The Accidental Mistress (5 page)

Buckling on his watch, John returned to her and squeezed her shoulder, reassuringly. ‘Look, I’ll just nip downstairs
and have a word with Signor Guidetti. I need to speak to him anyway. You have a chat with your friend. Touch base, reassure her you’re OK.’ He glanced at his watch, which looked solid, complex, workmanlike and suspiciously as if it might be made of platinum. ‘I’ll be back up here around eight, and we’ll go and eat then, OK?’

So decisive. So organised. Just the qualities that had made him so successful. She watched as he buttoned his shirt, tucked it in, and then put on a light jacket. When he’d stowed his phone and his wallet in his pocket, and slipped his feet into loafers, he gave her a quick kiss, then headed for the door.

‘See you soon, sweetheart.’

Then he was gone, and the pretty room seemed ten times as empty as it should have done.

When Lizzie switched on her phone, she found it awash with voicemails and messages from Shelley.

‘Nice of you to call at last,’ barked her friend, answering Lizzie’s call. ‘I’ve been worried sick. No word. Phone off. Nothing. It was only when I called Brent in a panic that I found out. Nice of you two not to mention this secret reunion to me. I’m only one of your best friends, Lizzie. It’s really not fair.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry … Really.’ She was, knowing how she’d have worried in Shelley’s place. ‘But to have John appear again, out of the blue … well, I just got swept away, you know. I really am sorry, though.’

Shelley laughed, her voice clear in the earpiece. The other woman never held grudges or got cross for long. ‘OK, love, just as long as you’re all right. You are all right, aren’t you?’

‘Yes. Yes, I am, very much … Yes.’ And she was, mostly.

Almost completely … Except for the little questioning voice that kept telling her that dreams like this were too beautiful to last for long.

Lizzie, you idiot. Why be such a pessimist? Live for the moment!

‘I’m not surprised, you lucky beggar. He’s freaking gorgeous. And loaded too! If he’d come back to sweep me off my feet, I’d forget that
you
even existed!’

Lizzie smiled. She could still remember the time Shelley had met John, fleetingly, in the wake of Brent’s suicide attempt. The blonde girl had just stared, almost gobsmacked at the sight of him, as if she’d just been introduced to a movie star or to a woman’s fantasy of male perfection made real.

‘Well, glad you approve. I
am
lucky, I know that.’

‘And he’s lucky to have
you
,’ said Shelley, with emphasis. ‘Now, will you be home tonight? If not, don’t worry. As long as I know where you are … Which is the Waverley, I presume?’

Now there was a question. John had sleep issues. He’d slept beside her once, but that didn’t mean he was miraculously cured, did it? He still might not want a woman in his bed all night, and if he couldn’t sleep,
she’d
have to leave. Nobody could function properly without rest. Especially a high-octane lover like John, who invested one hundred and ten per cent energy into sex.

‘Yes, we’re at the Waverley, but I’m not sure about whether I’ll be coming home or not. It’s very possible I will. I’ll try and phone you again later. Don’t worry about supper or anything. We’re just about to go and eat.’

‘OK, sweetie. Enjoy yourself. Not that there’s much doubt on that score. Think about me when you’re scoffing posh nosh with a billionaire at the Waverley, and me and Mulder are eating beans and dry bread here.’

‘And I’m playing my violin here.’ Lizzie smiled to herself, knowing her friend’s tendency towards drama. ‘Look, you can have my deluxe paella out of the freezer if it’ll cheer you up … and there’re some roast chicken slices for Mulder.’

The two friends chatted for a few minutes more, and then, with an instruction to pet Mulder the cat on her behalf, Lizzie rang off, and got back to her final preparations.

The shirt fitted like a dream, and despite its superficial simplicity, Lizzie admired the clever darting that made it hang so elegantly on her body. She made a mental note of the positioning and technique, for future reference. With her dressmaking skills, it should be easy enough to adapt a pattern and run up a shirt or two like it, only using a slightly cheaper fabric of a similar weight.

Beneath the shirt, the pretty, floral-trimmed bra and knickers fitted perfectly too. Had John scrutinised the labels of her clothes during their previous time together? He must have done. Either that, or he was so used to women that he could size them up, purely by eye.

Don’t think about his other women. Of course he’s had them. He’s older and too gorgeous and too eligible for him not to have scores of exes … but he’s here with you now, and that’s what matters.

‘Ready to eat?’ said John as she finally emerged from the bathroom, with the best attempt at make-up and hair that she could manage with the contents of her bag. Her ‘Bettie Page’ fringe wasn’t quite as accurate as she’d have liked it to be, and her nude lip tint was a bit pale, but lifted by the glorious shirt, she still felt pretty confident that she looked good. She hadn’t heard John come back into the bedroom while she was primping, but she hoped he liked what he saw, too.

‘Yes, I’m starving. Let’s go down!’

‘Splendid,’ said John, but then he paused and fished inside
the pocket of his jacket. ‘You look utterly gorgeous, but perhaps there’s just one final touch we can try.’

On the palm of his hand, he held out a small, dark-blue jewellery box.

Oh no, it can’t be … he said he wasn’t interested in all that …

Settling her heart, and sternly admonishing her subconscious, Lizzie stepped forward and took the box. There were plenty of other things that came in jewellery boxes; it wasn’t just rings.

And this was a pair of earrings.

A pair of diamond earrings.

Diamond earrings … with very
big
diamonds.

Lizzie’s heart did a flip-flop. It was too much.
They
were too much. Girls like her didn’t wear rocks like these.

John looked a bit worried, presumably by her gobsmacked silence. ‘I hope you like them. I noticed that you just wear very plain studs, so I thought something simple like these would be your kind of thing.’

‘They’re gorgeous … They’re beautiful …’

Simple though the diamond studs were, even with only a slight knowledge of gemstones, Lizzie would have bet good money on the fact that they were worth more than the house she lived in.

‘But?’ John gave her a steady look, as if he’d read her every qualm.

How to tell him, without seeming like an ungrateful bitch? There probably wasn’t a way. ‘They’re glorious, John. Absolutely exquisite … but you can’t
give them to me. I mean, they’re real, obviously … so they must be worth a small fortune!’

For a moment he looked puzzled, genuinely at a loss. Then he smiled. ‘Of course they’re real and of course I can give them to you. I like them. I can afford them. They’ll look fabulous on you. Where’s the problem?’

Put like that, it was simple. And she longed to see the satisfaction in his eyes when she accepted his gift … but still.

‘OK … OK,’ he said. ‘Let’s try this. You wear them this evening to please me. And we discuss the issue of you keeping them at a later date. Does that sound reasonable?’

So reasonable. You’re such a grown-up.

Thinking that, Lizzie almost laughed. He
was
a grown-up. A mature, urbane, sophisticated man, over twenty years her senior. A man prepared to pay for what he wanted without a qualm. As he’d paid for her, that very first night.

‘Um … yes, OK.’ She gave him a smile, wondering if he understood. ‘And thank you, even if for just this evening. They are the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.’

Except you.

‘Finally! Now pop them in and we’ll go down. Do you need me to help?’ His smile at having won the point, at least for the time being, was dazzling. His blue eyes flashed, far more brilliant and precious than the gems.

When she entered the restaurant beside John, Lizzie wasn’t sure what the women at other tables were looking at most. Her, her earrings, or John.

Mostly John, I should think, with umpteen thousand pounds worth of diamond bling a close second.

They were shown to a table by the window, the one they’d shared once before and which commanded the best view out over the formal gardens of the Waverley, and the long park beyond. Instinctively, Lizzie scrutinised the treeline, looking for the tell-tale gap, and the path that she and John
had trod. It was not much more than a month, but it seemed like a lifetime since their wild games in the little dell. First, her spanking with a willow switch; then afterwards, their tumultuous fuck amongst the grass and leaves, her riding John, her bottom still aflame from his fierce attentions.

Happy days.

A different heat flamed in her face now, and when she looked at John he was grinning.

‘Good times, eh?’ He reached out and placed his hand over hers. ‘I can still see you, glaring down at me like a gorgeous Amazon goddess subduing her unworthy subject. That was some afternoon.’

‘It was indeed … that switch thing you cut was murder!’

John’s slow smirk made her tremble. It was his
I know what you’re feeling right now
smile. His X-ray smile. He knew she wanted him again, switch and all.

‘And how are you feeling now?’ He leaned in close, his voice barely more than a breath, just for her ears. ‘Is your delicious arse still tingling?’

‘John! For heaven’s sake.’ She glanced around, wondering if anyone had heard, despite his low tones. Her bottom actually wasn’t sore any more, but she certainly didn’t want anyone in their vicinity hearing it discussed.

‘OK … OK … I’ll behave,’ he said, still smirking, mercurial and boyish again. ‘Shall we have some wine?’ He nodded, over her shoulder, presumably to some waiter hovering across the room and hanging solely on the every whim of the most favoured guest.

‘I’d love some. And to answer your question, no it isn’t. No ill effects.’

‘Good,’ he said roundly, as the waiter scuttled over.

The meal they ate was delicious, as everything at the
Waverley was. The hotel might have a naughty reputation, but it excelled in all the good things a normal high-class hotel would, and the dish of poached sea bass in a fennel and butter sauce was breathtakingly yummy. Food, wine, accommodation, a beautiful setting, the Waverley had it all. No wonder John had wanted to buy it.

Mellowed by a little alcohol, Lizzie was able to relax, even in John’s eternally provocative company. He too seemed chilled, asking her about her life since they’d last been together, about how Shelley and Brent were doing now, and especially about her sewing and how she liked working at the dress agency.

‘How’s that working out for you?’ he said, laying down his knife and fork, and taking a sip from his water glass. The enquiry seemed casual, but she sensed it was really far from that. ‘You sounded quite excited about it in your emails.’

She was excited. Working at New Again was like a gift. ‘Fantastic! It’s a perfect, steady supply of sewing jobs … and I love working in the shop too. The clothes are wonderful, and Marie is a doll.’

After she’d abandoned temping, Lizzie had popped into the local dress agency on a whim, thinking there was no harm in asking if they needed anyone to do alterations for them, and happily she and Marie, the owner, had instantly clicked. There was plenty of sewing work to do for New Again, and Lizzie had been thrilled when Marie had offered her a chance to work in the shop part time too.

‘I hope she’s not working you too hard.’

‘No, not at all,’ said Lizzie firmly, ‘and anyway, I’m not afraid of a bit of hard work.’

‘Well, then, here’s to New Again.’ Smiling, John lifted his glass and clinked it to Lizzie’s in a toast. ‘And to Marie, and plenty of work that’s not too hard.’

After a while, they started people-watching, indulging in simple ‘couple’ fun and eyeing up other diners nearby, just as some were eyeing them up.

‘I’m sure that’s him off the telly,’ said Lizzie in a whisper, glancing to one side, without turning her head. A couple two tables away were chatting animatedly: he, with dark, curly hair and glasses, and looking strangely familiar; she, glowing and vivacious, beautifully voluptuous and clearly besotted with her man. ‘You know, the guy who does those history shows … The really cute one. He’s usually on BBC2 or BBC4 … I’ve always fancied him.’

‘Really? Is that a fact?’ countered John, with a mock saturnine quirk of his brow. ‘I’m not so sure I like you letching after other men when I’m right here in front of you.’ The words were possessive, but his puckish grin told her he was just having fun.

‘There’s no harm in looking,’ replied Lizzie, grinning back at him. ‘And what about his lady friend, don’t
you
fancy her? She has a gorgeous figure.’

‘She has indeed. But so do you. The most gorgeous ever.’

She wanted to tell him not to be idiotic, but it seemed ungracious and combative to keep on rebutting his statements. When he said these wild things he seemed completely sincere … and it
was
nice to be complimented. In her heart of hearts, what woman didn’t enjoy being called beautiful?

More importantly, though, John didn’t talk down to her, or treat her as if she were some brainless bimbo, easily manipulated by a few pretty words. A man of experience and great achievement, he always addressed her as his equal, except when they were power-playing, for fun.

As the couple they’d been observing rose from their table,
meal finished, Lizzie tried to follow their progress across the restaurant without being too obvious. The historian, Daniel Something, must be accustomed to being recognised, but it was still rude to stare. She supposed John got a lot of that too; even though she’d never seen him on the television or in the papers, his movie star looks and that special, almost regal air of his always drew the eye.

But Daniel the historian and his lady friend had eyes for no one else but each other. Unable to help herself, Lizzie zeroed in on their hands. Yes, matching wedding rings. They were married. As she watched them disappear into the foyer, that fugitive niggle of wistfulness touched her heart again.