A Kept Woman (12 page)

‘Well, yeah, we did. It meant I got new offices, some cash to play around with, great distribution, more staff, a printing facility …’

‘Congratulations,’ Diana said, slightly coolly. Why on earth washe telling her all this? It pained her to see this this thug from the wrong side of the tracks sitting in front of her and congratulating himself on his shiny new offices

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and fleets of staff, or whatever it was, when she herself

could not even get a lousy editorial assistant’s job. ‘And in a way I have you to thank for it.’ ‘I don’t see how.’

Michael swallowed. This was the bit he hadn’t been looking forward to. ‘When we had lunch that time, I guess I let rip some. And since you were Ernie’s wife, I expected you to go running home to him and tell him. It could have blown the deal. Not the main deal, because I signed real fast, but some bonuses and stuff.’

‘If you’re coming here to apologise for what you said that day at lunch, I forgive you.’

‘Not at all. I’m not apologising,’.Michael said quickly, struggling not to snap when he was supposed th be thanking her. ‘I just want to thank you for having kept it to yourself.’

Diana-bristled. She’d wanted him to eat humble pie, and apparently that was not on today’s menu. But what could she do when he was here thanking her?

Her blue eyes settled on his face. It was handsome and square jawed. She had visions of him with maybe dozens of women. That was usually what made men so cocky. This one had been the same way even when he’d showed up to lunch in that cheap suit and bad shoes.

‘That’s no problem at all.’ I’m going to be gracious if it kills me, Diana thought. ‘I don’t go telling tales on people. Whomever Ernie wants to deal with, that’s his

business. I hope the takeover works out well for you.’ ‘It’s not a takeover, it’s a partnership.’ ‘Whatever. I hope it makes you very rich.’

‘I certainly hope it’s good for the company,’ Michael said neutrally. ‘For both companies.’

Diana felt a great wash of exhaustion rock her. She didn’t feel up to an in-depth discussion of this guy’s successes right now. She pressed one slender hand to her forehead. ‘Look, Mr Cicero - I wonder if you would be

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kind enough to excuse me. I’ve had a really bad day, and I was looking forward to a bath and bed.’

‘Of course.’ He stood up, and she couldn’t help but notice he was short, and very stocky. He was about five ten, and his lack of height just made his body look bigger. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Why was your day so bad?’

‘I couldn’t get a job.’ Diana half clapped her hand over

her mouth. Had she just said that? She must be tired. ‘You were trying to get a job?’

‘Do you all have to look so surprised? Yes, I worked before my marriage. I was a fashion assistant at Vogue in England. Ernie’s an American citizen, so as his wife I have a right to look for work.’

‘Hey, hey, slow down.’ He sat down again. ‘I’m sure you do. Now, who’s “you all”? How many interviews did you go on?’

Diana wondered how she had gotten into this, but there was no point in lying now. ‘Seven. And the last woman was just rude to me.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Michael tried, and failed, to imagine the woman in front of him going to seven job interviews. Seven in one day would mean that she was almost serious about getting a job. ‘She was rude, huh? What did she say?’

‘She said I should sit at home and throw charity balls for the paparazzi.’

Michael burst out laughing, and Diana couldn’t take it any more. She stamped her foot..

‘You’re worse than she was! How dare you laugh at me! You’re in my home!’

‘Look.’ Michael smothered his laugh and walked closer to her, putting his hands on her arms. His touch was very strong, but subtle. ‘I’m truly sorry I laughed just now. It was just such a rude thing of her to have said.’

That was a lie, but a little white lie couldn’t hurt. It wouldn’t comfort her to know that he’d laughed because

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that was exactly what he’d thought Diana should do himself. Cicero felt an unexpected small pang of guilt. The girl was trying, right? He had to give her credit or that.

‘It was, wasn’t it?’

‘Very. Look, if you’re serious about working, you could maybe come and do something in my office.’

‘Like decorating it?’ Diana brightened. ‘I’d be excellent at that and very reasonable.’

That would be a coup. She’d love to tell her friends that she had her first decorating commission. That might actually be fun.

Michael Cicero was giving her a surprised look with his dark eyes. ‘No. I have the wall colour I want and a print and ome furniture.’

‘I think I could manage something rather more exciting than that. I could start with some Eames chairs, and ‘My budget for decorating isn’t really large, he said, dryly. She was a fox, no doubt about that, but she was definitely starting to irritate him again. ‘I mean, say, being my assistant, helping to file, and make phone calls—’

‘Fetch tea and coffee?’ Diana asked sarcastically. The sarcasm washed off him like water off a duck’s back. ‘Exactly. Tea, coffee, frank the mail, whatever needs doing. It’s like a Girl Friday job. It would be hard

work and it wouldn’t pay much.’

‘Sounds great.’

‘Look, if you don’t want it, I-understand. You’re a rich lady. Thanks for taking the time to see me,’ Michael said, courteously, offering her a stiff little bow.

‘No - wait, please.’ Diana ran and caught at the elbow of his jacket. Her pride was stung. He agreed with the nasty hag from City Woman, he thought she should stay at home and run charity balls. I’m more than that, she thought fiercely. I can handle a job! Why does everybody

except Milla assume I would fail? The thought of Mira Chen, in the office, the little businesswoman, probably right now taking a ‘meeting’ with her husband, made her furious. ‘I’d love the job. It doesn’t matter about the pay.

Just as long as I can start as soon as possible.’ ‘Pay would be fifteen thousand a year.’ ‘Sounds good to me,’ Diana said, insistently. Michael could have kicked himself. Who on earth would have thought that the woman would actually say yes? But that was fine. She’d quit in a week. A chick like that - society lady with the body of a forties sweetheart had probably never worked an honest day in her life.

‘We have new offices in the Blakely’s building. Fourth

floor. You won’t be too near Ernie, I’m afraid.’

‘That’s fine,’ Diana assured him. ‘What time do you

open the office? Publishing normally starts around ten, correct ?’

‘Correct. It normally does. But Green Eggs is a bit

more ambitious than most. I like to be in the office at eight thirty. I’ll see you there at that time tomorrow. If I’m’a little late, the security guard will let you in.’

He chuckled inwardly, watching her pale. Any second

now she’d fling the job back in his face.

‘Oh, and by the way.’ He thought he’d spice up the

mix for her. ‘I take my coffee black, and I like it fresh brewed twice a day.’

Diana swallowed hard. Insufferable man. He was playing with her. He wanted her. to quit.

‘See you tomorrow at eight thirty,’ she snapped. ‘Let

me show you out.’

‘You do that.’ Cicero was strolling out to the door.

That arrogant walk he had, it was like he owned the

place. ‘I’ll look forward to working with you.’

Diana went upstairs and ran herself a hot tub, shaking

Floris Lily of the Valley liberally into it, and revelling in

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the cloud of flagrant steam as she sank her long limbs into the water. Her feet had a very unaccustomed ache from tramping round the streets of New York all day long - it was amazing how hard it was to get cabs in midtown at lunchtime-and she wasn’t used to the humiliations she’d been asked to suffer. Well, Elle and Marie Claire would regret bitterly that they hadn’t snapped up the new Diana, the new businesswoman Diana, once she’d made her mark in publishing. She was determined to be upbeat about her new job. Fifteen thousand didn’t sound very much, and, of course, it was dollars, not even pounds. But it was a start. It could be her handbag money, or maybe she’d put it in the stock market, and wind up really rich like the Rockefeliers. There were. consolations. Diana considered the delicious necessity of buying a completely new wardrobe full of business suits, maybe even kitsch pinstripes, who knew? There were endless possibilities, and then of course one needed work shoes and handbags to go with them. She could almost forgive Michael Cicero his coffee remark. Did he really expect her to fetch his drinks? Of course not. That had to have been a joke. At any rate, she would show him that she could not be bossed around the way he seemed to be planning.

She started daydreaming about life as a working woman. Ernie would be entranced and surprised, and he’d just have to work harder at catching her in. Then there would be so much less time for extracurricular activities. Yes, Diana thought,-she had made it far too easy for him to enjoy the pleasure of her company. But all that would change.

Fuelled by enjoyable thoughts of revenge, Diana climbed out of her bath and swathed herself in her rich, navy Ralph Lauren gown. She lazily reached for her Crme de la Mer and slathered it all over her hands and body, rubbing it into her knees, her aching shins and feet.

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Then she sauntered into her walk-in closet and stood in an agony of indecision for several minutes before plumping for her pink silk Richard Tyler number. She just managed to finish spritzing her perfume before she heard the front door open.

Ernie was home.

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Five miles away, in SoHo, Felicity Metson was considering her options.

Diana Fo×ton was such a little fool. Nobody liked her - who could like that combination of perfect dressing and inane naivety? It was too unfair t.o watch her swan into town with no reputation, nothing, only a rich husband in a city full, of rich husbands and that blasted accent, and just take over the social scene. Her body didn’t fit in - a good ten pounds she had on most of the girls - and her dressing didn’t fit in - such perfectly tailored, wonderfully subtle clothes; even if she was wearing Prada and Gucci she managed to make them look English. You glanced at Diana and you got an instant sense of Merry Olde Englande, with - well - castles and Labrador puppies and oh, what was that game they had that was even more boring than baseball? Oh, cricket; yes, that was it. Of course, Ernie was just another rich flyboy made good, but that wasn’t the point. A rich husband was pretty much wallpaper.

Felicity moved around her pale-cream apartment, idly dusting the Moda Italia furniture that was so stylish and uncomfortable, and the stacks of How to Get a Man books she kept like bibles at the side of her bed. Because, after all, even though a husband did nothing more than provide the requisite background for a wife to shine against, he was a necessity. How could you throw wonderful, aggravatingly perfect dinners like Diana Foxton without the moolah necessary to hire just the

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right chef, get the perfect table bouquets of twigs and wild berries, and buy the French crystal that everyone drank out of and the Royal Doulton everybody ate off?

It was too bad, Felicity thought, pouting, that Hector, her own husband - landed after a campaign planned with military precision - had decided” that, after all, he preferred the company of slender, sexy young men. It was simply embarrassing to be this young and divorced. She glanced down at her man manuals - The Rules, Getting To I Do, The Art of War for Lovers - and thought about Ernie Foxton. What on earth had Diana got to complain about? Ernie was a good worker and seemed to give her carte blanche when it came to running her home and her life. Felicity went to her wonderful x97os bar and mixed herself a vodka Martini, even putting in a jumbo olive, because style was all about the details. Diana was mad, the silly little chit, running around town telling all and sundry. And the faces of Jodie and Natasha saying their husbands didn’t cheat! The whole world knew that Zuckerman liked to pork the nanny whenever possible, and Natasha went along with it because if it was kept in the house it was under her control. All she did was change the model regularly, as if there were any danger her hubby would divorce her - far too much money down the drain for that. Felicity lifted her glass to Natasha, who was a wife who knew how to play the game. It suited her to be married and it suited her husband to be married. With this. open admission, this senseless bleating, Diana was laying Ernie and herself open to ridicule.

In Felicity’s experience, if there was one thing men couldn’t stand, it was ridicule.

The Zuckermans and the Goodfriends would have blabbed it all over town by now. Felicity had kept quiet and congratulated herself on her subtlety. When Ernie first started hearing the rumours, he would investigate

the source and find .out that she, Felicity, had been the only discreet person in the whole silly business. Wha, t a fool Diana was to worry about the little oriental tart Ernie had brought into the office! That was not the type of woman an obvious social climber like Ernie would ever marry. She would never be able to mingle properly at the Met, the way the classiest Chinese and Japanese ladies did with such effortless ease. She was a cheap little slut who had no social graces, and besides which, she thought small. She was, Felicity decided, most likely just sticking Ernie up for the odd platinum watch and diamond bracelet, instead of the small gold ring which really counted. Ernie was no fool. He wouldn’t svap a Diana for a Mira. But if Diana wasn’t careful, she would most likel8 find herself swapped for someone else.

The phone at her bedside buzzed. It was Tom. She let the machine pick up.

‘Hey babe, it’s me. Got a forty-eight-hour pass at the last minute. Wondered if you wanted to do dinner or something. I’ll try you later.’

Dinner or something? Well, that was very romantic, Felicity thought disdainfully, wiping his message with one flick of her Chanel Rouge Argent sparkling fingernail. Tom just didn’t get it, did he? He looked good in dress whites, and he was a novelty in her circle, certainly better than nothing. A recently divorced girl could not afford to be seen anywhere unaccompanied. But the salary of a Marine major was never going to keep her in the style to which she’d become so very accustomed. Why, if she married Tom she’d be the richer partner and need a pre-nup. And besides, who could see her, Felicity Metson, dragging herself from base to base and deferring to the wife of a lieutnantocolonel?