by Kate Ryder
‘Have you eaten at Lorenzo’s before, Greg?’ Elliot asks as he rises to his feet. The art critic shakes his head. ‘We did think to book a table at Turners – I understand they have a new chef – but in the end we plumped for Lorenzo’s. It’s great fun. Dishes with an authentic taste of modern Spain, and they’re not afraid to venture off the well-trodden tapas path either.’
‘Sounds a valuable find,’ says Greg.
‘We might as well lead the way,’ Kat says to Cara. ‘I do so want to learn more about you.’ The tall, sophisticated woman, dressed in a striking black Stella McCartney outfit, links arms with Cara and walks her towards the main door of the gallery.
As Elliot and Greg fall into step behind them, Cara hears Elliot’s low whisper, ‘I must say, Greg, you certainly have an eye for the ladies!’
Cara keeps her eyes straight ahead. Perhaps her skirt is too short after all.
*
Holding open the door for Sabrina, Oliver follows her inside. Turners is heaving and a wall of chatter and laughter greets them. From out of nowhere, a young man in skinny black trousers and a blue and white pinstriped shirt quickly approaches.
‘Good afternoon, Ms Bardem. Your table is waiting. Please follow me.’ He leads them through the restaurant to a table in the far corner. ‘A fraction quieter here and more discreet,’ he says, handing them a couple of menus. ‘Would you like any drinks while you decide?’
Making herself comfortable at the table, Sabrina asks, ‘What would you like, Ollie? Spirit, beer, or perhaps wine?’
‘Wine is good.’
Sabrina studies the drinks menu. ‘I prefer white at lunchtime. Does that suit you?’
‘It does.’
‘A bottle of the Pinot Grigio 2015 Russolo will do nicely,’ Sabrina says.
‘A very good choice,’ the waiter says with a smile, before turning away.
‘So this is your local eatery,’ Oliver says, looking around at the rich, inlaid wood panelling and large art deco mirrors adorning the walls. A central, elegant oyster and champagne bar proudly displays the restaurant’s signature dishes of shellfish and lobster. On the rear wall, a jumble of multicoloured, angled, small-paned mirrors jauntily reflect the interior.
‘Yes. Turners is convenient for the office and we tend to bring clients here. It’s always enjoyed a good reputation but a new chef has recently taken it to the next level. He’s really turned up the heat. The restaurant has received rave reviews since his arrival, as you can tell by the number of people here.’
Oliver glances at the nearest tables. Heads turn and several jaws drop as fellow diners recognise him.
Sabrina laughs. ‘I do so love dining with famous people,’ she says with a smile. ‘It appeals to my need for recognition. I suppose you’d call it reflected fame. I guess that’s why I went into the agency business in the first place. I’ve not enough talent myself to find fame, but there’s always glory in being seen out and about with the movers and shakers of the acting fraternity.’
Oliver gazes at the Italian beauty sitting opposite him. With her olive skin, luxurious dark hair and doe eyes, she could easily be mistaken for the film star. He smiles thinly, knowing only too well the price of fame; it’s many years since he’s walked unrecognised in public. When he first left drama school all he hoped for were interesting and varied acting roles, but the critics and public had other ideas. Whether he’d wanted it or not, they soon turned him into an A-lister.
‘So, Ollie,’ says Sabrina, turning her sultry Mediterranean gaze upon him, ‘when does filming wrap on your current project?’
‘Next week.’
‘Have you given any further thought to that film offer we talked about?’ she asks hopefully.
‘In truth, Sabrina, I haven’t.’
She pulls a disappointed face. ‘It’s such a magnificent role. Are you sure?’
‘Quite sure. As you know, family matters take precedence at the moment.’ Interrupted by the waiter returning with their wine, Sabrina lets the subject drop, but once they have placed their orders and are on their own again she presses on. ‘How long will you be out of action?’
‘Not sure. When I spoke to you last I thought it would only be for a few months, but Deanna has different ideas.’
‘Oh, in what way?’ Sabrina asks, picking apart a small bread roll.
Oliver sighs. ‘She has it in her head she wants a career and has accepted a job in a West End theatre. I will put my career on hold while she follows her path.’
Sabrina’s eyebrows shoot skywards and she stops destroying the roll. ‘Are you going to let her plans come to fruition?’
‘I don’t have much choice,’ Oliver says. He stops talking as the waiter approaches with their starters.
‘Tempura langoustine tails with spicy cocktail sauce.’
‘That’s for me,’ says Sabrina.
‘And Dublin Bay prawns.’
Oliver nods. The young man places their starters on the table.
‘Everyone has a choice, Ollie,’ Sabrina says, once they are alone again.
‘Not when children are involved,’ says Oliver. ‘Anyway, it’s a fait accompli. She’s in the process of purchasing an apartment in town. Tells me it’s a good investment.’
Sabrina chokes on a langoustine tail. ‘What? She’s moving to London?’
‘Seems that way,’ Oliver says, biting into a prawn.
‘Do you mean to say that not only is she pursuing a career but also she’s moving out of the family home?’ Sabrina asks incredulously.
Oliver nods. ‘Deanna tells me it’s only for part of the week, but it means my hands are tied as far as any away filming is concerned unless, of course, it’s in the school holidays and then the boys can come with me onto set. But it’s unfair to expect them to abandon their lives for my work.’
As Sabrina stares at him in disbelief, Oliver smiles at his agent. Apart from being easy on the eye, Sabrina is also easy to talk to. Theirs is a professional relationship, and he knows that whatever is discussed will go no further. However, there are some things he will not discuss with anyone. Cara and Toby are firmly locked away in his heart.
‘How old are your boys now?’ asks Sabrina.
‘Charlie’s just turned seventeen and has his eye on Bristol University or Imperial College when he finishes school. It’s the two youngest I’m concerned about. Sebastian and Jamie are thirteen and eleven and it’s a crucial time for them both, although I suspect Sebastian will be OK. He’s very resilient, just like his mother.’
But Jamie is a different matter; the quieter, more sensitive boy, prone to long periods of silence. Who knows where his mind takes him during those times? If his son’s thoughts are anywhere near as dark as his own during the devastating bouts of depression he endures… Oliver shudders. Time to change the subject.
‘Anyway, enough of me. Do you have plans to visit your family in Italy this summer?’
Fourteen
Greg leans forwards in his seat. ‘Sloane Square,’ he instructs the taxi driver.
As the cab pulls away from the pavement, Cara looks back at Elliot and Kat standing in the gallery doorway and waves.
Greg eases back into his seat. ‘Congratulations, Cara. You’ve won them over. Both Elliot and Kat think you’re glorious!’
Breathing a sigh of relief, Cara relaxes. Her performance has paid off. She’s been taut and had to second-guess herself all day.
‘And now I’m going to treat you to a shopping spree,’ Greg says.
She gazes at his profile. ‘You don’t need to do that, Greg.’
He glances at her and places a hand lightly on her knee. Cara stiffens.
‘I want to, Cara.’
She looks out of the window at the people walking along the street, busy about their everyday lives. One more night in London and then she’ll be back in Cornwall with her lovely family. Suddenly overwhelmed, she feels like crying. Cara bites her lip.
Greg squeezes her knee and removes his hand.
‘I know this wonderful little boutique that stocks attire that’s perfect for a gallery opening. I’d like to buy something suitable for you.’
Doesn’t he think she’s capable of finding something for herself? Cara turns back to him. ‘Honestly, Greg, you don’t have to do this. I will buy it.’
Greg laughs. ‘Cara, as much as I appreciate the reasoning behind your sentiment, I’m afraid you wouldn’t be able to afford it. No, I am very happy to clothe you for this special occasion.’
Cara turns away and frowns. What might he consider a suitable outfit? Greg is a good twenty years older than her; his choice may not be hers. But it would be churlish to make a fuss.
As the taxi weaves its way through the London traffic, Greg calculates his next move. Cara’s outfit today has set his heart racing just that little bit faster. When she first emerged from her hotel room he could hardly take his eyes off her. Dressed in a smart and presentable navy suit with a crisp white shirt softened by ruffling, she looked not only fresh and businesslike but also totally feminine. The teasingly short skirt and sexy suede boots made him want to abandon their meeting with Elliot and Kat, march her straight back into the room and peel her out of them. He knows Elliot appreciated her outfit, too! He’s so pleased with the way she presented herself to the Kaplans. They instantly warmed to her. He omitted to tell Cara they were desperate to have her as their opening artist, and he enjoyed watching her efforts to clinch the deal.
Greg allows himself a hint of a smile, imagining the outfit he would like to buy her for the gallery opening. He knows the boutique’s style. Before Marietta fell ill she often purchased dresses from their sister branch in New York. That’s the beauty of wealth, thinks Greg. You have choices and can buy the best, knowing the money is well spent and your woman will look a million dollars. Fondly, he thinks of the wife who shared his life for almost twenty-five years. It was such a short time in the overall scheme of things. He glances sideways at Cara, still looking out of the window. This is his chance to recreate those heady days when he first discovered Marietta and carefully guided her to the critical acclaim she so justly deserved. His eyes slide down to Cara’s slim, shapely legs. Of course, Cara is much younger than him, but if he plays his cards right her overwhelming talent will assure him of an ongoing glittering life in the spotlight. He considers the baggage that comes with her: a third child now. He’s never wanted children and always made it patently clear to girlfriends from the outset of any relationship that children were not on the agenda, but at his age he knows he’d be foolish to stick by that rule and jeopardise an opportunity with Cara. This time, the possibilities her enormous talent offers him are enough to make him consider accommodating her children. Greg’s mouth twitches into a smile. Yes, he’s playing it right; successfully moulding her into a befitting partner. He’s already noticed the changes.
*
‘Just call me if your situation alters,’ says Sabrina from the agency doorway.
‘You’ll be the first to know,’ Oliver says, kissing her on the cheek. He turns away and acknowledges a couple of young women walking by looking at him with appreciation.
Sabrina grins. Oliver never fails to stop people in their tracks, particularly women. She notices his driver raise an eyebrow as he holds open the Mercedes’ door for the actor.
As the car pulls away into the afternoon traffic, Oliver looks back and smiles at his glamorous agent.
Sabrina climbs the stairs to her office, muttering to herself. ‘That foolish wife of his doesn’t know how lucky she is! I’d never risk trading marriage with Oliver Foxley for a possible career.’
Oliver gazes out of the window as the car makes its way slowly along Mount Street. The intricately detailed Queen Anne revival-style architecture and pristine red-brick shopfronts ooze a distinctly old-world charm. Relaxing back into the seat, he observes the crowds rushing back to their offices after a leisurely lunch, or window-shopping the street’s rich diversity of fashion houses and jewellers from some of the biggest talents of the twenty-first century. Although he enjoys the hustle and bustle of the city on occasion, he would not want to live here again. Lodging here as a student and during his early career was more than enough for him. Deanna has surprised him with her desire to relocate to London. Again, he wonders how their new living arrangements will work.
‘Apologies for dragging you into London, Terry,’ Oliver says.
‘No worries. As I said to Mrs Foxley, it’s all part of the service. Anyway, it’s good keeping my hand in with city driving.’ Terry swerves to avoid a van pulling out from the kerb. ‘Bloody idiot,’ he mutters under his breath, ‘and on a double yellow too!’
Oliver removes his mobile from his jacket pocket. Not wanting any interruptions during the lunch meeting with Sabrina, he switched it off. However, the lunch turned out to be not so much a meeting but more of a social occasion, and they covered a variety of subjects. But, then, it’s always like that with Sabrina. He wonders why his agent is still single. How has she escaped the net?
Married to her career, I suppose.
Switching on the phone, he sees a message from the Cornish property finder alerting him to four properties he might like to consider. Oliver calls her immediately.
‘Hello, Zennor, it’s Oliver Foxley,’ he says, thinking how so many Cornish women have lovely names. He recalls Morwenna explaining that her namesake was the patron saint of Morwenstow – almost in Devon – as if that fact made it somehow inferior! ‘So, you’ve found some suitable properties for me?’
‘I think I might have, Mr Foxley. I’ve emailed the brochures to you. Please take a look and tell me if I’m on the right track,’ says Zennor, her Cornish accent loud and clear.
‘I’m in London at present but I should be home in a couple of hours. I’ll get back to you as soon as I’ve studied the details. What time do you close?’
‘I don’t. I’m available twenty-four seven.’
‘That’s some service you offer!’ Oliver says with a smile.
‘We aim to please,’ Zennor says, giving a small, nervous laugh.
‘I’ll catch you later, then. Bye for now.’
Ending the call, Oliver looks out at the city as it gives way to the suburbs. If Deanna is determined to buy a property in London, then he will buy a second home in Cornwall. He can only hope that over time Cara will let him into her young family’s life. If she continues to deny him that opportunity then he will respect her decision, but having a base in Cornwall will enable him to keep a watchful eye on them all… from a discreet distance.
Fifteen
The lift door opens. With his arm firmly around her waist, Greg walks Cara along the corridor. They’ve enjoyed a fine meal in one of the hotel’s many restaurants and he’s plied her with drinks all evening. Surreptitiously, he asked the waiter to make her gins doubles, and he ordered wine with the meal. She tried to decline, saying that water was fine, but he smoothly pointed out that as this was her last night in London she should let her hair down and enjoy the last few moments of freedom without her children. Besides, he wanted them to celebrate her achievement at securing the Kaplans’ opening exhibition. She disagreed with the former – spending time with her children is her freedom – but felt she had to agree to the latter. Greg ordered the wine and made sure Cara’s glass was topped up at every given opportunity and, before long, the drink took effect. To finish off the meal he also ordered brandies.
Leaning heavily against him, Cara attempts to stop the corridor sliding away from her. She hasn’t been this drunk in years. Thank God he’s here for support! But what must he think of her? She concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other, but it’s no use. Her mind no longer has control over her body.
As they pass her door Greg braces himself and waits for Cara to say something, but she makes no comment. Arriving at his suite, he removes his hand from her waist and places his key card in the lock. Immediately Cara starts to sway and grabs his arm to steady herself.
‘I kn
ow what you need,’ he says. ‘Fresh air.’
Taking her by the hand, Greg enters the suite and leads her towards the balcony. Housekeeping has already prepared the room for the night and the curtains are closed. He draws them back and opens the door to a blast of cool night air.
‘Isn’t it spectacular?’ he says, leading Cara out onto the balcony.
Cara attempts to focus. She can make out the twinkling lights of London’s landmarks dotted along the dark snake of river below. It looks magical, but a sudden cacophony of angry horns reminds her she’s in the capital and a long way from home. She shivers.
‘Come here,’ Greg says. ‘Let me warm you.’ He wraps his arms around her body.
Wearily, Cara closes her eyes and leans against him. It’s been such a long time since a man has held her and these past couple of days in London have seemed so strange and unfamiliar. She feels exhausted and stretched to the limit. Acutely aware of Greg’s approval or disapproval and unable to relax for a moment, she has had to watch her every move and portray herself in a way that hasn’t felt natural. Now, with Greg’s arms around her, suggesting warmth and security, it only accentuates how very alone in the world she is. Cara welcomes the comfort he seems to be offering.
‘Feeling better?’ Greg asks softly.
She nods.
‘Don’t you just love the city?’ he says. ‘It’s so vibrant!’
She doesn’t reply. The city has no such effect on her. She yearns to be back in Cornwall, listening to the sound of the waves as they lap the shore, the cry of the gulls as they wheel in the air above The Lookout’s rooftop, and the shouts of her children from the beach way below.
‘There are so many opportunities a city can offer,’ continues Greg. ‘When you come to New York I will show you the best of it.’
‘When I come to New York?’ Cara repeats drunkenly.
‘Of course! Dear Cara, as I’ve said before, you can’t hide away in that far corner of England forever.’ Greg’s eyes dance with amusement. ‘Your art must be seen on the international stage.’
