Chapter Eleven #2
Alannah smiled back, even though just smiling seemed to take a massive effort these days.
It was true that the place did look pretty amazing—especially when she thought back to the sea of beige it had been before.
The woman who had made the curtains had got very excited about it and she had told someone, who had told someone else.
Even during the short period between Christmas and new year, word had soon got round in an industry which survived by constantly seeking out new ideas and new faces.
Already Alannah had received a phone call from one of the big interior magazines, asking if they could do a photo shoot there.
She doubted whether Alekto would agree, since she got the idea he was very hot on privacy.
Still, she could always ask him. And even if he didn’t give his permission, she sensed that she had turned a corner—because this was the big break she had been waiting for. And she had Niccolò to thank for it.
Security and creative fulfilment were lying within her grasp. So why did it all feel so empty? Why was she having to force herself to look and sound enthusiastic about something she’d always dreamed of?
She sighed. She knew exactly why. Because she’d made the fundamental mistake of falling in love with a man who had never offered her anything but sex.
‘I hope you’re coming to my new year’s party?’ Alekto was saying. ‘You really ought to be the guest of honour, after what you’ve achieved here. Unless, of course, you have already made plans?’
Alannah glanced out at the late afternoon sky, which was now almost dark.
The only plans she had made were to buy the TV guide and turn up the central heating, while she waited for Big Ben to chime in a new year she couldn’t seem to get worked up about.
She thought about getting dressed up for a party attended by Alekto Sarantos and his glamorous friends, and how any sane person would leap at such an opportunity.
But what if Niccolò was there?
Her heart pounded. The possibility was high. It was more than high. They were best mates, weren’t they? She shook her head. ‘It’s very sweet of you—but I think I’ll just have a quiet evening in,’ she said.
‘Up to you.’ Alekto shrugged. ‘But if you change your mind…’
Alannah went home, bathed and washed her hair—before pulling on her dressing gown and a pair of slouchy socks and switching on the TV.
She flicked channels. Crowds of people were already flocking into Trafalgar Square, even though it was still early.
People were being interviewed, swigging from beer bottles and giggling—and Alannah suddenly saw herself as a fly on the wall might see her.
A woman sitting on her own at nine o’clock on New Year’s Eve, wearing a dressing gown and a pair of old socks.
What had she become?
She swallowed. She had become a cliché, that was what.
She had fallen in love with someone who had always been out of reach.
And yet, instead of accepting that and holding her head up high and just getting on with her life, the way she’d always done, she had caved in.
She was like some sort of mole, living in darkness—cowering inside her own safe little habitat, because she was afraid to go out.
It was the worst night of the year to be home alone—especially if your stupid heart was heavy and aching—and yet here she was. Mole.
What was she so worried about? That she might see Niccolò with another woman? Surely that would be the best of all possible outcomes—it would remind her of how easily he could move on. It would make her accept reality, instead of chasing after rainbows.
Tearing off her slouchy socks, she pulled out the gold dress she’d worn at Christmas and slithered into it.
Then she slapped on a defiant amount of make-up, her highest heels—and a warm, ankle-length coat.
People were milling outside pubs as she made her way to the station and more snow was falling as she caught the underground and got out at Knightsbridge.
It was much quieter in this part of town.
There were few revellers out and about around here—this was the world of the private, rather than the street party.
But by the time she reached Park View other partygoers were milling around in the foyer and the party atmosphere was contagious.
She shared the elevator up to Alekto’s apartment with several stunning women and a man who kept surreptitiously glancing at his phone.
The elevator pinged to a halt and the door to the penthouse was opened by a waitress dressed as a flamingo, a tray of exotic-looking cocktails in her hand.
Alannah went off to hang up her coat and then wandered along the corridors she knew so well, back towards the sitting room.
It was strange seeing the place like this—full of people—when she had only ever seen it empty.
Most of the furniture she’d installed had been pushed back against the walls to maximise the space—but the room still looked spectacular.
Even she could see that. The colours worked brilliantly—providing the perfect backdrop for Alekto’s extensive art collection—and she was particularly proud of the lighting.
In spite of everything, she knew Niccolò would be pleased with her work.
He might regret some things, but he would never regret giving her the job and she should take pride in that.
A horrible dark pain washed over her, only this time it was underpinned with reproach.
She wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Niccolò.
Wasn’t that going to be her one and only new year resolution?
That part of her life was over. She had to cut her losses and move on.
And it was a waste of time to wonder what it would have been like if she had been pregnant.
Or to dwell on that irrational and sinking sense of disappointment when she had stared at the test result and it had been negative.
A woman masquerading as a bird of paradise offered her a drink and Alannah took one, but the sweet concoction tasted deceptively powerful and she put the glass down as Alekto Sarantos came over to talk to her.
‘You made it, then,’ he said, with a smile. ‘Thavmassios. If I had a Euro for every person who has asked me who is responsible for the design of this apartment, then I would be a very rich man.’
‘But I thought you were a very rich man,’ she said, and he laughed, before giving her a thoughtful look. ‘I might have some work for you in Greece, if you’re interested?’
Alannah didn’t even need to think about it. ‘I’d be very interested,’ she said immediately, because a different country might be just what she needed. What was it they said? A new year and a new start.
‘Why don’t you call my office on Monday?’ he suggested, pulling out a business card and handing it to her.
‘I will,’ she said, putting it into her handbag as he walked away.
‘Alannah?’
A familiar voice curled over her skin like dark velvet and she turned to see Niccolò standing there.
His hair and shoulders were wet with melting snow and he was wearing a dark cashmere coat, which made him stand out from all the other guests.
Alannah stiffened as his shadow fell over her and her heart began to hammer as she looked up into his shuttered features.
The knot of tension in her stomach grew tighter. But she had come here tonight to hold her head high, hadn’t she? Not to hang it in shame. Nor to waste time wishing for something which could never be.
‘Niccolò,’ she said coolly. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’
‘What were you saying to Alekto?’
‘That’s really none of your business.’
‘You do know he is world-famous for breaking women’s hearts?’
‘Why, has he lifted the crown from you?’ she questioned acidly. ‘And what are you doing still wearing your overcoat?’
‘Because I have driven halfway across London looking for you,’ he growled.
She frowned. ‘Why?’
‘Why do you think?’ he exploded. ‘I went round to your apartment, only you weren’t there.
’ He had spent the afternoon psyching himself up, making careful plans about what he was going to say to her.
He had decided to surprise her, because he…
well, because he wanted to—and that in itself was uncharacteristic.
He had naturally made the assumption that she would have been home alone, only when he’d got there Alannah’s apartment had been shrouded in darkness and his heart had sunk.
The sight of all those empty windows had suddenly seemed like a metaphor for his life and they had confirmed the certainty which had been growing inside him for days.
Instinct had made him pull out his telephone to speak to Alekto and his hunch was proved right.
His friend had coolly informed him that, yes, Alannah had been invited to the party and although she’d told him she wasn’t coming, she seemed to have changed her mind.
In fact, she had just walked in, looking like a goddess in a spectacular golden dress.
Niccolò had turned his car around and driven from Acton, getting snarled up in the new-year traffic—his nerves becoming more and more frayed as an unfamiliar sense of agitation nagged away at him.
And now he was here standing in front of her and nothing was as he thought it would be.
He had not intended to launch into a jealous tirade because he’d seen her being chatted up by one of the world’s biggest players.
Wasn’t he supposed to be a ‘player’ himself?
His mouth hardened.
Not any more.
He was in a roomful of some of the most beautiful women in the world and yet he could see only one. One who was staring at him with hostility and suspicion and, in his heart, he knew he couldn’t blame her.