High Society (9 page)

Julia watched him, wondering what he was thinking and if he was as astonished and bemused by what was happening to them as she was herself.

That was the trouble with Silas: one could never tell what he was thinking.

She picked up her bag and searched for her mobile. She hadn’t had time to charge it before leaving Majorca, so she had switched it off to preserve what was left of the battery.

Her fingers closed over her phone and she extracted it from the bottom of her handbag and switched it on, making a small moue as she saw how many messages she had to check through.

‘You should upgrade to a BlackBerry,’ Silas told her as he observed what she was doing.

‘I should. But right now the business isn’t making enough money for that.’

Silas frowned. ‘I saw Blayne using one.’

‘Oh, yes, Nick’s got one. But then he does a lot more travelling than anyone else.’

She started to check though her messages, slightly alarmed to see how many there were from her client.

As she played them her alarm became anxiety, and then dismayed disbelief. Switching off her mobile, she turned to Silas.

‘I’ve got to get over to the venue. There’s been some kind of mix-up and I need to get it sorted out asap.’

‘What kind of mix-up?’ Silas demanded.

‘When the client asked to look over the private dining room the hotel told her that the booking for the celebratory dinner party had been cancelled. Of course she immediately got in touch with Lucy, and both she and Lucy have been trying to get hold of me to find out what’s going on. I’ve got to get over there. There’s obviously been some mistake. I made the booking myself, and there’s no way I would have cancelled it—not after all the trouble we had persuading the hotel to let us have exclusive use of the room and the terrace.’

‘Can’t you phone them?’ Silas asked.

Julia shook her head.

‘I could, but I’d much rather go over and sort things out in person.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ Silas told her.

‘Thank you, but no.’ Julia refused his offer firmly. ‘This is my problem, not yours. There’s obviously been some kind of mix-up, and hopefully it won’t take too long to get it sorted out.’ She was still wearing the clothes in which she had travelled, and she felt grubby and tired, but her own comfort would have to wait.

Half an hour later, having decided it would be simpler and quicker to walk to the hotel venue, Julia was standing at the reception desk trying to sound calm and professional as she explained who she was and asked to see the hotel manager. Her hope was that she would be able to sort out whatever the problem was prior to announcing her presence to the clients.

However, when she saw the dubious look the immaculately groomed receptionist was giving her, she couldn’t help wondering whether it might have been wiser to have taken the time to shower and change, instead of panicking and rushing over here. But of course it was too late to worry about that now.

She was kept waiting in the hotel’s reception area for well over fifteen minutes before the hotel manager finally emerged from his office to beckon impassively to her to come forward.

There was no way she intended to discuss the situation in such a public arena, with the reception desk between them and her very much the supplicant on the wrong side of it. So, as diplomatically as she could, Julia curved her mouth into what she hoped was an appealing smile and asked softly if they might talk somewhere more private.

For several perilous seconds she thought that he was going to refuse, but eventually he pursed his lips and said brusquely, ‘Very well, then. Come this way.’

The office to which he showed her was much the same as its counterparts all over the world. A large desk dominated the small space, and the chair he waved her into was slightly uncomfortable and too low, whilst his own gave him some extra inches of height he did not in reality possess.

Prêt a Party secured its business by word of mouth, and no matter how frankly she might express her opinions in her personal life, in her professional life Julia had taught herself to speak with a honeyed careful tongue and to use tact and diplomacy at all times. Especially these kinds of times.

As soon as she was seated she smiled and offered a calm apology for the inconvenience being caused by what was obviously a mix-up of some kind before insisting firmly, ‘Obviously there has been a clerical error somewhere, because I can assure you that I have not cancelled our booking. You will remember, I know, our negotiations when the original booking was made—’

‘Indeed I do. And I also remember it was agreed that you would pay a holding deposit of one half of the estimated bill for the evening.’

‘Of course. And I explained your requirement to our clients, who agreed to your terms.’

The manager’s mouth thinned ominously.

‘But you did not abide by those terms, did you?’

Julia frowned, but managed to stay calm.

‘I’m sorry. I don’t understand. What do you mean?’

‘I mean that you did not forward the sum agreed to us, and, what is more, you ignored the several e-mails I sent to you requesting it—including my final e-mail warning that if payment was not immediately forthcoming the booking would be cancelled.’

‘No—there must be some mistake,’ Julia protested.

‘I have copies of the e-mails here—and I have shown them to your clients.’

Julia couldn’t understand what had happened. She could clearly remember receiving the Silverwoods’ cheque and passing it over to Nick, who dealt with the accounting side of the business. After receiving the Silverwoods’ cheque Nick should have paid it into their bank account and then issued a cheque to the hotel: that was the way in which they worked. Right now, though, what was more important than discovering who had been at fault was ensuring that her clients’ event ran smoothly, and as they had arranged.

She would have to throw herself on the hotel manager’s mercy—even if right now he looked far from showing her any.

‘I can only apologise again,’ she tried softly. ‘Obviously there has been some mistake...’

‘There has been no mistake here,’ the manager told her coldly. ‘We have e-mailed your accounts department on several occasions, requesting payment of this deposit, and yet we have not once received a reply.’

Small cold fingers of despair gripped Julia’s stomach. ‘There has obviously been a communication breakdown at our end,’ she told the manager, as calmly as she could. ‘And of course I apologise for that. As soon as I return to London I shall look into it to find out exactly what has happened. But in the meantime I know that both of us will want to do everything we can to ensure that Mr. and Mrs. Silverwood’s celebration is everything that they want it to be.’

The hotel manager gave a dismissive shrug.

‘As to that, I have already told them that it is impossible for us to allow them to have exclusive use of the dining room now. And, even if it was, we have not made the necessary arrangements in the kitchen. We cannot simply provide a meal such as they had requested at such short notice.’

Julia was beginning to feel slightly sick. The origination of this event and its smooth running was her responsibility and hers alone. The Silverwoods had come to them on the recommendation of a friend, and right from the start Mrs. Silverwood had made it plain exactly what she wanted and how important the event was. To have to tell her now, at this late stage, that not only could they not have the dining room but also that it was not possible to organise the meal she had planned in such minute detail would not just damage Prêt a Party’s reputation—more importantly, it would ruin what should have been a very special event.

Julia did her utmost to put across to the manager all of this, and to appeal to him to think not so much of her error but instead of the unhappiness it would cause their mutual clients if the dinner could not go ahead.

‘The hotel is full, and we have many people here who have already booked tables in our dining room. It is, after all, one of the most famous assets of our hotel. Everyone who comes here wants to dine in it and look out over Positano.’

‘
Signor
, please.’

‘No. I am sorry, but it is just not possible.’

The hotel manager wasn’t just standing up now, he was also moving purposefully towards the door, obviously intent on getting rid of her. However, before he reached it it suddenly opened inwards, and a very upset and determined Mrs. Silverwood was pushing her way past the receptionist who had tried to stop her from entering the office.

‘Julia, what on earth is going on?’ she demanded immediately. ‘You assured me that the dining room was booked for our exclusive use, but Signor Bartoli insists that it isn’t.’

* * *

Silas looked at his watch. He had showered, redressed, dealt with his e-mails and right now he was more than ready for his dinner. Julia had been gone for over an hour—more than enough time in which to sort out a minor misunderstanding.

It took him fifteen minutes to walk to the hotel venue, and precisely fifteen seconds to persuade the harassed-looking receptionist to admit him to her manager’s office.

Silas could hear the raised voices even before she opened the door—chief amongst them the hotel manager’s.

Julia was standing in a corner of the room looking trapped and white-faced as he harangued her, whilst another woman, whom Silas assumed must be Julia’s client, sat sobbing on a chair, demanding to know why her party had been ruined.

‘Signor Bartoli?’

As all three occupants of the room turned towards him Silas looked first at Julia. She looked shocked and very worried, her eyes widening as she saw him.

The hotel manager looked as though he were about to burst a blood vessel, his face red with angry frustration, whilst Julia’s client looked as any woman would having discovered that a year’s worth of careful planning was in ruins.

‘Who are you and what do you want?’ the enraged manager demanded. ‘If you are yet another person here to insist that I throw my guests out of their own dining room in order to accommodate a party that has not been paid for, then—’

‘I am the Honourable Julia’s fiancé,’ Silas answered him calmly, shamelessly making use of Julia’s title. ‘Perhaps we might talk with one another man to man,
signor
? You are a businessman, but I am sure that you are also a very reasonable and compassionate man,’ he added, taking advantage of the momentary silence he had created to remove his chequebook from his pocket.

‘I am also sure that it is possible for us to reach a mutually acceptable solution to this present
impasse
. Mr. and Mrs. Silverwood have only the very happiest memories of your hotel,
signor
, and I am sure we would both want them to continue to feel that way. Mrs. Silverwood has set her heart on celebrating here. I am sure that it is not beyond your power to grant her this very special desire, despite the misunderstanding that has occurred. Naturally, I am prepared to make full recompense to you for the inconvenience this misunderstanding has cost you. Furthermore, I am sure that a man such as yourself has the skills to explain the situation to those guests who are not taking part in the celebrations, and I am equally sure that they will very generously agree to eat their dinner somewhere else in order to accommodate Mr. and Mrs. Silverwood. In fact, I have already spoken to the manager of my own hotel, the Arcadia, on this very subject, and he has confirmed that your guests may dine there—at my expense.’

Without turning his head to look at Julia, Silas told her, ‘Perhaps Mrs. Silverwood would like to a have a restorative glass of champagne, Julia, whilst Signor Bartoli and I discuss this matter further.’

* * *

It was ten o’clock, and Silas had warned Julia that if she took longer than ten minutes to shower and change then he was going down to dinner without her.

She had managed it in eight minutes flat, and now they were seated opposite one another at a table in the restaurant, having just ordered their food.

‘You can’t believe I did what?’

‘You know what I mean! Paying Signor Bartoli an extra twenty thousand euros on top of the bill to change his mind and let Mr. and Mrs. Silverwood have the dining room after all.’ She gave a small disbelieving shake of her head.

‘What went wrong?’ Silas asked her.

‘I don’t know,’ Julia admitted. ‘Our system is that our clients pay all the bills we incur on their behalf themselves, via us. That way we keep our own overheads down and they get to see exactly what the costs are. All we charge them for is our professional services as organisers.’

‘Surely when you received those e-mails it must have alerted you to a potential problem.’

‘Well, yes, it would have done if I had seen them, but I didn’t—’ She broke off to smile at the waiter as he brought their first course.

Her stomach was still churning with anxiety-induced adrenalin. The scene in the hotel manager’s office had left her feeling so physically and emotionally on edge that the last thing she wanted to do was eat. She didn’t want to tell Silas that, though.

It was bad enough that he had witnessed her humiliation and been obliged to rescue her from it, without letting him see how stupidly upset and shaken she still felt.

Silas had scant tolerance of other people’s emotional vulnerability, and that was an aspect of his personality that had always made her feel defensive and wary. He always seemed so invulnerable, which highlighted her awareness of her own weaknesses. He seemed to think that in paying the hotel manager to change his mind he had solved the whole problem, but Julia was now sick with worry about how on earth she was going to repay him. The business certainly could not do so. Lucy had confided worriedly to her that they were barely breaking even, never mind making any profit. Julia had no money of her own, and whilst her stepfather was a relatively wealthy man Julia could not imagine asking him to give her twenty thousand euros.

Silas watched her pushing her soup round and not drinking it for several seconds before demanding, ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing. I’m just not hungry.’