Chapter 31
Grosvenor & Vine
ALISTAIR
The phone buzzes in my pocket while I am still looking at the lawn.
Pryce.
Mrs Ravenscroft and Miss Bradley still in cabana five. Second bottle of Ruinart in the bucket. In good spirits. Mrs Ravenscroft is laughing.
I read it twice. I have not heard Ivy laugh properly in days.
I think of Sarah’s message. The Orchid House. Eight til whenever. Curated.
I type a reply.
ALISTAIR
Thanks for the invitation, it sounds good. I'll have to check with the boss.
SARAH
Naturally x
The Orchid House Gardens, W11. Any time after 8.
I pocket the phone and tell Henderson he can have the rest of the day off. He and Ariana deserve it. Usually he would argue, but he’s obviously thinking of Ari when he nods and takes the keys.
The Mercedes that picks me up at the gates is one of the firm's standing cars, quiet. The driver knows my name and doesn’t use it. Forty minutes. I sit in the back and watch the M4 turn into London. The light on the river as we cross is golden.
The Grosvenor & Vine sits on the left between two larger hotels. The Mercedes pulls up and the doorman opens. I cross the lobby—marble, low light, a girl at reception who looks up and immediately recognizes me.
“Mrs Ravenscroft is on the rooftop, sir. Cabana five.”
“Thank you.”
The lift is silent. I watch the floor numbers. The doors open onto sun and water.
A hostess is at my elbow before I have taken three steps.
“Mr Ravenscroft. This way.”
She walks me past two cabanas and a huddle of women in bikinis trying not to look at me. Cabana five is at the end. The curtain is half-pulled.
I stop a pace from the entrance to look at her.
Ivy is on a sun-bed, her sandals kicked off beside her. Her tits look amazing, and I feel it in my pants. She’s laughing. Open, loud, undignified. I let myself watch for a moment, then step into the cabana.
Becks sees me first.
“Mr Ravenscroft.”
I smirk at her formal greeting. “Ms Bradley.”
Ivy turns her head, frowning. “Alistair.”
“Hello.”
“What are you—?”
“I have come to collect you.”
She sits up. “Collect me? I don’t remember asking to be collected.”
Becks is already swinging her legs off the sun-bed. “I was going anyway.”
“You were not.” Ivy points a finger at her. “You said you wanted a third bottle!”
“I'm a complicated person, Ivy. I want many things at once, and at this particular moment I’d like more champagne but I’m also craving a cheeky afternoon session with McFilthy.”
“Becks!” Ivy yells. “Don’t let this bastard ruin our brunch. Just because he’s ridiculously rich and disgustingly good-looking.”
The other patrons glance over, amused.
“It’s way past brunch time, darling. Let your knight in shining armor save you from tomorrow’s hangover. I’m sure he’ll feed and hydrate you, and… well.”
Ivy crosses her arms, pretending to be petulant. “I refuse to let the patriarchy gatecrash this spectacular bacchanalia.”
“Oh, to the contrary. The bacchanalia will continue.” I arch a brow at Becks. “Stay. The cabana is paid for the rest of the afternoon. Have McFilthy join you. There's a room booked downstairs in your name from six o'clock.”
Becks's eyes go bright.
“Alistair Ravenscroft.”
“Yes.”
“You absolute prince.”
“Mm.”
“Saint Ives, your husband is a prince.”
“Ugh,” says Ivy. “Don't let it go to his head.”
“I will let it go to my head,” I say. “Up.”
“Patience, you caveman. I am putting on my sandal.”
“Faster.”
“Alistair. I am quite drunk, do not rush me.”
She is fumbling, and the sandal strap defeats her.
I bend, lift her up, sling her over my shoulder, and stand up. Becks squeals in delight.
“Alistair!”
“Mm.”
“Alistair Gregory Ravenscroft.”
“Yes.”
“This is a public space.”
“It is.”
“There are witnesses.”
“There are.”
“You are picking me up like a sack of potatoes.”
“You're a great deal more attractive than a sack of potatoes.”
Becks is laughing so hard she has bent over. The men in yachting shoes are openly staring. Ivy huffs against my shoulder, and I feel her smile against my shirt.