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‘This will have to wait, Amy. We have the rest of our life to make love in. Let’s just get out of this mess. And, remember, time is of the essence.’

Together they walked back into the drawing-room and Amy very casually asked in a low voice, ‘Why of the essence, Jarret?’

In an equally low voice he told her, ‘Because unless we show our bank that the Turkish property is ours, that it’s an asset and can be used as collateral, it will foreclose and we might lose the
palazzo
. Once you’ve won the case against us and the
yalis
is legally yours, then you sign the house back over and we can go to the bank.’

A voice kept screaming in Amy’s head: ‘We’ve got you, we’ve got you! Now I know you’ll have to sign it over to me on my conditions.’

They all sat round a table, each of the men with a pile of papers in front of him. But it was Amy who opened the meeting. ‘I have explained the plan you and Fee worked out to Mr Gazi. He agrees with you that it is your best and probably only chance of settling this affair and getting everything you want.’

She stopped at this point and gave Jarret a warm and loving smile. Fee, sitting to one side of her, received a pat on the hand. He grabbed hers and kissed it. A look of joy, relief and greed came flooding over his face. With an arrogant twitch of the head, he told her, ‘Amy, you will never regret this.’

‘I’m banking on that, Fee.’

Jarret, who was sitting on the other side of her, leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Excuse me, gentlemen, but a kiss for a generous angel does not seem out of order.’

‘Mr Gazi has agreed to act for me once I have the property legally passed from your hands into mine. It will take some time but he agrees with you, Fee. If those in charge can save face and they get the museum, they will grant me everything they possibly can.’

None of Amy’s team missed the look of relief that passed between Jarret and Fee. She continued, ‘Now, having found your plan feasible, Fee, I then went to my solicitor here, Mr Hardcastle, to draw up documents that would make the transfer legal and binding in international law so that it would protect us all and be credible to the Turkish authorities. Now I’ll pass you over to Mr Hardcastle who will explain it all to you as he has explained it to me.’

For the next hour and a half James Hardcastle went over every detail of the contract he had drawn up for Amy. Fee and Jarret questioned everything they possibly could. They suggested loopholes, wanted escape clauses, anything to be certain they could grab the property back from her any time they wanted to. James Hardcastle rejected every suggestion. The contract was iron clad in Amy’s favour or he would advise his client to walk away. Mr Gazi and Hardcastle explained endlessly that if even a hint of such a thing was in the contract, there was no point in doing the deal at all. For if it was there for anyone to see, the
Turkish government would see it and scream fraud.

It surprised Amy when it was Jarret and not Fee who said, ‘What recourse do we have if Miss Ross should not wish one day to return the property to us?’

Amy jumped out of her chair, her face full of hurt and anger. ‘None! Unless my love and devotion and my word mean something to you, and obviously they don’t. What am I doing here if not for those things? I’m leaving.’

It was Mr Gazi who spoke now, in Turkish to Fee. Amy merely stood there, Jarret trying to calm her with words of gratitude and love. Finally the two men stopped talking and Fee spoke. ‘Jarret, Mr Gazi suggests that we remain as we are and do nothing or else make the property over to Amy and hope for the best deal she can achieve for us. Now we have nothing. With her, maybe we’ll get something.’

‘In other words, sign is the only game in town?’ said a very unhappy Jarret.

‘That’s about it, Mr Sparrow,’ said Mr Gazi.

‘I don’t want you to sign, Jarret. Love is obviously not enough of a guarantee for you.’

They were gazing deep into each other’s eyes. Amy read in his anger, hatred, love, desperation. He saw in hers what he thought was a woman in love, a giver unto death. He put a finger under her chin and tilted it up to place a kiss upon her lips. Then he turned to Mr Hardcastle and asked, ‘Where do I sign?’

Chapter 20

It was the second week in December. The Soutine was on display in New York, and all the art world was talking about it as being the finest of the artist’s work. Mr Gazi was in Istanbul, fighting the good fight for Amy with some success. They were negotiating terms. Edward, Anthony and Amy were making ready to visit the sites on their museum shortlist. They would be in Istanbul the following day. Jarret and Fee were in India, guests of a minor Danish Royal. Peter Smith was disappointed by Amy’s refusal of his invitation to Christmas in Easthampton and philosophical when she told him she could not see herself visiting him in the near future but that he and his delightful family were welcome to visit her when they were next in England. Brice Chatto was walking through Heathrow airport, trying to get through to Amy on his mobile telephone. Busy, busy, busy.

Amy was feeling just a little sorry about Peter Smith. Weeks before, on that morning his flowers had arrived, she’d had high hopes that it might go right for them. Now she knew she was still looking for the magic that can accompany love and that it simply wasn’t there for Peter Smith and Amy Ross. She put the receiver down and hoped she hadn’t sounded cold and cruel. No sooner
had she done that than the telephone was ringing again. She picked it up.

‘I’m feeling deprived.’

Amy recognised the voice at once. It sent a shiver of pleasure through her. ‘Of what?’

‘Of laughter with sunshine in it, the sound of joy, and a touch of wickedness.’

‘I don’t think I could ever deprive you of anything,’ she told him, and then laughed – not for him or to impress but because she felt genuinely gleeful that he still wanted her.

‘May I come and see you?’

‘As quickly as you can.’

‘Directions?’

She gave them and then he said, ‘I’m leaving Heathrow
now
.’

Amy went into high speed, rushing round the house, wanting it to look its best. Tillie was informed of a visitor,
the
visitor, and got herself into a state because there wasn’t much food in the house and the tumble dryer was going. Amy hated the sound of machines at the best of times,
never
allowed them when there were visitors. It was too late to do anything about flowers. Everything settled down when Tillie suggested, ‘He’s not coming to see the house, why don’t you do something with yourself?’

Tillie was quite right. Amy took one last look at her house. It looked perfectly enchanting, just as it always did. She went upstairs to her bedroom and bathed and changed into a full-length paper-thin suede skirt the colour of grey pearls, slipped into a cream crêpe-de-chine
long-sleeved blouse, and clasped round her waist a plum-coloured soft leather belt, the buckle of which was a huge elliptical-shaped black opal set in a slim pink-gold frame.

When Amy looked in the mirror at herself she could not remember the last time she’d looked so happy, so young and full of hope, so filled with excitement for a man. She ran her fingers through her luscious dark silky hair. She was at her best and waiting for the best, of that she was certain.

When Amy walked down the stairs Tillie had just put a taper to a newly laid fire. She watched Amy and had to take a seat. Never taking her eyes off her employer, she watched her cross the drawing-room. ‘I don’t know when I’ve ever seen you look so happy, Miss Ross, and so really beautiful. I almost don’t know what to say.’

Amy laughed and told her faithful housekeeper, ‘If I know you, you’ll find something.’

‘I hope he brings some more of those chocolates!’

Then they both laughed and Tillie rose from the settee and went to the kitchen. She could at least manage scones for tea.

Two hours had passed since his call and still there was no sign of Brice Chatto. Amy wasn’t at all anxious about his not coming or getting lost, she somehow knew he was a man who never got lost or broke his word. Hadn’t he already proved that to her when they had missed each other at the Connaught? No, she was more curious as to what was delaying him than anything. It was nearly four o’clock when a chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce pulled up to the boat house.

It was dusk and mist was rising on the river and drifting across the garden. It was frosty and damp and cold, yet a romantic way for Brice to see the boat house for the first time; better even than if he had arrived in sunshine.

Tillie and Amy arrived in the hall at the same time to answer the door. ‘Not this time, Tillie. This one is all mine.’

Tillie gave a broad smile and suppressed giggles, vanishing back into the kitchen, and Amy opened the door.

Brice was wearing a rust-coloured Harris tweed coat, its collar turned up. He looked at her, really looked at her, from the tip of her head down to her toes, and only then did he say, ‘Hello.’

‘Hello.’

He ran the fingers of his right hand through his hair, and then said, ‘I remember you as less stunningly beautiful.’

‘That’s because you remember the sound of my laughter more.’

‘Do you think I can come in?’ he asked with a smile that crept into her heart.

‘Please.’

He turned to the chauffeur and asked him to bring in the parcels. ‘Hence the delay.’

‘You didn’t have to, Brice.’

‘It’s not a matter of have to. More that I heard a lady laugh and it touched my soul. Then when we met something in my heart went click. I would like to spend
the rest of my life laying the world at your feet. I hope you’ll not deprive me of that? Bond Street would be the less prosperous for it if you did.’

They entered the hall and the chauffeur followed, loaded down with an array of beautifully wrapped parcels.

‘I feel like it’s Christmas,’ said Amy.

‘I intend to make every day of your life Christmas. By the way, how would you like to spend it with me?’

‘Very much.’

Brice didn’t have to say a word. The moment he was in the hall there was a hint of a smile on his face. He got the very specialness of Amy’s house, understood it, and was uplifted by it. They seemed to forget the chauffeur standing with the parcels. Brice unbuttoned his coat and said, ‘I want a tour, I want to see it all.’

His eyes missed none of the beautiful things in the hall. Together they walked through it into the drawing-room. Brice looked over his shoulder and said to the chauffeur, ‘Don’t forget the flowers in the back of the car.’

‘And flowers?’

‘For you, always flowers.’

‘There’s not one in the house because I’m away tomorrow. I wish there had been, and glorious food and wine to welcome you home.’

Amy had meant to say ‘to my home’. She could only put it down to a Freudian slip. He didn’t miss it either, the look in his eyes told her that. He dropped his coat over a chair and wandered round the room. Amy stood
by the fireplace watching him. Stopping at the Bechstein concert grand he sat down and briefly played something to check the tone, then stood up and shook his head in approval. ‘Perfect.’

He went to Amy and took her hand in his. They stood for some time just looking at each other. Finally she broke the spell. ‘There’s the kitchen yet to see on this floor.’

‘Are you a great cook?’

‘No, just good.’

He made no comment and they went to the kitchen. On the table lay masses of large-headed white lilies on long stems, dozens of them, together with white lilac. Tillie was already filling the white marble vase. ‘They’re lovely, Brice! Now you will see the house as I would have liked you to. And this is Tillie, my housekeeper.’

‘Hello, Tillie.’

‘I made scones for tea,’ she told him, and Amy couldn’t understand why since Tillie was never familiar with her guests.

‘And I’ve brought chocolates.’

‘The best Belgians with cream centres?’

He laughed and said, ‘Yes, how did you know?’

‘You look that kind of man.’

Amy rushed Brice from the kitchen. Tillie was already acting out of character and Amy thought she might say too much. ‘Tea in front of the fire, Tillie.’

There was that something special between them that can happen only when a person meets the other they have searched for all their life. They both knew it, and
it was so very strong and right that neither of them felt the need to talk about it. It was all so easy and right between them. Amy had the strange sensation of having loved him all her life, of having known him for ever, and yet there was that thrilling time between a man and a woman of discovering each other. A sexual attraction that kept her slightly on edge and full of anticipation.

Together they watched Tillie walking across the drawing-room with the silver tray laden with tea. Brice whispered, ‘Can she be bribed to take the rest of the afternoon off
immediately
?’

‘I would think it would take no more than the offer of a chocolate.’

‘Ah.’

He rose from his chair and went to the stack of parcels. He removed two boxes, and the lid from one. The chocolates. Once tea had been set on a table in front of the settee, Brice spoke. ‘Tillie, these are the Belgian chocolates you seem to like. Because I have a sweet tooth I always buy two boxes. Why don’t you take the afternoon off right this minute and go home and enjoy this one?’ And he handed her the other box.

Once Tillie left the drawing-room Brice put the lid on the box of chocolates and whispered sexily, ‘I never take tea, and find scones like dust in my mouth. I would prefer taking the chocolates to bed with us and discovering each other there. Is that a good idea or a bad one?
And
you can show me the rest of your house on the way.’

‘Will you always be able to anticipate my heart’s desire?’

‘You know I will,’ he told her.

Together, arm in arm, they walked up the first flight of stairs to the library. Amy watched him as he briefly scanned the bookshelves. He leaned over the balcony and gazed through the boat house and down to the drawing-room. Brice seemed to her to be very much at home here. Amy actually found it difficult to believe this was his first visit. He put his arm round her shoulders and together they walked up the next flight to her bedroom. He put the box of chocolates on the table next to the bed and they sat down side by side, then turned to face each other and gazed into each other’s eyes.

Brice was wearing the same Armani suit he had worn on the plane the first time she had met him. Now he unbuttoned the jacket and leaned against some of the many period embroidered Persian cushions scattered against the headboard of the narwal ivory four-poster bed. He took her with him, lying on her side, and told her as he was undoing the button on the cuff of her blouse, ‘There is more here than meets the eye or has to do with carnal desire – although there were those things immediately we met on the plane. I think you would agree with that?’

‘Yes.’

She watched him as he unbuttoned the other cuff of her blouse and rolled the sleeve back, kissing her wrist and licking it briefly with the point of his tongue. She actually trembled with the intensity of her desire. Brice sensed it and kissed her lightly on the lips – a kiss that was still extraordinarily sensuous. Amy slipped her
hands under his jacket and eased it off his shoulders.

She unbuckled the opal clasp of her belt which fell from her waist. Brice began to ease her silk blouse from under her skirt. ‘Such a simple thing, removing a lady’s blouse and yet I sense this is one of the most important moments of my life,’ he told her, his gaze still locked with hers.

‘And mine,’ she told him.

They disrobed slowly and lingered over each other’s body with eyes and hands and mouths. They delighted each other with caresses that excited the flesh and the mind and the heart. They rolled each other over on the bed and discovered every curve, every crevice. They romanced their bodies in a courtship the likes of which neither of them had ever experienced before. They knew intimately every inch of each other’s skin, their body scent, the texture of their hearts and souls, before Brice licked the warm, silky-smooth come of Amy’s many small orgasms from his lips and told her yet again how much he loved her. He placed many cushions under her bottom, making her ready to receive him, so that he might bring them both to greater pleasure yet by their first sexual experience.

He was extremely well endowed: a long, thick and handsome phallus, strong and throbbing with lust. Amy’s silky moist come, blanketing her, would ease the way for his sex she was so hungry to have within her. She could think of nothing else but to have it fill her so completely that she might feel every nuance of sex as Brice made lustful sexual love to her. All that was what
she wanted, and to give him every sexual delight, every pleasure that she possibly could.

It was almost as if he were reading her mind when he said, ‘I tell you again, I love you, I will love you for always. There is a time for romance and courtship and I will always find time for those things with you, but there is too a time to exchange them for sex, pure lust, erotic abandonment. Like now.’

And having said those words, on his knees, he went between her legs now spread wide apart to accommodate him. He separated her soft sexual lips with his fingers and inserted his handsome knob in place. Then he leaned forward and put his arms under Amy’s and his hands over her shoulders. With his lips now trembling with emotion, he placed them upon hers in a kiss so passionate she opened her mouth to meet it. It was then, in that kiss, that he thrust as hard as he could and at the same time pulled her down by the shoulders on to him so they might take each other together with his amorous member. And then began the most exquisite, loving sex of Amy Ross’s life.

Rather than being exhausted from the hours of sex they had experienced, they were exhilarated to discover they were so erotically in tune with each other. They lay in each other’s arms, eating white chocolates filled with fresh cream and discovering who and what they were.

Both were surprised that neither of them had ever married. They had no children. Everything they learned about each other was unexpected because neither of
them had laid any expectations on the other, not even in imagination. Brice told Amy, ‘I’m a doctor, a plastic surgeon. Sometimes it’s fancy noses and playing God to ageing ladies in a clinic just outside Geneva, but most of the time it’s serious reconstructive surgery that saves people from having to live miserable lives. I spend six months of the year as a volunteer doctor with a team of five others in the third world. I’m a keen sportsman: skiing, tobogganing, sailing, hunting. I can afford to run my life any way it pleases me – inherited wealth, an obscene amount of it, and one brother, unmarried. I want you to know what you’ve got here.’