Do Not Disturb (53 page)

“Your friend’s here to pick you up, by the way,” he said, signing the requisite papers and dragging his thoughts back to the professional matters at hand. “And please let him carry your suitcase. None of your feminist nonsense today, all right? Don’t even think of overexerting yourself.”

“Friend?” Honor looked puzzled. “What friend?”

She hadn’t asked anybody to pick her up, other than the car service that was coming to take her to the airport for her three o’clock flight to Boston.

“Hello, Honor.”

She spun around. For a moment she thought the good doctor must have slipped something into her water and she was hallucinating. For there, leaning against the doorway looking lean and tanned in a blue open-necked shirt, with his raven curls so long they were almost at his shoulders, stood Lucas.

“We’re good now, thanks Doc,” he said, shaking the doctor’s hand as he ushered him out. Honor could see that in his other hand he held a small bouquet of peonies, her favorite flowers, although Lucas couldn’t have known that.

“I’ll take care of her from here.”

“Make sure you do,” said the doctor, jovially. “She’s a handful, this one.” And with a last smile at Honor, he was gone.

Annoyingly, for the crucial first few seconds, Honor was too flabbergasted to get a single word out. But inside her mind was racing.

What the hell was Lucas doing here, looking like a rock star just back from a relaxing break in the Maldives, while she looked pale and pasty and…in fact, screw all that, what the hell was he doing here, period?

“I’m calling security,” she spluttered.

“Now that’s not very welcoming, is it?” said Lucas, his upper lip curling in amusement. “Aren’t you at least going to put these in some water first?”

“No.” Snatching the peonies, Honor flung them on the bed. “Thank you,” she added, automatically. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m leaving. Right now. I have a plane to catch.”

Ignoring Dr. Reeves’s express instructions, she picked up her heavy case and began struggling toward the door. But Lucas was too quick for her. Placing a firm but gentle hand on her shoulder, he prized the suitcase easily from her grip.

“You heard the doctor,” he said bossily. “You’re not to lift anything. I’ll do it. Nice dress, by the way. And the long hair’s a big improvement.”

Honor erupted. “What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?” she demanded. “If you came to gloat, consider it done already, OK? Get the hell out of my face.”

“Why would I come to gloat?”

He cocked his head to one side like a confused puppy. If Honor didn’t know what a scheming, self-obsessed bastard he was, she might almost have found it endearing. As it was, his feigned innocence only fanned the flames of her fury.

“Because my hotel is gone,” she said, her eyes welling up with tears despite herself. “Because you’ve got what you wanted at last.”

Lucas put down the suitcase. “This is not what I wanted,” he said quietly.

“Yeah. Right. Whatever,” said Honor.

“Maybe it was once, years ago. But not anymore.” He looked up, willing her to believe him, but she glared implacably back. “I was in town anyway, scouting out possible sites for my new Luxe—”

“That’s great for you,” said Honor bitterly.

“I knew about the fire, obviously, but it wasn’t until I got here that I realized you’d been hurt. As soon as I heard, I came straight to the hospital. I wanted to say how sorry I was, and to see if there was anything I could do. You know, to help.”

“There is,” said Honor, deadpan. “Drop dead.”

Lucas sighed. Her feminine makeover clearly didn’t extend to her personality, or her language.

“Do you really think I could ever forgive you, after what you did to me? Not to mention Tina?”

“Oh, come on.” Lucas’s voice was rising with exasperation. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? Your sister’s tape had nothing to do with me. It was Anton. He set her up. He set us both up, can’t you see that?”

“No,” said Honor stubbornly. “I can’t.”

Lucas had been the enemy for so long, the idea of casting him in any other role was almost frightening. She must hold on to her anger or she’d be lost.

“So what about leaking that story about me and Devon?” she challenged him. “You’re gonna tell me that was Anton too, I suppose?”

“Yes,” said Lucas calmly. “It was. Jesus. You’ll be accusing me of starting that fucking fire next.”

Honor narrowed her eyes. “Did you?”

“No!”

Not sure what to think anymore, she sank down onto the bed. All this arguing was beginning to tire her out.

“You know, for a smart woman you can be incredibly stupid at times,” said Lucas. “Granted, I may have said some unpleasant things about you in the press when the Herrick first launched—”

“May have?” Honor looked at him, incredulous.

“Hey, you weren’t whiter than white either, you know,” Lucas reminded her. “So up yourself, so fucking self-righteous. My God! Anyone would think you had a divine right to the East Hampton market. You said some terrible things about me back then, too.”

Honor simmered furiously but didn’t say anything. She supposed he might be very, very slightly right on that one.

“I told you I’d keep my mouth shut about you and Carter, and I did. I wouldn’t have put Lola through all that crap on purpose.”

“Right. Because you cared so much about Lola,” Honor shot back. “I could tell that the night I caught you in my hot tub with my sister’s head between your legs. That guy, I thought, is
all
about his girlfriend. Talk about loyalty. You were quite the gentleman.”

“You know what?” Lucas sprang angrily to his feet. “Believe what you want.”

He was through trying to convince her. He’d actually come here to bury the hatchet. Because he’d thought about her almost
every day since he’d left. Because when he heard she might be seriously hurt, he felt like someone had kicked him hard in the stomach and wouldn’t stop. But there was no point offering an olive branch to Honor. All she wanted to do was beat him over the head with it.

“I have a hotel to build,” he said, storming out.

“Oh yeah?” Honor yelled after his retreating back as he disappeared down the corridor. “Well, guess what? So do I! Asshole. You haven’t heard the last of Palmers yet, you hear me?”

But Lucas was already gone.

Three thousand miles away in London, Sian sat at the table at Nobu, a fixed grin glued to her face, conjuring up mental images of the various tortures she would inflict on Lola later for suggesting tonight’s dinner.

What in heaven’s name had possessed her to come?

There were six of them at the table: herself and Paddy, who seemed to be having a grand old time swapping football stories with the boys and getting drunk on sake; Lola and Marti, who, as usual, spent most of dinner gazing gooily into one another’s eyes like a couple of half-wits; and Ben and Bianca.

The dinner was intended as a thank-you to Ben for saving her ass after the whole Sir Jago Wells disaster. Once she’d finally plucked up the courage to call him, he’d gone to bat for her brilliantly, organizing a hotshot lawyer within an hour and calling her editor himself, threatening to take private legal action if the paper so much as thought about making Sian a scapegoat and denying responsibility.

Thanks to his strong-arm tactics, she’d gotten away with just a warning from the police. But Simon, her editor, didn’t take kindly to being threatened. After three weeks of being given dead-end stories about Thames water or runaway guinea pigs,
Sian took the hint and resigned from the
News of the World
. She was now back to freelancing again and absolutely hating it.

“In a way, it must be liberating, though, isn’t it?” asked Bianca, taking another sip of her vodka lime and soda, the models’ drink of choice. “Being able to write what you want. Set your own agenda.”

She had no makeup on, her hair in a ponytail, and was wearing a simple white tank top and jeans. But despite this every man and most of the women in the room were mesmerized by her, craning their necks to catch every word that fell from her goddess-like lips.

Sian tried hard not to be jealous, but she was only human.

“Kind of,” she said. “But you never really set your own agenda. Editors always get to call the tune, whether you’re freelance or in-house. That’s the nature of the business.”

“What are you on about, now?” said Paddy, wrapping a long, skinny arm around her shoulders and kissing her tenderly on the top of the head. “Not work, I hope. We’re supposed to be having fun, babes. Remember?”

Ben, who couldn’t help but notice the kiss and the affectionately proprietorial arm, felt a knot forming in his stomach. He really must pull himself together and grow up.

When Sian had called him from the police station that day, his elation was hard to describe. He’d thought about her so often since they’d parted and wanted to make amends for so long for his idiotic behavior in America. But, of course, he’d been too chicken-shit to make the first move. Then out of the blue came her lovely singsong voice on his direct line, not only calling him, but actually needing his help. It was the perfect chance to put things right. And he had. At least, he thought he had.

So why was it still so awkward between them? If she really had forgiven and forgotten, why did she still avoid his gaze whenever he looked at her? And why, despite immediately taking to Paddy, did Ben find himself suffering repeated, strong
urges to strangle the guy with his own shoelaces every time he touched her?

“What you need is one really good story, to make your name,” said Bianca to Sian. “Something all the papers’ll be lining up to buy.”

“Yeah,” said Lola, picking up a sliver of raw scallop with her chopsticks and dropping it adoringly into Marti’s mouth. “A scoop.”

What I need is a boob job, thought Sian, looking miserably from Lola’s ample cleavage to Bianca’s, then down at her own flat-as-a-pancake chest. She’d made an effort tonight too, in a flowing red dress from Top Shop and the patent black leather boots that Paddy called her Fuck-Me Specials. She had been feeling quite pleased with her look until first Lola and then Bianca rocked up looking like Lindsay Lohan and Angelina Jolie, respectively. No wonder Ben kept giving her that weird look. He must be thanking his lucky stars he’d traded her in when he did. Talk about an upgrade.

“Speaking of good stories,” said Marti, tearing himself away from Lola for a nanosecond, “did any of you guys read about the fire at Palmers hotel? I heard a rumor that Honor Palmer might have done it herself, for the insurance.”

“No way,” Lola shook her head vehemently. Though still not Honor’s biggest fan, ever since she’d eavesdropped on the conversation with her father at Minty Burnstein’s wedding, she’d stopped viewing her as the scarlet woman. Instead, she’d redirected her anger equally between her old man, for his rank hypocrisy, and Lucas, for his vindictiveness in going to the press about the affair. “Honor may be many things, but she’s not an arsonist. That hotel was her life. There’s no way she’d torch it. Not in a million years.”

“Well, someone doesn’t like her,” said Marti. “It was almost certainly arson.”

“Maybe it was Lucas,” said Lola, only half joking, raising an eyebrow at Ben. “He hates her guts. And he’s certainly vicious enough.”

“I don’t think so,” said Ben mildly. He understood Lola’s hostility—after the shoddy way Lucas had treated her, he could hardly blame her—but she was wrong about this. “He doesn’t hate Honor. Not deep down. And he’s got better things to do with his time than run around starting fires.”

“Oh, of course it wasn’t Lucas!” laughed Bianca, who didn’t know his history with either Lola or Sian and had always gotten along well with him. “He’s a sweetheart, isn’t he, Ben? He wouldn’t hurt a fly.” The two other girls caught each other’s eyes and giggled.

“If Lucas has a vendetta against anyone, it’s Anton Tisch,” said Ben, chasing a sliver of tuna around his plate with a chopstick he had no idea how to use. He hated Japanese food anyway. Bloody rip-off. “And may the force be with him, I say. That man has single-handedly blown a hole in my business the size of the Grand fucking Canyon.”

“Aww,” said Sian archly. “Down to your last five hundred mill, are you? Poor thing.”

Ben blushed, and she instantly regretted being so flippant.

“Well I think Tisch is dreadful,” said Bianca loyally. If she’d picked up on the awkwardness between Sian and Ben, she didn’t show it. “He makes himself out to be this charitable, caring guy, but he treats women like shit. And what he did to poor Lucas was unforgivable.”

This was a bridge too far for Lola.

“Poor Lucas? Are you kidding me? The guy entrapped a woman into making a porno in his hotel, then released the video on the Internet! Not to mention what he did to me and my family. I’m sorry, Bianca, but he deserved to get fired, and then some.”

Realizing belatedly that she’d stepped on a land mine, Bianca shut up.

“Lucas has always said Anton was behind that tape,” said Ben bravely. He knew that both Sian and Lola would happily order
Lucas’s head on a plate if it were on the menu, but felt an obligation to try to stick up for a mate.