Lizzy followed Carrie onshore. She was equally self-assured. She really had spent much of her childhood on boating holidays, though in the chilly Solent rather than the Med. But Lizzy was absolutely unconscious about how good she looked right then. All her thoughts were with Nat, who, having made the crossing without actually dying despite all his protestations that the end was nigh, was now groaning that he couldn’t possibly be expected to stand up while the boat was still rocking.
“But it won’t ever stop rocking,” Lizzy explained to him as Randon’s man looked on in amusement. “It’s on the sea. Come on, Nat. The sooner you’re out of there, the sooner you’ll start to feel better again. We’ll sit by the pool and have a cocktail! How about that?”
Nat did not look tempted. Randon’s man got back onto the boat and tried to help him to his feet.
“For fuck’s sake.” Nat shook him off. “I’m not a fucking invalid.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I really need you to disembark. My captain has radioed to say that he requires all his crew back on deck within the hour. Weekly briefing. There’s really nothing to it, sir. I’ll help you along the passerelle. It’s completely solid. It isn’t going anywhere.”
“I know,” Nat exploded. He stood up and rushed for the passerelle. And Lizzy and Randon’s crew member watched in shock and surprise as he stumbled while getting onto the gangplank in a hurry and ended up falling into the water.
“Oh God.” Lizzy covered her mouth to hide her smile.
From the restaurant above came a round of applause. Carrie paused in her ascent to add her own congratulations to Nat, who came up spluttering, a thin strand of seaweed dangling from his elegant nose.
Nat’s graceless disembarkation did nothing for his mood. He went straight to the bedroom, ignoring the hotel staff who tried to give him a towel as he passed through the lobby. Once in the room, he turned his fury on Lizzy as she tried to help him out of his wet jacket.
“Should I get this cleaned?” she asked. “I’ll call room service now.”
“Don’t call anyone,” said Nat. “And don’t do anything. Just go and sit by the pool or something.”
“What? And leave you here like this?”
“Yes,” said Nat. “Go. I want to be on my own.”
Reluctantly Lizzy did as she was told. She knew from a hundred self-help books, read on those long lonely nights when Nat couldn’t see her, that there was absolutely no point trying to persuade him that things really weren’t so bad. Not right then. Nat had gone into his cave. The only thing Lizzy could do was sit and wait for him to come back out again. And she might as well do that by the hotel’s fabulous pool.
It was a busy weekend at the Hotel du Cap. All day long helicopters had been landing on the lawn in front of the main house as movie stars and their minders had arrived in preparation for the Cannes Film Festival, which was to take place the following week. It made it even more impressive that Randon had somehow managed to secure three rooms at the hotel on such short notice. Lizzy wondered who had been bumped.
But it also meant that the area around the swimming pool was absolutely packed. Seeing the sun-loungers covered by so much famously fabulous flesh, Lizzy almost turned on her heel and went straight back inside. She would just read her book in her room while Nat slept off his bad mood in his. She had no desire to stretch out in her white and gold two-piece next to a bona fide Bond girl. Suddenly she felt very untoned and much too pale.
It was too late to run, however, for among the perfect Hollywood bodies was an unusually perfect body from the world of the auction houses. Carrie Klein pulled her sunglasses down her nose and looked over them at Lizzy. She smiled and nodded.
Damn.
There was no pretending that she hadn’t spotted Carrie’s greeting. Even worse, Carrie was sitting next to the one and only unoccupied sun-bed on the bright white pool terrace. One of the pool boys was already advancing toward the sun-bed with a towel, preparing it for Lizzy’s arrival.
“Deep breath,” Lizzy told herself. She would have to sit next to Carrie Klein. If she didn’t, she would look rude or frightened or both.
“That was some boat trip,” said Carrie when Lizzy sat down.
“Yes,” said Lizzy. “And what a collection.”
“Indeed. But he’s quite the perfectionist, old Mathieu Randon. Whichever one of our houses gets the job is going to have its work cut out.”
Lizzy nodded.
“How’s your boss?”
“He’s making some calls,” Lizzy lied.
“Really? It’s the weekend now, isn’t it?”
“I know. But when you’re working on something this important, weekends don’t really count, do they?”
“Good point,” said Carrie. “But I am making use of this rare moment of downtime to enjoy this pool. Isn’t that a Bond girl over there?”
Lizzy pulled a face. “Makes me wish I’d spent three months in a gym before I came out here.”
“Nonsense,” said Carrie, looking her up and down. “You’ve got a lovely body. I’m sure Nat thinks so.”
Lizzy blushed to her roots. If Carrie hadn’t known that Lizzy was shagging her boss before she’d made that crack, she certainly would now. Carrie confirmed that she knew exactly what was going on with a little snort of amusement.
“He’s not … It’s not …,” Lizzy began.
“It’s not like that? Trust me,” said Carrie, “it is. I have two things to say to you. The first is that if you’re sleeping with Nat Wilde to advance your career, then you’re wasting your time. The second is that if you’re sleeping with Nat Wilde because you’ve fallen in love with him and you’re hoping that you’ll somehow fuck him into loving you too, then you’re absolutely wasting your time. This means nothing to him. You know that. You’re not the first and you won’t be the last.”
Lizzy was left gasping. Carrie handed her a glass of water.
“You look like you need this.”
“But … but …” Lizzy struggled to form her rebuttal.
“I watched you very closely today. I took a sneak peak at your notes. I know that you did the bulk of the work for that presentation. Nat Wilde is cute but he’s lazy. Always has been. He wouldn’t wipe his own ass if he could delegate the job to you.”
Lizzy’s mouth dropped open.
“I apologize for being so blunt,” said Carrie. She pulled out a compact and examined her lipstick as if her outburst of crudeness might have skewed her lip liner. She reapplied a slick of gloss, then turned toward Lizzy and fixed her with a serious look.
“What I’m saying is, you’re good enough without him. You’ve got the knowledge and the talent to make it in our business without having to fuck the boss. And what you have to remember is that if you fuck one boss, it will be noted by your next boss and almost certainly used against you. These things never stay secret for long. Far better not to fuck any of them. Once you capitulate, you lose all your power. Use your beauty—and you are beautiful—properly. Dangle it as a bait by all means. But keep your career out of the bedroom. And make sure that your work is always without fault. And that when you do a good job, you get credit for it. I can see it now. If Randon gives Ludbrook’s the consignment, Nat will be the one who gets the recognition. You’ll be relegated to typist. Cocktail?”
Carrie raised her hand, and a waiter appeared. She ordered two glasses of Champagne Arsenault.
“It’s much better than Maison Randon. We’ll put them on Nat’s room,” she said wickedly.
Lizzy shook her head. “I really don’t know if I …”
“Your loyalty to your boss is impressive but also heartbreaking. I’m not saying this to you because I want to spoil whatever you might have going on, Lizzy. If what you guys have is true love, then I’ll raise a toast to that. I just hate to see any bright young woman being misled. I know what it’s like. You see all the prettier girls getting ahead. Girls like Sarah Jane Kirby. Head through a Reynolds.” Carrie smiled. “That must have hurt. A
nyway, I know how it seems. You think that nobody cares about your ability to actually do the job, so when your handsome boss beckons … Nothing will come of it.”
“Then, tell me how you did it. Tell me how you managed to get where you are today.”
“By working very hard and making myself extremely unpopular.” She smiled. “Do you have sunblock on?” she asked suddenly. “You’re very pale, and I can see you’re already getting a little pink on your shoulders.”
It wasn’t long before Nat was tired of sulking in his room. So much for wanting to be alone in his cave. He hadn’t really wanted to be left alone. As far as Nat Wilde was concerned, it wasn’t worth sulking if there was nobody there to be impressed by it. Lizzy hadn’t gone back to her room, as he had expected she would. He had tried summoning her by mobile but realized after he heard the buzzing in the corner of the room that she had left it behind. That meant he had to go and fetch her if he fancied a shag. He thought he did. He certainly felt like he did while he was lying diagonally across the sumptuous California King–size bed. Much too good a mattress to waste on sleeping. When he got to his feet, however, he discovered that having conquered his seasickness, he now had its corollary. The solid ground lurched as violently as any wave. It really wasn’t funny. Lizzy should be there to look after him. What on earth was the girl doing? She’d never struck him as the kind that actually liked to laze around by the pool. Damn it. He was going to have to get out there and find her.
Catching sight of Nat arriving at the poolside, Carrie pushed her sunglasses back up her nose and pulled her sun hat down a little lower, as if she could fool him with such a rudimentary disguise. Her actions drew Lizzy’s attention to his presence.
“I better go,” said Lizzy, jumping up at once. “It’s been nice talking to you.”
“I’ve enjoyed talking to you too,” said Carrie. “Now, run along. And remember what I told you …”
Lizzy paused. “What?” she asked.
“Don’t get burned!”
“What were you talking about?” Nat asked.
“Nothing,” said Lizzy.
“Then why were you sitting next to that old cow?”
“It’s just that it was the only sun-bed available.”
“Right,” he said. He didn’t sound convinced. “Never mind. It’s too hot out here. Let’s go back inside.”
Once he had Lizzy back in his room, Nat started to feel better at once. He didn’t even have to make much of an effort to undress her. She just let her sarong fall to the floor.
“Here,” he said, taking off his shorts to reveal that he already had a hard-on. “Tell me this isn’t every bit as impressive as that marble cock on Randon’s boat.”
“You would think that cock was actually modeled on yours,” Lizzy assured him.
“It’s just as hard,” Nat promised her, giving it a little waggle in her direction.
Lizzy giggled. Without being asked, she got down in front of him and opened her mouth.
It was an odd thing. Lizzy was almost grateful for the chance to get on her knees for Nat right then. It suddenly seemed really important to do exactly what Nat wanted. Her conversation with Carrie had left Lizzy feeling rather rattled, more than usually insecure about Nat’s feelings for her. While she had his dick in her mouth, however, she could be certain that she had his full, undivided attention. If only she could find out how to keep it.
This relationship was driving her slightly nuts. It was so different from anything Lizzy had experienced before. David, the college boyfriend, had been so steady. It hadn’t been very exciting to be with him, but at least Lizzy had never felt as though he were slipping away. They would probably still be together if he hadn’t taken that missionary job in Senegal. Lizzy was, as Carrie had pointed out, not best suited to the heat.
She wanted to be in London, and she wanted to be with Nat. And so, where once she had worked on her baking skills to garner David’s approval, now Lizzy tried other tactics. She had gone from being a complete novice in the bedroom to a goddess, trying every trick in the book.
Right then she swirled her tongue around the tip of Nat’s penis as though she were licking an ice cream. At the same time, she wrapped one hand around his shaft and cupped Nat’s balls with the other. The intention was to make him feel as fully surrounded by her as he would if he were lying on top of her, thrusting deep inside. It certainly seemed to be working. Lizzy glanced up to where Nat’s head lay on the pillows, face turned to one side. His long dark lashes fluttered on his cheeks. His short hair, graying so attractively, stuck to his dampened temples. His perfect mouth opened in silent surprise as Lizzy licked faster and faster. Seeing Nat so transported, Lizzy was torn between relief and self-hatred that it seemed sometimes this was the only thing he valued about having her in his life. The sex.
It wasn’t long before he told her he wanted to fuck her.
“But you’ll have to go on top,” he said. “I’ve got a bad knee.”
CHAPTER 42
Carrie was set for another evening of room service when she got the call from Randon’s assistant requesting her company at dinner.
“Really?” Carrie was surprised. “On the boat?”
“Yes,” said Bellette. “The tender will pick you up at eight.”
Carrie was ready five minutes early. The tender arrived exactly on time. She wondered how Randon did it. It was as though he could control the tides.
As the Riva pulled away from the jetty, Carrie felt like she was embarking upon some secret mission. Rather than looking forward, toward the boat, as she had done that morning, Carrie turned instead to watch the hotel receding. She glanced up at the rail around the restaurant terrace, hoping to see Nat Wilde. She knew it would have spoiled his evening to see her on Randon’s tender. But Nat wasn’t there. No doubt he had Lizzy going through some figures in his bedroom, so for now Carrie had to hug to herself the thought that she had been invited back to The Grand Cru.
Randon was waiting on deck when the Riva arrived. He helped Carrie climb on board himself. She knew she looked good. She was wearing a white cotton sundress by Fendi. Around her middle was a wide tan leather belt that emphasized her narrow waist. On her feet she wore her flat gold ballet shoes. Her hair was piled into a chignon. She imagined herself as Princess Grace. Randon kissed her hand and, as he did so, she could see in his eyes that he approved.
“Thank you for agreeing to have dinner with me this evening,” he said.
“Oh,” said Carrie. “The pleasure is all mine.”
As Randon guided her toward the dining room, Carrie wondered if that evening would be a pleasure or whether she would have to spend the meal going over what Ehrenpreis could offer a man like Randon. Or, worse, listening to a sermon. What did he want? Carrie wondered.
In the dining room, the enormous table was laid for two with pristine white linen and sparkling silverware. There were wineglasses, Carrie noticed with some surprise. At least, there were wineglasses at the place setting in front of the chair one of Randon’s crew pulled out for her.
“An aperitif,” Randon suggested. “As you know, I have given up drinking, but I understand that it’s not much fun to have dinner with no wine if you haven’t made the decision to abstain yourself.”
Carrie accepted a glass of the champagne that kept Randon’s empire afloat, but she drank only a quarter of the glass, conscious that this might be some kind of test, and she didn’t want to fail it. She would have to treat this evening as a business meeting.
The first course of the meal arrived. Carrie was delighted by the fresh-tasting seviche.
“I caught the fish this afternoon,” Randon told her. “From the back of the boat.”
“Did you really?” Carrie found it hard to imagine.
“I did. Our Lord was a fisherman,” said Randon. Carrie settled in for a lecture. But none came. Instead, Randon was the charming raconteur that Carrie had heard about when she’d first begun working in the auction world. He talked about the
summers he had spent on the Côte d’Azur as a child. He spoke about seeing The Grand Cru in a dry dock while visiting the States on business.
“I fell in love at first sight,” he said, fixing Carrie with such a suddenly predatory look that it made her look down into her plate to hide her blushes.
“So,” Carrie said, thinking it might be a good idea to change the subject. “I’m sure you must have asked me to join you this evening because you had some questions about Ehrenpreis’s business. We’re a relatively new house in London, but you have had dealings with our New York office before, I know, and—”
Randon held his hand up to stop her.
“I know all about Ehrenpreis the auction house. I wanted the chance to get to know you a little better,” he said. “It was quite difficult to get a sense of what you’re really like with that Englishman around. I understand he is very good at his job, but I wonder if he wouldn’t benefit from being still and quiet from time to time.”
Carrie relished hearing Randon’s criticisms of Nat, but she didn’t rise to them. She had a feeling that would leave her looking bad in Randon’s eyes.
“I have learned a great deal through being still,” said Randon. “It’s a skill I didn’t have before the earthquake in San Francisco. Back then, a moment of stillness and quiet was a moment wasted.”
“I understand that feeling,” said Carrie.
Randon picked up his water glass to take a sip, keeping his eyes on her all the while. When he replaced the glass, Carrie noticed that it was on her side of the table. If she didn’t know better, she might have thought he was subconsciously making a move.
And then dinner was over. What next?
“It’s too late to send you back to the hotel,” said Randon.
Carrie said nothing. She couldn’t quite believe it. Mathieu Randon the evangelist had brought her out to The Grand Cru to seduce her after all. Carrie might have known that despite all his insistence that his months in a coma had made him see the world anew, Mathieu Randon would remain a dyed-in-the-wool misogynist who thought that women were mothers, whores, or nuns. Nuns! She shook her head as she imagined Mathieu Randon’s religious order. What would they have to wear? A wimple and hot pants? No, Carrie wasn’t convinced by his religious conversion one bit.
Priceless Page 21
