Chapter 2
We pull off a windy country road and through some gold gates, and I raise my brows, starting to pay more attention to my surroundings after fighting the compulsion this past hour to sneakily turn on my phone and check for emails and calls, or even check the stocks. Jesus Christ, Mr. Jarvis has activated panic mode, and here I am, his trusty adviser, travelling nearly an hour out of town for a pamper day.
Abbie lets her window down as she pulls up to a barrier, where an old, brick-built gatehouse sits, and a green-suited man steps out with a clipboard, checking the registration of the Audi. “Miss Pearson,” he says, writing something down. “Welcome.”
“Thanks,” Abbie replies, her voice quiet as she peeks at me in the rearview mirror.
“Are we at the right place?” Charley asks, leaning over Abbie to see the suited man. “Is this the spa?”
“This is the spa,” he replies, not looking up. “Follow the driveway down the stream. An attendant will meet you at the car park and assist with parking.” He walks back to the gatehouse and reaches in, and a moment later the barrier lifts.
I rest back in my seat, as does Charley, as Abbie pulls through, slowly and respectfully. We follow the beautifully clear stream on the left that has a few waterfalls dotted along the way and a brick bridge creeping from one side to the other, and on the right is an orchard with endless huge, bushy apple trees.
I recoil when I see a helicopter pad in the field just past it and golf carts trundling across the uneven lawns. “What did you say this place is called?” I ask, a little awed.
“Arlington Hall,” Abbie replies, sounding distracted.
“The fuck?” Charley whispers, leaning forward in her seat. “This is it?”
I stare out of the windscreen, taking in the wide, perfectly symmetrical structure, the double wooden doors in the centre framed with climbing plants bursting with white, delicate flowers. Endless traditional sash windows stretch on either side of the main door, all flanked by white stone troughs bursting with perfectly pruned topiary trees. It’s almost too perfect to be real, and as I gaze up the front above the door to the second floor, I see a tower with a huge clockface telling us the time. It’s nine thirty. I relax back, scanning the driveway, noting the prestigious cars—Rolls-Royces, Bentleys, Porsches, Ferraris. A line of green-suited men wait to park those cars. There’s an attendant with a gold luggage cart. A pristine young woman with a clipboard waits to welcome guests. A bloody golf cart stands ready to drive them to somewhere on the grounds.
“Abbie,” I say quietly as she circles a fountain that would give the Bellagio a run for its money. “Are you sure this is it?”
“I’ve checked five times,” she says, rolling to a stop and turning off the engine. “This is it.”
“Show me,” I demand, needing to see for myself.
“Yes, show her,” Charley orders, unmoving from her seat, almost frozen. “I didn’t wash my hair this morning, and I’m seriously regretting it.”
Abbie flicks through her phone and hands it back to me, and I scroll through the confirmation. “They sent me a deal for a spa day,” she says. “It was a total steal, and I thought it would be a lovely way to spend your thirtieth.”
“It is, and I’m grateful, but this place does not look like the kind of establishment that offers deals on spa days.”
“Agree,” Charley says.
“Agree,” Abbie adds as I search for a link in the email. I don’t see one, so I go to Google to find Arlington Hall, navigating the menu.
“How much did you pay?” I ask, cringing at the question.
“Sixty quid each.”
I laugh out loud, and both the girls turn in their seats to face me. “This can’t be it. It’s over seven hundred pounds to have a spa day at Arlington Hall.”
“Oh God,” Abbie groans, putting her head in her hands.
“There must be another Arlington Hall somewhere,” Charley pipes in. “And I bet it doesn’t look like this for sixty quid.”
“Wait.” Abbie faces me again. “The man on the gate was expecting us.”
She’s right. He was. This is all very bizarre.
A glass door just past the big wooden ones slides open, and a beautiful, leggy Black lady appears. She dips, smiling at us through Abbie’s open window. “Miss Pearson, welcome to Arlington Hall.”
Abbie withdraws. “You’re expecting us, right?”
“Of course,” she says. Silky, black, poker-straight hair brushes the clipboard when she looks down at it. “You’re right here on the list. I’m Anouska. Please, let me get you checked in. I’ll have Stan get your bags.”
I immediately go to my purse and pray I find some cash to tip, breathing out when I find a tenner. I pass it over to Abbie. “Here,” I say, and she takes it gratefully.
“Well, let’s go,” Charley sings, hopping out, looking up at the building, taking a picture.
“Charley,” I hiss.
“What? Lloyd’s got to see this.”
I smile awkwardly to the tall, slim lad taking our bags. “She doesn’t get out much.”
“Happens all the time,” he says, going on his way after Abbie slips him the tenner and he nods his thanks. Oh God, something tells me tips around here stretch further than a tenner.
“Fuck me.” Abbie bumps into my side as we wander up the brick path to the door.
The first thing that hits me is the staircase that sweeps round to the left, the wood white, crisp, and spotless, the taupe carpet runner plush, despite the endless feet treading it. The clash of traditional and modern is quite breathtaking. We approach a huge double pedestal desk, where a perfectly turned-out lady waits to check guests in. And today, unbelievably, we’re guests. I leave Abbie to do the honours, still a little worried that we will be told at any moment there’s been a mistake.
Wandering to the left, I get drawn to an imposing, enormous portrait hanging on the wall halfway up the stairs, the white wooden frame carved beautifully. But the woman in the portrait? She’s truly something. Majestic. Classy and elegant. I gaze up at her, seeing her hardly visible smile perfectly. She could be French. She oozes that kind of sophistication. I drag my eyes from her precise French pleat down her cream pencil dress that falls just below her knee, to her slender legs and the beautiful sapphire-blue kitten heels gracing her small feet. I back up a little to get the whole of her in my sights.
Stunning, I think, also wondering who she is as I stroll on, taking in the luxury surrounding me, until I reach a doorway where a gold plaque tells me I’m entering the Library Bar. A rich, polished oak bar runs the length of one side with old beaten brown leather barstools lining it, built-in bookcases frame the brick-built fireplace, and high-backed blue velvet wing chairs are scattered around but seem precisely placed. Endless glass shelves loaded with various bottles line the raw brick wall behind the bar, and smoky-blue, ribbed glass pendant shades hang on gold chains spaced intermittently over the bar.
I pull a cocktail menu toward me, admiring an embossed crest in the corner. The letters AH are framed with delicate wisps of golden ivy and apples. I browse the list, seeing modern takes on classics, and the Arlington Hall specials.
“Can I get you something?”
I look up to a waiter in a green waistcoat. “Maybe later,” I say on a smile, returning the menu. “I have a spa day to get through first.”
“Sounds awful,” he says, and I laugh.
“You’ve no idea.”
“You don’t look like you’re dressed for the spa.” He nods down at my cream dress as he polishes a glass, and I find myself smoothing back my already smooth hair.
I hold up my bag. “I’ll soon fix that.”
“Enjoy.”
“Thanks.” I back up but pause when I hear someone clear their throat, and I catch sight of a man sitting at the very end of the bar on the return section that meets the brick wall. His head is down, on his phone, and a stray lock of his thick, mousy hair falls onto his forehead. He moves it with a sweep of his hand, sitting up straight on his stool as he does. His shirt-covered chest expands. The material over his biceps pulls taut.
I swallow and step back as he looks up, catching me studying him.
My breath is shaky when I inhale, and his head tilts, his eyes lazy and intense, illuminated by the glow of the lamp nearby.
Jesus Lord above.
He’s flawless, despite his face being rugged and rough with stubble. He’s solid, despite not being overbuilt. He’s loud despite being silent. His thick hair is long enough to sweep behind his ears, and he does exactly that, leaning back on his stool, interested in the woman obviously ogling him. I bet he gets it all the time. My God, I can hand on heart say I’ve never seen such a stunning man.
I blink.
He latches on to the corner of his lip.
Something explodes in my tummy. Butterflies?
He folds one arm across his chest, relaxed, and brings his other hand to his face, tapping the side of his cheek with the tip of a finger. Thoughtful. My lips part.
Air.
Give me air.
Fucking hell.
I jerk and look away quickly, searching for that air, my body temperature on the uncomfortable side of really fucking hot. What the hell was that? There’s some strange energy bouncing around the bar.
Sparks?
I swallow, head down, perplexed.
Breathless.
Intrigued.
The pull becomes too much, and I lift my eyes, both greedy and wary of taking in more.
I’m staring again.
And he’s quite amused.
But can I stop myself?
His phone rings, and he reaches for it on the bar, never taking his eyes off me. I feel like this has turned into a challenge. Who looks away first. He answers the call, his blazing gaze still on me, and then he talks. I very nearly puddle to the damn floor, his deep, even tone slicing through my remaining sensibility and taking my dignity with it. Because I’m still bloody staring at him while he listens to whoever’s on the other end of the line. Eyes still on me.
“Sure,” he says. “I’m free in half an hour. Meet me in the Library Bar.” He hangs up. Almost smiles, but not quite.
I’m done.
I quit.
I lose.
I look away and back away.
“Do I know you?” he calls, stopping me.
No, I’m just staring at you because you’re fucking beautiful. “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“You didn’t.”
And what do I say to that?
I cock my head, every intellectual piece of me failing.
“Hey, birthday girl,” I hear Abbie call, and I look back to see her on the threshold of the bar giving me grabby hands. “Come on, come on, we have an aromatherapy body wrap waiting for us.”
“I’m coming,” I say, watching her run back to Charley, excited.
I don’t look at Mr. Handsome again, worried my eyes will explode in my head if I do. So I wander away, frowning at the tingling sensation all over my skin.
“Enjoy your body wrap, birthday girl,” he calls softly, forcing me to a stop.
My eyes dart before me. “Thanks.”
“And happy birthday.”
I turn, my smile curious and unsure. “Thanks.”
He leans his forearms on the bar. What is it with the fucking eye contact?
“I should go.”
“I’m not stopping you.”
“Yes, you are,” I say, laughing. I’m literally paralysed by your fucking eyes, you good-looking bastard. I don’t think I’ve ever been under such close scrutiny.
Holding his hands up in surrender, he smirks very mildly. He knows exactly what he’s doing. I note that his hands are perfect too. Perfectly big. Perfectly formed. Perfectly capable? No ring.
“Happy ...” I scan the bar in front of him. A laptop. A pen. Of course. He’s here on business. A meeting? A conference? What does he do? “Happy working,” I say, smiling sweetly and lifting my bag. “I’ll be off for my body wrap.”
His eyebrows raise, and his eyes, which I can now see are somewhere between blue and green, fall down my body. “Lucky body wrapper.”
Oh my God. “Nice talking.”
“It really was,” he murmurs as I inhale deeply, pivoting and walking out, trying to adopt a shameless sashay but, I fear, achieving only a pathetic, trembling stagger.
I make it to Charley and Abbie in the lobby, a hot fucking mess. “I’m ready,” I squeak.
They look me up and down. “What’s up?” they say in unison.
“Nothing.” I pass them aimlessly, not knowing where the hell I’m going but hoping I can cool my flushed cheeks before they get close enough to see them. “I’m ready to be wrapped.” Lucky body wrapper. I stop and search for a sign that’ll point me in the right direction.
“Maybe a mimosa first,” Anouska suggests.
“Oh yes, a mimosa first,” Charley chirps.
“Let me show you the Library Bar.” Anouska motions toward the bar, and my heart flutters. It bloody flutters. My heart has never fluttered, not even for my ex, and it’s in this moment I realise, after weeks of examining our breakup, it wasn’t just talk of babies that scared me off. It was this missing feeling. Except I didn’t realise it was missing, because I’ve never felt ... this. And what is this ? Insane attraction? Not just attraction, but the crazy, knee-knocking, heart-pounding kind.
I watch Charley disappear into the Library Bar, Abbie and Anouska following, and I stand there staring, a little breathless, a lot wobbly. Abbie looks back at me, an unsure smile on her face. “Are you coming?”
Am I? My legs don’t seem to be working. I clear my throat, take in some air—and confidence—and force my feet to move. No sashay in sight.
I breach the entrance and immediately find him still at the bar. “Oh God,” I whisper to myself, accepting the glass being handed to me by the waiter. “Thank you”—I read his name badge—“Clinton.”
“Drink first, wrap later?” he asks, smiling.
I take a long swig, practically polishing off the whole glass in one glug. “Looks like it.”
“I’m around all day, so let me know what cocktail takes your fancy and I’ll rustle one up for you.” He tops me off and gets back to rearranging the back shelf.
“Oh my,” Abbie whispers, her glass at her lips as she watches the barman work. “Someone’s sweet on you.”
My eyes naturally fall to the end of the bar. He’s lost on his mobile. “Behave,” I say, absent-minded.
“Clinton is an award-winning mixologist,” Anouska informs us, pulling the cocktail menu over. Charley places her glass on the bar and helps herself, filling up, shrugging when I throw her a look. “All of the Arlington Hall specials are his creations, except for this one,” she says, pointing to the one at the top. “That one was created by the woman behind Arlington Hall.”
I crane my neck to see the menu. “Hey Jude,” I muse.
“Yes, she named it after her son.” Anouska smiles. “And the Beatles track, of course. It’s very popular.”
“Is that the woman in the portrait in the lobby?” I ask.
“That’s her. Evelyn Harrison. Absolute style icon.”
“She’s beautiful.”
“Was,” Anouska says, her voice lowering to a whisper. “She passed away.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“You should try Hey Jude. You’ll love it.”
“You won’t have to ask me twice.” Charley perches on a stool. “So, does Arlington Hall often give away spa days for next to nothing for mere commoners like us?”
“Speak for yourself.” Abbie laughs. “This is right up my street.”
I smile, looking to the end of the bar again. He’s still on his phone.
“It was a promotion for our fifth anniversary.” Anouska plucks the bottle out of Charley’s hand before she has a chance to fill up again. “Not too much alcohol before spa treatments.”
She pouts. “I’m child- and husband-free, Anouska. I have to make the most of my freedom.”
Anouska smiles wide, revealing pearly whites past her poppy-red lips. “Shall we make our way to the spa now?”
We all place our glasses down, Anouska leads on, and I pick up my feet, nearly walking into Charley when she doesn’t move. Her eyes are wide, her mouth hanging open. I don’t need to ask her what’s up, especially when Abbie elbows me in the side.
“Lord have mercy on my soul for admiring another man,” Charley whispers.
“Mercy granted,” Abbie breathes. “Fuck ... me.”
I close my eyes and swallow, turning to face what has their attention. Or ... who . I’m wholly unprepared for the impact of him, despite knowing it’s faint-worthy. But this time, he’s standing, swinging on his suit jacket. His rough, bristly face has that cheeky sideways smile again. A dimple on his left cheek. His hair is so unperfect yet perfectly perfect. He’s irritatingly flawless. And tall. So tall.
“Hi,” Charley breathes.
“Hi,” Abbie squeaks, and I’m pretty sure they both melt on the spot as he passes.
My senses are further invaded when I catch a waft of something dizzyingly manly. Like sex in a scent. He stops and looks back over his shoulder. Eyes on me. They’re the colour of the sea. A beautiful, muted teal.
“You should definitely try Hey Jude,” he says quietly.
“Okay.” I’m breathless.
And he leaves.
My entire body starts trembling, and it’s totally out of my control. I’m not sure what the others are doing. Mopping up their drool?
“He was talking to you,” Abbie says, linking arms with me on one side and Charley on the other. “Only you.”
“You’re imagining things.”
“Sure.” She laughs.
“If you won’t, I will.” Charley flaps the front of her tent dress. “Vows be damned.”
I laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I know.” She shrugs. “Let’s go cool down in the spa.”
“Yes,” I whisper, rolling my shoulders to try and loosen my tight muscles. “Let’s.”