“Good news,” Margo said when a natural break in the conversation occurred. “Mr. Sumneroff has agreed to be a guest speaker. Quite a coup having an entrepreneur of his calibre coming. The students will be so excited.”
“Oh,” Rosalie said, even though Margo was addressing Paul more than her. Hearing Alexi’s name took her a little by surprise. She hadn’t expected it. A one off meeting was strange enough, a convergence of past and present, but a following engagement felt even more awkward. But Rosalie decided to dismiss any reaction she felt to this news. Alexi lived here; it shouldn’t perhaps be surprising that they run into each other, along with his insanely attractive... Actually, she’d never asked if that woman was his wife or not. Although it didn’t matter, Rosalie supposed.
“… thought I’d take two weeks. There is always the idea of driving down to the Amalfi coast,” Paul said and Rosalie realised she hadn’t kept up with the conversation.
“That would be lovely,” Margo said. “Portugal is also an option. Some wonderful scenery there.”
Rosalie tried to catch up. “Sorry, what was that?”
“I was saying, during the break, I was considering taking two weeks and driving down the Amalfi coast.”
Lovely images of clear water and majestic villas scattered up dramatic cliffs filled Rosalie’s head. It had been one of those places she’d always intended to visit, but had never gotten around to doing it.
Paul was still looking at her. “What do you think? Keen for a bit of a road trip?”
“Absolutely. Who would say no to that?”
“I always go home to the mountains,” Professor Cortega said. “It is always cooler and peaceful there during the heat of summer.”
“That does sound very nice, too,” Rosalie admitted. Finally getting past all the uncertainty she’d felt in coming here, she now saw the opportunities for exploration. She was living on the Mediterranean, surrounded by wild landscapes and abundant history.
She picked up a small roll and bit into it, suddenly feeling very excited about being there.
Chapter 13
Even the finery of the café in Harrods couldn’t chase away the constant dampness that filtered through Felix’s clothes, even into his very skin. Grey rain fell outside and he unwrapped the scarf he had around his neck.
“You look so handsome, darling,” his mother said, standing up and kissing him on the cheek. She wore Chanel, which she tended to do when she wanted to confront something. Wonderful, Felix thought bitterly. What had she gotten in her head now?
“And you look adorable, mother,” he said, unbuttoning his coat and sitting down. Why the hell had he come to London? he wondered—because his mother had called and it had been so long since she’d seen him.
Leaning back, he looked at her. Her warm brown hair was set in a style reminiscent of the eighties. That must be coming back, because his mother never missed a trend appropriate for her age group. She never missed a beat and if you were comfortable, you were obviously not applying yourself.
“I still can’t understand why you spent so much time here,” he said, “London is so dreary this time of year.”
“Some day you are going to have to embrace that you are an Englishman and dreary weather is in your blood.”
Felix rolled his eyes. He knew why his mother spent so much time here, her coveted membership of the fund raising activities in the National Trust. She didn’t give a damn about preserving historic buildings, but she liked being in the right crowd, and there were a little too many rich people in Marbella. People of his mother’s acquaintance did not purport they were rich, just had the right substance.
“Anyway,” she said dismissively. “There is a reason I wanted to see you today. Your father and I are separating.”
“You haven’t lived in the same house in decades, mother,” he said, taking a lurid green cream cake off the high tea stand. The taste of marzipan filled his mouth as he took a bite, followed by cream and raspberries.
“We are actually divorcing,” she said quietly so as not to invite the people at the next table to listen in.
Felix looked up. This was a surprise. He’d actually grown to accept that his parents would never divorce. “What’s brought this on?”
“Don’t act surprised, Felix. It has been coming on for a long time.”
“Have you told Esme?”
“Not yet. I don’t want to upset her at the moment, not until she’s settled on what she’s going to do in the near future.”
“It’s hardly something you can keep quiet.”
“You are not to tell her,” his mother said sharply.
“Fine,” Felix said, taking one of the scones off the stand. He wasn’t really in the mood to eat, but it was just sitting there in all its British subdued temptation.
“Your father is facing new charges,” she said after a while, as if exasperated.
“So? He’s always facing some charges.” It was true. Someone was always suing him for something, or accusing him of manipulating markets. All probably true, but father was protected by the right people.
“Felix, don’t be so droll.”
He shrugged with lack of comprehension, plunging the knife into the pot of strawberry jam.
“Rumour has it that he’s upset some people.”
Also something that wasn’t new. You didn’t play the game by being nice to people. “Is that why you’re divorcing him, because there are rumours?”
“Of course not. It is just time for a change, that’s all.”
For a moment he wondered if his mother was actually seeing someone and he lost his appetite at the thought. His mother was still an attractive woman, but thinking of her as anything so human turned his stomach.
“I think it’s a mistake not telling Esme,” he finally said. “She’s not a child. I’m sure your divorce isn’t going to drive her into rebellion.”
“Esme is delicate.”
She’d obviously never been the target of one of Esme’s punches, Felix thought. “Highly strung maybe, but hardly delicate.”
“Don’t be so insensitive, Felix. That has always been your problem; you don’t care about anyone else.”
It was hard to argue. He’d never been a particularly good son, or brother for that matter. It was true he’d driven his mother to despair during his formative years, getting thrown out of more schools than he could count. His relationship with his father was atrocious. His mother had always been a bit more circumspect, having to deal with all his antics growing up. Father had just been absent, a man he occasionally saw, but rarely spoke to in any substantial way. He recalled the bored dismissiveness coming from his father at the news he’d been expelled from another ludicrously expensive boarding school.
It couldn’t have been easy for his mother to be married to that and he empathised with the situation she had been in. Maybe a divorce would do her good. She’d raised her children now and probably saw no reason to continue with her marriage to a cold, distant man, who jetted around the world. They hadn’t even known where he was most of the time.
“How long are you staying for?” his mother asked.
“Not sure. I might head to the airport shortly.”
“Don’t. Stay. I have a dinner coming up. I would like you to be there.”
He groaned, knowing exactly what his mother’s dinners were like, stuck with the most colourless people possible, one of which his mother probably hoped he’d take a shine to—some drab girl with the right connections and a strong fondness for hunting or something similarly pointless.
“I can’t stay, mum. I need sun. I have seasonal affective disorder,” he said.
“You do not, Felix. For heaven’s sake, can’t you find something to entertain yourself with for a day or two?”
“Not doing something you would approve of.”
His mother chided him with her eyes, but there was also a part of her that enjoyed his lax attitude to life.
“How is Quentin?”
Fel
ix’s thoughts clouded over. “Run off to some jungle somewhere to play Tarzan and Jane with some cloddish Australian girl.” He actually knew Quentin’s girlfriend was from New Zealand, but refused to acknowledge it because she’d hated being referred to as Australian.
His mother stared at him. “Maybe it is time to consider doing something with your life. You’re not exactly a child anymore. When are you going to grow up, Felix?”
“So I can live inside a private jet and never see my family, like father?”
“At some point you are going to have to assume some responsibility. If he is going to leave the company to you some day, you should at least know how to run it.”
Felix groaned again. Tales of his responsibility to succeed his father had been heaped on him for as long as he could remember and he had always accepted that as a child, but as he grew, he consistently avoided any attempts to rope him into the company.
Chapter 14
There was expectant silence in the theatre as students sat waiting for him to talk. Why the hell had he agreed to do this? Alexi thought. It had been a spur of the moment decision, rooted no doubt in a weakness somewhere, because this decision made no sense.
“The crux of strategy,” he started, “is to ensure it sets you apart. If you have the same as everyone else, it’s no good.” He was by no means a public speaker; not that he cared enough to be ashamed of it. These children were lucky his faulty judgement had led him to this speech. Not a single one of these kids had the drive to make it, even if they had the support networks and the capital behind them. They would all be rich, but they would never be the titans—those came from an altogether different background. “If the opposite of your strategy is doing nothing, then you have no strategy.”
This was all bullshit. He couldn’t tell them the truth, because true success was often dependent on how clever you were with breaking laws. Being smarter, faster, cheaper, only got you so far. Political influence to circumvent the legal system was always were the real game was, but a school like this would never admit that. They still preached that if you were smart enough in positioning yourself in relation to you competitors it would keep you flying high. Even the world’s most successful companies never mentioned the industrial espionage, the palm greasing to Chinese officials to ensure competitor’s stock hit trouble at customs, or the governmental strongarming to ensure preferential treatment. Instead they talked about magical strategy as if it overcame all the tricks companies played on each other. They were all blatant lies.
Casting a glance sideways, he saw Rosalie standing against the wall in the crowded theatre, a piece of paper clasped in her hand as she listened. Next to her stood her brother, smiling with his coup at getting the world renowned Alexi Sumneroff to his class. But Alexi wasn’t stupid enough to not know this was about Rosalie. He liked her seeing him like this, the expert, the one everyone fawned over, so grateful he took time out of his busy schedule. No doubt by the end of the day there would be an offer to join their board; one he would politely turn down.
He continued the speech, a piece of waffle created by one of the strategy juniors. Applause roared through the space as he finished and a circle of students and teachers formed around him, all smiling faces. It was usual that he was treated with deference and respect, although not normally like a rock star. It wasn’t something he appreciated. Fame was not a goal he sought or respected.
“You must join us for lunch, Mr. Sumneroff,” the older woman who ran the school said. “It is such an honour having you here; we insist you let us treat you.”
“Yes, do,” Paul said. Rosalie was still standing by the wall as students filed past out of the double doors at the bottom of the theatre.
“Of course,” he found himself saying.
“We’ll meet at Deluca,” the dean continued. “Shall we say twenty minutes?”
Rosalie pushed off the wall and came to stand next to Paul. She wasn’t smiling, but she didn’t look angry—just the mild curiosity that was so part of her nature. There were always layers to analytical thinking, intellectual curiosity and knowledge gathering to get through before accessing her emotions. A memory of them sitting at a table in one of the university common rooms crept into his mind. She loved Bounties and had always gotten them out of the vending machines, her eyes closing as she took a bite. “I will meet you there,” he replied. It would be deeply disappointing if Rosalie wasn’t there. After all, he’d done all this on some impulse to see her again.
Slowly, they started moving towards the exit, heat enveloping as they stepped outside. The students had started retreating and it was now only the teaching staff left.
“I will take my car,” Alexi said, texting the driver. “And I will meet you there.” He finished the sentence while throwing another glance at Rosalie. The silk blouse and dark pencil skirt suited her. Her dress sense had improved from the jeans and sweaters she’d worn back when he’d known her. The thought of how that silk would feel under his fingers intruded, but he dismissed it. There was no room for women like Rosalie in his life—in fact, she was anathema to Malin, whose beauty and grace was practiced and perfected. Malin was a professional at being beautiful.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the car pull up and excused himself. There were some emails he needed to send before spending yet another hour in the company of people who achieved nothing for him. Yet somehow he’d agreed. Perhaps he just wanted Rosalie to acknowledge that he had made the right decision when he’d left Oxford. The proof was more than obvious. For all intents and purposes, he ruled the world.
“Prepare the plane to fly to Prague this afternoon,” he said to his secretary as he walked to the table where the academics were eagerly waiting, and he was pleased to see that Rosalie was there, talking animatedly to a man. A spear of jealousy shot through Alexi, the first in a long time—almost an unrecognisable emotion.
She sat a few chairs over from him when he really wanted her opposite him. All attention turned to him as he sat down. “I’m afraid I don’t have long,” he said. It was true, he could only spare forty minutes for this.
The restaurant over-looked the ocean, which spread before him, a hazy, bright blue. The beauty of Marbella continually surprised him, so far from the dreary weather of Moscow. Saying that, the Russian summer was unsurpassed. In all the world, there was nothing as beautiful.
The others were reading the menu, but Alexi continued staring out at sea, enjoying a moment of solitude away from smiling, prying eyes. To his right, he could feel Rosalie attending to her menu. It was so strange to see her again, a ghost from the past, brought back.
“I understand you and Rosalie were at Oxford together,” the older woman, Margo, said as if it were the most amazing coincidence.
“We were,” he said. Rosalie looked over at the mention of her name.
“Did you know each other?”
“Quite well.”
“We didn’t share many classes, but we knew each other socially,” Rosalie said, her voice crisp and clear. He’d forgotten her voice until she’d turned up a week or so back.
“That is wonderful,” Margo continued. “It is such a small world when it comes down to it, isn’t it? There must have been signs of such a great business instinct even back then.” The question was addressed to Rosalie.
“There was certainly ambition,” Rosalie said, sneaking a look at him. This conversation made her uncomfortable, while Alexi was quite interested in what she’d observed about him back then, she didn’t elaborate further, instead returning to her menu.
“And you live here permanently now?” Margo continued.
“And other places. I have property and I travel around as necessary.”
“Of course.”
The waiter came and Alexi ordered cod. He wasn’t sure it was on the menu, but this was a seafood restaurant and they had to have cod of some variety, or else someone could go buy some. “Of course,” the waiter said and continued. Rosalie ordered a seafood medley, going over the i
ngredients with the waiter and looked pleased with her choice.
“I had this fantastic dish in Morocco last year. I can still remember it, fresh pepper—much more subtle in flavour, but beautiful. If you ever go, you must try it,” Margo said.
“I rarely go to Morocco,” Alexi answered. He had no business interests there, hence never went.
“Of course,” Margo said, smiling. “I go every few months or so. Love the culture. The connection with the past. But you have an interesting trip coming up, don’t you, Paul?”
“Oh yes, Amalfi. We are looking forward to it.” Alexi watched as Paul’s gaze went to Rosalie. They were going together.
“I’ve actually never been,” she said, looking sheepish.
“It is beautiful,” Alexi cut in.
“I understand so. I’m quite excited.”
“The only way to truly see it is by sea.”
“Yes, we talked about hiring a sail boat for a day when we’re there. We’re both rubbish at sailing though,” she said, making a face.
“You should come with me. I have a yacht. You can see the whole coast. We would have to go from here, the yacht is moored in the marina in Porto Banus.”
She watched him silently for a moment. “Uh …” she started.
“That would be superb,” Paul said, clearly excited. Rosalie smiled, uncertainty still present. “Holiday traffic would be murder. Couldn’t find a more civilised way of travelling than sailing.”
“It is settled,” Alexi said before Rosalie could voice her concerns. “We say in two weeks?”
“Perfect,” Paul said, beaming. “It helps to have friends with yachts.” He picking up his wine glass and saluted.
Rosalie smiled properly now, encouraged by her brother’s enthusiasm, while Alexi reminded himself to cancel whatever plans he had during that time. Again, he had roped himself into something he hadn’t intended. His secretary would cry over this, having to rework his entire schedule.
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