Date Monday 20 February Time 1.45am
My thoughts and reflections:
So, I’m curled up over here on the boucle armchair that Mrs Carmichael also owns, entirely awake, and wondering if I’ll ever be able to sleep again.
Guy is snoring, contentedly. Something seems to have gone a little awry manifestation-wise.
I’m in no way criticising the Universe (a poor workman blames tools, etc.) but I’m going to have to review my approach after this.
To recap, the bath was up there with the best baths I’ve ever had, and the La Perla underwear stayed on for all of two minutes and therefore can be deemed successful, and we were still only fifteen minutes late for our dinner reservation.
All going well, so far, and I was looking forward to the opportunity to impress Guy with my dazzling conversation over supper as we’d done very little talking since we arrived.
The ambience of the restaurant was intimate yet convivial, with its warm wood-panelled walls, medieval arched doorways and double-sided stone fireplace, and whilst it was busy, it was very much geared towards seclusion, with tables carefully placed to give the sense of discretion and separation.
Maybe it was the result of sex and champagne, or maybe it was because Guy was looking particularly saturnine tonight – from a certain angle, the candles were giving him horn shadows – but I felt simultaneously relaxed and on edge.
Like any well-brought-up woman of my generation, I committedly drank and ate my way through my feelings, and we were therefore midway through dessert before I realised that the conversation wasn’t going as I’d imagined.
I was enjoying a spoonful of my caramel miso, bergamot and buttermilk sorbet when Guy said, ‘Christ, Alice, the way you’re sucking that sorbet is giving me ideas.
’ And as sexy as I found that, I was slightly tempted to point out that I’d given him ideas several times this evening, and all of these ideas were quite similar in nature.
Then Guy tried the dessert wine which was paired with his chocolate marquise, and pretty much orgasmed on the spot.
‘Notes of honey and apricot with the chocolate, Alice. Riesling icewine in the fucking Cotswolds? The man is a bloody genius.’
This was on the back of Guy admiring the décor and the menu and even the service (admittedly good) and quizzing me about Matthew Lloyd – how long had we known each other?
(Too long.) Had he always intended to turn his hand to hospitality?
(I’d kind of assumed he was set on turning his hand to being an asshole, so no.) And he really hadn’t asked me anything about me.
‘I hardly think he’s a genius,’ I said, feeling a little prickly. ‘Anyone can choose wine.’
‘Alice, that kind of statement reminds me of just how young you are. Not that I’m complaining. Not with those thighs. But choosing the right wine is an art.’
‘Well, Matthew is certainly into his art.’
‘Indeed,’ said Guy, nodding. ‘A man with a finger in many pies. How much do you know about his other business ventures?’
‘Nothing, really. Why?’
‘I’m interested.’
‘I’m more interested in you. You still haven’t told me how your meeting went last week.’
‘Alice,’ said Guy, ‘if I wanted to be quizzed about work, I’d have brought my wife here.’
‘Well, probably not here,’ I pointed out, ‘to the village I grew up in.’ But I laughed, if a trifle shrilly, because I didn’t want to piss him off.
‘As did Matthew Lloyd?’
‘Yes.’
‘He’s certainly done well for himself,’ said Guy, ‘I feel like we’d have a lot in common. And he seems to be a good-looking bastard too, judging by his photo.’
I fleetingly recalled that night in the treehouse and Matthew’s face in the moonlight, almost supernatural in its perfection.
‘He’s okay-looking if you like that kind of obvious thing,’ I said.
‘I personally don’t think he’s good-looking in the flesh.
’ I watched Guy across the table and tried not to compare him to Matthew.
‘He’s overdone the muscles. Probably on steroids for all we know, and got a dysfunctional cock.
’ Great. Now I was remembering the feel of Matthew’s body beneath mine, before he told me to get off him.
It definitely wasn’t dysfunctional. Then I remembered him falling asleep, leaving me lying there awake.
‘Definitely not a hit as far as I’m concerned,’ I continued. ‘My advice is try to avoid him. He’s really fucking annoying. Trust me, Matthew Lloyd is not all that.’
And of course it was precisely then that I felt a little prickle of unease, and even before I heard him, I knew – that yet again, despite drilling his receptionist to ensure that this didn’t happen, he’d somehow managed to come in to overhear me at the worst moment possible.
‘So,’ his familiar voice was deep and grave, ‘is this the charming customer who was “extremely” keen to talk to me?’
The woman from reception desk faltered. ‘Yes,’ she said, nervously. ‘I promised I’d let her know straight away if you arrived back early.’
Then she spoke to me directly, just in case I wasn’t aware of the shit situation I was in. ‘Madam, Mr Lloyd has returned early.’
‘Great,’ I said. ‘Thank you so much.’
I could hear blood whooshing in my ears but there was no way out of this one. I turned round slowly in my seat.
There he was, his height and strength emphasised by the shadows. He looked like he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, his hair was even more rumpled than usual and his expression was inscrutable. We stared at each other whilst the sound of my heart pounding probably reached the nearby customers.
‘Just a thought,’ he said, at last. ‘If you’re trying to avoid me, wouldn’t it be better to not come to my hotel?’
He sounded genuinely irritated.
‘Look, I didn’t mean it like that. You caught me at the end of—’
‘Assassinating me?’
‘Maybe I went a little far… ’
Matthew shrugged indifferently. ‘I thought, after Dartmoor, that maybe we were friends. I was even going to share my steroids with you.’
Now he’d brought up Dartmoor, the guilt faded and the resentment resurfaced; it was galling that he had such a physical effect on me, especially considering he clearly didn’t give a shit. ‘Friends don’t walk out without saying goodbye. Or saying anything at all.’
Matthew scratched his jaw. ‘Yeah, okay. That was unfortunate.’
‘Unfortunate?’ My voice was getting louder. ‘How about trying “sorry”? I mean, you managed to speak to Astrid several times since then. You could have sent a text. How rude can you—’
‘Speaking of rudeness,’ said Guy, silencing me with a squeeze of my waist, ‘I’m going to cut in, and verify that you are, indeed, the Mr Lloyd who owns the place?’
‘I am.’
‘Which uni did you go to?’ asked Guy.
‘Er, Cambridge,’ answered Matthew, looking slightly perplexed.
‘College?’
‘Oriel.’
‘Fucking knew it,’ said Guy, almost to himself. ‘I take it you were in the wine society?’
Matthew nodded.
‘Oriel’s is the only one to rival ours. I was in Durham’s wine society. Superb wine list you’ve put together here. I’m impressed.’
‘Sorry,’ said Matthew, ‘have we met? Do you work in wine?’
‘No, no,’ said Guy. ‘But I believe our paths are crossing work-wise. I’ve been wanting to meet you. Well, if you’re who I think you are!’
Matthew gave me a sideways look, but I didn’t know any more than he did.
‘You’ll have to forgive me.’ Guy did not look remotely sorry. ‘But as soon as they told us, I looked up the LL Group. I’m sure people do that all the time. Probably why your website is so sparse.’
Matthew said nothing.
LL Group… Why was that name familiar?
‘And then when Alice mentioned a Matthew Lloyd who owned a hotel in the same village, I thought, what are the odds?’
‘So,’ said Matthew. ‘You’re at Carsons.’
Why were they talking about Carsons?
‘Indeed,’ said Guy.
Just then Guy’s phone started buzzing. ‘Sorry.’ He looked at the screen. ‘The wife keeps on bloody calling.’ He pocketed his phone and put his hand on my lower back, proprietorially.
‘The wife?’ Matthew raised his eyebrows. ‘Alice? Aren’t you going to introduce us?’
‘No,’ I said. It didn’t work.
Guy smiled but told me ‘not to be fucking rude’ and waited for me to introduce him.
‘Guy, Matthew,’ I mumbled eventually, hoping Matthew wouldn’t remember our conversations about Guy. That didn’t work either.
‘Guy Carmichael?’ Matthew looked at me pointedly. ‘How interesting.’
My palms were clammy with stress – was Matthew about to tell Guy what I’d said about him?
Guy extended a hand. ‘A pleasure to meet the Matthew Lloyd – we’re delighted to have the LL Group on board at Carsons.’
‘Good for you,’ said Mathew, insincerely. ‘A lot of people in your position find it all rather stressful. Especially as we’re independent rather than on board .’
‘Sorry, what exactly are you doing at Carsons?’ I asked.
Guy ignored me and smoothly continued. ‘Of course no one wants a merger, but it’s crucial it’s done the right way: your reputation precedes you. I note you won a Hunter award for social justice.’
Oh my god. The ‘reputable third party’ overseeing the merger at Carsons. The LL Group. It was Matthew!
‘You really have been reading up,’ said Matthew.
‘Absolutely,’ said Guy. I could see little wavering flames burning in his pupils. ‘And I’d like to buy you a drink, Matthew. Have a good talk. Alice says you’re practically family. It couldn’t be more felicitous.’
‘I see,’ said Matthew dispassionately.
Guy’s phone rang again. ‘My wife is relentless. Let’s park this for five minutes whilst I answer her. Keep hold of him, Alice,’ he ordered. ‘ Matthew and I have a lot to discuss.’
I smiled obediently but as soon as he’d moved out of earshot, I turned to Matthew. ‘Why the fuck didn’t you tell me? That it’s your company reviewing our merger?’
But Matthew seemed pretty frustrated himself, which was remarkable considering what I’d just heard. ‘Why, Alice? Just why?’