I, Spy? (15 page)

It’s worth paying for designer things, I guess, for how good they make you look and how confident they make you feel. I was mad a few years ago when backless tops came out because I simply couldn’t wear them without a bra. Even those clear-strap ones never look right, and they don’t do them in big enough sizes, which makes me really mad, because girl who can wear the sizes they do make them in
don’t bloody need to
! But this dress had full underwiring, and needed it, because it was so low at the back it nearly gave me butt cleavage. I wriggled into my best La Senza (funds not stretching as far as La Perla) and doused myself in perfume.

Then Angel, God bless her, turned up with some serious rocks in a velvet case.

“Jesus,” I looked at the light refracting a million ways, “Angel, this could buy you a small island!”

She smiled. “It’s an heirloom.”

“I couldn’t wear it.”

“’Course you can. It’ll look good with that frock. Is it Donna Karan?”

I blinked. See, that’s what I don’t understand. Members of the rockistocracy like Angel can tell a designer at fifty paces. I have to have someone show me the label, then translate it for me.

I put the necklace on, feeling my shoulders start to buckle under the weight. God only knows how Angel manages to wear something so heavy. She handed me matching earrings and a bracelet.

“No watch,” she said.

“I’m not stupid.”

“I know, just checking.”

She let me keep my little diamond ring, the one my parents bought me when I was twenty-one, but nothing else. She checked over my hair, exclaiming in delight over the colour, and stood back and smiled.

“You’ll do,” she said quietly, and that’s great praise from Angel.

I waited until she’d gone to put brown contacts in, wedge the earpiece in my lughole and finish arming myself. Since bloody Luke wouldn’t let me have a gun and stupid Joe Smith wouldn’t either (maybe I could ramraid it? No, the owner of a gun shop would probably have good security. Sirens, dogs, a shotgun or two…and Ted would never forgive me), all I had was my defence spray and stun gun. The defence spray I left behind because I didn’t want to accidentally spray myself, or the dress, with green gunk or set off the shrill alarm that accompanied it. I didn’t want to electrocute myself so I left the stun gun at home too. That left handcuffs, which were not exactly good for defence and far too kinky, should they be discovered in my handbag; and the Kevlar, for which I had not yet found a subtle use.

I slung my old rape alarm in my bag, added some gum, a credit card, lip gloss, keys and my Nokia, and left the house.

I’d put on my wool trenchcoat over the dress, but you could still see the red skirts peeping out like Mammy’s petticoat in
Gone with the Wind
. The dress, for all its bum cleavage, had a flattering boat neck that skimmed my collarbones, and an A-line skirt held out by petticoats that rustled as I walked. I’d thought about taking different shoes to walk in, because one doesn’t let delicate Manolos like these touch the pavement, darling, but I’d nowhere to put them when I arrived.

To my astonishment, I arrived at South Ken on time, without missing a train, going in the wrong direction, getting lost or tripped over, tearing my dress or splashing through a puddle. I looked up at Gray’s Hotel, squared my shoulders and walked anonymously through the paparazzi to the door marked “Ballroom”.

“Name?” asked the big scary black man on the door. I wondered if he was related to Macbeth.

“Antonia Porter,” I said, and he looked down the list. My heart was pounding.

“Go on in,” he said eventually, and I nearly cried with relief.

“Is James Bannerman here yet?” I asked.

“He’s waiting for you.” The bouncer looked at a note by Luke’s alias. “In the lobby. You can check your coat in there.”

I nodded nervously and stepped past him into one of the most nerve-wracking experiences of my life.

There should be a moment in every woman’s life when she walks into a fabulous setting, looking like a movie star, people turning and staring at her as she glides past them to the man she’s interested in, and has the fantastic experience of having his eyes glued to her.

“Jesus,” Luke said, looking me over.

“Jesus never looked this good,” I said, so pleased with myself it was all I could do to keep from skipping.

“You look…
wow
.”

I grinned. “Wow” was pretty good.

“Where’d you get the dress?”

“I broke into Donna Karan and half-inched it.”

Luke looked like he believed me.

“I borrowed it.” I nudged him.

“And the ice?” He reached out to touch the diamonds.

“Real. Also borrowed.”

“You have some generous friends.”

He was still staring at me and I raised a proud eyebrow.

“Had your eyeful?”

“No.” He shook his head. “You scrub up well.”

“Thanks.” Then, feeling something else was needed, “You too.”

“Are you wearing the wire?”

“Subtle, Luke, really subtle. Yes, I am. Give me a sec, I’ll go and switch it on.”

I made my way to the ladies, which was as terrifying and grand as the rest of the ballroom, and shut myself in the cubicle to switch the wire on.

“Can you hear me?” I whispered to Alexa.

“Loud and clear. Good luck!”

I had a feeling I was going to need it. Luke was looking at me like I was dessert.

He was waiting for me when we came out. “Have you seen Wright yet?”

It was weird, I could hear him right down in my ear as well as in regular surround. I checked the grommet. “I’ve only just got here!”

“You should be looking out.” He put a hand to the small of my back to lead me into the ballroom. His hand was warm and my skin was bare. I had to concentrate on breathing.

This is business, this is business, this is business.

This is
acting
.

“You can dance, right?” he said.

“Well, sort of.”

“Can you manage a waltz?”

I nodded, not quite trusting myself to speak too much. It wasn’t just the wire. Luke looked really good in evening dress. His hair was a good deal lighter than the brown I was used to—in fact it was almost blond. If I hadn’t been so preoccupied with myself when I walked in I might have noticed that. His eyes were their natural blue… I think.

“What?” Luke said when I peered at him.

“Are you wearing contacts?”

“No. This is me.”

Jesus. He was tall, blond, blue-eyed and built.

This is business, this is business, this is business.

God, he’s hot
.

“We’ll do a quick circuit,” Luke said. “Keep your eyes open.”

I did, but I’m afraid I wasn’t looking at what I was supposed to be looking at. Luke’s eyes were all over the room, constantly searching for Wright, but my eyes were on him. It felt so wonderful to be dancing in his arms.

I wanted to touch his cheekbones. I wanted to stroke them. Was that weird?

“Okay, I see him,” Luke said. “One o’clock.”

Which wasn’t very helpful as we kept waltzing round in circles.

“Where?”

I wanted to
lick
his cheekbones. Someone help me.

“Over by the windows. He’s alone.” Luke let go of me and I stumbled slightly. “Go.”

“Go?”

“Flirt with him. Draw him out.”

I gave Luke an incredulous look but he was already gone.

Flirt with him. Flirt with a chubby, balding fifty-year-old who’d asked me to scrub his back in a Roman hotel room?

Bleurgh.

I was halfway across the room when I walked into someone and I was shaking so much I recoiled and nearly fell over.

“Careful! Are you okay?”

I looked up at the man who had caught me. Dashing and handsome, clean-cut, shiny hair… Oh, shit, it was Harvey!

“What are you doing here?” I asked him at the same time he asked me, and we stared at each other.

“I have a business invite,” Harvey said eventually.

“Right, your mobile company.”

He frowned, looking distracted. “Mobile?”

Jesus, his company was in trouble if he didn’t know what we called a cell phone. “Yeah, mobile—cell phones,” I said, trying to see past him to Wright. But he was all shoulder, Harvey was, all shoulder and jaw. It was like trying to see past a huge wall.

“Are you here alone? I didn’t know stewardesses moved in such grand circles.”

“No, I, er, I’m here with my, erm, my brother.”

“The guy you were dancing with?”

“Uh, yes. He’s, er, he’s quite grand. Knows Madonna. Small country and all that. My brother.”

“Yeah, you look like him,” Harvey was nodding.

I stopped and stared. “I do?”

“Yeah. Except your hair is different…” He peered at me. “Did you change it?”

No, my hair routinely changes from blonde to dark brown overnight. Men. “Yeah,” I said. “Fancied a change.”

“It looks good. So.”

I looked up nervously, suddenly remembering that I’d walked out on him in Rome. “So?”

“Where did you go? I came out and you were gone.”

“Oh, I, er, I had an early flight, so I had to go. Sorry about that.”

“You didn’t even leave a phone number.”

Fancy that.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but I really, really have to go. To the, erm, ladies.” I picked up my skirts and ran away, and because Harvey was calling after me and watching me, I had to go to the ladies again.

The uniformed woman by the sinks gave me a curious look.

“Champagne,” I said with a smile. “Goes straight through me.”

I locked myself in a cubicle and lifted up my skirts to check the phone holster on my other thigh, but I didn’t need to. Something whistled in my ear and I dropped the phone on the floor. It skidded under the partition into the next cubicle. Rats.

“Who was that?” Luke wanted to know, his voice sharp in my ear.

“He’s just someone I met in Rome,” I said distractedly, trying to reach under the cubicle partition for my phone and hoping it hadn’t landed in anything unsavoury.

“Someone like the guy you spent the night with?”

“I did not spend the night with anyone!” I hissed, aware that not only could everyone else in the ladies hear me, but Alexa and One could, too.

“Yeah, well, stop socialising.”

“Hey, he cornered me. I’m going back out there in a minute.” I reached out, and the phone suddenly came skidding towards me. I grabbed it and holstered it gratefully.

“Do that. Ask him about his business. Try and get some names.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you could get a room and seduce it out of him.”

“Maybe I will.” I flushed the toilet for appearance’s sake and stalked out of there.

This time I made a beeline for David Wright, detouring only for a waiter and grabbing two glasses of champagne. I hadn’t had my drink for tonight and I needed some Dutch.

Right. Sophisticated. Urbane. Suave. I could do this. I was trained for this.

Crap, I wish they’d trained me.

“Mr. Wright.” I handed him a glass of champagne. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Antonia Porter and I work for Ace Airlines. I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while.”

He looked me over and appeared to like what he saw, because he smiled a greasy smile and said, “Have you, my dear? And why is that?”

“There’s a rumour in my company that you’re going to buy a majority in shares,” I said, hoping I sounded like I knew what I was talking about. “If I can speak frankly, I’d like to see it happen sooner, rather than later.”

He looked surprised. “You want to be owned by Wrightbank?”

I’d rather be owned by Saddam Hussein. “I think it’s what Ace needs,” I said. “Since we went public there’s been a lack of direction, and I’m sure you can see that’s a bad thing for an airline.” I gave him a cut-glass smile, and he beamed back, looking dazed. “What Ace needs is a good, firm hand,” I looked him in the eye and knew I was getting to him, “in charge. We need someone who’s going to be more than a sleeping partner.”

“Jesus,” Luke said in my ear, “you’re turning me on.”

I ignored him. “So what are you going to do for us, Mr. Wright? Can I call you David?”

He nodded, looking glazed.

“Will it be just the fifty-one percent majority you’ll be buying? That’s not a lot of control, David. Maybe you need some surety.”

Gosh, I sounded like I knew what I was talking about and everything.

“Oh, I’ll have surety,” Wright said. “I have a partner who’s interested in stock as well.”

“Bingo,” Luke said.

“You do? A business partner?”

“Oh, yes.”

“I thought you owned Wrightbank and its subsidiaries outright.”

“Well, yes, I do—”

“I thought you had no partner.”

“No, well, I don’t, but when I say partner I mean a personal friend. Not a close friend,” he blustered, “not that kind of partner…”

I smiled. “Of course. You’re well known for keeping your personal life private.”

Was he? I had no idea. But it seemed to please him.

“Well, yes, of course.”

“But is this personal friend trustworthy?” I asked, as Luke said in my ear, “God knows how this imbecile runs a company.”

I thought it was pretty obvious that he didn’t.

“Oh, yes, very trustworthy,” Wright said. “She’s been in it with me from the beginning.”

“She?” Luke said, and then Alexa broke in with, “Ask him about Jane Hammond. She was his partner way back when.”

“Your partner is a woman?” I said. “I thought after Jane Hammond you might have changed your mind about working with women.”

“I know I have,” Luke muttered.

“What do you know about Jane Hammond?” Wright asked.

“I know she was your partner way back when,” I said, hoping Alexa would come up with something else.

“Bad break up,” she said, and I repeated it. “Swore to work alone after that.”

“So I’m sort of surprised you’re working with someone else on this,” I said to Wright. “She must be very special.”

“Oh, she is.”

“Is she a well-known figure?” I didn’t want to ask outright for a name. Didn’t want to push him too far. He didn’t look too bright, but then, neither did I.

Hmm.

“No, no, she’s very private. Totally unknown.”

“But obviously she knows a lot about this venture, about the world of finance,” I said. “I mean, I've been looking into this,” I said, looking down at my miraculously empty champagne glass modestly, “and there are a few names I’ve become familiar with.” I started randomly casting around. “I know Helen Shilton said she’d kill to work with you.”

“Really?” Wright said, looking interested. “Helen Shilton?”

Jesus, don’t tell me there really is a Helen Shilton.

“Who?” Luke and Alexa said at the same time.

“But then obviously it’s not her,” I added quickly. “Is it a name I might know?” I asked coyly.

Wright tapped his nose. “I’ll never tell.”

“But surely I’ll find out sooner or later when she starts buying up shares in my company?”

“Oh, is it your company now?” Wright said teasingly, and I knew I’d lost him. “What did you say your name was?”

“Antonia, er, Portman.”

“Porter,” Luke hissed in my ear.

“I’m sure I know you,” Wright said, peering closer.

“No, I just have one of those faces. Would you like some more champagne?” I trilled, grabbing another couple of glasses.

“Not for me. You have some,” he said generously.

How kind. Especially since it was free.

“No more,” Luke said firmly as I lifted the glass to my lips, and I nearly spilled it. Was he watching me? “Get him drunk.”

“I can’t have any more,” I pressed both glasses on Wright. “It goes straight to my head. Must be the, er, bubbles.”

“Airhead,” Luke sniggered, and was ignored.

“Me too,” Wright said. “Don’t drink much.”

Fantastic.

“Can I not tempt you at all?” I said, fluttering my eyelashes.

“Not with champagne,” Wright said, and actually winked.

Ugh.

Luke was laughing in my ear. “I think maybe you should get out of there,” he said.

Oh, God, please yes.

“I have a room just upstairs,” Wright said, and I nearly gagged.

“Really?” I said. “Well, why don’t you go up there and I’ll, I’ll get my things and follow you up.”

“You won’t need a thing,” Wright said, leaning close. I leaned back.

“You won’t say that when you see what I have in my bag,” I managed, and I could hear Luke laughing.

Wright’s piggy eyes were all lit up. “Room 305,” he said. “Five minutes.”

Jesus.

I watched him scamper away, little piggy that he was, and turned in disgust to see Luke standing about ten feet away.

“That was a hell of a show,” he said, grinning.

“Yeah, thanks.”

“So what do you have in your bag?”

“Lots of things that could be fashioned into weapons.”

“Just weapons? You didn’t bring the cuffs?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know this was a bondage party.”

He laughed. “Room 305 probably is. Right.” He took one of my champagne glasses and turned away from the crowd. I had to stretch to see what he was doing, but it looked like he was tipping something into the glass.

“What’s that?”

“Sleeping powder. Five minutes and he’ll be out.” He grabbed a waiter and presented him with the glass. “Could you take this to Room 305, please? Compliments of Miss Antonia Port
er
,” he gave me a severe look, “who desires him to drink it straight away as a prelude to the party. Those words exactly.”

The waiter nodded and went away with the glass.

“That’s that,” Luke said. “He’ll think it’s Viagra or something.”

“From the way he was walking I don’t think he’ll need it,” I muttered, and Luke laughed out loud.

“Right,” he said. “Five minutes. Wanna dance?”

They weren’t playing a waltz any more, but we danced one anyway, feeling foolish, giggling a lot. Or at least I was. Luke looked very amused and held me so close I could hear the squashed crackle of his microphone in my ear.