America? Home. She knew it would come at some time, but not just now. Not when she was finally enjoying herself in this rain-soaked country. She was shocked to her core.
‘A new project?’
‘Hmm.’ That cagey tone again.
‘That sounds suspiciously like you’re being sidelined.’ Melissa’s face felt as if it had been drained of blood. In the glass it looked paler than it had a moment ago, before Lance’s earthtilting announcement.
‘Staff Assessment Criteria and Key Employee Development programme. “SACKED” for short,’ he explained.
‘Sacked? You’re kidding me.’
‘Oh,’ Lance said, frowning. ‘I see what you mean.’
‘The first thing you have to do, Lance, is get that name changed.’
He shrugged. ‘Well, whatever it’s called, the programme is a global restructuring of the company. This is a crucial role for me, honey.’
‘You mean you’re being made chief wielder of the hatchet?’ She hadn’t meant it to sound so disdainful. Lance would, no doubt, be pleased about this. He was always happy to do whatever was required of him by Fossil Oil. He was a corporate man through and through.
Yet for once a weary look pinched Lance’s features. ‘It’s a chance to get off the corporate merry-go-round for a while, Melissa. Running Fossil Oil is a young man’s game now and … I would only ever admit this to you, but I’m tired. I’ve been with this company for so long, I’ve seen everything before and I’m jaded. I need my batteries recharging and this might give me some time to do it.’
Anxiety was fluttering in her chest. She didn’t want to be dragged halfway around the world again. Not now. ‘What happens when you’ve finished with this “project”?’ Call it what you will, they both knew what it really was. Lance was going to be in charge of a firing squad. ‘What happens when your batteries are recharged and surging on full power again? Suppose there isn’t a pretty coloured horse left on the corporate merry-go-round for you to ride?’
‘We’ll cross that bridge when, and if, we come to it. Maybe then it will be time to ease back on the throttle.’
Melissa felt her shoulders slump.
‘Perhaps that retirement home in Florida might not be so far away,’ Lance offered.
The thought made her blood chill. ‘So it’s signed, sealed and delivered then?’
‘Pretty much. A few i’s to dot. A few t’s to cross.’
Her husband had an over-casual look fixed to his features and she eyed him suspiciously.
‘There has to be a catch, Lance, otherwise you wouldn’t sound so edgy. I know you.’ There was a pain behind her eyes that hadn’t been there previously and, despite the comfort of their chauffeured car, one was now developing in her neck to match. ‘When exactly do they want you to start this crucial role?’
Lance cleared his throat; she knew it was a bad sign. It was the sound that said somewhere a nail had been struck firmly on the head. After years of marriage all her husband’s annoying little habits were deeply ingrained in her psyche. This was one of them.
‘Saturday,’ he stated flatly.
‘Saturday?’
‘I’ve had Veronica book flights. The e-tickets are on my desk in the study.’
‘But it’s Christmas Eve tomorrow, Lance. Saturday is Christmas Day. Who in God’s name moves home on Christmas Day? I’ve ordered a sixteen-pound turkey from Fortnum and Mason for our Christmas lunch.’
‘Maybe we can still eat it before we leave for the airport, sweetie.’ Lance looked wounded. ‘It’s an evening flight.’
‘You expect me to pack and be on a flight to New York the day after tomorrow and still have time to cook a turkey? I don’t think even that Nigella woman could manage that feat.’
Lance shrugged. ‘You know the form, honey. You must be used to it by now.’
That was true enough. She was used to upping sticks at a moment’s notice, but this time she wanted to dig her heels in. ‘What about I stay here for a few more weeks and then follow you when you’re settled?’
If she was here for a little while longer, she might be able to tie up one or two loose ends that she needed to.
‘No, no, no. I want you with me, by my side, honey. Where you always are.’
He patted her again and she felt like screaming. He struggled to manage without her now. They both knew that. Even before she had suggested it, she knew Lance would never allow it. Where he went, she had to go too.
‘It will be good to get back to New York,’ she said. Though in her heart she didn’t feel that at all.
‘Washington DC,’ Lance corrected quietly.
‘DC?’
Lance merely nodded in confirmation.
‘Why DC, in heaven’s name?’
Lance swallowed his bourbon. ‘That’s where the project is based. If that’s what the company wants, who am I to argue?’
‘You’re the chairman. Can’t you do it from here? I thought this new office of yours was supposed to have all the very latest in space technology – satellite link-ups, video conferences, beam-me-up-Scotty machines? They’re all terms I’ve heard bandied about liberally in the last few months. I know you’ve got them.’
‘We’ve been here for a few years now,’ Lance noted. ‘That’s a lifetime in Fossil Oil terms. Isn’t it time we had a move? Don’t you feel restless?’
‘I like it here.’ Melissa could feel herself coming perilously close to tears.
‘You hate it here.’ Lance charged his glass again. This time when he gestured towards her with the bottle, she nodded.
She downed it too quickly, the fiery liquid burning her throat and threatening to make her cough.
‘Every year you complain about the summer, then you complain even more about the winter. You hate the service and the fact they never put enough ice in your drinks. You hate the food. You’ve never once tried steak-and-kidney pudding.’
‘Just because I don’t eat steak-and-kidney pudding, Lance, it doesn’t mean I haven’t grown to love England. In my own way.’
‘Not two weeks ago you were so sick of the rain, you said it was like permanently living under a power shower.’
She’d hoped he hadn’t remembered that. ‘I’ve bought a new umbrella since then,’ she protested feebly.
Lance gave her a wry smile. ‘Methinks the lady doth protest too much. You know you’ll adore DC! Think of all those Congressmen’s wives and committees. All the worthy deeds you can do for the needy in front of the right people. DC is charityball seventh heaven. You know how you love a canapé and a good cause.’
It was pointless discussing it, Melissa knew. Fossil Oil had decreed it and that invariably meant it would happen. Unless, of course, Fossil Oil decided otherwise.
In any case, as Lance said, two years in one place had been tantamount to a minor miracle. Before that they had roved Fossil Oil’s European holdings – eight weeks in Belgium, eight months in Greece, eighteen months in Paris. In between all that, they’d regularly shuttled back to London for meetings. The list read like an airline timetable. In most places there’d scarcely been enough time for her to establish – well, let’s say connections, before they’d flitted off again, Lance chasing promotions like eccentric Englishmen chase butterflies.
At least she’d had time in England to enjoy a smattering of liaisons dangereuses. However, she’d found that it was true what they said about English lovers: in most cases they had kept their socks firmly on.
The tears threatened again and she bit them down. By some insanity Tyler Benson had become her latest lover. One of Lance’s own favoured directors! In Lance’s eyes, Tyler could do no wrong. If only he knew. She’d never played so close to home before and she knew it was madness.
She also recognised that, this time, it wasn’t just a no-strings fling to fill her empty days.
Tyler was different. His heart would be hard to break. He was ballsy and bright and destined for the top job, not unlike Lance had been thirty or more years ago. He
would also be tough to leave.
Over the years, Melissa had made love to many men and had walked away when she tired of them, untouched by the burden of emotion. If she’d been younger and more impressionable, this time she would have said that she was in love. Not to him. Never to him. She felt as if he’d taken a piece of her soul and, if she was honest, there wasn’t a lot of it left to spare.
‘We’ll get a nice place in Georgetown. You’ll like that. All those shops.’
‘I can’t spend all my life shopping, Lance. Maybe I could get a job, a real job, at one of the charities?’
That would make the move away easier; she needed something to occupy her time.
‘Why would you do that? It would take you away from me. You know I need you as my wingman.’ Lance looked at his wristwatch. It was gold and emblazoned with the company logo – unimaginatively and unsurprisingly, a fossil: the distinct spiral of an ammonite. It was studded with four diamonds, each of them marking some long-forgotten milestone with the company. ‘There are going to be a lot of tough decisions to make and I can’t do it without you.’
The discussion, it seemed, was over. For now. ‘Does anyone else know you’re leaving yet?’ Melissa asked.
Lance shook his head.
‘Not even Tyler?’
‘Especially not Tyler. I think he could do very well out of this and I want it to be a surprise for him. I’m lucky, honey. He’s been a great right-hand man. Tyler’s always got my back.’
She kept her eyes fixed straight ahead.
‘I’m just waiting for Bud Harman to fill me in on the final details. There’s a new international director on board too, and I need to talk to him.’
‘Who?’ She hadn’t heard anything about this either. ‘When did this happen?’
‘Last-minute, but we’ve been trying to poach him for a long time. Now we’ve got him. Everyone has their price.’
She was sure Tyler knew nothing about this either.
‘He’s supposed to be coming along tonight,’ Lance added. ‘I thought it would be a good opportunity for them to meet. I don’t want to say anything to Tyler until I know what the full deal is.’
‘Are you going to tell the rest of the staff tonight that you’re leaving?’
‘I don’t know.’ Lance sucked on his teeth to show his indecision. ‘It might put a downer on things. I’ve got such a good team at Fossil Oil. They’ve got tremendous respect for me and are so dedicated too. I think they’ll be sad to see me go and it could well spoil the party mood if I announce my imminent departure now.’
‘Well, as you think fit.’ If he delayed, at least it would give Melissa some breathing space. She needed to speak to Tyler before there were any shock announcements. And a day’s grace might not seem like much, but it would at least give her time to think and make contingency plans.
Lance didn’t need to know, but she was looking forward to this party more than she ever had before. And for all the wrong reasons. It had been more than a week since she’d last seen Tyler, when they’d spent a hurried and torrid few hours together in a hotel in Bayswater, and it felt like a lifetime. She hoped that tonight they’d manage to snatch some time alone. Tyler Benson was a fantastic lover and one she couldn’t let go of lightly. He was young, energetic, eager. His body when he held her was firm, hard. The sex was fantastic but, though she didn’t want to acknowledge it, it meant more than that. Much more. Even now, sitting next to her husband in his lavish company car, she wanted to feel the hands of his young pretender on her. If she closed her eyes, she could replay every second of their last tryst in her mind. He’d pushed her to the bed, his mouth hot on hers, kissing her with a passion that had been missing in her marriage for many a long year. She could picture him hitching her skirt, his skilful, tantalising tongue finding places that made her gasp with pleasure.
‘All right, honey?’ Lance asked.
Melissa, mouth dry, forced her eyes open and licked her lips. She was getting all hot and bothered just thinking of Tyler and there was only so much you could blame on the menopause.
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Here we are,’ Lance said as Martin pulled up outside a spectacular mansion. ‘Are you ready to face the troops, honey?’
She nodded, unsure of her voice. The truth was that with every fibre of her being, she yearned for Tyler’s touch. Melissa didn’t think she’d ever truly yearned before. Now she was going to have to leave him, and the thought was unbearable.
Chapter Seven
‘Who the hell is paying for all this?’ Tyler Benson complained. ‘That’s what I’d like to know.’ He was keen to make sure he took all the credit for it, and equally keen to make sure that none of it came off his budget. ‘Look at it.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ Kirsten breathed.
It was certainly the most spectacular venue yet for the office party. Normally they’d use one of the chain hotels in the area near the London office, something perfectly functional but pretty bland. Anything else had been deemed ridiculously expensive for a staff knees-up. Clearly the budget had gone out of the window this time. Wadestone Manor was stunning, and Tyler had seen some pretty impressive places in his time. This surpassed them all.
‘It looks like a French chateau.’ Tyler gazed around. ‘This is the sort of place I’d like to live in. If only I’d been born into a banking dynasty or been the child of a publishing magnate.’
Instead, his dad had been a lowly electrician, his mum a school dinner lady. No chance of owning a chateau there. Though they had once owned a static caravan down on the coast. They’d thought that was the height of decadent luxury. His dad would have fainted if he’d still been around to see all this.
‘It does seem more lavish than the usual Christmas party,’
Kirsten noted.
‘Tonight’s supposed to be a no-expenses-spared thank-you to all the staff for relocating from London up to the wilds of Milton Keynes. Lance’s idea. There was a lot of grumbling about it at the time, but then people grumble about everything. It seems to have worked out OK.’
Lance’s personal assistant, Veronica, had co-ordinated the whole thing and whichever company she’d drafted in to pull it together had done an amazing job. Even Tyler, who was a take-it-or-leave-it kind of man when it came to Christmas, couldn’t fail to be impressed.
Every public room in this substantial stately home had been decorated with ornate Christmas trees – they were virtually the size of the ones in Trafalgar Square. God only knew what they’d cost. There was an enormous marquee on the back where dinner would be served. Someone had gone to town on that too. It was billowing with white fabric like a ship in full sail, and there were so many Christmas trees that it looked like a bloody winter wonderland or something. Afterwards there was entertainment. A casino was set up in one room and there was the obligatory band and a disco. Who knew what other delights awaited them before the evening ended.
‘It reminds me of our wedding,’ Tyler said. Kirsten had gone all out for that too.
‘I think our wedding was a little more tasteful than this,’ she said, nose wrinkled.
What a day that had been. Everyone said it was the wedding of the year. Kirsten was happy, excited. Sadly, it was probably the last time he’d seen her like that.
He looked at his wife. She was still very beautiful, no doubt. He liked having her on his arm. Heads turned when she walked into the room. Usually other men’s. He was proud of that. After all, he’d coveted her when she was on someone else’s arm. And who wouldn’t want a wife who looked like Kirsten? He’d already clocked the wives of his colleagues and they were mostly dumpy women squashed into dresses that were too tight and too young for them. Kirsten was class.
It was just a shame that he never felt as if she was on his side now. Her sideways glances at him were always disapproving, her mouth tightly pursed. She didn’t seem to know how to have fun any more. He couldn’t remember when she’d last thrown back her head and laughed out loud. In the early
days, when they were first together, they’d laughed a lot. Hadn’t they? When had that all started to go wrong? Kirsten had everything she ever wanted and more. Now she’d told him that they needed to work on their relationship, and that was something that men – him at the top of the list – avoided at all costs.
‘The rest of the coaches must have arrived.’ Tyler nodded towards the main door, where the Fossil Oil staff were arriving in droves. Transport had been laid on to take them from the offices out to the Wadestone estate. It was clear that they were, even at this early stage in the proceedings, all high on festive and other kinds of spirits.
This anteroom where they were being served welcoming champagne and canapés was exquisite, full of towering marble pillars and ornate gilt mirrors.
‘Oh yes.’ Tyler took a canapé from a passing tray. ‘I can definitely see myself living somewhere like this.’ One day, when he was the one officially running Fossil Oil. ‘Look lively,’ he said to Kirsten. ‘Lance and Melissa are here.’
‘Deep joy,’ she muttered. ‘Is he sober?’
Tyler sighed. ‘It’s early yet. I can only hope so.’
He also wished, fervently, that the evening wouldn’t be too tricky. He was playing with fire there, that was for sure. How on earth had he got himself embroiled in an affair with Melissa Harvey? It had seemed like a good idea at the time; now he thought it might have been an uncustomary lack of judgement.
A waiter breezed past him carrying a tray of champagne and he grabbed two glasses. He passed one to Kirsten.
‘I’m driving tonight,’ she reminded him.
‘Don’t. Let’s stay over,’ he cajoled. ‘Or get a cab.’
‘I don’t know. I like to be in my own bed.’
‘Then have just one.’ He pressed the glass into her hand. ‘A little one. By the time you’ve eaten a turkey dinner, there’ll be no trace of it. It’ll loosen you up.’
‘I’m not sure if I want to be loose.’
‘We were going to have fun, dance, kick up our heels, remember?’
The Christmas Party Page 6
