by Jagger, Kait
Stefan frowned. ‘Wh—?’
Luna continued, adopting her best sports commentator voice, ‘And tonight Sweden goes down to yet another humiliating defeat by England…’
Finally taking her meaning, Stefan assumed a look of mock outrage. ‘That really isn’t called for.’
‘I for one wouldn’t like to be sitting in the Sweden changing rooms right now, where questions are doubtless being asked about whether the manager is up to the job,’ Luna concluded, expression purposefully serious, the slightest bit amazed at herself that she’d dared to take the piss out of him.
‘Right,’ Stefan said. And turned off the water. Luna stopped in mid-self-congratulation and looked at him, water dripping down his torso. He started to move and she made an immediate break for it, bursting out of the bathroom door and legging it down the hall toward the living room. She could hear Stefan hot on her heels and laughed, ‘You’re getting your floor all wet!’ And suddenly he was upon her, quickly grabbing her around the waist and carrying her to the sky blue rug, where he tackled her to the ground. Still laughing and protesting, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it!’ she scooted herself away from him on her heels and elbows, only to have him stalk toward her on all fours, working his way up between her legs. He kissed the inside of her thigh, and nuzzled the hair at her apex. Then he hooked an arm under her right leg, lifting it up and over his shoulder until her lower leg rested on his back. And did the same for her left. Using his fingers, he parted her labia and bent his mouth to her.
‘Aaahhh,’ Luna sighed, her toes curling above Stefan’s back. God, she loved how he did this, how he never toyed with her, never dawdled, but instead immediately devoted himself to warming her with his mouth and worshipping her with his tongue. He made her feel that this, the most intimate thing she could imagine a man doing to her, almost painfully intimate, was his pleasure rather than hers. His tongue explored her clitoris in a way that couldn’t be replicated by fingers, gently probing, softly entreating her to greater feeling. As he continued, she swore she could feel each and every slow stroke moving millimetre by millimetre. It was…delicate…exquisite…so, ah she could feel it all…
She came with a rising moan so rapturous it sounded alien to her ears. She was literally pulsing, lifting, trying to control the movement of her hips lest she throw him off her. And then it was too much and she had to push his head away from her, still gasping her pleasure.
Stefan kissed the inside of her thigh again and said, ‘God, I love doing that. I love the way you are when I do that.’
Later, as he drove her to pick up her motorbike, Luna checked her mobile to find no less than nine texts from the previous night. As well as a few completely illegible ones from Jem and several saucy ones from Nancy, there was one from Kayla: Please sir, can I have some more? Luna snorted at this and Stefan looked over at her enquiringly.
‘No, I’m not going to read you my friends’ texts about you,’ she said. ‘It’ll just give you a big head.’
‘I’m relieved I met their approval. I imagine they can make life…difficult for boyfriends they don’t like.’
And there it was. The B word. Of course, it had been an off the cuff remark, Luna knew. It didn’t mean that he thought he was her boyfriend. Eager to change the subject, she said, ‘I assume you’re pretty busy this week.’
He sighed. ‘Yes. I have to be in Berlin on Monday and Tuesday, and the rest of the week will be devoted to Friday’s presentation.’
‘Okay,’ Luna nodded, then remembered, ‘oh, and seriously, you don’t have to come to Kayla’s premiere on Friday night.’
‘Let me see if I can get out of my commitment in Stockholm. I should be able to.’
‘Just pull over here,’ Luna said, pointing to the entrance to a multi-storey car park just around the corner from Dumbarton House. Suddenly a little shy, she clasped her helmet to her and reached for the door handle.
‘Hey,’ he said softly, curling his index finger at her. She leaned toward him and planted a swift kiss on his mouth, but as she pulled away he placed his hand behind her neck and drew her back for a more languorous one.
‘I’ll wait here to make sure you get out,’ he said.
True to his word, he was still sat there in his Lamborghini when she drove out a few minutes later. She was just a block away along the narrow road, building up to 20mph and mentally mapping her route home, when the door of a white van suddenly swung open in her path. She hit the brakes hard and was this close to fishtailing, but managed to bring the bike safely to a halt. The van’s owner emerged, holding his hands up and apologising: ‘Sorry, mate. I didn’t see you coming.’
Luna shook her head at him slightly, waiting for him to shut his door before driving off again. She stopped at a light a few blocks later and Stefan pulled up beside her, rolling down his window.
‘Alright?’ he asked.
Luna gave him the thumbs up, and shrugged. These things happen. Then the light turned and she was off, on her way home to Arborage.
Chapter Fifteen
The following week found Lady Wellstone in a feisty mood, beginning with the monthly managers meeting, which she decided at the last minute to hold outside on the Queen Charlotte lawn. The large permanent marquee there, used regularly for weddings and other events, was currently being prepped for Arborage’s Christmas market, an annual money spinner and pet project of the Marchioness, who vetted the mix of food and craft stalls herself.
Of course, notifying the team about the change of locale less than two hours before the meeting didn’t win Luna any fans.
‘Oh joy, another woodland adventure,’ Roland enthused, sarcasm dripping from his voice.
Paul Walker had been even less thrilled. He almost never showed his face at the monthly meetings anyway, and normally Lady Wellstone turned a blind eye, but this time she’d been quite clear with Luna that attendance was mandatory.
‘Tell her I cannae come,’ Walker said curtly when Luna rang him.
‘You can tell her yourself, Paul,’ she replied. ‘Her Ladyship has said anyone who isn’t attending should give their apologies directly to her. She’s in her office right now. Shall I put you through?’
He’d given in pretty fast after that. Florian Wellstone’s flunky he might be, but Paul Walker knew who paid his wages.
And there he was now, omnipresent cigarette in hand, standing with Laurie and a few of the other managers as the Marchioness and Nigel talked with the men installing an ‘iceless ice’ rink next to the marquee. Paul was muttering something to Laurie and Luna knew a moment’s unease. Something about the expression on their faces – disgruntled would be too strong a word for it, maybe more like restive – niggled at her.
‘“When shall we meet again? In thunder, lightning or in rain?”’ Roland recited, nodding in their direction. ‘Like Macbeth’s witches, that rabble.’
‘They just have their noses out of joint, with the portfolio review,’ Caitlin said, hands on hips.
‘Several departments ripe for some judicious pruning, in my opinion,’ Roland observed.
Caitlin leaned in to them and said softly, ‘I heard Stefan Lundgren asked for a calendar of all the blackout dates pencilled in for next year, and he was shocked by how many there were…’ Blackout dates were dates when either the house, garden or both were closed for weddings, events or family requirements, Roland’s ongoing bugbear.
‘Hallelujah,’ he said. ‘I’ve felt like Cassandra all these years, pointing out how much blackout days hurt the business, always to deaf ears.’
To all this Luna said nothing. It wasn’t for her to have a stated opinion on these matters. When Stefan’s presentation had been made and the Marchioness had decided how or if she wanted to act, her stance would become Luna’s stance, come what may.
Later, sitting in the small café adjacent to the garden centre, the agenda took less than half an hour to get through. Take seven managers out of their usual, comfortable conference room and suddenly th
ey had less to say, which Luna guessed may have been the Marchioness’s endgame all along. She did notice that her boss took particular care to question Paul about how the hunting season was getting on, in such a focused and charming way that Paul would have had to be a block of stone not to warm a little. Though block of stone he was, judging from his terse, borderline surly responses.
It was Laurie, highly strung Laurie, who finally mentioned the elephant in the room, asking, ‘Can I just ask when we’ll know the outcome of the portfolio review? Only, it’s generated some understandable anxiety in my team…’
‘I don’t know why that should be,’ the Marchioness rejoined plainly. ‘I made it crystal clear when this process began that it was confidential and not for sharing with the wider Arborage staff.’
‘Yes, but these things get out,’ Laurie bleated.
‘It doesnae seem right,’ Paul Walker said. ‘Some outsider tellin us our bezness—’
‘Let me make this clear, Paul,’ Lady Wellstone cut him off. ‘First, Stefan Lundgren isn’t an outsider. He is a member of the family and a long-time champion of the Lionsbridge brand. Second,’ she paused for emphasis, ‘with regard to “our business”, the Arborage business, no one tells his Lordship and I how to run it. They make suggestions, they offer advice and support, but at the end of the day, it is he and I who make the decisions around here. You’d do well to remember that.’
It would have been a brave man who continued to argue with her after that, and Paul Walker was not that man. He sat out the rest of the meeting in silence.
The Marchioness’s fiery mood continued into the afternoon. She’d asked Luna to arrange a conference call with Arborage’s fisheries and estate manager in Scotland, who usually dialled in to the team meetings. The call started well enough, until he asked a perfectly innocuous question about how the portfolio review was going.
‘It’s going fine, Gus – do you have something you want to say about it?’ Lady Wellstone asked aridly, as Luna inwardly cringed next to the speakerphone.
‘No, no, I was only asking,’ he quickly assured her. ‘Stefan came to see me last week and it was a productive meeting, so I’ve no particular concerns.’
‘Right, then, if that’s all,’ the Marchioness said, and abruptly ended the call. Whereupon she was immediately on her mobile to Helen, clearly dissatisfied with the excuses her eldest daughter offered for her absence that morning.
‘How do you think it looks to the rest of the managers here when you don’t show up for these meetings, Helen?’ Luna heard Helen’s deep voice start to talk on the other end of the phone, only to be immediately cut off by her mother. ‘I’ll tell you how it looks. It looks as though you view yourself as being above the boring business of actually running Arborage. I know, I well know, how much you’d prefer to spend every second of every day doing exactly as you’d like, but you are paid a salary and by God you will earn it.’
She rung off a few minutes later, after extracting Helen’s promise that she would never miss another monthly meeting. Then the Marchioness looked at Luna, and if a clap of thunder had sounded in the room, Luna wouldn’t have been surprised.
‘A pot of Earl Grey, I think,’ she suggested. Oh, Luna loved her at times like this, when she was firing on all cylinders. Heaven help the poor board member who stood in her way on Friday.
*
To no great surprise, Luna didn’t hear from Stefan for the first half of the week. Then, on Wednesday morning, she saw an email from him arrive in the Marchioness’s inbox, along with a large attachment.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Presentation for Friday
Augusta,
I attach the slide deck for your advance review. I shall ask Luna to arrange a call with you this afternoon to get your feedback, if that’s acceptable.
Stefan
Luna immediately walked through to the Marchioness’s office, raising her eyebrows.
‘Yes,’ Lady Wellstone said, looking up from her laptop. ‘I’ve seen it. Put a call in.’ Luna moved to depart and the Marchioness added, ‘And, Luna? Make sure I have at least an hour pencilled in with him on Friday before the trustees get here.’ Luna nodded, not mentioning that she’d already done this. The Marchioness steepled her fingers together, thinking. ‘And see if he’s able to stay for an hour after. For a post-mortem.’
When Luna returned to her desk, she hit reply to Stefan’s message. It occurred to her that perhaps he wasn’t aware that she had sight of her boss’s emails, and she wanted him to know she’d seen it. It was a PA thing, a rare hint of ego on her part, that there was no light between her and the Marchioness on these things. Lady Wellstone expected Luna to read her emails, to digest their content, and when appropriate to respond on her behalf.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Presentation for Friday
S –
Further to your email to the Marchioness, are you available for a call from three till four this afternoon? Also, she’d like to sit down with you after your presentation on Friday. Are you able to stay, or do you have other commitments?
Finally, please let me know what your requirements are for Friday. I will of course have the presentation up and ready to go in the conference room, but perhaps you or a member of your staff could let me know what else you need?
– L
She read the email over, satisfied that it sounded completely professional, and sent it. Stefan replied almost immediately.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
cc: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Presentation for Friday
Thank you, Luna. Three till four is fine. On Friday I have to be back at my London office at four for a meeting. Assuming the meeting with the trustees doesn’t overrun I should have an hour to spend with Augusta.
Re: our requirements on Friday I am copying my colleague James in. James, will you ring Luna to discuss?
Stefan
Luna frowned. Well, that was extremely professional. Hunh. Her mobile rang: Stefan.
‘Mr Lundgren,’ she answered, her tone mildly astringent. ‘I’m just sending you a diary invitation now.’
‘Luna,’ he said in that way of his that always affected her. ‘How are you?’
‘Good,’ she said. ‘And you? How was Berlin?’
‘Very good, very good,’ he replied in his usual manner, which revealed absolutely nothing. She found herself feeling slightly and rather unjustifiably annoyed with him.
‘I’ll just, ah…’ she opened the calendar for Friday on her laptop, ‘send you a placeholder for Friday afternoon as well.’
‘Very efficient, as usual.’
‘Should I assume James is coming with you?’
‘He is.’
‘Right. Well then, I’ll work with him to make sure the room is ready for you.’ She could hear herself slipping into let’s wrap this call up voice.
‘Luna, I wanted to ask you, would you mind looking through my presentation? Tell me if you see any glaring errors? I’d value your opinion.’
She hesitated. ‘Yes, of course. I could…um…give my comments to James when he rings later?’
‘I’d prefer it if you gave them to me,’ he said, and she could hear him smiling. ‘I’ll be at the Dower House tomorrow night. Do you think you could come over, give me a little bit of…moral support?’
She pursed her lips, then smiled. ‘Moral support. Is that what we’re calling it these days?’
He laughed. ‘Always semantics with you, Miss Gregory!’
And just like that, she thawed. They agreed she would come over at 10pm the following night, and he told her he’d managed to extricate himself from his commitment in Stockholm on Friday night.
‘It will be a little tight – I do have a meeting in London in the late afternoon th
at I can’t miss – but I should be able to come to Kayla’s performance.’
‘Well, if you’re sure.’
‘I’m sure.’
*
She headed out to the Dower House at just before ten the following evening, having spent a good portion of the afternoon going through Stefan’s slides, which totalled thirty-two in number. She’d been quite frankly amazed at the level of research that had gone into them. She realised now that his recent meetings with managers had been the end of a process rather than the beginning; he and his team had clearly been working on this for months now, and she wondered how the Marchioness had kept it under wraps, even from her.
The slides included detailed information on several of Arborage’s ‘competitors’ – other stately homes and tourist attractions within one hour’s drive of London. This stuff was so detailed, in fact, that she wondered how he’d obtained it, who he must have known to access this level of inside information. There was also a section on Arborage’s ‘customer base’; what it was and what it could be. The presentation had sections on each and every department, giving his assessment of its current performance, and included a quite lovely slide with bubbles of various sizes and colours showing the amount of income generated or lost by each department. Luna noted with some satisfaction that Isabelle’s shop in Chelsea had posted an eye-watering loss in the previous financial year.
Most important, though, was a set of slides laying out four possible options for Arborage, ranging from ‘change nothing’ to what Luna privately dubbed the nuclear option. Change nothing wasn’t a real choice, the slides argued, because of the pace at which Arborage’s competitors were innovating and expanding their share of the market. Equally, the presentation didn’t argue in favour of the nuclear option, which necessitated, amongst other sacrifices, the family ceding control of the estate to the board and decamping from Arborage House to allow conversion of the west wing into luxury apartments. No, the real choices were options two and three, both of which entailed significantly reducing the number of staff directly employed by Arborage and contracting out many of the services currently provided in-house.
