“Well, I use stuff no one else would ever guess. For instance, dates with the numbers and letters scrambled, the name and birth date of my girlfriend when I was fourteen—hey, don’t laugh, I was in love.” He thought a second. “Simple phrases or movies but using letters for numbers, numbers for letters, and varying letter cases. I used to use ‘EyeH8Werk,’ written like this.” He scrawled it on a napkin. “And I once used ‘DwanOtheDead.’ Just be creative. And use symbols, too—like the hash mark or the ‘at’ sign.”
“Got it.”
“You sure nothing’s wrong, Tanya?”
“No, I’m just interested in all this stuff.” She shrugged. “It’s nothing.”
Most men her own age would have insisted on paying, but Rob blithely accepted money for Anna’s share of the bill. She found it cute when he insisted, “Now we’re going to go have a drink at a secret place I like a lot. Just two things: you can’t tell anyone I go there, and it’s my treat.”
“How can I refuse? You know how to get a girl’s attention.”
He led her through a few side streets to Harrington Gardens and the Bentley Hotel. “Here?” She laughed. “Isn’t this like one of the most expensive hotels in town?”
“Eight hundred quid a night. Yeah, it’s pretty piss-elegant, which is why my mates don’t know about it. Come on, I’ll show you the bar.”
Anna didn’t have to fake Tanya’s awe. Gleaming wood, overstuffed sofas and chairs in rich malachite green and deep ruby velvet—every American’s fantasy of what a prewar English gentleman’s club should be. “I can see why you like it.”
They sat down, and Rob ordered two cognacs with the élan of a connoisseur. “How do you know the hotel?” Anna asked.
“My uncle stays here when he’s in town.”
“Your uncle must be seriously rich.”
“Yeah, he’s an earl, actually. Why are you grinning?”
“Because I had an Uncle Earl, too. Only, mine drove a truck.”
He grinned. “Well, my uncle the earl got the money, mansion, and title, while my father—aka the Younger Son—got the gatekeeper’s house. He’s no pauper, but he doesn’t stay in places like this when he travels.”
“And you?”
“Hostels all the way. Not that I travel much these days, what with work and all. Prague, when I have the time.”
“You like Prague? I’ve never been.”
“You should go. Real old-world Europe. And there’s a girl—I mean, not a real serious thing at this point, but I go there to see her.” He shrugged. “That’s my story.”
“Sounds good.” She hoped she didn’t sound too relieved. She’d been flattered that Rob was attracted to her, but she couldn’t be jumping into bed with a guy in his twenties.
Still, when he walked her to her door an hour later, he seemed to have forgotten that girl in Prague. “I had fun,” she said. “Thanks for asking me—and for showing me the bar.”
He grinned. “You could consider returning the favor by showing me your apartment.” And then he reached for her, pulling her against him as his lips found hers.
It was nice. Too nice. Maybe this, she thought as she returned his kiss, is what I need to wipe all memories of David Wainwright out of my mind. Then she remembered the mutton’s body beneath the lamb’s clothes and gently but firmly pushed him away. And what was Anna doing, thinking of David Wainwright when another man was kissing Tanya Avery?
As she got ready for bed, she studied her body in the bathroom mirror, wondering how much YOUNGER it would take for her to look twenty-five all over. Her body was pretty firm for her age and the workouts had her looking good, so it wasn’t like the contrast between Madame Barton’s face and hands. Yet she couldn’t deny that she looked as if a young woman’s head had been grafted onto a middle-aged woman’s body. She sighed and turned away. She shouldn’t be worrying about taking off her clothes in front of anyone. That just wasn’t going to happen, certainly not now that MI6 was involved and the stakes even higher. Even in the dark, that wasn’t going to happen. She went to bed leaving her diary blank. She wasn’t sure how much better she wanted Pierre Barton to know her.
Sunday brought rain and a good day to stay in and sort out her thoughts. Monday dawned steamy. Anna went straight to Barton’s office before Eleanor had even arrived and entered immediately after knocking, a little steamed herself. “Clearly I was too shell-shocked from having lost the Coscom account to notice there’s a lot more to YOUNGER than meets the eye.”
“In some situations, the less you know, the less you have to worry about,” he responded evenly.
“That sounds suspiciously close to ‘Don’t you worry your pretty little head,’” she retorted. “Mightn’t it have been a good idea to tell me about MI6 prior to my signing your contract? Or that your chemist wife now runs her father’s company?”
He looked at her steadily. “Telling you about Kelm was his decision to make, Anna, not mine. As for Marina, so what? I’d have thought you’d approve of a man marrying someone with a career.”
“That has nothing to do with this, and you know it. I deserve to know more about what’s going on. And I’m not convinced those people I first spotted on the Tube weren’t following me. They seemed . . . Oh, I don’t know, so focused on not seeming focused on me, if that makes any sense.”
“To be honest, I don’t think it does. Look, I am trying to keep you as informed as possible. I really am. And I immediately passed on the information about that couple to Kelm, because while I’m sure it’s nothing, I’m naturally concerned. And I’m not humoring you when I say I would be nervous if I saw the same couple popping up all over the place. Let Kelm check them out. He has the resources.”
“Why only my face and hands and neck?” she blurted. “Why isn’t YOUNGER for all of me? Surely you can mix bigger batches. Don’t you realize you’ve turned me into a freak?”
“You’re hardly a freak. My mother and other women who’ve gone too far with surgery, they’re the freaks. You’re a beautiful woman.”
“With an old body that doesn’t match.”
“With an older body,” he reminded her. “Your body, Anna, which looked very good before. And I’m sure, with your workouts, it looks pretty damned great now. Please don’t let this experience make you doubt yourself.” He paused. “Look, we don’t want to use the product comprehensively until the entire testing phase has been completed.”
“What does that mean? I’m going to end up with cancer?”
“It would help if you didn’t keep putting words in my mouth,” he said patiently. “You’re not going to get cancer. It’s simply that the proper time to push the limits on this product isn’t while we’re looking for Food and Drug Administration approval in America. We’re hoping we’ll have everything in place soon, Anna. We do have a lab-testing program, remember, and the products have been tested for off-the-face use as well as for long-term effects.”
“Long-term effects? How long is long-term in this case?”
“We have people who have been using the product for almost two years now. During that time, the formula has been changed and improved. And the good news is, it’s perfectly safe. We mix small batches in the lab rather than big batches on an assembly line because we’re fine-tuning, which means there isn’t enough of any single batch for you to use all over even if I was willing to give it to you. In any case, if you stick with us, you’ll eventually have a lifetime supply of YOUNGER for your face and your body, if that’s what you want.”
“Tell me again,” she asked sarcastically, “just what am I here for?”
He sighed before answering. “You’re here for exactly what I told you you’re here for: to help us with the YOUNGER marketing as you oversee the launch of Madame X. I know you find some of the work, such as the diary, boring—”
“Not just boring. Unnecessary. Seriously, Pierre, who notices
if a twenty-seven-year-old isn’t up-to-date on trending jargon or dance steps? Okay, maybe for some out-to-pasture spy looking to come back in that might be important, but isn’t that what they call ‘tradecraft’? Doesn’t SIS have experts to handle that? What are they going to learn from me?”
“Your diary is important for various reasons, one of which remains the consumer campaign. You’re bored? Then go ahead and concentrate more on ideas for promoting YOUNGER. Come up with a marketing plan. But keep up with the diary as well. In the meantime, I want you and your team to have a launch plan for Madame X ready to look at within two weeks. And you need to get Becca to put more pizzazz into her press releases. She’s too dry and pharmaceutical. All right?”
“Okay,” she agreed reluctantly, feeling as if she’d lost the argument here.
“Excellent.” He stood, making it clear the meeting was over. “You should get out more. Didn’t you say you were having dinner with some guy? How was that?”
She didn’t recall saying she was having dinner with anyone. But all that wine and champagne at dinner had been unwise. If her loose lips were going to sink any ships, she’d be the one going under. “It was what it was,” she said flatly. “It’s hard work making conversation with a guy in his twenties.”
They traded facile smiles as she headed for the door.
“One moment,” he said as she reached for the doorknob. “I think you’re forgetting something.”
She turned. “My answer to you and Martin Kelm? I thought that was obvious. I’m staying on until my contract is up.”
Chapter 13
She didn’t care if she was being paranoid. At lunchtime, she bought a cheap pay-as-you-go cell, then went down the road to a different service provider and bought another. She also paid cash for an iPhone. That one required a contract, but she used her real name, US address, and American credit card and paid a year in advance, hoping that would keep anyone from knowing she had it.
Back at the office, she summoned Chas and Becca to a meeting on the Madame X UK press launch and collateral materials. Chas got a list of possible venues to check out and was encouraged to scout new sites as well.
When she was alone with Becca, she gave her a pep talk on creating sassier beauty copy. “You have bullet-point lists of features and benefits; use those. Focus on these being cosmetics for the woman who’s not trying to pass herself off as a kid but wants to look terrific.”
Not trying to pass herself off as a kid? Yeah, right, she thought later as she gathered her things to go home. That leaves me out.
When she got out front, David Wainwright was leaning against the building next door, waiting. For her.
“Hi.” He smiled warmly. “Remember me? I decided I owe you an explanation.”
When she found her voice, she muttered, “You don’t, really. I bumped into you, after all.”
“But I was the one who acted like an idiot.”
“Okay, sure, you can explain. But not here, huh?” she said quickly. “Give me a minute, then meet me around the corner.” She smiled, then hurried off. Did he really want to explain? Or had he come because he wanted to see her again? Why was her heart pounding?
“What’s with the cloak-and-dagger routine?” he asked when he joined her out of sight of BarPharm.
“Just some nosy people at the office. C’mon, I know a little wine bar on one of the back streets.”
“Maurizio’s?”
Her eyebrows went up in surprise.
“When I had meetings at BarPharm, I’d sometimes make a detour for a nice glass of wine. Not often. I did some commercials for Barton—I’m a director—so I was in the studio or edit bay more than around here.”
“Maurizio’s has good wines by the glass. Let’s go there.” It struck her that she wasn’t supposed to know anything about this man. “You direct commercials?”
“Mostly episodic television. Mystery and crime. Comedy at times.”
She nodded as they entered the small, cool wine bar. “I write: copy, press releases, stuff like that.”
“In the States?”
“Usually. Working here for a year, then going back to real life.”
“And if this were real life, what would I be getting you from the bar?” he asked, nodding toward a table.
“A Vermentino would be nice, thanks.”
She sank back against the banquette, trying to look relaxed. She knew he’d come back with a glass of a red for himself. And he did.
“Cin cin.”
“Mmmn. The perfect wine for a hot day,” she said after tasting. “What are you drinking?”
He held up his glass so the light from a wall sconce made the contents gleam like rubies. “Rosso di Montefalco. You know it?”
“Basically a young Sagrantino, isn’t it?”
He smiled. “For someone so young, you know your wines. Lighter than Sagrantino, so good for summer. And half the price, to boot.”
“I like the light reds better. I guess that makes me a cheap date.” She blushed. “That came out wrong—sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”
“David. David Wainwright.”
“Right. What did you want to explain, David?”
“I didn’t mean to lurk like a stalker, but I know I behaved oddly the other week and you might even think it’s weirder that I came back to apologize. But it occurred to me I should explain. And to be honest, I wanted to see you again.”
“You wanted to see me again? I mean—”
“I’m old enough to be your father?” He laughed. “It’s not like that, honestly. I wanted to see what you looked like again. I guess I should start at the beginning.”
He peered down at his wine before going on. When he looked up, he stared at her as he had that first day, as if a ghost sat opposite him. “Years ago, before you were born or when you were a child, I knew a woman who looked exactly like you. Different hair and makeup, sure. But . . . Her left eye was even a little smaller than the right, just like yours. It’s just uncanny. I was just gobstruck.”
“I didn’t even know my eyes weren’t the same size.”
“It’s a tiny thing, but I looked right into your eyes when you bumped into me, and it just blew me away.”
“That’s why you thought I was this Anna, why you called me by her name?”
He looked away, as if still stunned by the sight of her. “You must have thought I was mad. And I suppose I was for moment, to have looked at you and thought for even an instant you might be a woman who’d be in her fifties now. It was as if I’d gone through the looking glass and back in time. That’s why I babbled like an idiot. I was massively confused, because it just didn’t compute.”
“What happened to her, to Anna?”
He shrugged. “Dunno. I met her when I was in New York working on a British series set there and she was a struggling actress. We had a long-distance transcontinental affair—when I wasn’t in New York, we’d meet in Paris, all very romantic. And then—well, after two years, it ended, as those things do. We didn’t have friends in common so . . .” His voice trailed off. “One loses track over the years.”
“And you? What happened to you?”
“Well, here I am. Let’s see, since that time, I’ve worked on TV series here and flown to Los Angeles to direct episodes of some American ones.”
Oh, my God, she thought, he was in and out of LA when I was there.
“I had a fallow period two years ago when many production budgets were cut, so I fell back on making commercials and corporate videos. I didn’t do much for Barton and not for some time now, but I needed to return a reel to them the other day. I’m done with commercials now, I’m happy to say.”
“And you forgot about Anna?”
“Part of me did. I got married not long after I returned to London. It was a stupid thing to do and lasted all of six months. Then I married an
actress, a moderately successful one, at least in England, and we did the house-in-the-suburbs and kid thing.”
“You have kids?”
“Just one, a son.” He smiled. “Don’t worry, I won’t do the whole ‘Let me show you my boy’s photos’ bit. Nick’s fifteen, a day boy at Westminster. Sorry, that means he lives at home and doesn’t board.”
“He lives at home?” She was practically holding her breath now.
“In Wimbledon Village,” he answered. “Technically still London, but surburban-ish.”
“Where the tennis is.”
“That’s in Wimbledon Centre. The Village is beyond that; it’s the posh bit. A friend once described it as the sort of area where pop stars’ ex-wives open exorbitant boutiques selling pillows handmade by Buddhist monks.” He grinned. “Another round?”
“Yes, but”—she fumbled in her handbag as he got up, then waved a twenty-pound note at him—“my round this time.” He started to refuse, then understood she meant it and took the money.
“So what’s Wimbledon like?” she asked brightly when he returned.
“Good place for a teenager, I think. And Nick and his mum are happy there. Me, the only really good part about getting divorced was moving back into town.”
And with that, her whole body suddenly let go, as if she were sinking into a pool of warm water. She actually grasped the table, then looked up to see his concerned face.
“Are you all right, Tanya?”
“Yes, sorry. Must be the heat today. I felt all woozy for a second. I’ll just run to the ladies’ room.”
She made her way to the back hallway on weak legs. He isn’t married. He isn’t married. Was that good or bad?
In the mirror, Tanya’s youthful face peered pallidly out at her. She splashed cold water on it, then freshened her makeup. The more she had on, the less she resembled Anna. She had to get out of here. This was madness.
Yet back at the table, his still-familiar face and concerned expression melted her resolve, and she sank back down onto the banquette. “I really need to go after this,” she murmured.
Younger Page 14
