Kitabı oku: «Platinum Coast», sayfa 2
‘I have no regrets. It has been a labour of love. I wish to leave Christina and Victoria 24 per cent of the company each in the hope that, now that I am dead, they may settle their differences and unite to prevent Antonio Cellini gaining control of Platinum Hotels.
‘That is something I do not wish to happen.’
There was a concerted gasp from everyone around the table as they shot Antonio embarrassed looks. His eyes smouldered and he reddened slightly, but he made no comment as Robert continued.
‘Without me there to prevent it, I am afraid Antonio will drag the company down.’
At this he finally exploded. Everyone jumped as he smashed his clenched fist onto the table’s polished surface, rattling the glasses and upsetting Victoria’s cup. Coffee spilled onto her new Chanel suit. She frantically dabbed at the seeping brown stain with a tissue, then glared at him ferociously.
‘I suppose it’s too much to expect an apology?’
‘For Chrissake, shut up!’ he barked at her. ‘I’ll buy you a dozen designer suits.’
Robert looked up from the letter. He was tempted to smile. Cellini had always made him feel inadequate, and now he was enjoying the chance to observe the Italian’s discomfiture. ‘May I continue?’ he enquired with a trace of smug satisfaction.
‘Yeah, you can continue,’ snarled Antonio, ‘but don’t expect me to hang around here if there’s gonna be much more of this crap. Just cut out all the amateur dramatics and get to the point.’
His voice became even more angry. ‘Christ, this is just typical of Stephen! That sonofabitch loved to play power games with people and even now he’s dead he’s still stringing us along. All we want to know is, who’s holding the remainder of the shares? When we know that we can get down to the real business.’
Robert had never been on the receiving end of Antonio Cellini’s legendary temper and wasn’t about to change that now. He became conciliatory. ‘There’s not much more.’
‘Then get on with it,’ snapped Antonio. Robert cleared his throat and continued.
‘Several years ago, for reasons I choose not to disclose, I was forced to part with a substantial proportion of my company. The shareholder, my half-brother Edward Harrington, who holds 28 per cent of Platinum Resorts, has always preferred to remain anonymous and let me act in his best interests but, in the event of my death, I am certain he will make himself known to you.
‘I must warn you that my half-brother is not to be trusted, not under any circumstances, and I am absolutely opposed to his becoming involved in any way with the running of Platinum Resorts.
‘You must always be on your guard against this man. As the other shareholders in the company, you must try to get rid of him in any way you can. Buy him out, but get rid of him. This is vitally important.
‘This is my last wish and I entrust you, particularly Christina and Victoria, with the task of carrying it out.
‘I would like to think that Platinum Resorts will enter the next decade with the same vigour and style that have made it the phenomenal success that it is today.
‘Thank you, Christina, for putting up with my obsession and loving me in spite of everything.
‘Finally, I wish all of you everything I would have wished for myself. Especially longevity.
‘Take care, and bonne chance.’
The sight of Stephen’s signature, still bold and authoritative while his body was now at the mercy of the sea, caused Robert’s voice to falter.
For a while there was a silence in the room, broken only by the soft patter of raindrops on the window panes.
Then Victoria’s voice cut crisply into the silence. ‘This is quite incredible, you know. Daddy and Uncle Edward never got on, barely saw each other. They were only half-brothers in any case. There is absolutely no reason I can think of why my father should leave Edward Harrington a controlling interest in his company.’
The Swiss lawyer glanced at her sympathetically. ‘I appreciate this has come as a shock to you, Miss Reece-Carlton, but your father’s instructions were crystal-clear. It seems that, for whatever reason, Mr Reece-Carlton intended Edward Harrington to benefit.’
‘For whatever reason,’ thought Christina. A lawyerly euphemism if ever she’d heard one. Like Victoria, she could think of no reason why Stephen should have left Edward a stake in the company he had loved. Why, she could remember him refusing his half-brother the loan of a few hundred pounds once. And now to leave him all this? It didn’t make sense.
‘But why all the goddamned secrecy?’ Antonio exploded. ‘So far as I knew, Stephen wouldn’t give his fag brother the time of day. I just don’t believe he could do this! I mean, legally, didn’t he have to notify me? We were partners, for Chrissake.’
Herr Wagner shuddered delicately at the choice of words, but hastened to assure them: ‘Mr Reece-Carlton acted quite properly. On his instructions I formed an offshore company and issued 28 per cent of the registered stock to Mr Harrington. An entirely legal manoeuvre, of course.’
Antonio snorted. ‘Legal, perhaps, but something here stinks. I’m not letting Harrington get his fat little pinkies on my company!’
Christina chose that moment to intervene. ‘Don’t you mean our company?’
For once, Victoria agreed with her. ‘Yes. By my reckoning we three are equal partners, Antonio, dear, holding 24 per cent each.’
Kingsleigh Klein broke in: ‘That’s certainly the current position, but aren’t you forgetting Stephen’s express wish that his half-brother should not be allowed to take part in the running of the company?’ He looked at Nicolas Wagner, who nodded slightly. ‘And I’m not breaking any professional confidences if I tell you that Mr Harrington himself has no intention of becoming involved in the running of Platinum Resorts. I believe you have been talking with him, Herr Wagner?’
The Swiss lawyer allowed himself a careful smile. ‘While delighted by his brother’s generosity, Mr Harrington made it quite plain to me that he does not see business as his forte. He wishes to sell his holding and has instructed me to act on his behalf. Naturally I would approach the other stockholders first.’
‘Now you’re talking language I understand. How much does this bozo want, and how soon can you arrange a transfer to me?’ rasped Antonio.
Christina felt her temples throb with suppressed annoyance. The man was impossible. ‘Hang on a minute, Antonio. There’s more than one guest at this party,’ she reminded him.
So far she had taken a back seat in this discussion. The news of the bequest to Edward had both shocked and surprised her – it seemed such an uncharacteristic move for Stephen to make. But now Antonio’s arrogant presumption had got through to her and she was determined to challenge him. He had no automatic right to those shares. No more than herself or, God forbid, Victoria.
‘Herr Wagner. I take it you would be equally happy to dispose of the shares to any of the existing shareholders?’
He inclined his head. ‘That is so. Mr Reece-Carlton foresaw there might be some – how shall I say? – healthy competition, and I have considered how best to handle it. I presume you will all three be bidding for Mr Harrington’s holding?’
He was looking specifically at Victoria who murmured, ‘Naturally.’ Christina’s heart sank. Her stepdaughter was twenty-one, had never held down a job or even completed her studies. Yet, with all the arrogance she had inherited from her father, she seemed quite convinced that she could step into his shoes.
‘I think, my dear, as your trustee …’ Robert Leyton began to bluster.
Victoria turned huge blue-grey eyes directly on him. ‘Uncle Robert, I know this is what my father would want. Obviously I need your consent to proceed, but you won’t withhold it, will you? After all, I am my father’s daughter.’
He shrugged and glanced slightly shamefacedly at Christina. She was not surprised. Father or daughter, Robert Leyton never could refuse a Reece-Carlton.
‘Then, with Mr Leyton acting on your behalf as trustee, I will accept a bid from you,’ Nicolas Wagner told Victoria. ‘I think the simplest and quickest way of handling this is to take sealed bids from all of you for outright control of Mr Harrington’s holding. I suggest we reconvene here in this office in one week’s time. That should give you all the chance to review your affairs and give me your best offer.’
Antonio was far from happy with this suggestion. ‘Now hold on a minute. Christina, Vicky, come on!’ His tone was heavily condescending. ‘It doesn’t have to come to this, surely? Competing like enemies after all the ties there’ve been between our two families.’ He put one bronzed hand on his heart. ‘If I promise, on the memory of my dead mother, to run the company just exactly as Stephen would have liked, can’t we just forget this competition shit? I mean, surely you do realize how much money I’ve got behind me? This is just a lawyer’s way of beefing up his fixer’s fee.’
It was such a phoney act it was almost laughable, Christina thought. But before she could reject the suggestion, Victoria was replying, her remarkable eyes flashing a stormy blue-grey light.
‘No, Antonio, I’m sorry, but I just don’t believe you’d run Platinum Resorts the way Daddy would have wanted. Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll take my chance in the bidding.’
‘Me too,’ said Christina. ‘Stephen left his family more than well provided for. It was obviously his way of giving us a chance to keep control of Platinum Resorts.’
Victoria gave her a cold, contemptuous stare. ‘Less of the “us”, please. No matter what Daddy might have wished in his letter, I’m acting purely for myself in this. If my bid’s successful, Christina, you’re out. As far as I’m concerned you were never more than an interloper in this family.’
Christina drew in her breath. More than ten years of it, and yet Victoria’s venomous hatred still had the power to cut her like a knife. Such a depth of ill-feeling, just because Christina had had the temerity to become Stephen Reece-Carlton’s second wife.
Stephen, she prayed silently, show me what to do. I miss you so. Why did you push us all into this crazy competition? Was it just to prove how well you had taught us?
Or perhaps it was for another purpose altogether?
Oblivious to the others, wrapped in her own private thoughts, Christina leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes to hide the stinging tears that threatened. Perhaps, by taking part in this battle for control of Platinum Resorts, she could find the answers to the questions that haunted her night and day. Why had Stephen died? Who had entered their house in Barbados and pushed him to his death – for that it had been murder all along she was suddenly in no doubt at all.
Yet the man she had met eleven years before had been kind and generous, rich in more than monetary terms. How could she ever have dreamed it would one day come to this? One company and three contenders equally determined to wrest control. A regular scorpion’s nest after such golden beginnings …
Chapter One 1982
‘I declare the Westside Shopping and Leisure Centre officially open.’ Chris Gowan, the soap star from Coronation Street, smiled broadly at the flashing press cameras.
‘Thank you all for coming today.’ He had to shout above the deafening applause generated by thousands of eager, noisy shoppers gathered outside the huge new shopping mall on the outskirts of Manchester.
Six young model girls dressed in Wild West theme costumes and armed with a stack of promotional brochures walked towards the small rostrum where Chris was standing. Their appearance was greeted by loud whistles and jeers from a group of crested and tattooed punks pushing precariously close to the platform.
‘These beautiful girls will be mingling amongst you today …’ Chris held up his hand for quiet as the youths shouted in unison: ‘Get ‘em off.’
‘Later, lads, later.’ Chris grinned, and the punk rockers roared their approval. ‘The girls are laden with lots of free goodies for all of you.’ He paused before going on to say, ‘Westside Leisure Centre has something for everyone, and we are offering free gifts today and all of next week. Don’t forget to enter our free prize draw and you could be the lucky winner of a holiday for two in Majorca.’
This announcement caused another wave of whooping and yelling.
‘I do hope you will all enjoy shopping at Westside Leisure Centre.’
Chris Gowan stepped down from the small rostrum to join the six models, all wide, gleaming smiles, posed bodies and pouting lips directed at the press and local television cameras. He stood very close to one particular chestnut-haired girl, obviously appreciating the view over her low-cut boned bodice.
‘Do you mind?’ she hissed.
He winked and laughed. ‘No. Do you?’
Christina O’Neill remembered that he was the visiting celebrity and she was just one of the glamorous bodies recruited for the punters to ogle at during the opening ceremony. With a smile fixed firmly in place she moved off through the crowd, handing out brochures.
‘Can I interest you in one, sir?’ she asked a grinning, shaven-headed spectator, and instantly realized her mistake.
‘D’you hear that, lads?’ he asked his mates. ‘She fancies me. Yeah, come on, darlin’. I’d fancy one with you any day.’
Christina was about to tell him to get lost when he hooked his finger through the bright-red garter she was wearing and twanged it so hard against her leg that she jumped and dropped the pile of brochures she was holding. They scattered at her feet, some of them sliding across the ground.
Christina glared at him before bending down to retrieve the brochures.
‘I get so sick of men like you,’ she said angrily, as she rose to her feet and found herself staring, not at the leering youngster, but at a man in a beautifully cut dark-grey chalk-stripe suit. His thick brown hair was brushed away from a high forehead. She caught a hint of the subtle, tangy cologne he wore. Without knowing exactly how, she realized it was a very expensive one.
‘I’m sorry.’ She felt her face flush. ‘I wasn’t talking to you. I was about to tell that creep …’ – she pointed towards the punk, laughing and joking with his gang – ‘… exactly what I thought of him.’
She sighed and added, ‘Men!’
‘Not all of us are like that, you know.’
Christina looked directly into his pale-green eyes.
‘I’m beginning to wonder. So far I’ve had the misfortune of meeting too many of that variety.’ She smiled wryly and added, ‘I’m afraid it’s an occupational hazard.’
He glanced at the scanty saloon-girl’s outfit that accentuated her narrow waist and exposed most of her long, shapely legs, and nodded.
‘I can understand why.’
‘I must be mad, getting dressed up like this for a measly twenty-five pounds a day, but a gal’s got to eat.’ Her laughter held a hint of mischief, and he thought again that she was more than just another pretty girl.
‘At least I’ve met one gentleman.’ She smiled at him under downturned lashes as he handed her the brochures she had dropped. It seemed he was about to speak to her again when an older, slightly corpulent man approached, looking very agitated. She recognized Robert Leyton, one of the mall’s developers, who had contacted the agency to hire girls for the opening.
‘Stephen, there you are! Charles Naylor is waiting in the hospitality lounge. He’s scheduled to tee off at two and would like to see you before he goes.’
‘Mustn’t keep the man from his golf,’ Christina’s rescuer commented, then, before Robert could steer him away, he said, ‘By the way, I didn’t catch your name?’
Robert glared in their direction. ‘Stephen, Charles won’t wait much longer.’
He ignored the impatient voice and smiled at her, showing even white teeth.
‘My name’s Christina.’ She paused. ‘Christina O’Neill.’
‘I’ll see you later, Miss Christina O’Neill.’ His tone was emphatic.
‘Come on,’ Robert shouted, walking ahead.
Christina watched the two men walk away before being tapped on the shoulder by the tattooed arm of the punk rocker who insisted on showing her his fascinating assortment of chains attached to various parts of his anatomy. He took a dozen free offers and asked her out for a drink, much to the amusement of his motley crew of friends, who collapsed into shrieks of laughter when she refused the date.
She spent the next six hours giving away hundreds of free special-offer coupons, chatting to pensioners about the cost of living, placating fraught babies, fending off the unwelcome advances of gangs of unemployed youths, and being battered by an assortment of baby buggies, prams, and huge shopping bags.
‘A free gift of six bags of sugar, three jars of coffee and four boxes of tea with every purchase of food over £50 in Tesco.
‘A record voucher with every two LPs bought at Virgin Mega Store.
‘Two for the price of one with every purchase of an exotic new fragrance from Estee Lauder.
‘A holiday for two in Majorca in the Westside bumper holiday draw.’
Christina’s voice had lost all its sparkle and her throat and head ached as she repeated the list of free offers for the final time and handed out the last of her brochures.
It was seven o’clock and the last few stragglers were leaving the shopping centre. ‘Thank God that’s over,’ Christina said to Janine, a girl she knew vaguely from the same model agency, as they walked into the staff-room.
Janine sighed. ‘It’s bloody slave labour. I wish someone had warned me modelling was going to be like this.’
She took out a packet of cigarettes and handed one to Christina.
‘No thanks, I don’t smoke, but at this rate I think I might have to soon.’
They both sat down on a narrow wooden bench. Christina eased her aching feet out of the high-heeled black patent-leather shoes and wiggled her swollen toes.
‘Look at the state of me,’ she sighed, peeling the snagged black fish-net stockings down her slim legs and pointing to a large, sticky stain on her gaudy red-lace basque where a child had pressed a melting ice-lolly.
‘Whoever said modelling was glamorous ought to be shot,’ she commented.
Janine, clad in G-string panties with a stetson obscuring part of her face, was trying to pull a cowboy boot off one of her bruised feet. She nodded and replied through a haze of cigarette smoke.
‘It’s glamorous, Christina, when – or should I say if – you get into one of the big agencies in London. My friend Sharon works for Models One. She’s just finished a big calendar shoot with Patrick Lichfield. She went to the Caribbean for three weeks, came back really tanned and got signed up three days later to do another big tropical location shoot for Cosmo.’
Janine looked down at her distorted feet and then back at Christina.
‘Now that’s what I call glamorous modelling.’
Christina nodded and sighed, ‘I must admit I’ve thought about going to London lots of times, and if I have to do many more jobs like this I’ll be on the next train.’
Janine pushed the stetson to the back of her head and took a long drag on her cigarette, staring at Christina’s even profile.
‘You should go. You’re definitely pretty enough.’
Christina was about to accept the compliment when the girl went on, ‘I’m stuck here in Manchester whether I like it or not – that is, until my little boy gets older. At least here I can rely on my mum to look after him, and whatever I earn helps.’
Christina watched Janine stand up and pull on faded 501s and a blue chambray shirt.
‘How old is your son?’ Christina asked, and began to pull her own clothes out of a small leather grip.
‘Eighteen months.’ Janine hesitated before continuing, ‘He’s only got me, you see. I don’t even know where his father is.’ She shrugged, a resigned look on her pretty face. Picking up a shabby canvas bag, she said brightly, ‘Hope to see you around some time. I’m sure I will.’ She smiled warmly and her big brown eyes twinkled. ‘But take my advice and get yourself up to London. That’s where the real money and glamour are.’
‘Maybe I will,’ Christina replied, and waved as she left. She finished dressing, thinking about what the other girl had said. Perhaps it was time for a change, to try her luck in London? What had she to lose after all?
It was a few minutes after eight and raining heavily when Christina arrived at her small flat in West Didsbury, five miles south of Manchester city centre.
‘Susie, I’m home,’ she called as she turned the key in the front door and stepped into the narrow hall of the terraced house’s ground-floor flat. There was no reply. A few moments later she remembered that her flatmate was going out with Nick, her boyfriend, that night.
Christina was pleased to be alone. She was dog-tired and relieved not to have to listen to Susie’s incessant chatter. She walked into the tiny kitchen, planning to go to bed early with a large glass of white wine, a giant bag of Golden Wonder crisps, and Yuki, her Siamese cat, hopefully to be in a deep sleep before Susie and Nick could arrive back and keep her awake with their noisy lovemaking.
‘Shit.’ She slammed the fridge door shut angrily. ‘Thanks, Susie,’ she muttered, thinking how typical it was of her flatmate and the obnoxious Nick to drink the last drop of Christina’s Frascati.
She poured herself a large gin instead, filled the tumbler with warm tonic, and managed to find half an ice-cube under an out-of-date packet of frozen peas.
Christina picked up her cat, and carrying her under one arm, the gin and tonic in the other hand, and the bag of crisps held between her teeth, padded towards her bedroom.
There was a message sellotaped to her bedroom door, penned in Susie’s almost illegible scrawl.
Kate Mason from your agency rang. She asked if she could give a Mr Stephen Reece-Carlton your telephone number. He was trying to reach you urgently.
If he is the same Reece-Carlton I think he is, you’ve snared a big one, Chrissy!
Don’t wait up for me. Nick has been away for a week and is as horny as hell – had to do it before we left the house, so God knows what time I’ll emerge in the morning!
Sleep tight.
Susie.
‘Stephen Reece-Carlton?’ Christina said the name out loud. ‘Where have I heard that name before?’ she asked herself, and searched her memory whilst peeling off her clothes and hanging them carefully in the small fitted wardrobe.
She lay on top of the bed in a big baggy nightshirt and took a deep gulp of her gin and tonic. Yuki crept across the bedspread and snuggled close to her. Christina tickled the cat’s tummy, enjoying the softness of her warm coat.
It was then she remembered where she had seen the name before. Stephen Reece-Carlton was co-owner with Robert Leyton of the Westside Shopping Centre – his name had been mentioned in the Manchester Evening News a couple of weeks ago. Stephen … she remembered Robert Leyton’s behaviour towards the man she had been talking to at the mall. They had obviously been business associates. Pale-green eyes, a strong determined jaw … So that was Stephen Reece-Carlton!
Maybe this time she would let Kate pass on her number, something she had automatically refused on every occasion before now.
‘Christina, you must go out with him. You’re mad if you don’t,’ Susie said between mouthfuls of cornflakes.
‘Why must I just because he calls my agency and asks for my private number?’
‘Then he calls you ten minutes after he gets the number and asks you out. If that’s not keen, what is?’ Susie cut in.
‘I don’t even know the man. Why should I go out with a complete stranger?’ Christina said, and took a sip of tea from a Snoopy mug she was holding.
Susie scooped up the last of her cornflakes and pointed the spoon in her direction.
‘He’s filthy, stinking rich, that’s why.’
Christina raised her clear brown eyes, ‘I might have known that would be your reaction. For God’s sake, Susie, is that all you can think about? The size of their wallet?’
Susie pulled a face, considering. ‘The size of their dick?’
Christina burst out laughing in spite of herself.
‘I could get lucky, Susie. He might be blessed in both departments.’
‘Then, my girl, you’ve hit the jackpot. Go on, call him back and tell him you’ll see him.’
‘I’ve already told him I’m busy next Thursday. I promised to go to Robin’s party and that was the only night Stephen could make it. He lives in London and only comes up here occasionally.’
Christina looked at Susie, who shook her head in disgust. ‘Robin Hargreaves is the biggest wimp in the entire county – possibly the whole country! Come on, Christina.’
She agreed with Susie and her voice was lame when she said, ‘But I’ve promised Robin. He’d be so disappointed.’
Susie ignored her. Standing up from the tiny kitchen table, she walked to the sink and filled the kettle with water to make a fresh cup of tea. She caught sight of herself in a small mirror stuck on the front of the fridge door and groaned.
‘God, I look like death warmed up. That Nick is insatiable. In fact, I’ve decided the man’s an animal.’ She giggled, and Christina smiled.
‘I must say I have seen you looking better, but you’re crazy about him, so don’t complain.’
Susie nodded. ‘But he’s broke and I get sick of always having to take him out.’ She paused. ‘Now, if I had your looks and the opportunity to go out with a big fat fish like Reece-Carlton, I’d be there with my boots blacked and my pussy powdered.’
‘Susie!’ Christina pretended to look shocked before saying, ‘I will call him back, I promise, but not today. I’m sure Mr Reece-Carlton can have plenty of girls at the snap of his fingers, so it won’t hurt to play hard to get.’
Susie winked. ‘Good girl. But whatever you do, don’t keep him waiting too long. Let’s be fair – Robin Hargreaves will wait forever, but I doubt Stephen Reece-Carlton will do the same.’
‘Good morning. Metropole Leisure. How can I help you?’
Christina’s heart began racing as soon as she heard the receptionist’s voice.
‘Mr Reece-Carlton, please.’ She made her voice sound crisp and businesslike.
‘Mr Reece-Carlton is in a meeting,’ the impersonal voice informed her. ‘If you wish to leave a message I can transfer you to his secretary.’
Christina was about to say she would call back when the secretary’s voice came on the line.
‘Good morning, Rachael Newton speaking. How can I help you?’
This voice sounded older and kinder. Christina felt more at ease.
‘I would like to speak to Mr Reece-Carlton, please.’
‘I’m afraid he’s in a meeting. Can I help you with anything?’
Christina paused, deliberating as to whether to leave a message or not, when the secretary said, ‘Oh, Mr Reece-Carlton has just walked out of the meeting and will be able to speak to you now. Please hold.’
Christina was holding the receiver with one clammy hand whilst doodling on a message pad with the other. She was suddenly gripped by an overwhelming urge to put the telephone down when she heard him say, ‘Hello, this is Stephen Reece-Carlton.’
His voice sounded deeper than she remembered from their brief meeting at the shopping mall and even briefer telephone conversation two days after that.
‘Good morning, this is Christina O’Neill.’
There was a short pause which seemed interminable, and she thought for one terrible minute that he had forgotten who she was.
‘Sorry, Christina. Can you hold for one minute? My private line is ringing.’ He did not wait for her to reply, and she held the silent receiver for a few minutes more before Stephen’s voice returned, bright and enthusiastic now.
‘How are you?’ He seemed genuinely pleased to hear from her. She felt encouraged.
‘I’m fine, thanks, and you?’
‘Busy as usual, but delighted you rang. I’m planning to come up to Manchester on Thursday as I said, and the offer still stands. I’d love to take you out to dinner if you can make it.’
‘I did have a date, as I told you when you rang, but the party has been cancelled,’ she lied. ‘So the answer’s yes, I’d really like to go out for dinner with you.’
‘You don’t sound sure about that, Christina.’ Stephen had detected the hesitation in her voice.
She forced herself to sound more self-confident. She wanted to see him again, but wasn’t used to such a high-powered approach. Packed schedule, private line, deferential secretary – she had a sneaking suspicion that Stephen Reece-Carlton was out of her league.
‘Of course I’m sure,’ she forced herself to say lightly. ‘I wouldn’t be calling you otherwise, would I.’
He laughed. ‘That’s true. Okay, Miss O’Neill, we’ve got a date. I don’t know where you live but I’ll be staying at the Midland Hotel on St Peter’s Square, so if you give me your address …’
She interrupted. ‘We could meet at the Midland. I’ll be working in town that day so that would suit me fine. Say 7.30 in the bar, if that’s okay with you?’
‘Perfect,’ he said. ‘Till Thursday, then, Christina. I’ll look forward to it. Bye for now.’
He rang off as she was saying goodbye.
She replaced the receiver, pleased that her heart had stopped racing and excited now about her forthcoming date.
‘Finished?’ her agent, Kate Mason, asked as she walked into the small, cluttered office where Christina had been using the telephone. She walked towards her desk, a large envelope in her elegant, manicured hands.
‘Yes thanks, Kate. I’ll pay you for the call. It was urgent and couldn’t wait until I got home.’
‘No problem, be my guest.’ Kate detected a slight nervousness in Christina’s voice. ‘Are you okay?’ she enquired.
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