Freeing Alex (26 page)

“What things, sweetheart?” He brushes his thumb over my
lips. “What things don’t happen to you?”

“None of it… This is the stuff of fairy tales, not people
like me. Given away when I was born, kept as a domestic slave by him, used as a
punch bag and worse by him, but now I’m sat in the back of this expensive ride
with a stunningly handsome man. It’s just too surreal.”  I feel overwhelmed,
totally.

He pulls me close and hugs me gently as the car slows and I
feel us pull to a stop. “Don’t put yourself down. You deserve everything you
have, and I mean everything. Now come on, snap out of it. You wanted a good
night out and that’s what we’re doing!” 

The driver opens the door for us and we’re stood in front of
a large glitzy-looking place with lots of smoky glass and stainless steel
doors. I look around. There’s no neon signage that I would expect to see at a
club, just the entrance with the large queue and a separate covered entrance,
no name, nothing.

Even though it’s quite early the queue’s long, but as we
leave the car James puts his arm around me and directs me straight to the
separate covered entrance where he talks to one of the doormen.

We’re ushered straight through and he leads me to the rear
of the place and to a roped-off area. As we walk through I can hear the
thumping sounds of club music. Glancing to the right I can see the dance floor.
It’s nowhere near full but there are several clubbers throwing their moves.
They’re being joined all the time as new arrivals enter the club and those that
have secured tables leave their drinks and join in with the growing mass. He
chats again to another big, tough-looking guy dressed in a dark suit. He’s
wearing dark glasses and an earpiece. The big guy moves the rope aside for us
and we walk on through to this separate area, which is fitted with about ten
separate booths. Each of the upholstered partitions is about five feet high so
that the guests in the next booth cannot see over when seated. I note that
several of the booths are occupied. Some look like parties whilst others just
have a couple or two, I suppose each one could seat maybe eight people at the
most.

A young woman approaches us. “Mr Aconi, your table is over
here.” We follow her to one of the booths and I slide in across the cream
leather; this place is truly luxurious. James slides in beside me. I can hear
the thumping music from the main area, although I am sure it’s turned down a
little in this part of the club. The young lady introduces herself as Cara and
says that she’ll be looking after us this evening. She disappears for a few
minutes but then returns with a bottle of Krug on ice and two crystal champagne
glasses. She also has a crystal bowl of large ripe strawberries, which she
places in the middle of the table. “You asked for these, Mr Aconi.” He nods as
she places the ice bucket, glasses and strawberries on the table.

Strawberries, again!

As she pours the fizz she asks, “Would you like to see the
menu now, or in a few minutes?”

“You can bring it now. Leave it on the table while I take my
lovely lady for a dance,” he says, looking at me with a wink.

Once she disappears he picks a strawberry up and dips it in
his drink. He offers it to me. “Strawberry?”

I bite the juicy berry and try to catch the mixture of
strawberry juice and champagne that runs down my chin, but he’s too quick,
kissing the delicious mixture away first.

“Like?” he asks.

“It’s very nice. Can we dance now?” I ask eagerly.

Taking my hand, he stands and leads me to the main area and
to the throng of people who now occupy the dance floor. I wobble in my heels
slightly as we secure a small area. It’s soon clear that James frequents this
place regularly, or used to. He’s backslapped by several clubbers and receives
kisses from a variety of women. The sounds of Daft Punk’s
Get Lucky
fill
the area and I let myself go. I have no doubt that my 1980s moves look a little
dated, but who cares? James looks stunning in his steel-grey shirt, his olive
skin looking darker still as the lights pass over us and his moves looking much
trendier than mine. He attracts a great deal of attention and I start to feel a
little jealous. I’m relieved when the music changes and he leads me back to our
booth.

We sit and sip the champagne and I get my breath back.

“This place is great, what is it?” I pant, still out of
breath.

“Henry’s,” he says.

“Henry’s? Not Henry’s that Maggie invested in?”

“I don’t know, did she?” He looks genuinely surprised, and a
bit miffed.

“Yes, the solicitors said that Maggie put cash into a club
in London, called Henry’s. I spoke to the other partner on the phone a couple
of days ago when I arranged for Anna to come here, a chap called Nial. I’ve
never been here.” I’m slightly excited to be here, having heard so much about
the place.

“So you own this place too?” He looks at me oddly.

“I suppose so. Well, some of it?” The moment I say it I see
his face change, from the soft happy face, the sexy face, to the hard, not
quite angry but upset look.

“Is there anything that Maggie – sorry, you – doesn’t own!”
He sounds a little put out, miffed, angry. Memories of how Lewis and his moods
could turn flood back. I’m uncomfortable. I don’t like the way James is now,
not one bit, it’s almost as if… well, I don’t know, but he sounds nasty. 

“You could have told me. I’ve made myself look really
stupid, a fucking prat. I pulled strings to get a seat in the VIP area for the
bloody owner of the damn club!”

“Well, I didn’t choose to come here, did I?” I raise my
voice. “I didn’t even know we were at Henry’s until I asked you, I’ve never
been here, it doesn’t say what it is outside and I didn’t even know where it
was. All I’ve done is speak to Nial. I’m sorry you’re offended, if you want to
leave just say so and we’ll go!” I try to defend myself and am probably a
little sharp with him, although I don’t know why because I’ve done nothing
wrong, nothing at all.

I’ve probably gone over the top but what I’ve said is
totally honest. I didn’t know where Henry’s was, I have no interest in being
involved in the running of a night club, high end or any other type for that
matter. I’ve never met this Nial bloke, although I think that was probably a
little remiss of me not to – in fact, I think I’ve probably managed the whole
thing a little bit na
ï
vely so far.

“No, we’ll stay, it just would have been nice to have known,
that’s all. I just feel really stupid, totally fucking stupid. If I knew that
you co-owned the place I could have just asked you to sort it!” He’s sulking
now, yet I’ve done nothing wrong, absolutely nothing at all.

“James, I didn’t know where Henry’s was, and I certainly
didn’t know where you were planning to bring me. You said yourself less than an
hour ago, in fact on the way here, that it was a surprise. Had you have said
that we were coming to Henry’s I would have told you – wouldn’t I?” Feeling a
wave of confidence wash over me, I continue my mini-rant. “Anyway, I think we
should go, I’m really not in the mood now. I won’t be good company. Can you
call the driver and arrange for me to be picked up?” I stand and gather my
clutch. He looks at me, a little shocked.

 “Alex, I’m sorry!” He raises his voice. “I didn’t mean to
sound arsey, but you could have said.”

“Said what, James?” I shout. “Said that I can read your mind
and I knew you were bringing me to somewhere that I co-owned? What’s it going
to be, James, eh? You know how much Maggie owned, every time we go out are you
going to be pissed off because Maggie just happened to own this and that?” I
glare at him, “It’s not my fault, I didn’t
ask
for all of this. All I
wanted
was a nice life with a non-abusive partner, and someone who let
me
make
my choices; I’ve lived far too with someone who doesn’t let me have any choice
in
anything
.” I’m fuming, absolutely furious. “Sorry James, I
want
to go home.” I’m firm and loud, although I’m sure others can’t hear me above
the music. He’s ruined my evening totally and I want to go, and go now.

“Please stay,” he practically begs. He looks up at me,
horrified, I think, that I’m ranting and that
he
has caused this.

I just glare at him. Does he not realise what he’s done?
“No, I’m going home. Either call the guy who drove us here or I’ll get a cab,
but I’m going. You’ve ruined my night, the first
proper
night out I’ve
had for God knows how long. Well, I hope you enjoy
your
night out,
because
mine’s
been trashed!”

I’m the one throwing a strop now but
he’s
really
upset me. I wobble on my heels towards the exit of the VIP area leaving him
there, looking back before I get to the roped-off area. He’s not moving, just
turning his champagne glass around and around by the stem. Well, I’m not being
held to ransom by this guy who is, let’s face it, nothing more than a fling. I
make my way to the first doorman who moves the rope aside for me. “Everything
okay?” he asks.

“Fine!” I take the poor guy’s head off. “Where can I get a
cab, please?” I snap again at the big burly man, who fiddles with his earpiece
and speaks into what appears to be his cuff. “Can you organise a cab, please?”

He looks at me. “What’s your name, ma’am?”

“Alex Drake.” I’m blunt, I don’t feel like being civil at
this very moment in time.

He relays the information to whomever he’s talking to and
then nods at me to go towards the main doors.

I half stomp and half wobble my way around the edge of the
huge dance floor, which is now packed with the evening’s revellers. I note the
bar, which runs the length of the club – it’s already several deep in places.
It seems really popular. I know from what lands in my accounts on a monthly
basis that it’s profitable and seeing it now, I’m not surprised. I recognise
the sounds of
Titanium
, one of Anna’s favourites, as I negotiate my way
to the main door.

I arrive at the entrance that we came in through and tell
the doorman who I am and that I’m waiting for a cab. “A car’s been arranged for
you, Ms. Drake, shouldn’t be too long.” He acknowledges me.

I look around the narrow entrance. “Thank you, is it okay if
I hang around here? I don’t want to be in anyone’s way.”

“Not at all, ma’am, feel free to wait wherever you want.
There’s a seat there if you want to sit down.” He points to a couple of square
padded chairs tucked away.

This guy is also very smartly turned out, just like the
others, in standard doorman attire: black suit, white shirt and black tie. He
too has an earpiece and some contraption on his wrist that he appears to speak
into. His buddy is equally as smart, these guys are big, well built, a bit like
Action Men Roger and Thomas.

  The guy I’ve been talking to turns to face me. “Ride’s
here, Ms. Drake.” I stand and he guides me to the car, his arm hovering around
my back, not touching. He opens the door to the Jaguar, watches me climb in and
then shuts the door, tipping his imaginary cap as he does so and slapping the
top of the car, presumably to tell the driver that I’m in.

“Where to, Mrs Drake?” the driver asks.

“Cheyne Row, please.”

“Not a problem.” We pull away from the kerb.

As we drive, I start to relax a little. I like James, I like
him a lot, but I’m not jumping, as my mum would say, from the frying pan into
the fire. I would like a man in my life, but whoever steps into the vacancy
created by me divorcing Lewis will have to be special, very special, and
certainly no-one remotely like my bastard of a soon-to-be ex-husband. I don’t
know if James
is
that man. I certainly can’t do with the sulking and
teenage-style tantrums that he’s just demonstrated. Yes, he’s excellent in the
bedroom, there’s no denying that, although I’ve only Lewis to compare him to
and I know Lewis was no Don Juan, I’m sure of it!

“So, was it your first time at Henry’s?” the driver asks.

“Yes.” I don’t elaborate as I’m really not in the mood for
small talk.

“What did you think of it?” he asks, although I’m not sure
why he’s so interested.

“I didn’t see a lot of it. I was only there for about an
hour,” I say, keeping my answers short.

“Oh, that’s a shame. It would have been good for you to see
it in full swing,” I hear him mutter.

“And why’s that?” I ask, intrigued at why this driver is
asking so many questions. Why can’t he just bloody drive?

The driver laughs. “Because I’m sure you’d want to see your
investment in action!”

Who the hell is this guy?

“And you are?” I ask him, not wanting to divulge any further
information until I know who I’m talking to.

I look up and see him smiling in the rearview mirror.
“Sorry, I should have introduced myself back there. I’m Nial, Nial Redmond –
your business partner.” 

Bloody hell, the first time I meet him and in these
circumstances. Oh Lord. “Oh,” I gasp, “Nial, I’m pleased to meet you. When we
spoke on the telephone I didn’t imagine you to be, so… so…”

“So young?” He finishes my sentence for me.

“Umm. Yes, I suppose so. I’d got the impression that you
must have been at least the same sort of age as Maggie.”

“No, nowhere near,” he laughs. “Maggie just helped me out
when I wanted to get this place started. I could only finance fifty per cent of
what I needed and Maggie is— sorry, was… well known for helping young new
businesses out, to get started. She was very helpful, she really was.”

“I didn’t know her that well,” I say, quietly feeling a
little awkward now I know who he is. “Well, obviously I knew her, but not that
well.”

I see him smiling again. “She was great, always willing to
at least listen to a new business proposal and was a big advocate of new young
business. She was one of very few people who would look at a proposal, you
know, without tossing it into the bin before they’ve even opened the first
page. When I approached her with my idea for Henry’s… Well, I don’t know, I
think she just liked the idea of a very upmarket club that wasn’t
so
exclusive that only the stars could use it.” He fills in a few more gaps about
Maggie, his focus remaining on the road.