But Imogen knew without a doubt that the passenger sitting on the pale leather back seat, alone and elegant, was Romily.
Chapter 55
WHENEVER HE ENTERED
one of his own restaurants or clubs, Mitch was reminded of Mr Panciello. When his old boss had come into the establishment there’d always been a frisson, a little rush of fear and excitement, and everybody had raised their game, whether they were likely to cross his path or not.
Mitch felt the same atmosphere now when he came into Alfred’s, his high-class Italian restaurant just off Piccadilly. There was a sense of bustle just out of sight as everyone made sure that things were looking right in case he happened to glance in their direction.
‘Good morning, sir,’ said Tony, the maître d’, ‘everything is prepared for your lunch.’
‘Am I in the private room?’
‘Yes, sir, the small one, as you requested.’
‘OK. I’m gonna check that everything is perfect.’
‘Very well, sir. Let me lead the way.’
Mitch followed the back of Tony’s well-tailored suit as he led the way through the elegant main dining room, up some carpeted stairs and into a small hexagonal room built into the tower, designed by a previous eccentric owner of the building when it was still a private house. Mitch looked about.
‘That vase of flowers is wrong,’ he said brusquely. ‘It’s too small and stingy. I want something richer. Colette’s always has wonderful, generous arrangements, and certainly nothing with freesias in it. Change it.’
‘Absolutely,’ Tony said with a nod of the head, and gestured to a nervous waiter who removed the offending vase at once.
Mitch inspected the rest of the room which was set out carefully with the best china, cutlery and glassware. ‘Let’s hope this satisfies the old man,’ he muttered. Then he sat down to wait.
At precisely one p.m., David was shown into the private room. Mitch got to his feet, and welcomed him with a warm handshake.
‘It’s an honour to have you here, Mr McCorquodale. A great honour. You’re a pioneer in your field, a true master.’ He stood back so his guest could sit down.
‘Very sweet of you to say so, dear boy, if a trifle over-exaggerated. It’s true I did blaze a bit of a trail in my time but I’m sure I was only one of many who saw that our generation craved youthful vigour and not the stuffy old ways.’ David took his place at the table, his eagle eyes glancing quickly over it, taking in every detail.
The old man is quite a dandy
, thought Mitch. David was dressed in lime-green corduroy trousers, a violet velvet jacket and a black and white checked shirt. On his feet were perfectly polished Gucci loafers.
Mitch joined him at the table. At once a waiter appeared to pour chilled water into their glasses. A second later he was back to offer four varieties of bread baked that morning in the restaurant kitchen.
‘Rosemary foccacia … how delicious,’ David said as he took some. ‘And I see you use proper sea salt. Very good. Who do you get your balsamic vinegar from?’
‘Er, I’m not absolutely sure,’ Mitch said, wishing he’d thought to check. It was always the tiny details that mattered most.
David dipped his bread in the oil and vinegar and said, ‘My particular favourite is from the Saggio family. They boil the grape juice in an open pot on a fire for well over a day, then age it in their vats. The best has been aged for fifty years. Giuseppe Saggio is only a little older than his choicest vinegar. Such fun, don’t you think? I love to go to Italy on my buying tours, sampling the best oils – my favourite thing is tasting the new pressing, so strong and peppery, over hot bruschetta. This one you’re serving is very good: dense and fruity. From Ornellaia, isn’t it?’
‘You know your business, Mr McCorquodale,’ Mitch said, smiling, as he followed suit, dipping his foccacia into the balsamic vinegar and oil. ‘And you obviously love it as well.’
‘Of course. I couldn’t devote my life to it if I didn’t love it.’
‘Let’s order. I’m hungry.’
David started with grilled polenta served with mushrooms and thyme, while Mitch had pea and prosciutto soup. Then they each had a small amount of fresh tagliatelle, dressed very simply with truffle oil and well-aged Parmesan.
‘Delicious!’ pronounced David. ‘I really am impressed. Your chef is good. I must think about stealing him for Colette’s.’
‘Please don’t,’ Mitch said with a smile.
They talked about food, restaurants and the industry, all very cordial and always avoiding any mention of themselves, over pan-roasted pigeon stuffed with cotechino sausage for David and simple grilled sea bass with fennel for Mitch.
‘No, no pudding, thank you. Well, that was an excellent meal,’ David said happily as their plates were removed. ‘I do feel so
glad
when that happens. It’s one of life’s ineffable pleasures. I love parties, and I love good food and wine. How lucky that I’ve been able to turn those things into my living.’
‘And still do.’
‘Still do.’ David sighed slightly. ‘Up to a point. I expect you’re wondering why I asked to meet you.’
‘I
was
a little curious,’ Mitch replied.
Now we get to the heart of the matter. I bet you didn’t come just to sample my balsamic vinegar
… ‘I supposed you wanted to tell me to my face what your niece said to me the other night.’
David frowned. ‘What? What did she say? Allegra met you?’
‘Well, yes. I would have thought you’d know about it.’
‘No.’ The old man’s expression turned icy. ‘I didn’t.’ He clenched his fists and his knuckles turned white. ‘It seems I don’t know much these days.’
‘I offered to buy Colette’s and the other clubs,’ Mitch said easily, watching the other man’s expression with interest. ‘But, of course, she turned me down.’
‘Did she? On whose authority, I wonder?’
‘She was sure it was what you’d want, sir.’ Mitch spoke carefully. He wasn’t sure where this was going. Why was the old man so angry with his niece?
‘So sure she didn’t need even to consult me!’ David’s face had flushed dark pink. He leant towards Mitch, his eyes flashing with anger. ‘
This
is what I have to put up with! I’m undermined at every step! And those dens of smut she’s opening …’
Mitch raised his eyebrows, astonished though he didn’t show it. He’d assumed that the old man wanted to turn him down to his face. But if what he was saying was true, then this could be just the opportunity he’d been looking for … ‘I thought Oscar’s was a fine and innovative place. Something you could be very proud of.’
‘But it’s nothing like what I dreamed of! It’s full of celebrities, the members are obsessed by the famous, and they’re letting in anyone who wants to join! It’s not true to
my
ethos … my vision. For me, my clubs are places for friends to gather, to be among like-minded people. Not tacky pick-up joints for actors and actresses, or footballers and pop stars.’
How ironic
, Mitch thought.
Allegra’s only doing what David himself did all those years ago, when he broke new ground and turned away from the older generation and towards the younger. But he can’t see it. He’s a fool. She’s his only hope
.
‘No!’ The old man’s eyes bulged with fury. ‘She’s betraying me and destroying my company. I should never have asked her to join me. And here’s the thing … If this is the way things are going, I would rather no McCorquodale be associated with Colette’s ever again! I would rather a complete stranger had it than that one of my family should bastardise it.’
There was a pause while Mitch absorbed the inference behind David’s words. Then he said quietly, ‘Are you saying you’re willing to sell the clubs to me?’
His guest said shortly, ‘Perhaps. I’m considering it, let’s put it that way. What’s your offer?’
Mitch said, ‘What’s your price?’
‘A hundred million. For all three. With Astor House completed.’
Mitch whistled lightly. ‘That’s quite a price.’
‘And there’s a condition. You must promise to keep Colette’s just as I have made it, and to bring Oscar’s and Astor House into line with my vision. Would you do that?’
Mitch fought to control himself. Elation was coursing through him. He wanted to punch the air in triumph.
Yes! I can’t believe it! It’s fallen into my lap!
His mouth twitched with the effort of keeping a broad smile from appearing. ‘Sir, I can assure you that I would maintain everything you created in just the way you’d want it maintained.’
David fixed him with a steely glare. ‘I think you would. I
believe
I can trust you. Allegra is trying to oust me, to take over my most precious possessions. She must learn that what I have given, I can easily take away.’
‘Sir,’ Mitch said, a gleam in his eye, ‘that is quite a harsh lesson.’
‘Well, I haven’t made up my mind yet. I’m still thinking about it. Send me whatever you think will convince me.’
The minute David had left, after promises to meet again soon, Mitch was on the phone to his lawyer. ‘I need you to draft documentation to buy the David McCorquodale Group. He’s asking for a hundred million so I want you to start work right away on due diligence and valuing the assets, OK? I want to know everything about the clubs, right down to the cost of the mustard pots. But I’ll tell you this: he could ask two hundred million and get it, if that’s what it takes. This is sweet, my man, very, very sweet.’
When he’d finished that call he took his phone outside and made another, where he could be absolutely sure of not being heard.
‘Listen, it has to be done as soon as possible. The time is right. Go now. It will never be better than this.’
Chapter 56
THE HOUSE JUST
off Green Park was lit by thousands of candelabra, which was perhaps a little dangerous considering the amount of silk wafting about, but plenty of staff were on hand to make sure that the flickering candle flames were kept well out of the way of swishing skirts. The party, given by an ambassador to celebrate one of his country’s important anniversaries, was in full swing.
It was already late when Romily arrived so there was no one to make a fuss of her, which was exactly how she’d planned it. She checked her reflection in a full-length mirror in the marble hall. This dress was one of her particular favourites of the season. Marchesa always made gowns she loved, and this was no exception: a dream of crimson silk chiffon, halter-necked with a ruffled collar, a plunging V-neck and a waterfall of ruffles running down the front. It floated around her, making her feel feather light as she walked through the black-and-white marble entrance hall, greeting friends and nodding to acquaintances. The party was full of familiar faces – friends from all over Europe – but she didn’t want to stop. She knew exactly where she was going.
She walked easily through the large rooms with their polished parquet floors and huge windows. Most of the furniture had been removed, with only spindly gilt chairs lining the walls, so that the rooms were left airy and
spacious
. Later an orchestra was going to play and there would be dancing, but for now people were still emerging from the dining room.
Romily stopped to talk to her hostess, who was dripping with diamonds and dressed from head to foot in Christian Dior couture, then made her excuses and carried on her walk through the house, the crimson silk floating lightly with every step. Back in the hall she ascended the great curving staircase, greeting people as she went and murmuring, ‘Would you excuse me?’ as she pressed on, determined.
At last she came to a long, quiet corridor and went quickly along it, counting the doors as she went. When she reached the sixth she stopped, looked briefly back the way she had come, then opened it and stepped inside into the darkness, closing the door behind her.
Blinking, she waited for her eyes to become accustomed to the darkness but even then could make out nothing but shadows and dark shapes. She put her hands out in front of her and took a step forward, and the next moment she gasped in surprise as someone grabbed her wrist. ‘Hush, now,’ a man’s voice whispered close to her ear. ‘We don’t want anyone to know you’re here, do we? It’s better not to talk at all.’
Her heart began to race. The man pushed her gently back against the wall and turned her round so that she was facing what she thought must be bookshelves. He came up close behind her, pressing against her without using any force. Then he put his hands around her waist, running them up and over her breasts. After a few moments, he reached down and gathered up her silk skirts, pushing them up around her waist and revealing her bare bottom underneath, which he ran his hand over with a low moan of pleasure. He put his trousered leg between her bare thighs and prised them part.
She tried to control her breathing as he deftly dealt with his fly, and the next moment felt the head of his cock pushing against her, searching for her entrance. She was tight after so long, though she’d been smooth with juices of arousal since the moment she’d entered the room. The tip of his penis rammed against her until she felt herself slide over its head and he was in. With a hard thrust, the man went deep into her, almost lifting her off her feet. He grasped her round the waist and thrust again and then again.
She shuddered and cried out. It was so deep within her, she seemed to feel it in her belly. The man fucking her grunted with excitement, increasing the strong rhythm of his movement. She never wanted it to stop, thrilling to the sensation of him pounding up inside her. She slid a hand down to her mound, pressing down where the delicious tingling was begging her to rub and play with herself. Then, with a muffled shout, the man thrust hard and climaxed. They stood together as they were for a moment, her pussy still gripping his cock, and then he pulled gently free.
‘Thank you. That was beautiful,’ murmured her lover. She felt her skirts float back down around her legs and the warm trickle of his spending slide down her inner thigh. Then she heard his footsteps, there was a flash of light as the door opened, and the next moment she was alone in the darkness.
The driver opened the door for her and Romily climbed inside. She’d left the party as swiftly as she’d arrived, dying to get home. She was knotted inside with frustration. The experience in the darkened room had been wildly exciting, but it had left her desperate for more, eager to release the spring of lust coiled tightly inside her.