The Tides of Change

by Joanna Rees

  ‘All I know is that Julian is about to make all our dreams come true,’ Susie said.

  At that moment, Emma looked up and caught Dimitry’s eye. He raised his glass to her and smiled. Or was it more of a sneer? Emma felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Even now she knew who he was, there was something about him that she didn’t trust. And trust was the most important thing. Because if anything went wrong . . .

  No, Emma thought, forcing herself to be positive. Julian had worked too hard and had put too much into this for anything to go wrong. Julian trusted this Dimitry chap implicitly, and so should she.

  ‘Well, Susie, if you won’t go away on holiday, perhaps you’ll at least come up to town and I can treat you to lunch. You really should dress up more often. You look positively divine.’

  ‘I will, I will. Now have you visited Madame Mystique?’ Susie asked with a girlish giggle. ‘Everyone’s talking about her. But I haven’t had the nerve.’ She glanced at Pim.

  ‘Poppycock,’ he said.

  ‘Oh come on, Pim. She’s just a bit of fun,’ Emma said.

  Madame Mystique was the fortune-teller Emma had hired for the night. She’d decorated the gazebo in the garden and made it into a bazaar.

  ‘Everyone is raving about her,’ Susie gushed. ‘She’s got this mad Albanian accent, apparently, and is so dramatic.’

  Emma smiled, delighted that the fortune-teller was a hit. It was all those little added touches that made a party like this a success.

  ‘Are you going to have a go?’ Susie asked Emma.

  ‘I may do. After the music. Paul’s on in a moment and we mustn’t miss the dancing.’

  ‘Well, before the evening’s out, you must go, Ems. You’re so fabulously lucky, she’s probably going to tell you about all the marvellous things that are going to happen to you.’

  Pim shook his head, keen to pooh-pooh Susie’s enthusiasm, and Emma smiled after him as he led Susie away. Her brother could be pompous and eccentric, but he was family and she loved and respected him. Running Lechley was a giant labour of love and she knew how much sacrifice it involved, and how much heartbreak, as the magnificent house was sacrificed to the elements year by year.

  All Emma wanted was for her brother to live out his days with the estate running as he wanted it to. If she could just repay some of the kindness and support that Pim had given her over the years, then she would be satisfied.

  Her reverie was interrupted by Julian.

  ‘The band is starting,’ he said. ‘Come with me, my darling.’ He led her back to the ballroom, already starting to dance to the music, and Emma laughed, loving to see him being the life and soul of the party.

  Emma was also delighted with the transformation that had so speedily taken place in the ballroom. The tables had been cleared and the lights now lit up the stage, where Sir Paul’s back-up band had just begun their first number, Van Morrison’s ‘Brown-Eyed Girl’, which Emma knew was one of Julian’s favourites. He pulled her on to the dance floor, twirling her round. Emma sighed as he drew her in tight and clasped her hand against his chest.

  ‘Having fun?’ she asked.

  ‘Isn’t everyone?’ he replied, kissing her hair. She could tell how happy he was. ‘You give good party, darling,’ he said.

  Only a few moments later, Julian was wrenched from her arms by David Coulter, one of their oldest friends.

  ‘Budge over, old man,’ David said, cutting in and expertly prying Emma’s hand out of Julian’s.

  Julian and Emma both laughed as David effortlessly twirled her away.

  ‘I wondered where you’d got to,’ Emma said, smiling up at him.

  The years had been kind to David, she noticed, now that she had the time to study his face up close. He didn’t seem any different now to the foppish, eager guy who’d picked her up in his brand-new red Porsche, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, twenty-five years ago. He had strawberry-blond hair, a tanned freckled face and dazzling aquamarine eyes, with eyelashes so long that Emma had once told him looked like a cow’s.

  It had been David that Emma had dated first, before she’d ever met Julian, or realized that Julian was David’s best friend. Back in those days, she’d been swept up in David’s Chelsea lifestyle, more than happy to help him spend the small fortune he’d made in shrewd property investments. She’d been dazzled by his sense of humour, his crazy energy and desire for partying. He’d seemed to know everyone and every single one of his friends had assured Emma that she was the one. They’d all been so keen to tell her that David was crazy about her, although in the rare times she spent alone with him, David never actually confirmed that himself. In fact, he never wanted to commit to how he was feeling, only to when the next party was. And Emma had been glad. Back then, she too had been more interested in having fun than planning a future.

  But then, one night, David hadn’t been able to meet Emma and had sent Julian instead. And everything had changed in an instant. Emma had been smitten.

  At first, it had been terrible. She’d felt so guilty about falling so hopelessly for Julian. And he’d felt the same way – not that she knew it then. They spent months skirting around the issue of their feelings, whilst making every excuse to see as much of each other as was possible. And all the while, they’d both privately agonized about hurting David’s feelings.

  In the end, it had been David himself who’d forced them together. He’d thrown a party and in one of his famous drunken speeches had outed them, publicly declaring that everyone knew that Julian and Emma were crazy about each other, and that they damn well better sort it out.

  Of course, it hadn’t stopped him ribbing Julian about stealing his girl in his best man’s wedding speech – a joke he never tired of. But Emma knew how David valued Julian’s happiness. And hers. And whatever he had felt back then, he’d been careful to gloss over and never mention since.

  ‘Where have I been?’ David said now, smiling down at Emma. ‘Very good question. I took a visit to your psychic in the garden.’

  ‘Oh?’ Emma laughed. ‘You too. What did she say?’

  ‘Very interesting,’ David said. ‘Of course it’s a load of old bollocks. She said I’d be paid a visit by an older woman who would come and stay with me.’

  ‘You? Older woman? Get out of here!’

  ‘Exactly what I thought,’ David said.

  ‘Julian says your latest girlfriend is – what? All of thirty?’

  ‘Ex-girlfriend,’ David corrected her. ‘I’m working on a younger model.’

  Emma laughed. The eternal bachelor and party boy, David still lived his charmed life, running his huge estate in Tortola, in the British Virgin Islands. As far as Emma could make out, he spent his entire time throwing raucous, boozy parties, getting up at midday and fishing on his yacht, in between chasing after beautiful young women. Emma and Julian had been to the Caribbean many times over the years, and each time she’d come back exhausted.

  Suddenly, he twirled Emma around in his arms and leant her back with a flourish. But Emma had danced with David enough times in her life to expect this, and didn’t lose her footing.

  ‘Hey, you’re still good,’ he said, twisting her away and then back into his arms. ‘For an old bird.’

  ‘I swear you’re nothing but a dirty old man. It’s indecent. When are you going to grow up and get a proper woman? Your own age?’

  ‘Sadly, all the good ones are taken.’ He winked at her and smiled, and despite his gentle jibes, Emma felt herself won over by his easy charm.

  Later, breathless from all the dancing, and thrilled that the music had been so fabulous, Emma was making her way through the guests and out to the garden to check with Damien that they were all set for the firework display over the lake, when she saw the red light in the gazebo.

  She started going towards it, then stopped. She didn’t need to hear what Madame Mystique had to say – even if there was any truth in it. Emma already knew what the future held. It was going to be bright and succes
sful – just like her party. And nobody was going to tell her otherwise.

  But just then Emma looked down the drive and saw Dimitry’s black car sloping out of sight, silent as a snake, through the avenue of trees. How odd that they hadn’t stayed for the fireworks. Or wished her goodbye, or thanked her for the party. Those Russians may be wealthy, Emma thought, but they had no bloody manners at all.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  It was just before seven in the morning and Frankie felt like a new woman as she waited for the boss to arrive for his first session with her. She was out of stewardessing duties for the first time in ages, and up here, with the sunshine pouring into the ultra de-luxe glass-sided gym, she felt happy and purposeful.

  Pushkin was on the move, having left St Tropez in the middle of the night, bound for the trendy Sardinian playground of Porto Cervo. As the mega-yacht sliced effortlessly through the Mediterranean waves, Frankie lay on her back on one of the pristine mats and stretched out.

  Her own iPod was in the speaker dock and she’d composed a special playlist for today’s session. She wondered whether Alexei Rodokov would mind that she’d brought her own music, but the familiarity of it would calm her nerves, and hopefully create some privacy.

  She knew that the gym was hooked up to the yacht’s monitoring system and, as if sensing her thoughts, she saw the small camera in the corner of the room rotate towards her. She wouldn’t mind betting that Roz, Simone and Trudy were watching the screens on the bridge.

  They had almost choked when they’d heard that Frankie would be alone with the boss in the gym this morning. But she was a professional, she’d reminded them, enjoying her sudden rise up the hierarchy. Had they forgotten that she was a trained personal instructor, that it was why she’d been employed?

  But now her stomach fluttered with nerves. Would she be good enough for Alexei Rodokov? Would he like her? And what would it be like working with him one to one? She couldn’t be sure who’d trained him before, or how fit he was. And if he was mega-fit, would he suss her lack of experience?

  Frankie had done her gym-instructing qualification as an evening course at university, thinking it would come in handy one day. But she hadn’t been a proper practising instructor for years: the only personal training she’d done had been putting together workouts for friends back home.

  Of course, she’d always made it sound as if she was way more confident than she was, especially when Richard had employed her. But now Frankie’s stomach fluttered with doubts. She would just have to bluff her way through.

  She stood up and did a deep forward bend, her legs apart. It was only then that she saw Alexei standing in the doorway behind her, watching her.

  Even framed as he was, upside-down, a towel flung over his shoulder, Frankie couldn’t help thinking that he was even more handsome than she remembered. He looked away quickly.

  Frankie stood up, feeling colour rising in her cheeks.

  ‘Good morning, sir,’ she said. ‘I was just—’

  ‘OK, before we start, can we cut the “sir” crap? In the gym it’s Alex, OK?’ he said, walking casually towards her as if he got a new gym instructor every day. Something that might not be so far from the truth, Frankie considered, thinking of how wealthy he was and how much travelling he did.

  ‘OK . . . so . . . Alex. Um . . . shall we get started?’

  She gestured to the bench she’d set up in front of the mirror and the stack of weights. But he didn’t move. She smoothed her hair behind her ear, aware of his deep eyes boring into her. She swallowed, nervous she might have already messed up. People like Alex probably weren’t used to others making decisions for them.

  ‘So what do you want to do?’ she hurriedly asked, trying to make amends.

  The tiny wrinkles around his eyes appeared to relax. ‘I guess some upper body work would be good, I’m feeling a bit stiff.’ He tore his gaze away from her face and placed his manicured hand on his shoulder and rotated his arm. ‘I’ve been doing quite a bit of travelling lately. And it’s a bit cramped in the chopper.’

  ‘OK. What kind of exercise are you used to?’

  ‘Less than I should. But I’ve started working out with Eugene recently, you know, pumping weights,’ Alex explained.

  He looked at Frankie, as if he expected her to be impressed. But she frowned.

  ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t want to interfere, but it seems to me that Eugene could be heading for some serious injuries, and you could too, if you follow his lead. Besides, you have very different physiques.’

  Now, as she watched Alex sit down on the bench, in his white singlet and baggy shorts, that seemed to be a complete understatement. As far as Frankie was concerned, Alex had a perfect body. He was slim, but had impeccable pecs and his shoulders were well defined. His skin was tanned and glowing with health. She felt an almost overwhelming urge to place her hands on his shoulders and feel his muscles.

  ‘Anyway, I don’t think you need to overdo it. You’re in good shape, if you don’t mind me saying.’

  Alex laughed, tipping his head back. Even his teeth were perfect. ‘No, Frankie, I don’t have a problem with a beautiful girl telling me I’m in great shape.’

  She smiled, embarrassed. He’d remembered her name. And called her beautiful.

  ‘Just lucky genes,’ he explained. ‘I could do with some advice, though. My hip hurts occasionally on this side.’

  ‘One of the reasons your hip might be slightly out is if your glute med is weak,’ Frankie said.

  ‘My what?’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, smiling. ‘It’s a muscle group here,’ she said, slapping the back of her thigh.

  ‘Weak?’

  Alex didn’t sound as if he had room for weakness of any kind in his life.

  ‘Well . . . probably not that weak,’ she conceded. ‘But don’t worry. It’s easily fixed with a few exercises. OK, let’s start on the warm-up.’ She walked over to the iPod and turned up the volume.

  ‘Hey, I like this music,’ he said.

  ‘Believe me, it’ll get more hardcore when I really start to work you,’ she said, risking a familiar tone. ‘Now get down on the mat, we’ve got some stretching to do.’

  She’d said it before she’d even thought about it. She’d issued him with a direct order. But instead of telling her to get lost, he nodded courteously, professionally even, and did as he was told, folding his perfect frame into a sitting position.

  Maybe she’d got him all wrong. Maybe he wasn’t a control freak. Or maybe he’d just decided to make an exception in her case. Whichever: it didn’t matter. She was being paid to teach him, and that was exactly what she was going to do.

  ‘One thing first.’ He winked at Frankie, then, taking his towel off his shoulder, aimed it at the surveillance camera and threw. It landed over the lens. ‘I think gym time should be private, don’t you?’

  But any question in her mind that he might have an ulterior motive for cutting off the camera was immediately laid to rest by his gentle smile.

  Frankie smiled back. And in that moment they seemed to form some kind of unspoken pact. For a second, Frankie felt a hot liquid feeling spreading through her, but she quickly covered it up, making Alex lie down and lifting up his leg and pressing his knee towards his chest, so that she could stretch him out. She had to be professional.

  Alex groaned with pleasure.

  ‘Just breathe,’ she encouraged him.

  ‘So do you get this intimate with all my guests?’ he asked.

  What did he mean? Intimate? Did he mean she was being too intimate with him? ‘Is this too much? I was only—’

  ‘Frankie, lighten up, OK? I was teasing you,’ he said, smiling as she swapped over his legs. ‘All I meant was that this feels great. I wondered who else you’d worked your magic on.’

  Relieved that he wasn’t annoyed with her, Frankie felt buoyed up with confidence. ‘I haven’t had the chance. Roz has got me on a tough rota.’

  Alex smiled. �
��Oh yes, Roz,’ he said, as if he knew exactly what she was like.

  Frankie moved Alex’s arm across his body and leant down on his shoulder. He groaned again with pleasure as the muscles stretched out, and Frankie felt something inside her twitch again. Something she hadn’t felt for a very long time.

  Something . . . sexual.

  ‘Roz came with the yacht,’ Alex whispered. ‘I didn’t choose her.’

  He looked at her and she smiled. She felt absurdly flattered that he was confiding in her, but she knew she couldn’t comment on Roz herself. Not while there was a still a chance she might be listening in.

  ‘Just relax,’ she said, concentrating. She had to get this workout right. ‘Breathe out.’

  Ten minutes later, Frankie was more in her stride and had really stepped up the pressure. Alex was doing chin-ups at the bar.

  ‘So do you have an opinion on everyone then?’ Alex asked as he pulled his chin up to his hands on the bar. She’d just explained why she thought Eugene was a typical macho show-off.

  ‘I suppose so,’ she said. ‘Doesn’t everyone?’

  ‘So what’s your opinion of me?’

  That you’re possibly the most gorgeous man I’ve ever met and, with your butt right in front of my face like this, you’re almost irresistible.

  ‘That you can work harder,’ she said instead, retreating into the relative safety of work talk once more. ‘Come on, put your back into it. Five more.’

  ‘Jesus, Frankie. You’re a hard taskmaster.’

  ‘And I get results. Now move it!’

  She would get results, she thought. And the best result she could imagine would be to spend as much time as possible alone like this with Alex.

  Ten minutes later, she had him on the bench, when Prince came on the iPod.

  ‘It’s a bit old school,’ she said apologetically.

  ‘I love it,’ Alex said. His chest was wet with sweat. He lay on the bench looking up at her, puffing out his cheeks.

  ‘Warmed up, then?’ she asked, smiling down at him. ‘Ready for these?’ she asked, placing the dumbbells in his hands.