’ll have to go through me to get to her.”
Aw, that was actually kind of sweet. My husband never defended me that way. He just stood back and took notes so he could point out all my faults later.
But it was also stupid.
“Honestly, I’m good here.”
“No, it’s—”
The slimeball had enough of waiting and took a swing. Ryan ducked and sidestepped, and even managed a couple of good punches before the guy got him on the ground.
Then I knocked the slimeball’s teeth out with one swift kick, and just like that, my night was complete. I got twitchy if I went too long without a good punch-up.
Anyhow, I’d liked Ryan’s courage and his willingness to fight for what he believed in, so when the rain stopped, I took him out for dinner. And gave him a job.
Now twenty, he still worked in Blackwood’s London office. Yesterday, he’d done a wonderful job of convincing the cops that he was a lone nut gunman while another eight guys climbed up the fire escape around the back of the conference centre and snuck in through a first-floor window.
My introduction and his speech were scheduled to take place between the starter and main course. That would give the guests something to talk about over dinner, and it was easier than trying to get their attention at the end when everyone was drunk and half asleep. Far better to have the auction afterwards when the alcohol had loosened their purse strings. Bradley had managed to coax over thirty lots out of various acquaintances, everything from dinners to holidays to cases of wine. He’d perfected his tactics over the years—mostly he kept bugging people until they gave him stuff to go away.
Luckily, he had no shame.
Meanwhile, Nick came over and handed me a glass of white wine.
“Slightly more ladylike than the beer, my darling. Are we going in for dinner?”
“I thought I’d skip the starter.” Carpaccio of beetroot with goat’s cheese, apparently. Not my favourite, and I’d rather go hungry than be stared at like a zoo exhibit. “You go ahead if you want, though.”
Nick stayed, and so did Ryan. We snagged a table in the corner and hid behind our glasses until a member of the organising committee came out to fetch us.
What was I doing here? I wasn’t ready, not for this, but it was too late to escape. Nick took point, and I hung back as he picked up the microphone and got everyone to shut up. The room went silent as he introduced me.
“Now a few words from our founder, Emerson Black.”
Everyone’s eyes followed as I walked from the back of the ballroom to the stage. I hated being the centre of attention. The shadows were my home, and when I’d taken to the light in the past, I’d always had my husband’s support. Without him, I felt naked. My nails dug into my palms as I clenched my fists, and I forced myself to relax. If I popped off an acrylic, I’d have to face Bradley’s wrath.
But first, I had to face the audience. Smile, Emmy.
“When I started the Blackwood Foundation almost a decade ago with Nathaniel Wood and my late husband, little did I know how big it would grow. Nathaniel is unable to join us tonight, but like me, he wishes to extend his heartfelt thanks to each and every one of you for coming to lend your support. Thanks to your donations, we’ve been able to fund safe places for underprivileged teenagers to stay and counsellors to give them the support they need. Your expertise and time, so willingly given, teach these young adults what their parents have not.”
I scanned the room as I spoke. Friends, colleagues, acquaintances, strangers. A not insignificant number of idiots I had to be nice to because they had fat bank accounts and useful connections. And then I saw him. Sitting at table number thirteen.
Guess it really was unlucky.
My eyes locked with Luke’s and I tripped over my words. Even though I recovered quickly, Nick’s head turned in the direction I’d been looking. Rats. My heart raced as I continued my speech on autopilot, the words sounding foreign to my own ears. Had anyone else noticed my slip-up?
“Tonight, you’ll hear from two of our success stories. I first met Ryan when he was fifteen, and Michelle joined us at seventeen. Both of these individuals have shown extraordinary courage and tenacity in getting to where they are today, and they’ll be giving you an insight into the foundation’s work.”
I spouted highlights from the past year and summarised new projects in the pipeline before I finished up.
“I’d like to remind all of you that we have an auction starting after dinner with some thrilling lots, including a two week holiday at the lovely Quinta Nova Vineyard in Portugal and a bespoke couture dress by up-and-coming designer, Ishmael. Finally, I’m going to add a pledge of my own. Whatever the amount raised tonight, I’ll personally double it.”
As I stepped down, murmurs of surprise travelled around the room. Good. Hopefully, that would encourage the wealthy to get their wallets out. A bit of competition could be a healthy thing.
“Good luck,” I whispered to Ryan as he hopped up on stage to take my place.
One foot in front of the other, head up, back straight. Smile. As I sat down next to Nick, I tried to concentrate on Ryan’s words rather than the fact that I’d just been outed to Luke.
Tried, and failed. Luke’s wide-eyed shock played over and over in my mind like a bad horror movie.
I’d wanted to speak to him before I went back to the States, but not yet. It wasn’t the right time. Not when my thoughts were still so jumbled, and I didn’t know what I wanted to say to him or how to say it. Did I start by apologising? Or begging for forgiveness? Or should I just act normally and hope he did the same?
I snuck a glance in his direction, and of course, he was looking at me. Looking at me like I was a piece of doggy poop he’d just trodden in.
Great. I’d made things worse, hadn’t I? Why hadn’t I called him before this evening? Now he thought I was a rich kid with too much time and money on her hands.
“More wine, ma’am?” a waiter asked.
“Could you do me a favour and bring a gin and tonic?”
“Certainly. Hendricks, Bombay Sapphire, or Tanqueray?”
Did it really matter? “Hendricks. And make it a double, would you?”
I reached out for Nick’s glass of red, but my hands shook so I stuffed them in my lap instead.
“You okay?” Nick asked.
“Never better.”
Except I might have cracked a tooth from clenching my jaw so hard.
Thankfully, Ryan was oblivious to my drama and soon had the audience in stitches with his stories. My own laughter sounded mechanical. Or perhaps maniacal. After all, I’d lost my ever-loving mind. Half of the audience got to their feet and applauded as Ryan finished, and he high-fived me as he took the seat to my left.
Michelle started speaking, and I heard the nervousness in her voice. At least she’d made it to the stage—she’d been quaking more than San Francisco beforehand. My hug for her when she finished was genuine.
“You did me proud tonight,” I told her.
“I thought I was gonna faint.”
“Have faith, honey.”
A waiter deposited a plate in front of me, but my appetite had deserted me. How bad would it look if I made a dash for it before dessert came out?
Nick reached under the tablecloth, grabbed my hand, and clamped it against his thigh, our fingers intertwined.
“I know exactly what you’re thinking,” he whispered.
“How delicious the food is?”
“You mean that food that you’ve barely taken two mouthfuls of?”
Guilty. “Okay, perhaps not.”
“You’re not running out on me.”
Sometimes, I hated Nick and his psychic abilities. Besides my husband, he probably understood me better than anyone, and he was one of the few people able to read my moods. When we worked together, in situations where teamwork was crucial and the slightest miscalculation could result in manger des pissenlits par la racine , as the French would say, the whole mind-reading thing gave us a definite advantage. But right now, I wanted to shield my thoughts in lead and bury them in concrete.
“Me, run out? I’d never dream of it.”
“This is your party. You’re going to stay beside me until I say it’s time to go, and you’re going to enjoy yourself.”
The git said that with a smile. Just another pleasant chat between Nick and Emmy.
“I’m not sure I can.”
“Which one? Stay beside me or enjoy yourself? The second one’s optional, but the first is mandatory.”
Demanding much? It was almost like having my husband back beside me again. And that somehow made me want to stay.
“Fine. You win. But what about Luke? Seeing me here’s got to be like rubbing salt into the wound for him.”
“Well, there are three possibilities, aren’t there? Either you go and speak to him, or he comes to speak to you, or you ignore each other. You’re not going to pick option one, and option three won’t cause you a problem. That leaves option two, and if he approaches you, then we’ll face him together.”
Nick made everything sound so straightforward. Three months ago, it would have been, but that was before my brain turned to mush. I carried on picking at my dinner, and what had been a beautifully presented salt-crusted sea bass with sautéed vegetable julienne soon became something even the most downmarket restaurant chain would turn its nose up at.
Even the Sachertorte that appeared for dessert made me feel sick, and I was the girl who’d once driven from Budapest to Vienna just to eat the original version. Eventually, Nick resorted to forking it into my mouth.
“Eat. I’m not carrying you when we hit the dance floor.”
“You won’t have to.” Because I wasn’t going anywhere near it.
After coffee, I got up on stage again to introduce the auction. Could anyone other than Nick tell I was falling apart inside? As the bids stacked up, my mood improved a little, enough for me to join the compère in a half-hearted foxtrot as he drummed up support for a course of ballroom dancing lessons.
Just don’t look in Luke’s direction, Emmy. You can do this.
Four grand for a crate of wine from Nate’s California vineyard, sixteen thousand for Ishmael’s wacky dress, and a round twenty for a week in the Florida beach house I rarely used. When the hammer came down on the final lot, the compère let out a whoop.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the total raised tonight comes to just under six hundred thousand pounds, meaning over a million will go to the Blackwood Foundation thanks to Emerson’s generous donation.”
Not bad for an evening’s fundraising, but I had bigger things on my mind. Did I dare try talking to Luke?
As the applause died down, the band struck up. I’d left Bradley in charge of the music, and true to form, half an orchestra had arrived. He’d gone for classical with a rock edge—not what you’d normally hear at this type of function, but the guests seemed to like it.
“Come and dance.” Nick held out a hand to me.
“I don’t feel like it.”
“Liar. You always want to dance.”
“Not today.”
“So you’re going to abandon me to the cougars?”
Didn’t he ever let up? “One song, that’s it.”
Only once I was on the dance floor, I couldn’t get away. After a waltz, Nick pimped me out to the highest bidders from the auction, and I only escaped when a tipsy banker with a coordination problem crippled me. Would Alex still make me exercise with a broken toe? I grabbed a drink and settled back to watch Nick getting his backside groped by Ivy Kendrick-Holmes, a seventy-year-old in an electric blue cocktail dress. When I grew up, I wanted to be just like her.
Finally, as the opening bars of “Por Una Cabeza” played, Nick managed to extricate himself.
“Go on, I need one more dance with somebody who knows where to put her feet.”
“I’m tired.”
“Don’t let Alex hear you say that.”
“Good thing he’s not here then, isn’t it?”
Nick wrapped his arms around my waist. “Please, baby? You always make me look good.”
That flipping smile. I’d never been able to resist it. Or the tango.
I’d shown Nick how to ballroom dance many years ago, after my husband taught me. My background was in a completely different kind of dancing, but it turned out to be a transferrable skill, and knowing a few steps came in useful at the tedious number of social functions we had to attend. My husband had learned his moves when he was young, at the insistence of a mother who’d decreed that all young men should know how to entertain a lady.
I was sure he had other, better ways of doing that, but I’d never got the chance to find out for myself. And now I never would.
The band seemed to up both the tempo and the volume as we got closer. Ryan stuck a fricking rose between my teeth, and for five blessed minutes, I got lost in the music. The click of my heels on the floor. Nick’s heart beating against mine.
Then I opened my eyes and saw the man I’d considered spending the rest of my life with staring at us with barely disguised disgust.
Fantastic.
Well, at least that answered my earlier question: no, I didn’t dare to speak to Luke. A civil conversation would be out of the question, and I wasn’t about to cause a scene at an event so many people had spent time organising. It would overshadow the whole evening.
No, now was the right time to leave. I could consider my next move from a safe distance.
I motioned to a waiter, and a minute later my coat appeared. Nick helped me into it. A couple of the Blackwood crew waved goodbye, but most simply groaned. That open bar had taken its toll.
A sleek black Mercedes waited at the kerb, engine running. Nick opened the door, and I lowered myself gracefully into the back. No tabloid moments for me. Nick climbed in too and the driver closed out the world, cocooning us in relative safety as he whisked us back to Albany House.
So, that went well.