by Karen Swan
‘If you see Gordon, the concierge, remember me to him. We go way back.’
Chloe smiled – Xan was all of twenty-four; how far back could they possibly go? ‘Okay, I will, thanks. Wish me luck.’
‘Why? What did luck ever do for you that we can’t?’ Xan called after her as she walked over to the lifts. She chuckled as the lift doors opened. He had a point.
‘Oh, excuse me,’ she said, as a man stepped out and almost walked straight into her.
‘My mistake,’ he said distractedly, seemingly not seeing her – which was a shame; he was gorgeous – as he was overwhelmed, like everyone else, by the magnificent space that greeted him. She stepped into the lift and pressed the button to go down, watching him scan the enormous open-plan office. Everyone reacted this way.
He turned back. ‘Excuse me, this is Invicta, right?’ the man asked after her.
‘That’s right. Who are you here to see?’
‘Poppy Langham.’
‘Oh—’ The doors began to close. ‘Oh!’ Frantically, she pressed the ‘doors open’ button and after a few seconds, the man, who had been rudely sliced out of sight, reappeared again and she jumped out of the lift like a gazelle clearing the grass. She gave an embarrassed smile. A cartoon entrance wasn’t the sleek first impression she’d have hoped to give.
‘Uh . . . I’m afraid Poppy’s not in today but my name’s Chloe Marston, I’m covering for her.’ Chloe took him in more critically as she put out her hand – early thirties, muscular build, five eleven, longish mid-brown hair that curled over at the front, dark-brown eyes and a week-old beard. He was wearing jeans, Adidas trainers and a navy polo shirt, and she got the impression clothes didn’t interest him much.
‘Joe Lincoln,’ he said, shaking her hand with a grip that made no allowances for their discrepancy in build or height. ‘Is Poppy on holiday?’
‘Uh, no. She’s been . . . unavoidably detained,’ Chloe smiled, trying to guess the nature of his appointment with Poppy; there had been nothing in her diary for this morning.
‘Really? Because when we met up last week, she gave no indication she would be away. We arranged to meet up here.’ His voice was brisk, his gaze disconcertingly direct.
‘Oh, right,’ Chloe said, even more baffled. Poppy never missed an opportunity to eat or drink out if she could possibly help it and as such, almost never arranged meetings at the office. ‘And what was the purpose of your meeting?’
‘To discuss membership.’ His tone suggested ‘what else?’
‘Oh, I see,’ she said, understanding now. Poppy had given him a card at some party, drumming up business as she did everywhere she went – people always wanted her in their lives once they had met her – and now he had come knocking, liking the idea of red-carpet tickets and being on all the right guest lists. ‘Well it’s not actually Poppy you need to see; she’s one of our VIP managers and she—’
‘Yes, exactly.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘We had discussed her becoming my lifestyle manager when we met up last week. I’m only in town for a couple more hours so I said I’d drop in when I was passing.’ He shifted his weight onto the other foot, looking restless now. In spite of his low-key attire, he had the brisk, direct manner of a man whose time was important. And valuable.
‘Oh.’ Chloe didn’t know what to say. The VIP managers only ever looked after five members at a time – it was all that was reasonably possible given the number of hours they had to devote to each one at this level – and Poppy had a full book. Why had she told this man he could join her client list? ‘Um, please, I’m forgetting my manners,’ she said, smiling and ushering him away from the lifts. ‘Won’t you come this way and we can talk more privately in one of the meeting rooms?’
‘Fine.’
She led him over to the meeting room that was opposite Jack’s office, behind her own desk, desperately trying to get his attention as they passed. But Jack was on the phone, sitting on the edge of his desk and looking out of the opposite window, his back to them. She could tell by the high set of his shoulders that it wasn’t a pleasant conversation. Was he on the phone to Poppy’s parents? The hospital?
She closed the door, instantly silencing the low hum of amiable telephone chatter behind them. The idea behind the transparent walls had been inclusivity, but sitting here now felt more akin to being on a stage, there to be watched, judged for stepping into Poppy’s shoes without, seemingly, a second thought – for it hadn’t only been Serena who had been startled to see she had been the one chosen to pick up the slack.
Over Joe’s shoulder, she could see Xan’s surprised look at her volte-face back into the office. She shrugged her eyebrows at him, trying not to smile as he pulled an outrageous expression, clearly approving of the very attractive man before her; he bit down on his crooked index finger excitedly.
‘Please take a seat. Can I get you anything to drink – tea, coffee, matcha, a juice?’
‘No. Thanks,’ he added as an afterthought, spreading his arms over the top of the low white leather tub chairs. He took in his surroundings at a leisurely pace.
‘So, I’ll start by apologizing, Mr Lincoln.’
He looked straight at her and it was like being hit with a dart. ‘Joe, please.’
‘Joe,’ she nodded. ‘I’m afraid you’ve caught me on the hop. Today has been . . . unusual for lots of reasons.’
‘I’m getting that. When’s Poppy back?’
‘Well that’s the thing, we don’t know.’
He frowned.
‘I’m afraid, the truth is, Poppy was badly injured in a car accident at the weekend. She’s in hospital.’
‘Jesus.’ Joe frowned, looking sterner than ever. ‘Is she going to be okay?’
‘We don’t know that either. She’s currently in a coma.’
‘Christ, that’s terrible.’ Joe sat further back in the chair, staring unseeing out of the window for a long moment. ‘God, I’m sorry to hear that. She’s really great. I like her a lot.’
‘Yes. Everyone loves Poppy.’
He looked at her again. ‘And so you’re filling in?’
As though she was something he’d found under his shoe. So much for first impressions. ‘Yes. It’s been a shock for all of us, the entire team, and we’re all just trying to . . . keep things going as best we can until we know more.’
He shook his head, still distracted by the news. ‘You make it sound bad – her chances, I mean.’
Chloe hesitated. Did she? She felt gripped by panic that the worst might happen and yet refused to succumb to that morbid lethargy of her colleagues; she felt impelled to keep moving, keep doing stuff. She had thought that felt like the right thing to do. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound gloomy. We should know more tomorrow. They’re hoping they’ll be able to operate then.’
‘Christ,’ he tutted, looking out of the window, his gaze far-reaching on the river. ‘I was speaking to her only last week. Thursday I think it was.’
‘I’m sorry. I know this must be a shock.’ She wondered why she was trying to make him feel better when Poppy was her colleague, her friend.
He looked across at her, his expression neutral, and she knew this empathy wouldn’t occur to him. Poppy’s accident was a tragedy, yes, but also an inconvenience.
‘So . . . if I can just clarify a few things with you. Poppy said she could take you on as a client?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Yes, why? Is there a problem with that?’
‘Well, not a problem exactly but you see, our VIP managers only ever take on five clients at a time and Poppy already has five, so –’ She spread her hands out apologetically. ‘– I’m not quite sure why she said she could take you on.’
Joe frowned again – it was a particularly forbidding look and she felt her stomach clench anxiously. ‘Well nor am I. What was she doing, wasting my time, if she knew she couldn’t look after me?’
‘I’m sure she wasn’t trying to waste your time,’ Chloe said
hurriedly. ‘She must have had a very good reason for telling you such a thing; Poppy is the best of the best . . . But perhaps she meant for you to be handled by one of our other VIP managers?’
‘I don’t want anyone else. I want her and I was very clear on that when we met last week. My rapport was with her.’
‘Of course, yes, I understand.’
‘Otherwise I’d have called back the other concierge services that have been on my tail for months. All my associates use Quintessentially.’
‘Yes, they’re very good,’ she agreed, knowing the comment was intended as a threat. Quintessentially had been first in, the ones to formally create this business and they were Invicta’s biggest rivals. Tom had even been at school with some of the founders; they moved in the same social circles.
‘I’d never even heard of Invicta until I met Poppy and I’d certainly never considered using such a service until her. But there’s something about her. I liked her.’
Everyone did. ‘Yes,’ Chloe smiled. ‘I quite understand.’
He stared at her, as though noticing her properly now. ‘How long have you been working here?’
‘Me? Well, actually I’m new to New York. I’ve only been in this office a few months so I’m still finding my feet with some of the finer details, but for the company itself, I’ve worked for them almost since the beginning, so five years now. I was the first person they hired in the London office.’
‘London, right. That accent.’
‘Yes. Worked my way up from tea girl, after uni.’
‘So then why aren’t you a VIP manager if you’ve worked here for so long? You obviously didn’t come over to New York to be a VIP manager. You said you’re only covering for Poppy.’
‘That’s right. Just until she’s well enough to come back and pick up the reins again. I usually head up our Corporate Partnerships. It’s my job to synergize our client database with brands that will appeal to them, be they lifestyle companies, travel deals, latest technologies, or social happenings.’
‘Synergize,’ he murmured, a faintly mocking note sounding in the word. His eyes narrowed as he openly scrutinized her, making no apology for the fact. Finally he nodded. ‘Fine. I can see you’re decent, hard-working and eager to please.’
Chloe blinked at him, certain he’d just described her childhood Labrador, Inca. Could he have been more patronizing? ‘Well, thank you,’ she said in a bristly tone, trying to hide that she’d taken offence.
‘Yes. I think we can work together.’ He nodded again, like he’d just made a momentous decision. ‘I’ll sign.’
Her mouth dropped open. ‘But . . .’ Had he already forgotten what she’d just told him a few minutes ago about Poppy’s books being full? Or did he simply ignore what he didn’t want to hear? ‘The problem is, Joe, I don’t think I can sign you. As I mentioned before, Poppy’s book is full.’
‘But you’d be looking after me.’
‘Yes, along with Poppy’s other clients. That would be six in total. Too many.’
‘I hardly think I would tip the scales, my requirements are fairly precise. I’m not interested in any of that “chef’s table” bullshit.’
She suppressed a sigh. It was a shame that face – and body – belonged to such an obnoxious man. ‘Oh. So what are you looking for?’
‘A house. In Greece.’
‘You want me to find you a house in Greece?’ she repeated.
‘That’s what I said.’
‘Then you need a realtor.’
‘No. I tried them. I’m looking for something . . . extra special. I don’t want what everyone else can get. Ideally I want you to find me something that isn’t even on the market.’ He held up a hand and began counting off his fingers. ‘It’s got to be private, in at least thirty acres of its own land; have converted outbuildings, all services, needs to be immediately habitable—’
‘Uh, where in Greece exactly?’ she interrupted.
‘One of the islands. I don’t mind. Show me a shortlist,’ he shrugged.
Chloe stared at him. So much for not being demanding!
They stared at each other for a moment and she could feel his will muscling in on her, bullying her. ‘I’m correct in thinking that your sign-on fee is $200,000, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s a pretty princely sum for you to find me the house of my dreams.’
Arrogant too, then. But he was right – two hundred thousand, ready money, surely couldn’t just be turned away, could it? And although she didn’t know what Poppy’s motives had been for bringing him in, they surely had to be sound; Chloe hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d told him Poppy was the best of the best.
Chloe bit her lip, her eyes sliding over his shoulder to the sight of Jack, still on the phone. ‘If you could just give me a minute? I need to have a quick word with my boss.’
‘Sure.’
She got up, making for the door, aware of his eyes following her like she was a curiosity. ‘And you’re quite sure I can’t get you anyth—’
‘No.’
Trying not to break into a run but moving as fast as she could, Chloe darted across the corridor, knocking on Jack’s door but letting herself in anyway, before he could even reply.
‘I’m on the phone,’ he said, visibly irritated, as he pressed a palm over the mouthpiece.
‘I’m sorry, but this is really important.’
Jack sighed. ‘Tom, I’ll have to call you back,’ he said, before hanging up. ‘What is it?’
‘That guy sitting in the office behind me,’ she said, not daring to jerk her head in Joe’s direction in case he was watching.
Jack peered round her quizzically. ‘What about him?’
‘He’d arranged to see Poppy this morning – as a potential new client.’
‘Well, direct him over to the general membership team, then.’
‘No. As a VIP client.’
‘What?’
‘Exactly.’
‘But Poppy’s already got her quota.’
‘That’s my point. Did she mention it to you? Did you know she wanted to take on someone else?’
‘No, she never . . .’ He frowned. ‘Well actually, she texted on Saturday saying she wanted an early meeting with me this morning. Could be that maybe?’
Chloe shrugged. ‘Maybe, I don’t know, but he’s being really insistent. What do you want me to do? I’ve tried telling him Poppy can’t take on any more clients but now he’s saying he’ll go along with me until Poppy comes back. He wants us to find him a holiday home in Greece.’
‘Why doesn’t he get a realtor then?’
‘Because anyone can get one of those, Jack. He wants something that isn’t even up for sale.’ She crossed her arms. ‘He’s not taking no for an answer but I don’t think I can do this. He’s difficult, and cocky and arrogant. A complete egomaniac. I’ve got enough to deal with as it is without adding another client to the list.’
Jack sank down into his chair and stared up at the ceiling. Grey-blue moons cradled beneath his eyes. It was several moments before he sat upright and looked back at her. ‘Unless he isn’t going to be superfluous.’
‘What do you mean?’
He chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. ‘Poppy mentioned she thinks Pelham Hungerford could be a flight risk. He only signed up in the first place when his latest wife left him – and because he’s a friend of her father; but apparently he’s about to propose again or something?’
Chloe rolled her eyes. ‘Well supposedly, but he’s not doing a very good job of it.’
‘Perhaps not, but if the lucky lady does say yes, and he’s got someone to look after him again . . .’
Bugger. Chloe sagged. ‘So then maybe that was why Poppy was teeing up this guy?’ she murmured.
‘Possibly. What’s his name anyway?’
‘Joe Lincoln.’
‘And what does he do?’ Jack asked, crossing his arms and ankles. ‘What do we know about him?’
�
�Nothing yet, I haven’t got that far. So far he’s mainly been interviewing me.’
He was quiet for another minute. ‘Okay, look, we have no way of knowing what Poppy was thinking bringing him in but we’ll have to assume she had a good reason for it; she clearly knows something we don’t and until she can tell us what’s going on herself, I think it’s best if we just go with it. We don’t want to let her down, do we?’
‘No,’ she mumbled.
‘Go sign up your Mr Lincoln and find him that house of his. Greece, was it? I’ve got a couple of contacts in Athens I’ll put you on to.’ Jack’s gaze drifted over to the conference room opposite and Joe Lincoln’s profile. He had got up from the chair and was standing by the window, on the phone, one arm raised above his head as he looked down upon the city like a phoenix in the sky. He was standing slightly in profile and, even from here, Chloe could see the sinews in his neck plucked out like violin strings as he issued commands of some sort down the line. ‘He looks a real pussycat,’ Jack said wryly, shooting her a sideways look.
‘Just what I was thinking,’ Chloe murmured, opening the door and wondering exactly what she had let herself in for.
Chapter Five
Chloe felt sure her smile was slipping, even though the cramp in her cheek muscles told her otherwise. She waited patiently while Rosaria tapped out her words on the tablet and waited for them to be held up.
No lilies, it read.
‘Okay,’ Chloe said, feigning interest as she made a note of it in her book.
‘Signora Bertolotti is highly allergic to lilies, they must never be in her presence,’ added Maria, the assistant, as her mistress began writing on the screen again. ‘And if roses must be given, they should be long-stemmed and the thorns removed.’
‘Got it.’
‘Also, they must be pale pink or yellow or white but never red. Signora Bertolotti does not deal in clichés.’
‘Uh-huh.’
They waited again, the soprano’s fingers tip-tapping on the tablet the only sound in the room.
Chloe’s eyes skimmed the suite impatiently. It was old school with French-polished brown furniture and swagged silks at the window; white tulips peeped from crystal globe vases and the cream carpet was lightly etched with a pale-grey lattice design. There was no sign of the marble bath from where she was sitting. Her tummy rumbled – she had missed the Berluti brunch on account of having to sign up Joe Lincoln and take payment for his membership. His bank was a small Swiss one she had only encountered a few times in her career, very discreet, very private. They had set up a further meeting for later this afternoon so that she could begin to build a profile for his portfolio before he flew out again; he hadn’t been happy that they couldn’t do the preliminaries there and then, but she had explained in her best patient voice that her appointment here had already been arranged and that she was, in fact, on the verge of being late for it.
