Christmas at Claridge's (25 page)

‘I’m not qualified for this,’ she said, her voice quailing.

‘He says he trusts your instincts,’ Signora Benuto said, repeating his words obediently.

‘But we didn’t sign up for this. I mean, I don’t know any suppliers out here for . . . for paint or wallpapers or . . .’

‘Signor Beaulieu is sending someone through who has contacts with all these people and will liaise with them on your behalf.’

Clem bit her lip. ‘But then that person is the interior designer surely.’

‘Signor Beaulieu wants your vision for the house, not theirs.’

So he was sub-contracting a designer to implement her vision, as opposed to the other way round? Clem sighed. She was supposed to be the professional, not the client, but the boundary was
already blurred.

‘I wouldn’t know where to start with the plumbing or electrics,’ she said, frustrated, throwing her hands in the air and beginning to pace. What the hell was this guy trying to
do to her? They barely knew each other and he’d thrown her entire world into disarray.

‘That has all been upgraded over the spring, signorina. Everything is in the correct position ready for fitting.’

‘So I just have to choose the fittings? Basically act like this is my house and do it up however I want?’ Clem blinked at her.

Signora Benuto winced back. ‘Yes.’

The entire situation was ridiculous, overwhelming. She began pacing. ‘This is completely unacceptable . . . I mean, you should know
there’s nothing . . . you know, going on between . . . us.’

Signora Benuto remained impassive.

Clem stared back at her, knowing this woman was not her ally. ‘I need to make a phone call.’

‘Of course.’ The housekeeper left the room and Clem grabbed her phone from her bag, speed-dialling Stella.

‘You are not going to believe what’s just happened to me!’ she hissed before Stella could say a word.

‘He hasn’t jumped you already! The randy sod!’ Stella half gasped, half laughed.

‘He’s not even here. I’m here alone.’

‘Oh.’ She sounded disappointed. Stella was still firmly of the conviction that the chemistry between them was too strong to deny and would lead to a happy-ever-after ending, whether
Clem liked it or not.

‘He wants me to do the house however I like. I mean, like, everything. Baths, taps, curtains, carpets – way, way beyond anything to do with leather. The whole bloody thing,
Stell!’

‘Noooo,’ Stella gasped enviously.

‘Yes!’

‘Fuck, that’s romantic!’

‘No it’s not!’

‘Babes, he’s clearly telling you that he wants this house to be yours. It’s a grand statement of intent,’ she said slowly, as though this had completely passed Clem
by.

‘Stell, I don’t even know the guy’s name.’

‘Technicality babe. That’s just you playing silly buggers. Meanwhile, he’s moved on to the next level. He’s moved you in and now he’s got you playing lady of the
manor.’

‘I won’t do it.’

‘You have to. Unless you want your family to never speak to you again. If Alderton Hide goes under, it’ll be you they blame. And let’s not even talk about the bag.’

‘It was just a bag,’ Clem hissed furiously.

‘Not to them.’

They fell silent until another thought struck Stella.

‘Look at it this way: if you’re working that much outside the brief, you can charge way higher fees and you’ll be helping Alderton Hide even
more
than you’d
intended. Tom will have no choice but to love you again.’ She was joking, but the words still cut through Clem like steel through flesh.

‘I suppose the fact that he’s not here will make it tolerable,’ Clem muttered, although in truth that had thrown her more than anything. If he was making grand statements of
intent, why wasn’t he here making them himself? Their last meeting at Claridge’s had clearly bruised them both.

‘That’s the spirit!’ Stella chuckled. ‘Now stop being a diva and go and spend the man’s money. If you like, you can fly me out and I’ll knit him a
carpet!’

Clem had to laugh. ‘I’ll call you later then.’

‘You’d better!’

The line clicked dead and Clem noticed Signora Benuto standing discreetly by the door.

‘Stefano is ready to take you when you are ready.’

‘Take me where?’ Clem enquired, puzzled, as she pocketed the phone and hurriedly downed the coffee.

‘To the boatyard in Viareggio.’

Oh God. ‘Is that far?’

‘One hour across the bay. The interior designer will meet you back here this afternoon at four o’clock.’

‘Right,’ Clem sighed, raking her hands through her hair and feeling exhausted already.

‘I shall have coffee prepared.’

More coffee. ‘Well, in that case, would you mind making mine with milk?’

Signora Benuto looked pained.

‘I know I know, you think our coffee’s like dirty water. But I’m English, that’s how we like it.’ Clem shrugged. If they were going to live and work together, they
may as well set some ground rules.

‘Tom? It’s me.’

There was a pause – angry, defiant. ‘Hi.’

‘H-how’s it going?’ she asked, hoping it wouldn’t lead to a conversation about the weather. It was doubtless raining there, still sunny here, and she didn’t want to
come across as boasting. She knew full well he’d have given his eye teeth to be summering in Portofino working on this commission. Instead, he’d been locked out, forced to watch from
the sidelines as his disastrous sister flirted with the client and carried the entire weight, hopes and fortunes of his company on her slender shoulders.

‘Fine. Quiet.’

She nodded, wishing he meant the flat without her, but knowing he was referring to the office and it’s not-ringing phones. She looked out to the horizon. It was in sharp focus now.

‘So, I’ve got good news for you and bad news for me,’ she said, envisaging him sitting there with his eyes closed, his rugby-muscled body braced for the next blow. ‘It
turns out this project isn’t just about Alderton Hide finishes. It’s much, much bigger than that. Did you know? Did he tell
you
? He wants us to do everything – I mean,
second fix onwards: paint colours, doorknobs, lights, taps.’

Still nothing.

‘Obviously, we can’t do it
all
in leather. I mean, it would look ridiculous to clothe the entire house in hides. But I’ll use it wherever I can, don’t worry
about that. I won’t miss an opportunity. I just . . .’

The resounding silence on the other end of the line was distracting.

‘Well, I just wanted you to know that I’ll obviously be billing him for far more than the agreed contract – it’ll be my time he’s paying for, too, not just our
products. So . . . so that’s the good news, it’s all money back in the A. H. coffers. I mean, I know we’re not interior designers, but there’s a really good opportunity here
to showcase our vision – I mean,
your
vision – from start to finish. Usually we only get to add the accents, but this . . . this is a unique chance to do it the other way
around and base the entire scheme around us.’

There was a long pause. ‘Great.’

Great? That was all he had to say? She had come out here; she’d just told him she’d be invoicing for more than double, that this villa was in effect going to be an Alderton Hide show
home, and all he had to say was ‘great’?

They fell silent – her out of words, him refusing to try – and she felt a flash of anger spark inside her. What was it going to take? ‘Right, then. So, I’ll keep you
posted.’

She hung up, exasperated tears begrudgingly falling down her face. She’d wanted to ask his advice, get his help, lean on him for guidance. This was too big for her. If the house
hadn’t been intimidating enough, the boat alone would have been – 30 metres long with a massive salon, four bedrooms, four bathrooms, a kitchen. And that wasn’t even touching the
staff quarters.

Clem had wanted to cry at the sight of it. It was massive out of the water, with its deep-water keel clad in scaffolding, the hull still rusty red and rough as it waited for its state-of-the-art
paintwork. Tarted up, that boat was going to cost millions, and she had proved she couldn’t even be trusted with a bike!

Why was the Swimmer doing this to her? She was out here, all alone, with no support network to rely on, and realizing the full and final magnitude of the job had ramped up the pressure. It had
been bad enough thinking she was simply out there for him to seduce and win. But this, too? She literally didn’t know where to begin.

‘Signorina?’

She looked back and saw the housekeeper standing in the doorway.

‘Signor Fox is here.’

Clem glanced at her watch. Four o’clock. The interior designer. Dammit. She’d been non-stop all day and now she was going to have to meet the person whose commission she’d
stolen. This was going to be fun.

‘Thank you. Please show him in,’ Clem replied wearily, dipping her head and wiping the tears from her cheeks. She rose from the desk she’d thrown her bag under and walked over
the faded blue and red carpet.

‘Hi.’ The Antipodean twang made her jerk her head up. A man, early to mid thirties, was standing there, smiling at her. His blond hair was long and shaggy, with a fringe that hung
over his eyes so that all she could see were teeth and muscles. He was wearing, incongruously, a slim pair of dark red trousers rolled up at the ankles, a sailor-striped T-shirt and a pale blue
sleeveless tank, and he had an iPad tucked under his arm.

Her jaw dropped.
Not
what she was expecting. ‘Hi.’

‘You’re Miss Alderton?’

‘Clem, call me Clem,’ she replied, walking towards him and shaking his hand.

‘Chad Fox.’

‘You’re Australian,’ she said vacuously.

‘Fair dinkum.’ He grinned, laughing as her eyes widened further at the proof. ‘Don’t worry, I’m just kidding. That’s not actually part of my
vernacular.’

Her eyes widened further still. Vernacular? He looked like a surf bum.

‘I . . . I’m sorry,’ she said, gathering her wits. ‘It’s just it’s been a long day and—’

‘I wasn’t what you were expecting? No worries. I get that a lot.’

‘Won’t you sit down?’ she asked.

‘I will.’ He grinned again, emphasizing ‘will’ as though they’d been arguing about it and gently puncturing her mother’s formality.

They sat, knees angled towards the other, on the sad, barely gold velvet sofa. It creaked a little under their weight and Clem cracked a wry smile, too tired not to. Two weeks ago she’d
been eating curry in her flat with Stella and Mercy as they made a secret collection; now she was sitting in a crumbling palazzo in Portofino with an Aussie surf dude who talked wallpaper?

Signora Benuto set down the coffee – along with a small jug of steamed milk for Clem – and left them.

‘Nice trousers by the way.’

Clem smoothed them self-consciously. ‘Thanks. One of the perks of working for a leather company,’ she shrugged. ‘I’m practically contracted to wear leather on a daily
basis.’

‘Hot out here, though. At least it will be soon. The temperature ramps up quickly once May hits.’

Clem nodded, wringing her hands nervously. ‘Yeah.’

‘So, I’m really excited about working with you,’ Chad said, watching her as he sipped his coffee. He took it black, like the locals. ‘I’ve admired Alderton
Hide’s work for a long time. Adding you to my contacts and suppliers is going to be great for my book.’

‘Thanks,’ Clem said nervously, wondering whether he knew he wasn’t the principal designer here, and that she wasn’t simply a supplier. ‘Have you uh . . . I mean,
what’ve you been told about this project?’

Chad looked at her carefully. ‘It’s all right, I’m up to speed if that’s what you’re worried about. This is your gig. Your ideas, my contacts. It’s all cool.
I’m here as backup, the facilitator who’ll get the right people implementing your vision.’

Clem smiled at him gratefully, instantly reassured by his professional largesse. ‘Well, that’s the problem,’ she confided. ‘I don’t have one.’

Chad frowned. ‘Really?’

‘I’m not a designer and I don’t pretend to be. I’ve only walked into this scenario today, and to be honest’ – her shoulders sagged – ‘it’s
freaking me out.’

Chad looked at her consideringly. ‘Well, I’m not surprised. You did only get here today; it’s bound to be a shock. But you’ve clearly got great style. You’re a very
cool chick. No wonder Beaulieu’s given you a free hand.’

Clem looked up at his words. She could tell from his tone that he was rapidly decoding the subtext to her commission, even if nothing had been explicitly said. ‘Do you know him
well?’

Chad shrugged. ‘Not on a personal level. He’s not often here and I work all over Italy. But we’d obviously worked quite closely together on the initial spec.’

‘Initial . . .?’ Clem swallowed. ‘You mean you’d already done designs for this place?’

Chad hesitated before nodding. ‘Yeah. We were a month off from starting when the call came that he was going in a “different direction”.’ He made quote marks with his
fingers in the air, a bemused smile on his lips. Clem wished she could see his eyes more clearly. He must
hate
her. ‘Don’t worry. It happens. And he forfeited a hefty deposit,
so that sugar-coated the pill.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Clem mumbled.

‘Not your fault. Very definitely not your fault,’ Chad replied, watching her closely. ‘Listen, we’ll do this together,’ he said, taking her hand and squeezing it.
‘I can tell you’re going to be better at this than you think. You just need to trust your instincts. Whatever you want to do, I’ll make it happen for you. That’s my
job.’ He winked at her. ‘It’s going to be fine.’

‘Yeah?’ she asked hopefully.

‘Yeah,’ he nodded. ‘In the meantime, you should probably take the rest of the day off. You look exhausted and we don’t need to start today.’

‘I am pretty tired,’ she admitted. ‘I had no idea what I was walking into.’

Chad shook his head and for a moment she could see his eyes – hazel brown and sympathetic – before his fringe resettled over them.
‘This
probably isn’t the half
of it. But don’t worry, you’ve got me on your side now. The Golden Fox will protect you.’