Lucy Gordon - The Monte Carlo Proposal

‘I guess neither of us did,’ he replied, with meaning.

After that we fell silent for a while, both of us thinking over what we’d just said, what we’d left unsaid, and what we both understood.

‘I’m only saying,’ I resumed at last, ‘that I could be all kinds of gold-digger, just biding my time, waiting to ask for more.’

‘And last night? Covering me with bruises?’

‘I didn’t know who you were.’

‘A true gold-digger would have known who I was. You have no idea about these women, Della. They have filing systems, filled with photographs of men, plus full details of every penny they possess. They know more about my assets than I do. And you’re not like that. I know you.’

‘You don’t know me.’

‘I do.’

‘Don’t.’

‘Do.’

The waiter appeared again and we fell silent, trying not to laugh.

When the soufflé had been served, with a different wine, he returned to the subject.

‘If I assume most women are fortune hunters it’s because those are the kind I tend to meet. Maybe some of them aren’t, but it gets hard to tell the difference. Women have come to feel almost unreal to me. In fact, so do most things.’

I sipped from my glass, and the wine felt like heaven. Seeing the look on my face, he refilled the glass.

‘Of course,’ he added, a tad too casually, ‘there is one thing that could give me cause for suspicion about you, and that’s the fact that you’re so secretive about yourself. Now if you could just come up with a few personal details I could stop worrying…’

‘Too late!’ I told him, laughing. ‘You should have played that card about five minutes ago. You’ve missed the trick now.’

‘I was afraid of that,’ he said. ‘If this were a boardroom I’d have known exactly when to play it. But sitting here with you, like this-I’m confused.’

‘Good,’ I told him. ‘I prefer that.’

‘I’m not going to win a single round with you, am I?’

I shook my head.

‘I know it’s hard to believe-’ he sighed ‘-but when I’m out of the boardroom all my confidence deserts me, and then I need help.’

He gave me a pathetic smile that would have knocked me out if I hadn’t been getting thoroughly suspicious.

I’ll be honest. It knocked me out anyway. This man could get to you even when you knew he was up to every trick.

‘Don’t-you-dare,’ I breathed slowly. ‘Don’t you dare sit there and play for sympathy. Do I look stupid?’

‘You look good enough to eat,’ he said shamelessly.

‘I’m warning you, Jack. Do not ask me to feel sorry for you. And take that penitent look off your face, because that doesn’t fool me either.’

He gave his brilliant grin.

‘It was worth a try,’ he said. ‘But perhaps I should have known better. You see through me. That’s the nicest thing about you.’ He added in a considering tone, ‘Well-almost the nicest.’

He waited for me to pick up on his last words. Our eyes met-his querying, mine telling him he could wait for ever. He backed down first.

‘Touché,’ he said, raising his glass to me.

We understood each other perfectly.

‘Tell me about Bully Jack,’ I said.

He groaned. ‘Not you too. I told you, he’s an invention. He gives my PR department something to do, and that’s about all. OK, a reputation for ruthlessness can sometimes be useful. And Grace fosters it. She has actually given newspaper interviews, painting Bully Jack in lurid colours.’

‘Why does Grace have such a hold over you?’

‘Because she looked after me when our father died. I was fifteen. He did a very unfair thing, leaving me everything and her nothing. I put it right as soon as I could, so justice has been done if we’re only talking about money. But I’ve swallowed up her life, and it’s a bit late for her to reclaim it now.’

‘But you must be in your thirties,’ I protested. ‘So she could have reclaimed her life at least ten years ago.’

‘Well,’ he said vaguely, ‘she felt she should go on looking after me. And of course I’m grateful.’

In my opinion Grace had become domineering and power-hungry, playing on his feelings of guilt. I didn’t think he’d swallowed up her life, but I could see her swallowing his.

I didn’t say so, because I could see that this was something he was unwilling to confront. He had a kind heart, and it undermined his attempts to break free.

Over coffee he became businesslike, outlining the salary he intended to pay me. When I protested that it was too much he said briskly, ‘That’s enough out of you. Drink up. We still have jewellery to buy.’

He considered me like a film director planning a shot.

‘You’re going to be a challenge. The gamine look isn’t easy to adorn. Trying to put a tiara on hair as short as yours can be the very devil. Luckily you have a nice long neck, so we can hang some long earrings on you.’

‘I don’t like long earrings,’ I said defiantly.

‘You’ll do as you’re told,’ he told me, with his nicest grin-i.e. his wickedest. There was no difference.

‘Oh, will I?’

‘Yes, you will. You see, I’m going to be a tyrant-no, don’t giggle. It’s time you found out what a tyrant I am. So if I want you in long diamond earrings, you’ll wear them. The same applies to pearls, emeralds, sapphires, rubies-’

‘Rubies don’t suit me.’

‘Don’t interrupt. Really top class rubies suit everyone. If you think otherwise you’ve been accepting them from the wrong men-cheapskates who didn’t get you the best.’

He left the question hanging in the air. I refused to answer, other than to say, ‘Is that so?’

‘That’s so.’

‘I must send them a memo,’ I said lightly.

‘Do. And while you’re at it tell them that you’re mine now, so they can just stop thinking about you.’

‘I never let any man stop thinking about me,’ I said firmly. ‘After all, why should they?’

‘No reason at all that I can think of,’ he said, in a voice that was suddenly soft and vibrant.

Shivers went through me at that sound. I waited, hoping he would pursue the subject. When he didn’t I tossed an ember on the fire.

‘Anyway, you know nothing at all about my friends or what they think of,’ I said lightly.

His eyes met mine, teasing, challenging.

‘You know as well as I do what every man who sees you thinks of,’ he said with meaning.

That morning in the great bed, his naked body touching mine, responding to me, making me respond to him against my will, the sight of him dashing across the carpet to the bathroom in all his glory. Everything came back to me in a moment, making me warm all over with intense delight.

‘I know what they think of, and I know what I think of,’ I said with a shrug. ‘They’re not necessarily the same thing.’

‘Well, it’s time for you to turn your attention to this afternoon’s purchases,’ he said, using the voice of a man forcing himself back to normal. ‘It’s not just jewellery, but anything else you can think of. What? What is it?’

I’d burst out laughing.

‘You should keep your voice down. Do you realise how many people heard you say that? You know what they’ll think?’

‘They’ll think I’m crazy about you,’ he said, smiling.

‘No, they won’t. They’ll think I’m your tart, your bit on the side, your kept woman.’

‘You sound as though you’d enjoy that.’

‘In reality I probably wouldn’t, but I’ve always had this fantasy of being a world-class courtesan-maybe Madame de Pompadour, or another of those grande horizontales . Great fun. Well, fun for about five minutes. Then desperately boring.’