Chapter One Present Day
Chapter One
Present Day
Edith-Madeleine – who, aged twenty-nine, chose to be known simply as Madeleine – stared at her reflection in the vast gilt-framed mirror that filled the space between the marble sink and the ceiling.
Turning first to the left, then right, she studied her profile in the flattering light, liking the slight curve of her bust inside her ivory silk shirt, which sat crisply over her lace bra.
The top two buttons were undone to reveal her bronzed décolletage.
Next came close-up scrutiny of her understated make-up, using the tip of her French-manicured finger to remove a fleck of mascara that had found its way to her highlighted cheekbone, and carefully wiping the corners of her mouth to make sure no spit or matt ‘café au lait’ had gathered there.
Her teeth were white – white white. Her chestnut hair hung in artful waves around her face and her navy cigarette pants, paired with nude heels, elongated her slender legs.
She smiled twice, and laughed once, making a mental note not to open her mouth too widely or to wrinkle her nose – both habits she had worked hard to eradicate.
Next, she moved closer to the mirror and whispered, ‘Nyor-keeee. Nyo-kee. Nyoki. I’ll have the gnocchi.
No!’ She shook her head, and took a beat. ‘The gnocchi for me, please.’
As the door opened, allowing noise from the restaurant to filter in, she straightened and reached into her Lulu Guinness clutch for her perfume – Angelique Noir by Guerlain. The bottle felt reassuringly expensive as she spritzed her wrists and behind her ears.
A glossy blonde woman walked in and halted. ‘Oh! Your scent! That’s utterly divine! Love it!’ She inhaled deeply.
Madeleine gave her customary half-shrug of indifference while inside firecrackers of joy exploded in her gut.
She walked quickly from the bathroom, making her way back to the front of the restaurant, where she waited in the marble-floored foyer. The ma?tre d’ approached, as she had known he would, having been so accommodating when she’d rushed in and asked to use the loo before taking her table.
‘Hello again, madam.’ He gave a slight bow; she liked it.
‘Hello.’ She glanced at his face before looking past him into the dining room, where intimate tables were set with starched white linen and silverware. The whole place carried an air of refined sophistication.
‘And you’re having lunch with us?’
‘Yes.’ She looked back at him. ‘Table for two, under the name Woods – Madeleine Woods.’
He walked to the lectern, where a bespectacled girl stood with a pen in her hand and carried an air of authority. The gatekeeper. Ignoring his colleague, he ran his finger down the computer screen and beamed up at her, as if she’d won a prize.
‘Please follow me.’ Again that slight bow with the incline of the head.
He paused at a table that was sat in front of the bar – almost a thoroughfare, and not where she wanted to sit. Not at all.
‘No, thank you. Erm... we’ll take that one.’ She pointed to a table set perfectly for two by the window.
‘Of course, madam.’ He did his best but failed to control the twitch of irritation under his left eye. ‘May we get you some water for the table?’ He clasped his hands at his chest, as if in prayer.
‘Yes. Sparkling, thank you.’
She glanced at him briefly before he walked away, keeping her smile small and her attitude professional, just like her ex-boss and mentor, Rebecca Swinton, would have done.
Madeleine, having watched her every move in social situations, now understood that to allow people to flourish and perform it was best not to be over-friendly, to not break the boundary that kept everyone feeling secure.
To do differently only smudged the lines of operation and muddled your responses.
She took her seat and placed her bag on the windowsill, moving the cutlery to her right, to give her and her guest more space.
She studied the small, printed menu in front of her, already knowing what she was going to choose, having looked up the options online this morning.
‘Madeleine!’
Nico called her name, unabashed and confident as he walked towards the table, two steps behind the ma?tre d’.
There was the unmistakable flare of attraction in her gut that she’d felt the first time they’d seen each other across the boardroom table at Field and Gray – the lawyers who advised the agency on all manner of property law, both here and abroad.
Nico’s mother, Belinda Yannis, was a partner; his maternal grandfather, Horatio Gray, one of the founders; and Nico was, according to the gossip flying around the bar of The Ned for their post-meeting analysis, being prepped to take over the reins when his mother retired – if she ever retired.
From what Madeleine could tell, the immaculately groomed, wrinkle-free Belinda was more likely to collapse while poring over contracts in her office than bow out gracefully to tend to her garden or join the bowls club.
Madeleine had been in awe and petrified of her in equal measure, noting the way she delicately and loosely rested her hands in front of her – Cartier tank catching the light, palms steady, wrists relaxed, no hint of tension – as if to sit at the head of the highly polished table was her absolute right, which of course, as Horatio Gray’s daughter, it was.
Madeleine had taken a deep, slow breath, knowing that if this was the way the woman conducted herself, she would find any overt nerves in others less than attractive.
Nico didn’t have his mother’s stern presence.
He was as handsome as she’d remembered, with short dark hair and brown eyes that crinkled at the sides as he smiled.
His easy-going expression and manner were most alluring.
His presence and initial interaction confirmed the connection between them that had been immediate and thrilling.
It would also be a lie if she were to say that the stature and status of a man like this didn’t hold its very own attraction.
‘Lunch!’ He sat opposite her and leaned back in the chair, clearly comfortable in these surroundings, and picked up the menu, giving it only the briefest of considerations.
‘Yep, lunch!’
‘I must admit, my invitations to dinner don’t usually get demoted to lunch.’ He shook his head.
‘Is that right? Interesting you see it as a demotion. I much prefer lunch.’
‘How come?’ He sat forward, interested, as he placed the menu flat on the table.
‘Because if I’d said yes to dinner, and you were dull company or we didn’t get on, or you had some truly terrible habits that turned my stomach, then not only would I be trapped with you for hours, but it’d be a waste of a precious free evening.
Whereas lunch... What do you reckon, hour and a half, tops? ’
‘Absolute tops,’ he agreed.
‘I can put up with just about anything for that short window. So if this turns out to be a disaster, the day is not entirely lost. And if we do get on – and you don’t reveal your horrid habits and you’re not a complete bore – we can progress to dinner.
Whereas if we start there, we have nowhere to go. ’
‘It feels like a test.’ He pulled a face.
‘I guess it is, for us both.’ She liked their level of eye contact, the ease of conversation, the shared humour, the way she set the rules and he went along with it, falling into step as she played hard to get. A ploy that she felt only enhanced her attractiveness.
‘Here’s the thing: based on our very flirty texts, I already like you. It’s been fun.’ He sounded sincere and she took the compliment, unwilling to admit that she’d read and re-read their exchanges before falling asleep for the last couple of nights.
‘Well, you should have said! We could have carried on texting and saved ourselves the price of lunch! This is probably a good time to point out that we’re going Dutch, just to make sure there’s no sense of obligation on either of our parts.’
‘Dutch it is, perfect.’ He laughed. ‘And you raise a good point, but, just so you know, I do think there’s somewhere to go if dinner goes well. I usually like to progress to a weekend at my cottage.’
‘Usually? So you do this a lot?’ she half-teased.
‘Actually, I really don’t.’ He dropped the humour and his expression became intense. She felt a shiver of longing ripple through her bones.
‘Hmmm, interesting. You see, I think a weekend away after one dinner is too big a leap for me, but a weekend away after one lunch and two dinners is just about acceptable.’
‘I can see you’ve given it some thought.’
‘I have,’ she admitted, ‘and this is also probably as good a time as any to tell you that I’m leaving for LA in two weeks.
So don’t get too attached, as I’ll be jetting off into the sunset for the foreseeable future.
I’m sure it’s going to be just like La La Land and I’ll probably get whisked off my feet by a budding actor, who ultimately will make it big and buy me diamonds. ’
‘I can buy you diamonds right now.’
‘I don’t even like diamonds! Plus, I could buy my own,’ she emphasised.
‘Touché.’ He beamed. ‘I like LA. Maybe I’ll come visit you.’
‘Too soon! We haven’t finished lunch number one yet.
We absolutely cannot be making those kinds of plans!
’ She widened her eyes in mock horror, although her stomach flipped in excitement at the prospect, more than a little enamoured by the fact he could indeed come visit and buy diamonds – one of these a significantly more exciting prospect than the other.
Diamonds – in fact baubles of any kind – had never impressed her.
‘Shall we order? I’m starving.’ He clapped his hands together.
She liked his honesty and his humour. She raised her hand and the waiter came over.
‘Madam?’ The moustachioed man stared at her.
‘The gnocchi for me, please.’ She ordered with confidence.
‘Oh, good shout. Yes, for me too, please.’
‘Certainly. And to drink?’