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‘It’s not what I want, but if it’s the only way... We really do have a chance with this, don’t we?’
Matty looked up as the woman in red walked past him down the aisle, the satin of her dress catching the light with every slow, steady step. His eyes zoned in on her legs again. They were quite something. And the way the skirt swished gently above her elegant calves with every step she took triggered a strong response. An unwelcome response.
‘Matty?’
‘We’ve got a really great chance,’ he said, refocusing. ‘There’s no other private bank that reeks of old money and old values like ours. Claudio has turned his bank into just another sales-driven call centre. There’s nothing sure and solid and honest about it. We’re unique. Second only to Arturo in terms of stature.’
‘I know. We just have to hope that stature and honesty are what he’s looking for.’
‘It’s going to be all about the chemistry. And the fact that we’ve still not floated on the stock exchange. That’s why we’re ahead of Claudio—no matter what kind of offer he makes Arturo. I’m sure of it. In fact, I’m so sure I’m going to bet you that I land an invitation to Arturo’s villa when we’re at the Cordon D’Or Regatta. It’s going to be a slow burn, but that’s where I intend to start.’
He turned at the sound of water being poured. A squat crystal glass was placed down. He saw long, elegant fingers. Long, slim arms bare in the strapless red dress. And beaming down at him the dimpled smile of an angel.
‘Thanks.’ He frowned, automatically turning his head to watch her walk away. Mistake. His eyes narrowed on the smooth white skin above the red bodice of her dress, the delicate bones and long, swanlike neck. She was absolutely beautiful.
He was far too busy to allow himself any distractions. What the hell was David playing at?
‘That’ll be a start. But it’ll take more than a little corporate hospitality at the Cordon D’Or to win him over. He’s the last of the old guard. You’d better make sure your social media profile is squeaky clean. If there’s a hint of any more scandal he’ll pull up his drawbridge before you get within a mile of it.’
‘There won’t be any more. You can rely on that.’
He bitterly regretted there being any at all. And the timing was a disaster. He drummed his fingers on the window, traced the water droplets as they shook their way across the glass. His media presence had never been an issue before. Not until his most recent ex, Lady Faye, had started to feed the story of their break-up to the press. Now he was the ‘City Love Rat’, destroying the life of any woman who got close, stringing her along with promises of marriage and then dumping her disgracefully.
The truth was nothing like that. He never promised anything beyond the first date—as every one of his ex-girlfriends could testify.
Over the years he had carefully developed the symptoms of full-blown commitment phobia—the best possible illness for any confirmed bachelor to suffer from. Married to the job. Workaholic. Unashamedly, indubitably yes. He didn’t commit to anything he couldn’t see through to the end and he would never, ever commit to a woman the way he had once committed to his first love, Sophie.
He had lost his dad, lost his path in life and then lost her. There would be no more loss. He’d never be that vulnerable again.
‘I wish you’d let David handle it. We could have done some damage limitation at least.’
‘It’s not my style. I refuse to play the games those trashy media sharks want me to play. And I won’t get involved in any tit-for-tat about something that is nobody’s business. Faye was ill. That’s the only explanation. She believed something that wasn’t real and then when it didn’t fall into place the way she imagined she took it to the press the way she did with everything else. If she wasn’t minor royalty no one would have cared, and me weighing in with “my story” would have been the last thing to make it better. That would have just prolonged the whole sorry mess.’
‘I know that. But because you refused to even make a statement people think you’re some sort of pariah. I hate anybody to think badly of you when I know what you’re really like. It upset me reading that stuff.’
‘So do as I do and don’t read it.’
He heard her sigh and it cut him. It was easy for him to brush it off. What did he care what a bunch of people who didn’t know him thought? It was ridiculous, worrying about stuff like that. But his mother was different. She cared. Deeply. About him and the bank. And everyone else too. She cared too much.
‘I’m sorry, Mamma. But I can’t turn the clock back. It’ll all blow over and then it’ll be some other poor sod’s turn to be vilified.’
The woman in red was reaching up to put linens in the cupboard. Her arms were as slender and pale as long-stemmed lilies, her moves graceful and elegant. Her hair hung in a dark ponytail down her back, shiny and thick and long. She turned to glance at him, her dark eyes coy and unsure. He knew that look. He knew where it could go...
‘Hang on.’ He walked to the bedroom at the other end of the cabin and closed the door. ‘Have you heard from David? He’s not here and some woman is in his place. It’s totally out of character for him just to send in agency staff like this...’
‘Ah, I think you must be talking about Ruby. What do you think? Isn’t she lovely?’
His mother had that excited tone in her voice that made him instantly aware...
‘That’s not in dispute,’ he said. ‘But I was hoping David would be looking after things for me until I said otherwise. What’s going on?’
‘Don’t get upset, Matty. I’m up to my eyes and I needed David to finish off the branding work with the new advertising agency. No one knows our business better than him.’
‘You’ve pulled rank and left me with a newbie?’
‘I met Ruby,’ she said, ignoring him, ‘and I was very impressed. She’s a fast learner—I think you two will get along fine. And you’ll have David back on Monday.’
His mother was still holding something back. He was sure of it.
‘You know she’s dressed in a cocktail dress? A very nice cocktail dress, but it’s not exactly work wear. Is there something else you’ve forgotten to tell me?’
Like last month, when she’d only remembered to tell him he had to make an after-dinner speech at the International Women in Finance dinner an hour before the canapés were served. Or the time when he’d had to present a prize at a kindergarten they sponsored on the way home from the casino. It was getting to be a bit of a habit, her asking him these last-minute ‘favours’ now that she was neck-deep in charity work.
‘Ah. Now you mention it...’
Here it came.
‘I’m afraid I’m still in Senegal, and there is one tiny engagement that needs to be covered tonight. You’re in London anyway—so it’s right on your doorstop. And who knows? Maybe you’ll net some good press coverage from it too! Wouldn’t that be lovely? Matty? Are you still there?’
Matty’s fingers slid down the veneer of the door as one by the one all his party plans burst like bubbles in champagne.
‘It’s for charity, darling. The underprivileged.’
Of course it was. It was what she did. While he took care of the nuts and bolts of the business she got on with all the charity and philanthropy. She was amazing at getting the rich and famous to part with cash and favours for the various charities the bank sponsored. It worked perfectly well—if only she would remember to tell him when she needed him.
‘OK. You’ve guilt-tripped me. I’m in.’ He sighed. ‘What’s involved?’
‘It’s an arts benefit premiere at the King’s.’
‘As long as it’s not dance. You know I can’t stand men in tights.’
‘Did you say dance? Yes, it’s my favourite company—the British Ballet. Don’t groan, darling. All you have to do is a quick photo-call on the red carpet and shake some hands afterwards. Everything is arranged. I know you like to be prepared, so I’ve asked Ruby to look after things. She has your itinerary, and there’s nothing she doesn’t know about dance. She’s one of the British Ballet’s soloists, but she’s recovering from injury at the moment—a dreadful year she’s had, poor thing.’
He opened the door into the cabin and right on cue the gorgeous Ruby appeared. So she wasn’t agency staff—she was a dancer. Well, that checked out. Her posture was perfect...her body was perfect. But why on earth was she serving him iced water at twenty thousand feet?
Suddenly it all became clear.
He went back into the bedroom and closed over the door.
‘This is a roundabout way of saying that you met someone with another hard luck story and took her under your wing.’
‘I know what you’re thinking and I’m not going to lie. Ruby’s had a tough time, but she’s not a victim. This isn’t all a one-way street, so you can relax.’
‘Well, what is it, then?’
His mother was always feeling sorry for some waif or stray, and they didn’t all have the best of intentions. He’d had years rooting out the swindlers and the chancers from the genuinely broken people who seemed to flock towards her. For all she was a shrewd businesswoman, she was also immensely gullible when it came to anyone with a hard luck story.
‘Matty, there is nothing for you to worry about! Ruby is not going to trick me out of my millions. She’s completely dedicated to the British Ballet, but she’s off with an injury so this is her way of keeping involved. But if you’d rather have one of the men in tights I’m sure that can be arranged...?’
He shook his head in disbelief. Once again she’d twisted him around her little finger. How could he resist anything his mother said? After all she’d done for him, holding it together all these years. They were tight—a unit. They had been since his father’s death and always would be. It was that simple.
And if ever he had a moment when he doubted anything he heard his father’s voice—his conscience, whatever—whispering in his ear. There was no way his mother’s wishes would go unheeded. Ever.
‘OK. As long as she doesn’t get the wrong idea.’
‘That part’s entirely up to you, Matteo.’
He caught the slight note of censure in her voice—and the double meaning. She knew his vices as much as he did himself. The fact that he didn’t want a long-term relationship didn’t mean that he wanted to spend his evenings alone.
‘OK, Mamma. I didn’t mean with me, but we’ll let that pass.’
‘I’m sorry, darling, I don’t mean to have a dig. But it upsets me that women are so disposable to you. I know you could have a happy life if only you’d let yourself settle down with someone. At the end of the day I’m your mother, and I only want what’s best for you.’
‘What’s best for me is what’s best for the bank. That’s all I’m interested in. Not settling down with a woman. I’m not saying that I’ll always feel this way, but for now, until I’ve got past this hurdle, the bank is all there is.’
The words were out. As plain as numbers on a balance sheet. Irrevocable. No room for misinterpretation. Profit. Loss. Black. White. No shades of grey, no emotion colouring things. Just following the dream. His father’s dream. And now it was his. Like it or not.
CHAPTER TWO (#u20e16661-5c0a-5ffc-8bc1-fb5d01570d65)
FLIGHT AT SIX, land at seven-thirty, less an hour for time difference. Half-hour to get to the theatre. It would be a miracle if she pulled it off without a hitch.
Ruby stood in the middle of the cabin and stared—left to the cockpit and right, all the way to the firmly closed bedroom door, where Matteo Rossini, company sponsor, heart-throb and all-round Love Rat was still taking calls while the minutes ticked past.
She shook her head and stared down at her arms, where blotches and hives were beginning their stress march across her skin—a sure sign that she was out of her comfort zone.
It was bad enough that she’d been on the bench for months, waiting for this ligament damage to heal, but now she was hurtling towards London, and the world premiere of Two Loves, with the job of convincing their sponsor that the British Ballet was worth every penny of the money his private bank channelled their way.
So much responsibility—and she was the last person they should have trusted to do this.
If it had been Coral Rossini herself it would have been fine. She was the Grande Dame of Dance. She’d been a massive support to the company for years. She was loved and gave love in return, supporting them at every premiere. But not this time. This time her second-in-command was stepping in.
And when the director had passed Ruby that note, with a Who’s the lucky girl? look on his face, it had been all she could do to stop herself from groaning aloud, Hopefully not me...
She’d read Coral Rossini’s note.
So lovely to meet you again yesterday!
I’ve suddenly realised you would be the ideal person to look after my son Matteo at the benefit on Friday. He’s not the biggest fan of dance but I’m sure you’ll work your magic.
I have taken the liberty of sending some things for you. And some things for Matteo to wear too.
Don’t worry if he puts up a fight—he’s a pussycat really!
Ciao!
Coral x
She’d stared at the note, her heart tumbling into her stomach, and then opened the bags and boxes of clothes, all beautifully wrapped and folded in tissue. There had been the red dress—a froth of satin and petticoats—a wrap with a beautiful Chinese poppy print, beige court shoes and a little matching clutch. Then she’d found a red tie and pocket square for Matteo to wear, and tucked into an envelope was a cheque for a thousand pounds.
A thousand pounds! That had made it even more impossible to say no. No one could afford to turn her nose up at that kind of money. But for this? She just wasn’t cut out for schmoozing with the people who hung around the fringes of the dance world. She couldn’t care less who was famous or rich or both.
The director had been quite up-front about it.
‘I can trust you to do it. Some of the other girls might get a bit carried away, but you’ve got your head screwed on. You’ll not let us down. Or yourself...’
He was right about that. She’d been with the British Ballet longer than anyone else—it had been home and school and friends and family to her for years. She’d come up through the ranks from eleven years old and she had no ambition to go anywhere else or do anything else. She was safe there. It was all she knew. And all she wanted to know.
Others came, made friends, found lovers, moved on. They had lives outside of the studio and the theatre. They went to parties and spoke about their families. They knew not to ask her about hers. She knew they were curious, but they accepted her silence. Who’d want to talk about that, after all? The gap year father who just kept on travelling, and the teenage mother who hadn’t been able to accept the curfew demanded by a newborn baby.
Thank God for dance. That was her silent prayer. Without dance she would still be the millstone around her mother’s neck or the fatherless obsessive—scouring the internet, searching for his face in the crowd, dreaming about reconciliations that would never happen...
‘Hi. I’m Matteo. Good to meet you.’
She startled at the sound of his voice and dropped the bag of peanuts she’d been about to open.
Deep breath, big smile, and turn.
‘Ruby. Hello.’ She smiled as she neatly grabbed the bag and extended her hand.
She had to admit he was even more of a heart-throb up close—and so tall. His tie hung loosely, like a rope on the wall of his wide chest. She gazed up past thick broad shoulders to a blunt jaw and a full-lipped mouth. His nose was broad and long, broken at the bridge, and his eyes, when she reached them, were sharp brown berries, tucked deep into a frown.
He shook her hand. Warmly...firmly. Then dropped his hand away. She found herself staring at the half-smile on his lips, noticing how wide and full they were, and thinking that with his longer-than-collar-length hair he looked more like a romantic poet trapped in a boxer’s body than a boring banker.
‘Everything OK?’
Bang, bang, bang. Words were fired out like bullets at a target, and his eyes were taking in everything. Every. Thing. They darted all over her face and swept up the rest of her—and maybe it was the close confines of the plane, or the fact that he had such a presence, or the fact that she was not used to standing in heels serving drinks to a total stranger at twenty thousand feet, but her footing faltered and she had to reach out to hold the back of a seat for balance.
‘Yes. I—I was just going to pour you another drink and find some snacks and...’
‘No problem. I’m fine for drinks and snacks. But apparently I’m heading to the ballet now, which is quite a turn of events.’
‘Yes,’ she said, regaining perfect balance and poise. ‘To see Two Loves. The premiere. We’re so excited. It’s an amazing production.’
And it was. And she’d have given anything to be in it. But because of this hideous injury she wasn’t even in the corps. Instead she’d had to pack her day with teaching junior classes and attending physio. And serving Love Rats...
‘And you’re the face of the British Ballet. That’s good. That’s really good,’ he said, scanning her again and nodding as if in fact it was really bad. ‘Done your homework, I take it? I’ll need to know the names and the bios of the people we’re going to see.’
He moved around the cabin now and she stood there, not quite sure if she was supposed to follow him, reassure him, or disappear off the face of the earth.
She watched him turn on a screen that flashed stock exchange numbers. He glanced at it, then changed it quickly to sports. He folded his arms and stared at the screen as a commentator’s voice rose to a crescendo over the roar of a crowd. She looked to see what it was—men charging into one another, with mud-splattered thighs as big as tree trunks, ears and noses like Picasso paintings, all grabbing for an oval shaped ball as if it was the Holy Grail. Rugby. Yuck. How could anyone get excited about that?
‘Come on!’ he grunted at the players on the screen as he moved towards it.
Obviously Matteo Rossini did. She waited...and watched, but it was as if she had become a part of the furniture, as incidental as the beige leather chairs. He might have the looks, but he had none of his mother’s charm.
Suddenly he turned, caught her gawping, and frowned. He pressed the remote control ‘off’ and tossed it down on the chair.
‘I have plans for later, so I’d like this to be all wrapped up by ten. Shall we make a start?’
