Chapter 47 Beaufort
The Christmas tree in the lobby of the Savoy is so beautiful that I could stare at it for hours.
Sadly, I have an assignation to get to. The Beaufort Bar is dimly lit and decorated in jet black and shining gold.
It is sleek, sexy and expensive, a little like yours truly.
I am draped on an art deco sofa, ensconced in velvet cushions, listening to a jazz standard played on a baby grand with an attentive barman smiling at me.
It has the feel of one of my favourite fantasies.
Tor first met Zac at the American Bar, but that’s not for me at all – too shiny and light. I like a room with dark colours and hidden corners that you can disappear in. A room for whispering.
Tor believes that Zac is a victim like her. She emailed him at my request to say that she has the rest of the money but wanted to see him in person to check the details before she sent it.
Apart from mere lust, Tor’s background might explain this risky affair. Her parents were cold. She spent most of her childhood in boarding school. She wasn’t given love, and hasn’t learned what it feels like. And she has so many staff running her home, she needs a release from the stress.
Zac is her opulent rebellion against her parents’ absence and the compromise of her love-free partnership with Lawrence.
I can’t object to her methods, but her judgement is off.
By all means, sell your soul for personal gain, but choose a partner who inspires trust. Neither Law nor Zac would fall into that category.
The silk-crepe halter-neck Valentino gown I’ve chosen has a ravishingly high split skirt that gives tantalizing glimpses of my legs. I have accented this outfit with bold earrings and a chunky gold necklace. I’m channelling excessive wealth and the promise of promiscuity.
It’s not difficult to understand men like Zac Estall.
He probably found himself in a relationship with an older, richer, married woman at some point in his life and realized that it could be quite lucrative.
He’s a planner, but he also has an opportunistic streak, and I’m guessing that he won’t be able to resist an attractive woman of indeterminate age alone in beautiful surroundings with luxurious bedrooms so close by.
I see him surveying the room like a predator.
I feel his eyes linger on me, move on, then return.
He takes a seat near the bar, orders something without looking at the cocktail menu, and interacts with the barman as if they are old friends.
His charm is tangible, and his suit is beautiful.
I can feel the Zac Estall effect immediately deep between my legs.
He is movie-star gorgeous, and looks like a bad boy.
Tor did him a disservice in calling him handsome.
I have to remind myself I’m working and not here for pleasure.
But it’s hard not to want, when the offer is so unhusband-like.
I order a seasonal sour, which arrives on a silver tray and is placed with an elegant flourish on the table in front of me alongside a small bowl of olives.
I sip, turn to the room, and note his eyes boring into me.
Not lust yet, although there’s a hint of desire.
He smells the money. It’s eight o’clock already.
Any moment now, Zac will receive a message.
I turn away, relax back into my seat and let the music flow over me.
Ping.
Tor’s message will tell him of a fight between her and Lawrence over the money.
She can’t make it. She’s terribly, terribly sorry.
This was my plan, and I insisted Tor follow my instructions.
What else could she do? Zac will message her back in soothing, forgiving words, although he’ll be annoyed by her lack of ability to deliver what he wants.
Now, it is all about me, so I rise from my seat and head to the piano, stand beside the pianist and listen attentively.
All the time, I can feel Zac watching, trying to work me out.
I return to my seat, with an appreciative but brief glance in his direction.
You must disguise the hook as you draw the fly through the water.
Impressively, Zac does not approach me for twenty minutes.
Perhaps he is merely cautious. But I feel him glancing and calculating, as I slowly become his mark.
At 8.25 p.m., a barman appears at my side. ‘The gentlemen at the bar would like to offer you a cocktail. What might madam prefer?’
‘A man who can choose the right cocktail for me,’ I say. Four minutes later a cocktail appears on my table with a new bowl of olives. I look at it.
‘Peas in a pod,’ says the waiter.
I take the glass, turn to Zac, raise it and sip.
The tall, dark, ravishingly good-looking Zac Estall stands, adjusts his jacket and walks imperiously to my table.
‘It was presumptuous,’ he says. ‘After all, you might just be here for the music, but I’ve been stood up.’
‘I wouldn’t say I’ve been stood up,’ I say. ‘Rather, I’ve been let down.’
‘Would you mind if I join you? Maybe for a little character assassination?’
‘Why not? Killing people is always preferable to killing time.’
Zac sits opposite me in a velvet armchair. He leans forward and appears panther-like in the darkness.
‘It’s a beautiful dress,’ he says. ‘Special occasion?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t wear this just to meet a friend,’ I say, smiling.
Zac laughs. ‘Not unless it was a special friend.’
‘And what’s your story?’ I ask.
‘Dating by app. Digital disappointment.’
‘I’m glad it wasn’t around in my formative years,’ I say, wondering if he’s actually attracted to older women or just sees them as easy prey.
‘It’s a perfect example of overpromising and underdelivering. I’m looking for a deeper connection, even if gloriously fleeting.’ His blue eyes stare into mine, and I nearly gasp. He is, quite simply, edible.
‘How fleeting?’ I ask.
‘Oh, you know. More than a swipe and less than a proposal.’
‘I’m Lalla, pleased to meet you.’
‘I’m Zac, and inordinately pleased to meet you.’
‘I’m married. And you may think me depraved that I was here waiting to hook up with an old flame, but it’s purely to support my fragile ego, which has been ravaged by age.’
‘I think your ego needs to look in the mirror.’
‘That’s very kind, but life has a way of chipping away at you,’ I say, and sip my cocktail.
‘And serendipity has a way of putting the pieces back together.’
‘Is this serendipitous?’
‘Two disappointed voyagers thrown together. Two peas in a pod.’
‘Or ports in a storm.’
‘In any weather at all.’
The next hour rushes by. I feel younger, more wanted, more playful, and, most of all, desired. Although I’m over ten years his senior, Zac manages to keep the conversation buoyant with his flirtatious wit. I can see how he found his way past Tor’s icy defences.
Now and then, his hand rests gently on my leg for the briefest moment, but the touch is enough to make me hunger for more.
At 9.30 p.m. his eyes hold mine, he takes both my hands (his are soft and warm), and says, ‘I know this is an incredible liberty, and that we’ve known each other barely an hour, but you are exquisitely beautiful, effortlessly brilliant, and extraordinarily brazen, and I have this insistent desire to kiss you. ’