Just a Family Affair (41 page)

‘Amazing,’ she breathed. ‘So much better.’

‘Good.’ Alejandro nodded approvingly.

Ginny looked around her. Everything was just perfect. The room. The light. The music. She could hear droplets of sound falling all around her, golden notes that melted into the candlelight then flickered on her skin. As she moved it was like swimming through the air. She was graceful, supple, sinuous. Everything she touched felt soft, like swansdown.

‘So now it’s just us.’

His voice snaked through her, rich and dark, exploring every corner of her being. She shivered with the delight, looking into his eyes. She felt as if he was her guardian angel, sent here to protect her. Protect her, and so much more. She wanted to experience him, and she sensed he wanted that too. The force hung in the air between them, a two-way mirror shimmering with lust.

‘Dance with me,’ he said.

She held up her hands, and he slipped each of his fingers between hers until they were inextricably entwined. He pulled her to her feet and she moved closer to him. They were barely an inch apart. She could feel his breath on her cheek like the gentlest caress, and her breasts against his chest, and each of their hearts beating, synchronizing, pulsating in time with the music. They swayed to the rhythm, and Ginny felt filled with an overwhelming desire for this being, knowing that he felt it too. He was smiling at her with his eyes and his mouth, his beautiful mouth. She wondered how it tasted, and she reached out her tongue, tracing the outline of his lips wondrously. He tasted just as she imagined, marshmallow sweet.

They dropped down onto the rug as their hands began to explore, and it felt as if his fingers were melting into her skin. Soft strokes that sent a silver ripple through her veins. Her clothes fell away, superfluous, abandoned, discarded, for she longed to feel his naked warmth. And suddenly there he was against her.

How long it lasted she didn’t know. But they explored every inch of each other, swimming in a luscious, spun-sugar vortex. She felt him inside her, and he became part of her, and she wanted to be him as their limbs melted and they remoulded into one.

And not once did the encounter seem ridiculous. She felt neither self-conscious nor anxious nor guilty. Not even when he took out his phone to record their union on his camera.

‘I need some pictures,’ he said hoarsely. ‘To remind me of us. In two days you will be gone, and I will have nothing of you.’

To Ginny it seemed perfectly natural to capture the moment; a celluloid memory of their combined ecstasy. So she smiled at the tiny lens, lying back on the rug with her arms above her head. She felt foxy, abandoned, and completely undone . . .

 

Patrick and Mayday both agreed that their meal at Claridge’s was the most heavenly either of them had ever eaten. They began with celeriac risotto with pine nuts, followed by West Country pork cooked in honey and cloves, then shared a caramelized apple tarte tatin with cinnamon ice cream. As Mayday scraped the last of the dessert up with her spoon, she sighed in satisfaction.

‘That was amazing.’

Patrick raised his glass. ‘Well, a toast to your grandmother for letting us enjoy it.’

For a moment, Mayday wanted to reveal that she could eat here every week for the rest of her life if she wanted. And that Patrick could join her. But she didn’t.

‘She’d have been horrified by the prices,’ she pointed out.

‘She used to think the price of Sunday lunch at the Horse and Groom was scandalous.’

‘Yes, but this is Gordon Ramsay.’

‘She wouldn’t have cared. She’d have soon put him in his place.’

Mayday allowed herself a smile at the thought of her staunch little grandmother confronting the foul-mouthed chef.

‘What do you want to do now?’ asked Patrick. ‘Go clubbing? Find a casino? Or a little bar?’

Somehow, the thought of hitting the bright lights didn’t really appeal. Once she would have been eager to dance until dawn, but suddenly she felt drained.

‘I’m tired, to be honest,’ she said carefully, ‘All that shopping . . . We could get an early-ish night.’

She couldn’t look Patrick in the eye.

‘I must admit, I’m pretty knackered,’ he agreed. ‘It’s been a mad few weeks. Let’s make the most of the luxury.’

They settled the bill, then made their way out of the restaurant, across the black and white marble of the reception hall and into the lift. They travelled up in silence, studiously avoiding each other’s reflection in the mirrored walls.

A few minutes later, they were in their suite, standing next to the bed, awkward. They had never been awkward with each other before, but the room that had seemed so palatial earlier on now seemed tiny. Claustrophobic.

‘I’ve had a wonderful evening,’ said Patrick finally. ‘Thank you.’

He pulled her to him and kissed her cheek, holding her in the crook of one arm. She stood very still. It would be so easy to slip both arms round her now, push her back onto the bed and enjoy what he knew would be at least an hour of teasing and tantalizing. And no doubt some sort of surprise. Mayday was anything but predictable in bed. But he wasn’t going to take her, like some cheap tart on a stag night. He couldn’t do it. It would diminish their friendship, which he valued above all else.

‘Night night,’ he whispered, wanting to say so much more but not knowing where to start.

She stayed motionless for a moment. All he could feel was the slight rise and fall of her chest as she breathed in and out.

‘Night night,’ she replied, then slid out of his clasp and walked into the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, they climbed carefully into the enormous bed, falling back on to the soft pillows and shutting their eyes tight, each hoping that sleep would come upon them quickly.

 

The Crescendo was supposed to be the most exclusive night-spot on the coast. Its walls were made of Perspex cubes which changed colour gradually, from tangerine to violet to turquoise, interspersed with tanks of multicoloured tropical fish - one could only hope the glass was soundproof, as the music was deafening. On the dance floor, scantily clad girls were writhing to the throb of the beat.

In the middle of the mêlée was Caroline, arms above her head, her smile stretching from ear to ear. Every pair of male eyes was fixated on her cleavage, and the way her dress clung to her voluptuous hips. It didn’t seem to matter that she was carrying a little too much weight. She was womanhood personified; ripe and full of promise. Every other female paled into insignificance next to her. And she was revelling in the limelight; dancing, laughing, talking, flirting . . .

Mandy watched anxiously as she left the dance floor, holding the hand of the man in the white linen shirt who had caught her attention in the restaurant. He had sent a message over to their table, inviting them into this apparently exclusive establishment, and they had enjoyed walking past the queue of hopefuls outside and being ushered in without question. Philippe Romaine was a mover and a shaker in Puerto Banus. He had one of the biggest yachts in the marina. And he only had eyes for Caroline.

‘What do we do about her?’ Mandy shouted in Sasha’s ear.

‘Leave her be. She’s having fun,’ said Sasha. ‘You know, I reckon most of these girls are hookers.’ She looked disparagingly at a pneumatic blonde in a tutu, mesh vest top, lace stockings and thigh length boots - all in white, which set off her caramel tan. ‘Shall we go?’

Even the twins couldn’t keep up with the air of debauchery. Everyone was on the pull or on the game. And the drinks were nearly twenty quid each.

‘We can’t just leave her.’

‘She’s not going to come with us,’ replied Sasha airily. ‘She’s old enough to know what she’s doing.’

‘But she’s married!’ wailed Mandy. ‘To my future uncle-in-law! What about the children?’

‘She’s just having a laugh. She hasn’t started divorce proceedings. ’ Kitty was a touch more consoling than her sister. But she still didn’t seem to think the fact that Caroline had got off with a mystery millionaire was terribly shocking.

‘Mickey and Lucy will never forgive me. Or Patrick.’

‘Mandy - it’s not your fault. If it’s anyone’s fault it’s James’s, for not paying her enough attention.’

The three of them looked over at Caroline, who was now whispering in Philippe’s ear, her arm snaked around his neck.

‘It’s going to end in tears,’ said Mandy.

‘No, it’s not,’ Sasha contradicted. ‘It’ll do her the world of good. I wish I’d pulled a diamond broker, I can tell you. It’s obvious what we all need if we want a rich husband. A bloody boob job.’

She looked disparagingly down at her insubstantial chest.

Mandy sighed, realizing that there was no way she was going to get Caroline out of the nightclub short of pulling her out by the hair.

‘I’ll tell her we’re going.’

She marched over to Caroline. ‘If you want to come with us, we’re going now.’>

Caroline fixed her with a look which dared Mandy not to spoil her fun. ‘I’m going back to Philippe’s yacht for a night-cap. ’

‘lf you’re sure,’ said Mandy.

She turned to Philippe. ‘Fuck her over,’ she said. ‘And you’ll be sleeping with the fishes. I’ll personally make sure of it.’>

She gave the sweetest of smiles that left him quite clear she wasn’t joking, then walked off.

Philippe looked at Caroline. ‘Your friend is scary.’

‘My friend is wonderful,’ she corrected him. ‘And she meant everything she said. Now come on, show us the colour of this yacht. I’m starting to think you might be having me on.’

He wasn’t. Caroline held onto Philippe’s linen-clad arm as they walked along the pontoon. People were still out on their decks, drinking, music playing, and many of them gave Philippe a wave of greeting as he walked past. Finally they came to a halt.

‘Here we are,’ he said, holding out a hand to help her on board.

A few minutes later, Caroline was sitting on deck herself, a heavy tumbler of Hennessy in her hand.

‘So, how do I know you really are a diamond broker?’ she demanded. The thrill of the chase and too much alcohol was making her confrontational. Besides, she had a perfectly good point. ‘How do I know you’re not just a deck-hand, looking after this boat for someone else?’

Philippe chuckled softly. She was a feisty one all right. That’s what had attracted him. He was so used to women hanging on his every word, in awe of his wealth and position. It was refreshing to be with someone who was so clearly unimpressed. She was no pushover, lying there amongst the plump cushions on the banquette that ran along the deck, almost as if she owned the place.

‘Wait there,’ he instructed, and Caroline raised a provocative eyebrow. She looked so inviting, those red curls falling onto her bare shoulders, those incredible breasts.

He knew just the piece. His mouth watered as he imagined the jewels against her bare skin. She would look spectacular in just that and nothing else.

Moments later he hurried back carrying a black velvet-lined box. He opened it reverentially. Inside lay a diamond necklace that even the uninitiated could recognize as real, so authoritative was its glitter.

‘Bloody hell,’ breathed Caroline. ‘It’s not exactly Accessorize, is it?’

‘It’s worth nearly as much as this boat,’ answered Philippe proudly. ‘Lift up your hair.’

Caroline obeyed. She shivered slightly as his hands slid the necklace around her neck and did up the clasp. As her hair fell back down, so the jewels fell against her collarbone, cold and heavy.

Philippe raked his eyes over her, and nodded in approval.

‘Fantastic,’ he pronounced. ‘Not all women could wear a piece like that. But you have the presence to carry it off.’

‘The tits, you mean,’ Caroline laughed, in no doubt as to what it was that was enthralling him. Men were such simple creatures when it came down to it. Even James, with his seemingly erudite ways, was just a tit man at heart.

‘Show me.’ Philippe’s voice was hoarse.

Caroline lifted her arms behind her neck and undid the clip that was holding her dress up, letting it drop to her waist. The diamonds glittered between her breasts. She tossed back her hair and threw back her shoulders. She felt like a goddess. She was in total control. She knew whatever she asked for now she could have. She lay back down in a Rubenesque pose, resting her head in one hand.

‘What now?’ she asked, her eyes sparkling as brightly as the diamonds.

Philippe gazed at her in awe. He couldn’t take her up on deck. Philippe wasn’t an exhibitionist, although he suspected Caroline might be. No, he would take her in his cabin, where he would be in control. But first, it needed champagne, candlelight, soft music. The atmosphere had to be just right. He might not be an exhibitionist, but he was definitely a perfectionist. He disappeared below deck again.

‘Five minutes,’ he called up the stairs behind him.

The night air had suddenly turned cold, and the breeze was dissipating the effects of the night’s drinking. Caroline sat up, shivering, her brandy untouched. As the evening’s alcohol melted away, reality crept in.

She was sitting on a million-pound yacht, with a diamond broker who was gagging for it, about to commit adultery. And once she’d done that, Caroline knew there’d be no going back. She’d no longer be in control. She would have broken the rules, and as a result would have no bargaining power. She wouldn’t have a leg to stand on. And confident as she was of Philippe’s admiration for her, she wasn’t sure how far that admiration would go in the cold light of day.

Besides, what was she going to do? Run off with him leaving Henry, Constance and Percy to fend for themselves? Of course not. No matter what happened, she had to get back on that plane with the others, back to the children, back to James. Back to reality.

She got to her feet, retying her dress around her neck.