An Honorable Surprise (3 page)

They finished the interview half an hour later. The lights were switched off and the production team unclipped microphones and shifted the cameras.

“How did it go?” whispered Tamara.

“You were great. Truthfully.” Donna answered. “The homework paid dividends. Viewers will get what this business is about - concierge services aren't a rip-off. We provide value. We save people time. And we know where to find the best for people who are prepared to pay for it.”

“Wow - you were listening hard!” Tamara laughed, grateful for the feedback.
 

“Excuse me, Ms Tremaine?” It was Sandi Stone. “Thanks for the interview - it went well. And, I have to say, you put up a good fight. I was hoping for a different outcome!”

“Sandi - you were the professional,” Tamara schmoozed.

The platinum haired interviewer leaned towards her conspiratorially as she walked towards the door and touched Tamara’s arm. “You won’t let on that I’m one of Square Circle’s clients, will you?”

“You can count on me, Sandi. You know that. And - the rock concert in New York? We’ve got you the tickets. I’ll courier them over.”

As the door closed, Tamara turned to Donna. They both laughed. “Honestly, she’s got a nerve, hasn’t she? Wanting to shaft us in public but desperate for our help in private! When is the program going out?”

“I checked. Tomorrow morning - probably the 9.30 slot. Peak time for advertisers, and mums are back from school runs and haven’t thought about doing the shopping.”

“Thank God - none of our clients will be watching!” Tamara said.
 

The rest of the day was filled with the predictable problem-solving that characterised much of Tamara’s work.It wasn’t until towards the end of the afternoon that she realised that she needed to plan her meeting with Simon Henty.

“What the hell am I going to wear?” Tamara thought angrily. While she had business suits for work, she hardly every socialised or went out in the evenings, apart from workouts at the gym. It wasn’t as though she had a rack of snappy little black dresses that she could choose from.

Hold it - I’m in the concierge business. It’s my job to sort out clients’ problems, and right now, I’m my most important client!

Moments later, Tamara had riffled though a notebook and was dialling a contact.

“Tamara, darling, how love-lee to hear from you!”

She smiled at the faux Italian accent that Lombardi Benelli breathed into her ear from his exclusive boutique in Double Bay.
 

“I’ve got an exceptional client for you, Lombardi. You’ll love her!”

“Bellissima, anyone you send me is special.” He laughed engagingly, “Ezpecially eef they ‘ave lots money?”

“This one is certainly special, Lombardi. What time can I send her. How would the end of the day suit?”

“Eet eez not a problem. I will expect her. Myself. Personally. Ciao, Tamara!”

Tamara was counting on a payback for the wife of the Russian oligarch that she had introduced to Lombardi last summer. The woman had cleaned his salon out, and he’d confided to Tamara that he hadn’t needed to work for the rest of the year.
 

It was five minutes to closing time when her taxi pulled outside Milano, Lombardi’s stylish boutique. She waited patiently while the glamorous female security guard looked at her appraisingly before pressing a button and opening the door.
 

“Tamara, Tamara - you are here. How lovely to see you.” Lombardi looked over her shoulder as the cab pulled away. “And your client? Is she coming? I have great creations for her to look at.”

“Your client is here, Lombardi, she’s me!”

He took it well, she thought afterwards, carefully unpacking the fantastic black cocktail dress wrapped in scented tissue paper. At first he had laughed and shaken his head.

“Lombardi - you owe me! I’ve got a really difficult meeting tomorrow with a key client. I’ve got to look DDG - “

“Dee dee gee?” he asked uncertainly.

“Drop dead gorgeous. And I’m not buying, Lombardi. I want you to lend me a frock. Your best. And I’ll thank you for ever.”

He stepped back and looked at her speculatively. Tamara suddenly felt gawky and worried her curves were in the wrong places as Lombardi’s eyes travelled up and down her body.
 

“You ‘ave a tremendous figure, Tamara. And, you are right - you are a good girl, and you ‘ave ‘elped me. So - it is a pleasure to help you.” He clicked his fingers and a walking mannequin appeared. “Get me that dress we have waiting to be collected. Yes, the black one. Quickly.”
 

The mannequin looked at Tamara jealously, but returned a few moments later with a garment wrapped in tissue over her arm.

“This is due to be collected tomorrow, but we can say that there has been a problem and it will be two days late. Here - try it on. The changing room is over there.”

When Tamara walked back into the salon she felt as though she was a different person. The woman looking at her from the mirror was womanly, and attractive, and radiated a sexual aura.

Lombardi looked at her appreciatively. “I thought eet was the right dress for you, Tamara. It hugs your body, like any man would want to do, eh?”

Tamara was speechless. “I can’t believe it,” she managed to gasp.

“You don’t ‘ave to believe it, carissime - you just ‘ave to enjoy eet,” the designer laughed. “I don’t ‘ave to do any alterations. Francesca will pack eet for you. You take eet - but I make you sign. Just a precaution, of course, and then you breeng eet back the next day. Or my ‘ed will be on the block as the Chinese lady who has brought eet takes no preezoners!”

Tamara carried the slim box back to her apartment as though it might explode at any moment if she wasn’t careful. She couldn’t help laughing though - the dress made her look like dynamite! Simon would find out exactly what he was going to be missing.

“You’ve been in a good mood today,” Donna laughed as she cleared her desk. “What’s going on?”

Tamara looked at her and took a deep breath. “Well, I’ve got a date,” she said. “No - wait “ as Donna shrieked in amazement. “Just a dinner date. An old flame.”

“But you never go out - I worry that you haven’t got a life” Donna answered. “Come on - tell all? I won’t breathe a word. ”

“Oh yeah? - Half the office will know by the time I leave the downstairs lobby and the rest of the building will be gossiping about it all night! Nope - no excitement, it’s just an old family friend who I haven’t seen for years who’s passing through.”

“Where are you going?”

“Hey, nosey! None of your business. Anyhow, you’re far too young to be allowed into The Club!”

It had the desired effect. Donna’s face fell: no one chose to have a date at The Club. The oil paintings of former premiers and winners of sailing regattas crowding the dark walls would chill anyone’s ardour.
 

“OK - well, look, Tamara - have a great time. If you want to go dancing ?

“Donna - good try! Tamara smiled affectionately at her. “It’s family, and part business. No surprises.”
Which is partly true,
she thought.
But I could do with more family and less business.
 

Before she left her apartment Tamara took one last look at herself. The dress still looked perfect. The simple diamond earrings she had brought in Hong Kong were her only jewellery but her tanned arms and killer heels meant that she could walk confidently into the lion’s den.
 

Chapter 4

 
Simon had arrived at The Club early. As he was a Platinum member he received VIP treatment: “Your usual area, Mr Henty?”

Simon smiled at the irony. It didn’t seem that long ago since he was wiping tables to earn his tuition fees for business school. Fast forward, and he now qualified for table reservations anywhere he chose, and was even entitled to his own “area” in Sydney’s most prestigious private club.

“Thank you, Marko. Yes - I’m expecting someone for dinner.”

The Maitre’d smiled knowingly. “I’ll show her to your table as soon as she arrives, sir.” The assumption that Simon would be meeting a woman was total.

Simon leaned back in the padded chair and thought about Tamara. He didn’t expect her to accept his threat to take his business elsewhere, which he admitted to himself, had been over the top. Nor was he likely to move the account; he knew the concierge service was exceptional, and Tamara did her job well. She was discreet, and he valued her professionalism. In any event, she wouldn’t be anything like the eye-catching fashion models he normally took on vacation.
 

He sat at his table and nodded to three friends before checking his emails. The restaurant frowned upon mobile phones, but he did not expect to be reprimanded.
 

Tamara caught her breath when she alighted from the taxi. Memories flooded back to her as she looked up at the imposing white fake colonial building with its wide granite steps leading up the polished mahogany doors. So much was unchanged: the discreet polished brass signs, the liveried doormen outside the doors in their dark blue frock coats and polished black top hats, the national flags fluttering high above on their white staffs against the azure skyline. She had flashbacks of the excitement she felt as a little girl when she stood on these steps, holding her mother’s hand. The family used to come at the weekend for brunch, and Tamara delighted in being able to choose whatever she wanted, and eat as much as she liked, while her parents looked on indulgently and chatted to friends.
 

But that was then.

Tonight would be different. She decided she would not only tell Simon that she was not going to accompany him as his eye-candy, but that Square Circle was going to keep his business.
 

She calculated he would not welcome adverse publicity she could drip feed to the press suggesting it was she who had “let him go”. And walking up the stone steps, she anticipated that an interesting conversation about to take place.

The white gloved doorman stepped forward and held the door for her. “Good evening, Ma’am. Welcome to The Club.”

Simon was alerted by a text from reception: "Your guest has arrived, Mr Henty.”

Well, this should be interesting, he thought. After three years he was finally going to meet the woman who had avoided meeting him yet who still managed to get under his skin by subtly indicating her disapproval of his lifestyle. If nothing else, the evening might give him an opportunity to express some home truths.
 
He paid her wages, and he wasn’t going to put up with any more attitude.

Tamara walked through to the lobby with its atrium that soared up the five floors of the building. A fantastic flower arrangement dominated the hall and she inhaled the heady scent of the luxuriant flowers appreciatively. She handed her wrap to the concierge and noticed the way his eyes flickered down her body.
God, I hope this dress isn’t too over the top.

“I’m meeting Mr Henty for dinner,” she said. “He’s expecting me.”

“Of course, Madam. Would you care to follow me?”

As she followed the concierge across the lobby towards the main dining area, she couldn’t help but worry she might be recognised. It was irrational, she knew - who on earth would remember her? Besides, she styled her hair in a different way now and, well, she’d never dressed quite like this.
 

She was led into the restaurant with its stunning harbour view. She knew where Simon would be waiting for her; after all, her company had organised his membership which allowed him to leapfrog the normal three year waiting list.
 

Simon switched his phone to silent and looked across the restaurant expectantly. Surely not? The woman following the concierge to his table was stunning. He’d had no idea what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t the gorgeous woman walking towards him. She wasn’t like the anorexic models he was used to dating: her curves were just right on her. Her riotous blonde hair and, my God, that dress. It screamed sex appeal.

He stood up and held out his hand. “Tamara? How nice to meet you at last! Up till now you have just been a voice at the end of the telephone but now, face to face -“

“Good evening, Mr Henty,” Tamara said coolly, holding out her hand. “It’s a pleasure.”

She sat in her chair as the waiter moved it for her politely, and waited for Simon to speak.

“You look just great,” he said warmly, “really great. That dress is stunning. How about a drink? Some wine? A spritzer?” He turned to the waiter

“Mineral water will be fine, thank you.”

Okay, okay - so she is being careful. She’s here to tell me she doesn’t want to go anywhere with me. Doesn't she realise the stir she made when she walked in here?
 

Tamara knew she was being appraised. “Before we order, can I begin by asking we continue the discussion that got interrupted a few days ago?” she asked calmly. “You made a preposterous proposal which I have no intention of accepting. And you also made a threat that was tantamount to blackmail and won’t look too good in the tabloids.” Her eyes met his.

Simon paused for a second. He had walked into the room prepared to change his mind and let Tamara off the hook; but after seeing the stunning woman sitting opposite him he was now determined to leave the meal with Tamara coming with him on his vacation.

“Of course we’re going to talk things through,” he said easily. “I can understand your reaction and, I admit, perhaps I was hasty. But I think you know I like to mix business and pleasure, so, please, let’s enjoy ourselves this evening, even if we never meet each other again!”

Tamara smiled, and found herself looking at Simon differently. He was certainly attractive, and he was one of those men who looked better in person than when they were photographed. The paparazzi pictures were always harsh and unflattering, whereas he was smiling at her warmly across the table, with amazing blue eyes that twinkled mischievously.
 

“Of course,” she said, smiling. “You’ve chosen the best restaurant in Sydney; it would be a shame not to enjoy it”