For a moment he stood there, stunned—as the door slammed behind her. He thought about rushing after her, about pulling her into his arms and kissing her and then seeing whether she was so damned certain their relationship was over. But that would make it all about sex, wouldn’t it? And sex had always been the least troublesome part of this equation. Besides, Kirsty was buzzing through to tell him that his eleven o’clock had arrived, so he was forced to concentrate on listening to what his architect was saying, rather than on a pair of stubborn pink lips he still wanted to crush beneath his own.
By seven o’clock that evening, he decided that Alannah had been right. Better to end it now, before she got in too deep—because it wouldn’t be fair to break her heart as he had broken so many others. She would start falling in love with him. She would want more from him than he was capable of giving. Better they both recognised his limitations now.
He glanced up at the clock again. Maybe he should start as he meant to go on. Dinner with someone new would surely be the way to go. A civilised dinner with someone who didn’t get under his skin the way she did.
He flicked through his address book, but none of the long list of names excited him enough to pick up the phone. He had his driver drop him home and worked in his study until way past midnight. But still he couldn’t sleep. He kept remembering when Alannah had spent the night with him there and, even though the linen had been laundered, he thought he could still detect the unique scent of her skin on his sheets. He thought about the cottage. About the tree-lights and the snow. About that unreal sense of quiet satisfaction as he had cooked her Christmas lunch. The way they had fallen asleep on the sofa after they’d made love. Hadn’t that been like the closest thing to peace he’d felt in a long, long time?
And that was all make-believe, he told himself fiercely. As insubstantial as Christmas itself.
He lay and watched the luminous numbers on his clock changing slowly and just before his alarm was due to go off a text arrived from Alekto Sarantos.
Don’t be late for my party! Beautiful women and a beautiful apartment—what better way to see in the new year? A
Niccolò stared blankly at the screen of his mobile phone, telling himself that a party was exactly what he needed, and didn’t Alekto throw some of the best parties he’d ever been to? But just the thought of it left him cold. Tugging on his running gear, he got ready for the gym and wondered why his eyes looked so shadowed and haunted.
But deep down, he knew exactly why.
* * *
‘It is spectacular.’ Alekto Sarantos smiled as he looked around the main reception room, his blue eyes gleaming. ‘You have transformed my apartment, Alannah—and you have worked against the clock to get it done in time for my party. Efkaristo poli. I thank you.’
Alannah smiled back, even though just smiling seemed to take a massive effort these days. It was true that the place did look pretty amazing—especially when she thought back to the sea of beige it had been before. The woman who had made the curtains had got very excited about it and she had told someone, who had told someone else. Even during the short period between Christmas and new year, word had soon got round in an industry which survived by constantly seeking out new ideas and new faces. Already Alannah had received a phone call from one of the big interior magazines, asking if they could do a photo shoot there. She doubted whether Alekto would agree, since she got the idea he was very hot on privacy. Still, she could always ask him. And even if he didn’t give his permission, she sensed that she had turned a corner—because this was the big break she had been waiting for. And she had Niccolò to thank for it.
Security and creative fulfilment were lying within her grasp. So why did it all feel so empty? Why was she having to force herself to look and sound enthusiastic about something she’d always dreamed of?
She sighed. She knew exactly why. Because she’d made the fundamental mistake of falling in love with a man who had never offered her anything but sex.
‘I hope you’re coming to my new year’s party?’ Alekto was saying. ‘You really ought to be the guest of honour, after what you’ve achieved here. Unless, of course, you have already made plans?’
Alannah glanced out at the late afternoon sky, which was now almost dark. The only plans she had made were to buy the TV guide and turn up the central heating, while she waited for Big Ben to chime in a new year she couldn’t seem to get worked up about. She thought about getting dressed up for a party attended by Alekto Sarantos and his glamorous friends, and how any sane person would leap at such an opportunity.
But what if Niccolò was there?
Her heart pounded. The possibility was high. It was more than high. They were best mates, weren’t they? She shook her head. ‘It’s very sweet of you—but I think I’ll just have a quiet evening in,’ she said.
‘Up to you.’ Alekto shrugged. ‘But if you change your mind…’
Alannah went home, bathed and washed her hair—before pulling on her dressing gown and a pair of slouchy socks and switching on the TV. She flicked channels. Crowds of people were already flocking into Trafalgar Square, even though it was still early. People were being interviewed, swigging from beer bottles and giggling—and Alannah suddenly saw herself as a fly on the wall might see her. A woman sitting on her own at nine o’clock on New Year’s Eve, wearing a dressing gown and a pair of old socks.
What had she become?
She swallowed. She had become a cliché, that was what. She had fallen in love with someone who had always been out of reach. And yet, instead of accepting that and holding her head up high and just getting on with her life, the way she’d always done, she had caved in. She was like some sort of mole, living in darkness—cowering inside her own safe little habitat, because she was afraid to go out. It was the worst night of the year to be home alone—especially if your stupid heart was heavy and aching—and yet here she was. Mole.
What was she so worried about? That she might see Niccolò with another woman? Surely that would be the best of all possible outcomes—it would remind her of how easily he could move on. It would make her accept reality, instead of chasing after rainbows.
Tearing off her slouchy socks, she pulled out the gold dress she’d worn at Christmas and slithered into it. Then she slapped on a defiant amount of make-up, her highest heels—and a warm, ankle-length coat. People were milling outside pubs as she made her way to the station and more snow was falling as she caught the underground and got out at Knightsbridge.
It was much quieter in this part of town. There were few revellers out and about around here—this was the world of the private, rather than the street party. But by the time she reached Park View other partygoers were milling around in the foyer and the party atmosphere was contagious. She shared the elevator up to Alekto’s apartment with several stunning women and a man who kept surreptitiously glancing at his phone.
The elevator pinged to a halt and the door to the penthouse was opened by a waitress dressed as a flamingo, a tray of exotic-looking cocktails in her hand. Alannah went off to hang up her coat and then wandered along the corridors she knew so well, back towards the sitting room. It was strange seeing the place like this—full of people—when she had only ever seen it empty. Most of the furniture she’d installed had been pushed back against the walls to maximise the space—but the room still looked spectacular. Even she could see that. The colours worked brilliantly—providing the perfect backdrop for Alekto’s extensive art collection—and she was particularly proud of the lighting.
In spite of everything, she knew Niccolò would be pleased with her work. He might regret some things, but he would never regret giving her the job and she should take pride in that. A horrible dark pain washed over her, only this time it was underpinned with reproach. She wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Niccolò. Wasn’t that going to be her one and only new year resolution? That part of her life was over. She had to cut her losses and move on. And it was a waste of time to wonder what it would ha
ve been like if she had been pregnant. Or to dwell on that irrational and sinking sense of disappointment when she had stared at the test result and it had been negative.
A woman masquerading as a bird of paradise offered her a drink and Alannah took one, but the sweet concoction tasted deceptively powerful and she put the glass down as Alekto Sarantos came over to talk to her.
‘You made it, then,’ he said, with a smile. ‘Thavmassios. If I had a Euro for every person who has asked me who is responsible for the design of this apartment, then I would be a very rich man.’
‘But I thought you were a very rich man,’ she said, and he laughed, before giving her a thoughtful look. ‘I might have some work for you in Greece, if you’re interested?’
Alannah didn’t even need to think about it. ‘I’d be very interested,’ she said immediately, because a different country might be just what she needed. What was it they said? A new year and a new start.
‘Why don’t you call my office on Monday?’ he suggested, pulling out a business card and handing it to her.
‘I will,’ she said, putting it into her handbag as he walked away.
‘Alannah?’
A familiar voice curled over her skin like dark velvet and she turned to see Niccolò standing there. His hair and shoulders were wet with melting snow and he was wearing a dark cashmere coat, which made him stand out from all the other guests. Alannah stiffened as his shadow fell over her and her heart began to hammer as she looked up into his shuttered features.
The knot of tension in her stomach grew tighter. But she had come here tonight to hold her head high, hadn’t she? Not to hang it in shame. Nor to waste time wishing for something which could never be.
‘Niccolò,’ she said coolly. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’
‘What were you saying to Alekto?’
‘That’s really none of your business.’
‘You do know he is world-famous for breaking women’s hearts?’
‘Why, has he lifted the crown from you?’ she questioned acidly. ‘And what are you doing still wearing your overcoat?’
‘Because I have driven halfway across London looking for you,’ he growled.
She frowned. ‘Why?’
‘Why do you think?’ he exploded. ‘I went round to your apartment, only you weren’t there.’ He had spent the afternoon psyching himself up, making careful plans about what he was going to say to her. He had decided to surprise her, because he…well, because he wanted to—and that in itself was uncharacteristic. He had naturally made the assumption that she would have been home alone, only when he’d got there Alannah’s apartment had been shrouded in darkness and his heart had sunk. The sight of all those empty windows had suddenly seemed like a metaphor for his life and they had confirmed the certainty which had been growing inside him for days.
Instinct had made him pull out his telephone to speak to Alekto and his hunch was proved right. His friend had coolly informed him that, yes, Alannah had been invited to the party and although she’d told him she wasn’t coming, she seemed to have changed her mind. In fact, she had just walked in, looking like a goddess in a spectacular golden dress.
Niccolò had turned his car around and driven from Acton, getting snarled up in the new-year traffic—his nerves becoming more and more frayed as an unfamiliar sense of agitation nagged away at him. And now he was here standing in front of her and nothing was as he thought it would be. He had not intended to launch into a jealous tirade because he’d seen her being chatted up by one of the world’s biggest players.
Wasn’t he supposed to be a ‘player’ himself?
His mouth hardened.
Not any more.
He was in a roomful of some of the most beautiful women in the world and yet he could see only one. One who was staring at him with hostility and suspicion and, in his heart, he knew he couldn’t blame her.
So why the hell was he demonstrating an arrogance which might cause her magnificent pride to assert itself, and tell him to take a running jump? He needed to keep her onside. To placate her. To make her realise why he had come here. And to make her realise that it was the only possible solution.
‘I need to talk to you,’ he said.
‘Talk away.’ She gave a careless shrug. ‘I’m not stopping you.’
‘In private.’
‘I’d prefer to stay here, if you don’t mind.’
‘Unfortunately, tentatrice, I do mind.’
Without warning, he caught hold of her hand, his fingers enclosing her hammering pulse as he led her through the throng of partygoers until they had reached one of the bedrooms. He shut the door, just as she shook her hand free and glared at him.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she demanded. ‘You can’t just waltz up to someone in the middle of a party and manhandle them like that! You can’t just drag a woman from a room because you’ve decided you want a private word with her. Oh, sorry—I’d forgotten.’ She slapped her palm against her brow. ‘You can—and you do. Well, you might be Tarzan but I am not your Jane. I don’t do Neanderthal and I don’t do arrogant men who think they can just blaze into other people’s lives doing exactly what they want. So will you please step aside and let me pass?’
‘Not until you’ve heard me out,’ he said, as a strange sense of calm washed over him. ‘Please.’
She looked at him for a moment before pointedly glancing at her watch. ‘You’ve got five minutes.’
Niccolò sucked in a breath but for a moment he couldn’t speak. His calmness seemed to be deserting him as he realised that this wasn’t going to be easy. He was going to have to do something unheard of— something he had instinctively always shied away from. He was going to have to pull out his feelings from the dark place where he’d buried them and he was going to have to admit them. To her. And even when he did, there was no guarantee that it might not be too late.
He looked into the wary blue of her eyes and his heart pounded. ‘I need to ask your forgiveness,’ he said. ‘For all the unjust accusations I hurled at you. For my bull-headedness and my lack of compassion. For taking so long to realise the kind of woman you really are. Strong and proud and passionate and loyal. I’ve missed you, Alannah, and I want you back. Nobody talks to me the way you do, or makes me feel the way you do. Nobody else makes my heart skip a beat whenever I see her. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. To one day make the baby we didn’t have this time. I want to make a real home—with you. Only with you.’
She took a step back, as if she’d just seen a ghost, and she started shaking her head. ‘You don’t want me,’ she said in a hoarse voice. ‘You only think you do, because I’m the one who walked away and that’s probably never happened to you before. You want someone respectable, who is as pure as the driven snow—because that’s the sort of thing you care about. Someone suitable. You didn’t want me as bridesmaid because you were worried about what other people would think. Because you’re hung up on appearances and how things look from the outside, no matter what you say.’
‘I used to be,’ he said savagely. ‘But you have made me realise that appearances and social position don’t matter. It’s what’s underneath which counts. And you have everything that counts. You are soft and smart and funny. You are kind and caring and talented. You didn’t even smoke dope at school, did you—even though you were accused of it?’
Startled by this sudden conversational twist, Alannah narrowed her eyes suspiciously. ‘Did Michela tell you that?’
He shook his head. ‘She didn’t have to. I worked it out for myself. I think you may just have covered up for my sister all this time.’
‘Because that’s what friends do,’ she said fiercely. ‘That’s called loyalty.’
‘I realise that now,’ he said. ‘It’s just taken me a long and very circuitous route to get here. But I don’t want to talk about the past any more… I want to concentrate on the future.’
He reached within the pocket of his snow-covered overcoat and pulled
out a little box. ‘This is for you,’ he said, and his voice was slightly unsteady.
Alannah watched as he opened it and she was shamefully aware of a sinking sense of disappointment as she looked inside. Had she really thought it was an engagement ring? Was she really that fickle? Because glittering against the background of dark velvet was a brooch shaped like a little honey-bee. Its back was covered with yellow, black and white stones and she found herself thinking that she’d never seen anything so sparkly. She looked up at him, still disorientated.
‘What’s this?’ she said.
‘You collect insect brooches, don’t you? They’re diamonds. The black ones are quite rare. It’s for you,’ he said again. ‘Because I didn’t buy you a Christmas present.’
But Alannah felt a terrible lump in her throat as she began to blink her eyes rapidly. ‘You just don’t get it, do you?’ she whispered. ‘The brooches I have are all worth peanuts. I wear them because my mother gave them to me—because they mean something to me. I don’t care if they’re diamonds or paste, Niccolò. I don’t care how much something is worth.’
‘Then what if I tell you this is worth what I feel for you, and that is everything. Everything.’ He moved closer. ‘Unless you want me to go to a flea-market to find you something cheaper? Tell me, Alannah—are you going to set me a series of challenges before you will accept me?’
She almost laughed, except that now hot tears were springing to her eyes and she couldn’t seem to stop them. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do,’ she whispered. ‘Because I’m scared. Scared because I keep thinking this is all a dream and that I’m going to wake up in a minute.’
‘No, not a dream,’ he said, taking the brooch from the box and pinning it next to the little grasshopper which already adorned her golden dress. ‘I bought you this because I love you. This is the reality.’
Her lips parted. ‘Niccolò,’ she said again, and now her voice was shaking. ‘If this isn’t true—’
Christmas in Da Conti's Bed Page 14
