Promises After Dark (After Dark Book 3) (25 page)

On the Monday I finally get back to work, almost a week later than I expected when I left for New York. The city really feels Christmassy now, with a frantic air that proclaims there are only a few days left now for the shopping and the food and all the preparations. Mark’s glossy black front door is sporting a huge wreath which looks cheerful enough but I’m apprehensive as I knock on it. Andrei’s had a few days now to chew over what happened in New York, and despite Dominic’s confidence that he won’t do his worst, I’m worried that perhaps I’ll find that Mark’s had bad news.

Caroline answers, looking pinker in the face than ever but very glad to see me. ‘Did you have a marvellous time?’ she asks as she leads me downstairs to a conservatory I’ve not seen used before.

‘Yes, amazing. I hope Mark got all my notes. I managed to do nearly all of what he asked.’

‘He was very pleased. Considering it was your first time in New York as well. Now, he’s in this room because it’s lovely and warm and it was easy to get a bed in here . . .’ Caroline takes me through into the sultry air of the conservatory and I can already see that Mark is lying on a daybed, his thin limbs on top of the blanket. He turns his head to look at me as I come in.

‘Beth!’ he greets me but the sound is obscure and not easy to decipher.

‘His tongue is still very swollen,’ confides Caroline in a low voice, ‘but you’ll understand him well enough when you get used to it.’

‘Hello, Mark,’ I say cheerfully, going up to kiss his thin cheek. ‘It’s so wonderful to see you back at home.’

‘Sit down, sit down!’ Mark says in his new thickened voice. ‘Tell me all about New York. I want all the gossip.’

I set off, regaling him with stories of my adventures, making them as amusing and interesting as possible while the maid brings us coffee. Mark listens happily, laughing at the right places, his eyes bright. I soon get used to the sounds he makes and understand when he asks after certain friends or artworks. I don’t tell him about my encounter with Andrei but when he asks me if there’s anything else he needs to know, I hesitate just long enough for him to guess that something’s up.

‘What is it, Beth?’ Anxiety crosses his face and he tries to haul himself up to a better sitting position. ‘Tell me.’

I feel terrible. I don’t want to ruin the cheerful atmosphere or cause Mark any anxiety that might threaten his recovery but I have to let him know.

‘It’s about the Fra Angelico,’ I say reluctantly. ‘It’s been confirmed by the Hermitage that their experts consider it to be a fake. It’s only about two hundred years old according to analysis of the canvas and the paint. I’m so sorry, Mark – it’s not a real masterpiece after all.’

Mark gapes at me and then falls back against his pillows with a sigh. ‘I feared as much,’ he says with a voice not much more than a muffled whisper. ‘I wanted it to be the real thing because Andrei did. But I thought it was so unlikely that a picture like that, in a public place, would have gone unnoticed.’ He groans. Caroline shifts uncomfortably beside me, obviously concerned for her brother. She puts out her hand and strokes his gently. ‘What does Andrei say about it?’

‘He wasn’t happy at first,’ I tell him. ‘But he’s come to an agreement with the monastery to have the money repaid. He’s happy to keep the whole thing quiet.’

‘Well, that’s one good thing, I suppose.’ Mark manages a weak smile and fixes me with his small blue eyes. ‘You’ll probably have to deal with some of that – Andrei pays for all his art through me.’

‘I know. I expect the paperwork will be waiting for me in the office.’

There’s a pause while Mark considers what I’ve told him. He looks mournful. Then he turns to me again. ‘You know I didn’t want my name given out as the authenticator of the painting but that was done anyway. I wasn’t happy at all.’

I reach out and put my hand on his arm. ‘I know! I know that. It seems so unfair.’

‘Hmm.’ Mark sighs. ‘I wonder if this will mark a natural end for my relationship with Dubrovski. It’s worked well for both of us for so long but I have a feeling that this will have changed all that.’ He looks suddenly very tired.

‘I think that’s enough for now, Beth,’ Caroline says. ‘Mark had better rest. He hasn’t talked so much in days.’

‘Yes, of course.’ I get up.

‘They’re saving my radiotherapy until after Christmas,’ Mark announces, suddenly cheerful again. ‘Isn’t that nice of them?’

I touch his arm again. ‘Very nice. But you need it, you know, to get better.’

‘Perhaps.’ Mark’s eyelids flicker and close and he exhales gently.

‘See you later, Mark,’ I say, and go quickly and quietly out of the conservatory and up to the office.

I’m glad that the burden of telling Mark about the painting is off my conscience but I’m more afraid than ever of what Andrei might do. I have some emails from his office about the details of funnelling the monastery money back to Andrei but nothing from Andrei himself. Perhaps he’s still in New York, in that palatial but chilly apartment of his. He will have had the parcel of clothes back now. He’ll know for sure that I’m not coming back – and soon I’ll formally turn down his offer of working at his apartment next year. It’s just not possible now.

Later that day I get an email from Dominic:

I have to leave the country for a short while. I’ll be back before Christmas. I’ll let you know when I’m home. Stay strong and don’t worry. Can’t wait to see you.

D x x

I can’t help feeling melancholy when I read it. Somehow I know that life with Dominic is always going to be like this. He’ll always be on the move, doing something, meeting someone, sorting something out or cutting a big deal. What I hate is being left behind – if I could be with him, I wouldn’t mind at all.

Another more cheerful message comes through a bit later.

Hi Beth

It’s our Christmas party tomorrow night and Dominic’s supposed to be joining us. I understand that you two are an item again so please do come along if you’d like to. It would be lovely to see you and have your help toasting a bright new future for us all. Details attached, just rsvp my assistant Grace.

Best wishes

Tom Finlay

I read it over a couple of times and look at the attachment. The party is at a smart hotel in Piccadilly. It sounds fun, but I have no idea if Dominic will be there or not. He might still be abroad, doing whatever his secret mission is. On impulse I email Tom’s assistant saying I’d love to come and asking if I can bring a friend. When she says yes, I send Laura an email telling her that tomorrow night is party night. She emails back:

Whee! I’ll get the glad rags out. Sounds fun. See you later!

Lx

The next day there’s still no word from Dominic and I’m beginning to feel the familiar sense of being taken for granted. It makes me all the more determined to go out and enjoy myself that evening, so I take a party dress and shoes into work with me and get changed at Mark’s house.

I look in the mirror at my plain black dress and for a moment I’m wistful for the sexy scarlet number I had in New York, along with the shoes and the beautiful pearls, but I put them out of my mind.

They came at too high a price, remember?

I say goodbye to Caroline and Mark, and hail a cab outside his house to take me up to Piccadilly; I’m meeting Laura in a pub near the hotel where the Finlay party is being held. She’s waiting for me when I walk through the door, standing by the bar and looking very pretty in a short green sparkly dress and high heels.

‘Thank goodness you’re here!’ she says. ‘People are certainly getting into the party spirit. I’ve had to fight off three blokes already.’

‘I’m not surprised, you look fantastic,’ I say.

‘Thanks, sweetie. So do you – although you’re off the market now, of course! I got you a drink.’

‘Thank you.’ I take the glass that Laura passes me and sip the white wine.

‘So what’s this party in aid of?’ she asks.

‘It’s Dominic’s business partner,’ I reply. ‘I think this is a courtesy invitation to reflect the fact that they’ve set up this new venture.’

‘Great, any excuse for a party is fine by me. Will Dominic be coming?’

‘I don’t think so,’ I say regretfully. ‘I think he’s away.’

She looks at me with a trace of pity. I know she thinks that Dominic is perfect apart from his little disappearing acts.

‘It’s business,’ I say a touch defensively. ‘And once this is dealt with, we’ll be able to spend a lot more time together.’ I sound a lot more convinced than I feel on this particular point.

‘Good,’ she says. ‘I only want you to be happy, you know that. Now shall we get along to this party?’

Finlay Venture Capital has a private room at the back of a smart hotel on Albemarle Street. We’re shown in and I’m a little taken aback at how few people are there. Then I remember the small offices on Tanner Square. I have a feeling that the company isn’t all that huge and they’ve probably invited me just to help swell the numbers.

‘Beth, how fantastic to see you!’ Tom Finlay strides across the room towards me, smiling, his brown eyes friendly behind the dark-rimmed glasses. He’s a short, stocky man but he’s got a vibrancy that makes him seem energetic and friendly. I like his dark brown beard and his cheery smile. ‘Is Dominic not with you?’

‘Not tonight,’ I say. ‘He’s out of town. Again.’

‘You won’t be jumping on any trains to Paris to track him down, will you?’ Tom laughs at his own joke. ‘I was very excited to have a little part to play in your romance. Dominic obviously doesn’t mind that I told you where X marked the spot.’

‘No – I think he was pleased in the end.’ I smile. ‘By the way, this is my friend, Laura.’

‘Hi, Laura.’ Tom leans in and kisses her cheek politely. ‘A pleasure to have you with us. Do you work with Beth?’

‘Oh no,’ Laura says with a laugh, and I think how attractive she’s looking tonight, with her light brown hair curling down her back and her face given just enough party sparkle on her lids and lips. ‘She’s in the very glamorous world of art. I’m just a boring management consultant.’

‘Try being a venture capitalist!’ exclaims Tom. ‘People fall asleep on my shoulder while I’m still getting the words out! They’re comatose on the floor when I explain what I do. Now – you haven’t got a drink. Let’s go and find you a Moscow Mule, they’re great here.’

We accompany Tom over to the bar and get ourselves a cocktail each. He and Laura are soon talking away like old friends, while I get into a long discussion with Grace, the company assistant, about whether it’s better to live in north or south London. Once I’ve finished talking to Grace, I get caught up in another group who are chatting about their favourite Christmas television programmes and I’m on my third Moscow Mule before I manage to get away and try to find Laura again.

She’s still with Tom but they’ve ended up sitting next to one another on a leather sofa, deep in discussion, both looking a little flushed after several drinks.

So that’s the way the wind is blowing.
I’m pleased for Laura, it’s been a while since she’s had a relationship and she is clearly hitting it off with Tom. I just hope it’s not one of those one-night wonders, if something does happen. It would do wonders for Laura’s confidence to have something more lasting.

It makes me a little wistful though. I’ve got plenty of romance of my own – or I would do, if my partner would stop vanishing.

I step out into the hall and check my phone. There’s nothing there – no message, no text. I quickly tap out a message.

Where are you? I’m missing you so badly! Please tell me when you’ll be home. I can’t wait to see you. B x

I press send and then loiter in the hotel hall. In a nearby room, another more raucous Christmas party is going on, with loud music, singing and some energetically drunken dancing. Back in the Finlay party, the interminable conversations are continuing and Laura and Tom are still in deep discussion on the sofa. Even from here I can see that they are now flirting heavily, all the signals are there. I don’t want to go back in there where I don’t know anyone and can’t face another long talk about nothing while sipping yet another drink.

I decide I’ll take a walk around the block. Some fresh air will clear my head from the fuzziness induced by the three Moscow Mules, and by the time I come back, Laura might be ready to go home. I collect my coat from the cloakroom and head out.

It’s cold outside but the air is full of celebration. There are obviously parties going on everywhere, and the pavements are scattered with people in skimpy clothing having cigarettes in the chilly night air. I wander down Albemarle Street and then take a turning into Dover Street, past a pub thronged with revellers and along the pavement. Opposite is me is a row of handsome Georgian houses, their windows blazing with the light of ornate chandeliers, and I can see people moving about in the upstairs rooms. There’s a big party going on. I stop and stare for a moment and I realise that it’s a private club, one of those glitzy places that count actors, models and minor royals among their members. As I watch a black cab pulls out, and a woman gets out. My eyes are drawn to her at once – she’s beautiful with her sharp cheekbones and slanting eyes. She also has a marvellous body, her perfect legs shown off to the best advantage by a short tight black dress. As she turns to pay the driver I see her properly for the first time and it’s all I can do to stifle a shout.