"He and his partner Claire were never the same afterwards. Neither of them could cope and they both wanted to split up to make their misery complete, or because they wanted to punish themselves because somehow they felt guilty for what had happened.
"Anyway, after the split – I know it says a year in Wikipedia but it was actually much quicker than that – Nick went back to what he does best, making money for himself and hundreds of people who are not nearly so clever or deserving."
"You like him a lot, don't you?" she asked.
"Trust him with my life," he replied.
This was the time to mention the text, thought Alex. The texter must, after all, be simply wrong or malicious, but again she stopped herself.
"And what about you, Alex? What have been your big life events?"
Fuck, she thought, did he really ask that?
She gathered her thoughts. "I'll tell you about them one day, Mr Hamilton, when I get to know you better.
"And what does Nick expect of me, apart from accurate data which will help his empire grow even bigger?" The change of subject, she knew, was too abrupt. But she'd been caught off-balance by his question.
"I think the data will do for now," he said, taking the hint.
On the phone he seemed more intimidating than when, at the races, he was boasting of his skills at reading body language. But maybe, she thought, she was just nervous about tomorrow.
She passed on the chance to glean more information that might help with her lunch and instead made excuses that she had to get back to her nails. Their conversation ended with them promising to make a definite date for their drinking binge in Soho but again with an abruptness that Tavis would have noticed.
She went to bed with sparkling water and lime juice in one hand and her iPad in the other.
On YouTube she watched videos of Oscar Pistorious case, including the private memorial service he held for Reeva Steenkamp with his friends arriving with flowers. At around midnight her phoned beeped. The tone was of a text message, not an email. It read: "Trust me, Nick Hensen is not what he seems."
She got back out of bed and watched rubbish TV until, just as it was getting light, her mind finally stopped whirring and she gave in to her fatigue still stretched out on the sofa.
Chapter five: Pure panic.
As Adrian was about to send the morning report to Hensen he was interrupted by a phone call from Alex. "Ade, it's me. I'm not coming in this morning. I had a sleepless night so I'm going straight to lunch. But can we meet up for a coffee this afternoon? There is something I want to talk to you about."
"You really are going to fire me?"
"Don't be silly. We'll talk later."
Then she called Kerry, but there was no answer.
Three hours to lunch, half an hour to travel to be on the safe side, Alex worked out that she plenty of time to get ready, even for an half-billionaire.
She ate yoghurt as she scoured the newspaper. Business section, no mention of him there, good or bad. News section, now that would be serious, she thought, but stories about hedge fund managers who had embezzled fortunes or axe-murdered previous lovers were clearly not worthy of inclusion in that edition.
She showered and put on the dress that she had carefully laid out the day before. Still with an hour to spare before she needed to leave, she called Kerry again.
"Hi hon, big day for you today," she answered.
"Kerry, I got another text last night. I was already nervous enough, now I'm in a right state. Who are these people? They seem completely mad."
Alex read out the text and also told her of the call from Tavis. "I've know them five minutes and I'm getting calls from Tavis, Katherine, lunch with Nick...and weird texts in the middle of the night. They seem a bit obsessed."
"Babe, try to calm down. Why don't you talk to Adrian to see whether he can work out where the texts are coming from? I'm sure sure it's just that Olivia woman you told me about, or maybe a competitor of ours."
"I'm seeing Adrian after lunch for that very reason. Love it if you would come along too."
"Of course, give me a call later. But please remember, innocent until proven guilty. Just treat Nick Hensen like a regular client and we'll man...what am I saying...we'll women the barricades until we find out more.
"Stay strong, hon. And, remember, it's just lunch."
She paused waiting for Alex to say something but there was silence. So she continued: "Suzie's in. I'll read the Hensen report that Ade compiled. And if there is anything bad, I'll come to the Hilton and drag you away. We can get other less high-maintenance clients, you know."
Finally, Alex replied: "I don't know what I'd do without you."
Her cab arrived at her flat on time and pulled up outside the Hilton in Park Lane twenty minutes early.
She breathed deeply as she sorted for the fare and tip. "Thanks Love, would you like a receipt?" and, without any prompting, made it out for £10 more than she had paid. London cabbies didn't like the taxman.
She didn't want to bump into Hensen at the Hilton entrance so she took her life in her hands crossing the lanes of fast-moving traffic on the main central route north-south through the capital. She went into Hyde Park, sat on a bench and watched people enjoying leisure time. A skateboarder practised tricks on the path and a couple lay on the grass, enjoying the sun.
It was a school break and she watched as, presumably, a mum and daughter, about six, walked hand in hand in the sunshine, the girl giggling as she jumped a log. How happy they both looked.
"I can't do this," she thought, and rushed back across the road with little respect for the fast-moving traffic. One driver, who had to break heavily and swerve, blasted the horn and screamed 'stupid fucking cow!' out of the window. She barely acknowledged him nor the Hilton doorman who wished her good day, and rushed into the nearest bathroom to lock herself in a cubicle.
She grabbed her phone. "Kerry, will you come?"
"Come where?"
"To the Hilton. I'm having a panic attack."
"Are you in the restaurant yet?"
"No, I don't know if I can go up. Please come."
"Listen, I'll be there in half an hour, I'll wait downstairs and I'll text you when I'm there. Just come down if you need me, tell him you are going to do your makeup or something. I'll text you when I arrive. But don't be scared...like I said, he's just a client and I've nearly finished Ade's stuff and there's nothing that looks odd."
"It's not just that, I went to the park and something reminded me of, well, you know what."
"I'm coming now, darling, take some deep breaths and go up and meet him."
Alex looked at her watch. She was ten minutes late already. "Be strong, girl," she told herself, breathing deeply. She quickly repaired her smudged makeup, straightened her jacket and, repeating in her mind the words "Be strong" went to reception to ask for Nick Hensen.
"Certainly madam, I will get someone to take you up."
What Alex knew as a bellhop arrived to show her to the restaurant and Nick Hensen's table.
Dressed smartly in a dark suit with a brilliant white shirt but no tie, he stood up as she approached his table. "I thought you had stood me up," he said smiling warmly, shaking her hand and pecking her on the cheek.
"Sorry, London traffic, " she said. "I know it doesn't look good arriving late for a meeting with your boss.
"Don't worry, I like it here, look at the views...you'd find it hard to beat this one when it's sunny," gesturing at the floor to ceiling windows and the magnificent panorama of London beyond. Their table was so close to the window it was as if they were about to have lunch 300 or so feet in the air.
"Come here," he said, getting up again.
"Where to?" she said, surprised. In her current fragile state, she was horrified with the thought that he might have booked a room. But she breathed easier when she realised he was just taking her to the bar to show her a different view. "St Paul's, looks great, doesn't it?" he said.
"It's
not an architectural wonder, but it's a symbol of the city. Have you seen those war-time pictures of the bombs falling all around and it standing there defiantly?"
"Yes, I have," said Alex. "I've imagined what it might be live in a city being bombed. I suppose your ancestors might have actually experienced it?"
"They did, but jaw, jaw, not war, war...let me get you a drink."
"Just a sparkling water, please with some lime."
"No way," he insisted. "Have a cocktail. Once you have sent over our morning report I don't mind you having a drink," he smiled. "I guess you should have something from here," he said, pointing to a list of cocktails under the heading 'Cocktails of the Prohibition Era.'
She laughed and chose a Moonshiner, named in this case after those who made illegal booze in the 20's and 30's. Gin, maraschino and orange curacao were the main ingredients. He ordered a Martini.
"Shaken, not stirred, like James Bond?" she asked.
"I'm not classy enough to know the difference," he replied.
What had she been worrying about? Nick Hensen might be worth half a billion pounds but he was easy to talk to and he made her feel at ease, alcohol or not.
Her phone bleeped with a message. She apologised to him and looked at the screen. "I'm downstairs, babe, come straight down if you need me." Kerry had arrived.
Alex felt foolish. She'd suffered panic attacks for years brought on by events past, but she'd always tried her best to shield them from others. Now poor Kerry was sitting in reception on emergency standby while she herself was enjoying lunch with a man who was as easy to get along with as a London cabbie.
"Not the office saying there's a problem with our stuff, I hope," he said.
"Yes, I must go now and sort it out. Thanks for the drink," she joked.
He laughed. "Come on, let's get some food."
After ordering Sea Bass for her and Scottish venison for him they talked about the contract and how Adrian, her "computer wizard" had performed miracles to get everything up and running in time. As well as the morning report, there was an hourly scan of the internet for all individuals and companies that Hensen, the company, was interested in. And she admitted she would have struggled were it not for the lovable long-haired geek she employed.
They laughed as Alex told him of some of the captions that were printed on Adrian's T-shirts.
"Seems just the sort of guy we need. Someone who knows how to work a computer – I doubt our IT guys do – and someone to lighten up our Mayfair office. I might poach him."
"Don't you dare."
He then asked what else her company might offer. "Well, as you know we tag ourselves 'total back office support for financial companies', so anything you want really." And she rolled off a long list of things they were doing for other clients.
"I'll look into it but let's not talk shop anymore. Tell me about yourself."
The arrival of the first course gave her time to collect her thoughts.
"Go on then," he said after the waiter had served the food.
"What?" asked Alex.
"Tell me about yourself."
"Well, with my accent living in England the first thing everyone asks me is how I ended up in London and why I left the States. And the first thing I tell them is that they really don't want to know as it's a boring story. And it is, I promise you."
"Well, Tavis wouldn't agree," he laughed. "You know he thinks you robbed a bank or something in America and you escaped justice by fleeing over here?"
"Ah, but f I robbed a bank would I really be working my socks off trying to keep myself and three others employed from a a rather dingy office in Stratford?"
"Perhaps not. Maybe Tavis has got this one wrong," he smiled.
Alex liked him. She liked his easy going nature, his self-deprecation , his humour and, she had to admit to herself, his looks.
"Tavis told me that you don't have much of a family back in the States...sorry I mean in numbers not that your family isn't up to much."
"No, just a sister and a few aunts and uncles scattered around. My father died when I was sixteen and my mother about six years ago."
"I'm sorry," he said.
"So you left New York shortly after your mother died?"
"Yes, made me realise that life is short and I needed to travel. London was my first port of call and I liked it so much I decided to stay, which I managed to do after a struggle with immigration. It's very much like New York, vibrant, anything-goes, a large immigrant population trying to make good, just smaller buildings."
Alex tried to turn the attention to him. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Go on."
"When you started out did you always think you would become as successful as, well, you have become?" she asked, sipping some water.
"I was confident if that's what you mean. Life has a habit of biting you in the arse and I know lots of people far smarter than me who have made fortunes and lost them, just through sheer bad luck or circumstances. But it's never been about the money. I just treat life like a game, like playing Monopoly, which I used to love as a kid.
"I'm now playing Monopoly for real – just with money markets not property - and while some people get their fun from their families and kids, I get mine by playing a game.
He drank some water. "I know that sounds dreadful but, for some reason that I don't understand, I was very ambitious when I left school. And I guess I've been so busy playing my game the family thing has left me behind."
"Would you swap everything, you know to have like a family life in exchange for your success?" she asked - and wished she hadn't as it sounded too personal. It also revealed to him that Alex knew he didn't have a family.
"You know, that's a question, I have often asked myself. And my really honest answer is that I don't know."
As the waiters served the main course, she remembered that Kerry was still downstairs. "Nick, bad timing, I just need to visit the bathroom."
In the cubicle, she sent a text to Kerry. "All OK, Nick a nice guy..nothing to worry about, so sorry to have asked you to come. I'll make it up to you and explain all later, Love A x." She returned to the table where Nick was pouring wine.
Her phone, which she had turned back on to text Kerry, bleeped again. "Aargh! I thought I turned it off. Sorry."
"I'm the big hedge fund manager and you're the one getting all the calls," he quipped.
She looked at the message. "No worries babe and ask Nick if has he a brother! Luv ya 2, Kels."
An hour a go Alex was a nervous wreck, crying in a cubicle in the washroom, undecided whether she had the strength to even go up to the restaurant. Now she was engaged in entertaining conversation with a very likeable guy who seemed to have nothing to hide. The unfathomable text messages were forgotten.
When the conversation started again, he told her that he was going to New York at the end of the week and asked if she wanted anything from her home town.
"Anything from Tiffany's that costs more than ten grand," she joked.
"No, we have Tiffany's in London," he said. "And besides something expensive would look like I'm trying to buy your friendship and I think you are too smart for that.
"I'm thinking something silly – something you can't get here."
"Well, on the Americans In London website most of them ask where to get French's but I prefer Coleman's."
"Maple syrup...cookies...cinnamon rolls?"
"Nick, shut up, you'd only get one of your staff to go shopping for you."
"That's where you are wrong," he said. "I'd buy it and wrap it myself."
He was flirting again and Alex, surprising herself, was flirting back.
"I'm sort of Englished-up now. I eat chips with curry sauce. I love Sunday roast with Yorkshire pudding, and have egg and bacon for breakfast at least twice a week. The only thing I don't do is warm beer."
"Can't blame you," he replied.
God, she thought, how can someone so rich be so normal. She enjoyed the banter but was curiou
s how a man who'd built such an empire remained what her compatriots would describe as 'a regular guy'.
Keen that nothing went wrong to spoil things, and remembering that she had arranged to meet Kerry and Adrian for coffee, she told him of her pending appointment.
"Oh cancel it, let's go for a walk round London."
"Nick, I can't. But this is a good lunch and maybe when you get back from New York, I'll reciprocate."
"Well, you do owe me. Have you seen the prices here?"
"For a three-course lunch, with views thrown in, they seem reasonable to me," she teased him.
"I'll just deduct it from your contract then."
He poured some water. "Seriously, I'd like it if we could ditch the chauffeur and car, and just walk round for a while. But I do understand if you want to make your meeting...so maybe after New York?"
"Of course," she replied. "I like to know our clients are happy and that they are getting the service they pay for."
"No, I was thinking we meet up and talk about stuff other than business," he said. "Maybe do the walk round London, Tate Modern, something like that, you know the sort of stuff all American tourists do."
"Are you stereotyping Americans, Mr Hensen?"
"Just kidding."
"I'll do you a deal," said Alex. "Bring me a blueberry cheesecake from Katz's and I'll do your London walk or tourist attraction, and speak in a loud American voice."
"Done. And how are we spelling Katz's?" he asked.
They skipped desert and drank coffee before he reluctantly asked her whether she needed a car.
"No, in my world we do cabs, Nick."
They both got up and he kissed her on the cheek. "Thanks, really good lunch and good company and I'll get the cheesecake."
"Or Katherine will have it flown over," she countered.
"Wait and see."
In the taxi on the way to Stratford, Alex wondered whether Nick for all his wealth and his real-life Monopoly game was really hankering after the normality that had saved herself from the brink. She called Kerry. "I'll be in Costa's in about half an hour, Kels, is that alright for you both?" She heard Kerry asking Adrian and she said they'd both be there.
Special Relationship Page 6
