Promises After Dark (After Dark Book 3) (17 page)

‘This is the informal sitting room,’ explains the housekeeper and she proceeds to lead us through a dozen more rooms including a long wooden-floored room hung with huge crystal chandeliers, which she calls the ballroom.

‘Incredible,’ breathes Laura as we follow the housekeeper from room to room. ‘This is amazing. Imagine what it must be worth!’

I don’t say anything – this doesn’t surprise me, but then, I know Andrei. Even as we climb a staircase to another floor with six luxurious bedrooms, the master bedroom with a sunken marble bath, I feel as though this is exactly what I would expect him to own. It’s incredible and expensive but there’s something missing: a real heart and a sense of someone with passions and interests who actually lives here. I know that’s what he wants me to add to his home with my choice of art. I remember how cool the Albany apartment seemed until the paintings were up. The beautiful Fragonard portrait I bought for his bathroom made the room come alive. That’s what this place needs.

We return to the lower floor and the housekeeper takes us back to the first room we entered – the cosy small sitting room with its view of Central Park.

‘Can I get you some coffee?’ asks the housekeeper. ‘Tea?’

I check my watch. We only have a few hours before we need to be back at the hotel to pack and catch our taxi to the airport. ‘I’m not sure . . .’ I say.

‘Yes please, I’d love some coffee,’ pipes up Laura. As the housekeeper goes out, she turns to me with an impish smile and nudges me playfully. ‘Come on! How often are we going to get to hang out in a place like this? It’s our last few hours in New York. Let’s live it up a little.’

‘Okay,’ I say, reluctant to tell her that I don’t feel right in this place. It makes me think of all the many ways Andrei wants to control me. I only feel able to give myself, surrender myself, to someone who loves and cherishes me. Without that, I couldn’t dream of submitting myself. Just being in this apartment makes me aware of how my relationship with Andrei isn’t like that at all.

We sit in that magnificent apartment that makes us feel as though we’re floating over the park. The housekeeper brings us coffee and hazelnut biscuits and then leaves us to enjoy them. Laura chatters on and I listen, but I’m eager to be off.

‘Are you all right?’ enquires Laura, nibbling a biscuit. ‘You’re awfully quiet.’

‘Yes . . . but I want to get back to the hotel,’ I say.

‘You’re right,’ Laura says. She drains her coffee cup and puts it back on the saucer. ‘This is a home but it feels a million times colder and less welcoming than our lovely loft. Let’s go back and enjoy it while we can.’

The housekeeper walks us to the door to let us out. ‘I believe we’ll be seeing some more of you very soon, Miss Villiers,’ she says as she opens the huge polished doors on to the corridor.

‘Perhaps,’ I reply.

‘And you’re leaving today?’ she asks. ‘This evening?’

‘That’s right. We’re going to the airport in a few hours,’ I say. I want to warm to this outwardly friendly woman but somehow I can’t. I feel reluctant to say too much.

‘Have a wonderful trip home.’ She smiles at Laura. ‘And you too, miss.’

‘Thank you. We will!’ Laura gives her a broad, open smile. I envy her the ability to trust anyone who’s in the employment of Andrei Dubrovski.

‘Goodbye!’ I say, trying to hide my impatience to be on our way. ‘Come on, Laura, we’ve got to get going.’

In the taxi on the way downtown I breathe a huge sigh of relief. I didn’t feel right in that apartment at all. The whole time we were there, I felt under observation. While Laura is gushing about the beautiful apartment and how lucky I’ll be to work there, all I can think is how happy I am to be out of it, and how little I ever want to go back.

It’s sad to return to our loft apartment. We’ve had a wonderful time there and it feels like home even though we’ve been there such a short time. Laura has booked a last massage in our suite and while she’s being pummelled and smoothed, I take the opportunity to log into my email and catch up. I’ve been sending my parents updates about the trip and I want to upload some pictures and send them.

As soon as I log in, I see a message to me marked urgent. I click on it at once to open it. It’s from Caroline.

Dear Beth

I hope this reaches you in time! Good news – Mark is out of hospital. He made a great recovery in the last day or so and the doctors thought he’d be more comfortable back at home. He’s so much brighter, you wouldn’t recognise him. I told him you were in New York having a little holiday and he was very excited. I know you’ve probably already made plans but just in case you read this in time, Mark wants to know if you can stay on in New York for a few days. He has some meetings he’d like you attend, and a sale that’s coming up at Christie’s. He’ll pay for your new return ticket and a hotel room for however many nights you need. I can sort it all out from this end.

Let me know what you intend to do – and see you soon!

Best regards,

Caroline

I read the message three times before I absorb the contents properly. It’s hard to take it in and it’s only when Laura comes in and reads it over my shoulder that I understand.

‘Oh – you lucky thing!’ Laura exclaims. ‘You’re going to stay on here!’

‘But that means you’ll be going home on your own,’ I say with dismay. I was looking forward to our flight back together.

‘Yes.’ She looks a little downcast. ‘That’s not so great, but don’t worry, I’ve been completely jet-lagged since we got here so I’ll probably sleep all the way anyway.’ She gives me an envious look. ‘Does that mean you’re going to stay here in the loft?’

I laugh. ‘I don’t think Mark’s budget will stretch to that. I don’t know much the loft costs but I should think it’s several thousand a night. Besides, Caroline’s told me to find another hotel room.’ I don’t tell her that from Caroline’s email, it’s pretty clear that Mark didn’t pay for the loft.

Laura goes quiet. ‘I hadn’t really thought about that,’ she says after a minute, obviously a bit awed by what we’ve been given. ‘I’ll never forget this, I really won’t. Don’t worry that we’re not going home together, I’ve already had this incredible experience because of you. Stay on and enjoy yourself.’

‘It won’t be so much fun if I’m on my own – and working,’ I point out.

‘It’s still New York,’ she says with a grin.

I can’t argue with that.

Things move up a gear as Laura gets ready for the ride back to the airport and I look for another hotel room. I wonder about staying on in the Grand, where I’ve had a marvellous time, but I also feel like going to a totally new place. Andrei booked this, and as long as I’m here he’ll be able to keep tabs on me. I send an email to Caroline asking for her advice and she replies saying that she’ll book the hotel where Mark usually stays and send me through the details when it’s done, along with an itinerary of what Mark would like me to do.

It’s horrible saying goodbye to Laura as she climbs into the car that’s taking her to the airport. We hug each other hard.

‘See you back in London,’ Laura says. ‘It’s been amazing.’

‘I’ll be back before the end of the week,’ I promise.

‘You’d better,’ she grins.

‘I’ve got to be home for Christmas, haven’t I?’ I smile at her. ‘Have a good trip home.’

I can’t help my eyes prickling as the car drives off into the busy New York traffic, taking Laura away from me. I suddenly feel incredibly lonely.

‘Come on,’ I tell myself, ‘you’re strong. You can do this. Now, let’s get moving.’

I check out of the Grand and take a taxi to the address that Caroline’s given me. It’s in a leafy, residential part of the city dominated by those large houses they call brownstones. The place I’m staying looks like a private house except for the flagpole protruding from the front and the six twinkling Christmas trees on the pediment above the front door.

I go up the steps and push open the heavy polished wooden front door, smiling to myself as I go in. This place is so Mark: it’s like an elegant gentlemen’s club done in very good taste with excellent paintings adorning the walls. The aesthetic is modern country house, and I can understand why Mark would feel right at home here.

The receptionist is friendly but businesslike. ‘Miss Villiers? Welcome. The bellboy will take you up to your room. Enjoy your stay with us. Please let us know if there’s anything we can do. Mr Palliser is a very good friend of ours so we’re anxious to make your stay as pleasant as possible.’

As I’m shown into another hotel room and tip another bellboy for bringing up my luggage, it occurs to me that I’ve been in more hotels in the last few months than I have in my entire life, and not just any hotels – some of the best in the world, in St Petersburg, Paris and New York.

But, as I look around my comfortable new room, I can’t help wishing that Dominic was here to share it with me.

I start work for Mark the next morning. I’m very glad of Caroline’s detailed itinerary and the maps she supplies because as soon as I’m off the tourist trail, New York becomes a lot more complicated. Now I’m looking for art galleries in expensive but obscure parts of town or off the beaten track, locating offices inside vast skyscrapers in midtown or heading uptown or even into Brooklyn to find dealers in their lairs. Once there, I introduce myself and talk about Mark’s latest finds, show his catalogue and examine others, taking notes on current exhibitions and interesting finds. I flag any sales that are coming up and the gossip about any big buyers who are displaying a yen for a particular artist or style. I’m constantly scrawling memos to myself or typing up reports to email to Mark so that he knows every detail of what’s going on. Within a day or so, I begin to feel quite the New Yorker, stepping out confidently to hail cabs, or dashing down into the subway, battling through the Christmas crowds, clutching a take-out coffee and a bagel. I get used to eating alone but while breakfast and lunch I can do on the run, I order room service from the hotel in the evenings and eat in my room. It’s not much fun but I can’t face going to the dining room on my own, and at least in my room I can watch television or read, which gives me a little company.

I can also check my emails. Laura writes to tell me she’s safely back and that she went first class all the way. I wonder what Andrei makes of that, and I’ve only been in my new hotel for a night when the first message comes through:

Beth,

Why didn’t you take your return flight? Where are you?

A.

I stare at it, feeling pleased that I’ve managed to escape out from under Andrei’s observation. I suppose that as long as I was at the Soho Grand, he knew where to find me. Now I’ve slipped out of view and he doesn’t like that at all.

I don’t reply. Instead, I send a message to Dominic.

Hi sweetie

Guess what, Mark’s asked me to stay on in New York for a bit and work, how about that!! It’s amazing here, I’m really enjoying it but I’m working hard. No more shopping and cocktails for me, but Laura and I had a brilliant time together. I’ll be home at the end of the week and then heading back to my parents for Christmas. Where are you? What are you doing? When can we see each other? I miss you. I LONG for you in every way.

All my love

Beth

The next day, there’s another message from Andrei.

Beth,

Tell me where you are immediately.

A.

I laugh softly to myself.
Ha, ha, Mr Control. You don’t like this much, do you? Well, I’m not your possession and you don’t own me.
But I don’t want to enrage the tiger too much, in case he loses control and decides to let out his claws. I send back a brief reply.

Andrei,

I’m staying in New York for now.

B

I like that: as terse and direct as his own messages. There’s a reply from Dominic that’s all too short as well.

Gorgeous girl,

Exciting that you’re still in New York, where are you staying? Still firming up my Christmas plans. I’ll let you know. We’ll meet as soon as I’m free.

D x x

I know he’s busy but I still can’t help wishing he’d write me a little more in his messages. I send back another email telling him what I’ve been up to and where I am but he doesn’t reply immediately. Out on the black runs again, no doubt.

The upside is that my work is fascinating. I love what I’m learning about the international art market and how Mark works with his business rivals so that they can all make a good living in this curious world. The hours slide by almost with my noticing them and when I find myself sitting in a Christie’s auction, raising my paddle to bid for a Chagall, I practically have to pinch myself. The Chagall goes to a Chinese phone bidder in the end, but even so, I’m thrilled to have been there among all the other dealers. I have a coffee with the head of twentieth-century art afterwards and then return to my hotel for lunch before my afternoon appointment, which is in a part of town I haven’t been to before, uptown on the West Side.