Christmas at Claridge's Page 33

‘Clem!’ Chiara cried happily, catching sight of her reflection in the mirrors.

  Clem raised her hand mutely.

  ‘Join us!’ Chiara said, rising slightly from the table, and Clem could see from the way Tom moved that all he actually wanted to do was dive into her cleavage.

  Clem wandered over. ‘Hi.’

  ‘Hey!’ Tom said, draping an arm over the back of his chair as he twisted to face her. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’

  ‘Yes, fancy. Why are you hiding away in here?’

  ‘Have you seen the crowds?’ He pulled back a chair for her to sit down. ‘Join us. Want some?’ he asked, holding out his spoon.

  ‘No, thanks. I’m good,’ she said, rustling her bag of bread. ‘So what are you doing here!’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m still in full tourist mode.’ Tom shrugged. ‘And it was too gorgeous to spend the day in the kitchen looking over floor plans. I’d forgotten how beautiful it is here.’

  ‘Ah, you wouldn’t feel so sure in January, when the wind is strong and the rain is like ice. It can be bitter here,’ Chiara said.

  ‘That’s nothing. You should see London,’ Tom replied.

  ‘I’d love to.’ She sighed. ‘It has been so long since I visited.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Tom asked, forgetting to eat. ‘You should come over.’

  ‘I would like that.’ Chiara nodded, her big eyes on his. ‘I love big cities. I think it’s a reaction to living here all my life.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘So small.’

  ‘Why haven’t you left then?’ Tom’s tone was earnest, his gaze intent, and Clem wondered whether they even remembered she was there.

  Chiara smiled. ‘There’s a certain little boy who calls this home.’

  ‘Don’t you think Luca would like London?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Clem spluttered, interrupting before Chiara could answer. ‘He’s a wild little thing, clambering over rocks and swimming in the sea. You couldn’t take him away from all this and put him in a city.’

  ‘I wasn’t suggesting he live in a favela,’ Tom said wryly.

  Clem sat back again, embarrassed, and watched a waiter set down two ice creams at the next table. She was overreacting, but they were talking about London. This was her in. She took a deep breath. ‘Well, while we’re on the topic, I thought you both should know I’m going back later this week,’ Clem said casually, twisting a paper napkin in her hands, out of sight.

  ‘But I’ve only just got here. Was it something I said?’ Tom asked, laughing in surprise.

  ‘I’ve spoken to Gabriel about it and he’s actually happier being based in London than here; it’s a bugger getting back to the peninsula every night. And with you here to oversee the projects now, there’s no need for me to stay.’ Clem watched him surreptitiously look across at Chiara.

  ‘There is every need,’ Chiara said sternly, making them all jump.

  Clem looked up at her. ‘But—’

  ‘No buts,’ Chiara said, her colour rising. ‘You cannot leave. Not . . . not yet,’ she added, glancing quickly at Tom. ‘It is my cousin’s wedding in a few weeks. Luca is ring-bearer. You must come.’

  Her cousin’s wedding? Clem flicked a look over at Tom before coming back to her friend. ‘Whilst that would be lovely,’ she said quietly, her eyes lasered to Chiara’s, ‘you know I must go.’

  ‘I know that you must not. I will not allow it. You owe me this at least.’ Chiara rose from the chair imperiously the sweet, exhausted, selfless, deferential woman Clem knew was gone. She looked down at Clem sternly. ‘If you leave now, just like this, I will never speak to you again.’

  Clem stared at her, open-mouthed and speechless. She had expected Chiara’s disappointment but she hadn’t expected this response. ‘Chiara—’ she pleaded.

  ‘Never, Clem.’ And with a flick of her skirts, Chiara turned and literally flounced out of the gelateria.

  Tom watched her go in dismay, before leaning in on his elbows and staring his sister down. ‘What was that about? What does she mean, you owe her?’

  ‘Oh great, you’re cross with me, too. I’m straight back to the good old days,’ Clem muttered, slumping back in her chair, but trembling slightly. That had gone as badly as it possibly could have done.

  ‘Don’t change the subject,’ he demanded. ‘Tell me what’s going on, Clem. I’m not stupid. There’s something going on between you two. I permanently feel like I’ve just walked in on the end of a confidential discussion.’

  ‘Well then maybe you should respect our privacy,’ Clem huffed. ‘I’ve known Chiara a long time, and we share a bond that doesn’t need to be articulated or explained.’

  ‘She’s your school pen pal. Very few people find a lifelong friend in theirs,’ Tom said sceptically.

  ‘Well, I did, so just drop it, yeah?’ Clem said, getting up from the table.

  ‘Oh, so now you’re off, too,’ he said. ‘That’s great.’

  ‘Yeah. You were right, Tom,’ she said sarcastically, patting him on the shoulder. ‘It was something you said.’

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Clem crouched down low as she lit the thick stubby beeswax candles she had found in a cupboard in the kitchen. The workmen had disconnected the electricity supply for twenty-four hours while they fitted the state-of-the-art security system that had its own control room, and even Signora Benuto had left the premises overnight.

  The villa was at a curious stage, like a beautiful woman half-dressed for a big night out – her face painted, underpinned in her lingerie, but with only her shoes on. All of the rooms were primed and prepped for their new skins – some were merely awaiting the hand-painted wallpaper panels to line the walls, others the new floor. None had their soft furnishings yet: curtains, blinds, chairs and bed drapes were all being made in Florence and weren’t due for another two to three weeks, while the Alderton Hide leather finishes were being flown in on a weekly basis.

  Clem sat cross-legged on the floor and looked up at the walls around her, flickering in the candlelight. There was no moon tonight and the garden scene delicately etched on the plaster was as shadowy and enigmatic as the one outside. She felt her breathing slow as she took in its depths, peering through the branches into dark hollows and beyond the blossom to misty nooks. There was something indefinable about it that soothed her and drew her in like a warm memory.

  From her spot on the floor, she glimpsed the one flaw, the idiosyncrasy that interrupted the dream-like perfection of the scheme, and she crawled over to it on all fours. Crouched below the windowsill, she could still see Luca’s crest beneath the watercolour washes, though it was fainter now and only visible to an eye that was searching for it. Running her fingers over it, she vaguely wondered how happy it would make the small boy to know that his mark remained in the grand house.

  A sound made her start and she looked over to the doorway. Rafa was coming down the hall, brushes in one hand, a workman’s lamp in the other and headphones hanging around his neck. He stopped at the sight of her.

  ‘I did not know anyone was here. I will go,’ he said, turning to leave.

  ‘No, wait! I . . . I’ll go. If you need to work, I’ll get out of your way,’ she said, clambering to her feet.

  He walked slowly into the room, laying his brushes on the trestle table, making no further effort to acknowledge her.

  ‘. . . It’s so beautiful, you must be pleased with it,’ she said quietly after a moment.

  He shot her a look – frowning to find her still there – but didn’t reply.

  ‘You really must take photographs of it when it’s finished . . . for your book.’

  ‘What book?’ he asked, his back still to her.

  ‘To showcase your work. You know, for new commissions.’

  He snorted dismissively. ‘Here we go by reputation, not books.’

  ‘Oh.’ She looked around the room, feeling small and inadequate in his presence, as always, knowing that was how he wanted her to feel. She watched him as he kept his back firml
y to her, wanting to ask him why he hated her with such vehemence, why he couldn’t stand to even look at her, why he couldn’t forgive her after all these years? ‘Raf—’

  ‘You are going, yes? Or shall I?’ he demanded curtly.

  She stopped, chastened, and nodded as he put on his headphones and turned away from her.

  ‘What’s going on in here?’ a voice asked.

  Clem looked over and saw Gabriel standing in the doorway, watching them. Rafa – his music audible even from across the room – didn’t hear as he had his back to them both.

  ‘Rafa’s come to get on with the mural. I was just getting out of his way,’ she replied with forced brightness, managing a smile as she walked briskly towards him. ‘Have you had a good day?’ she asked, trying to nudge him back out into the hall.

  Gabriel ignored her question and remained where he was. ‘What is going on in here?’ he asked more loudly, determined to be heard.

  Rafa turned this time and stopped as he saw Gabriel in the doorway. He turned off his iPod and pulled off his headphones. ‘Buonasera,’ he said in a low voice that was polite but unfriendly.

  Gabriel stared at him stonily. ‘Do you have a problem working with Miss Alderton?’ Oh, God. Clem closed her eyes. Gabriel had overheard them this time.

  Rafa was still. ‘No,’ he said after an age.

  ‘Because every time I find you talking to her, she looks close to tears and you look close to a fight.’

  The room fell silent again, Clem standing like a statue between the two men.

  ‘I have no problem working with her,’ Rafa finally repeated.

  ‘Good,’ Gabriel replied abruptly, ‘because I don’t like to see my girlfriend upset. You understand that, I’m sure.’

  Clem looked at Gabriel. The comment seemed pointed, but Rafa simply nodded.

  ‘She is rare, this woman,’ Gabriel said. ‘I think you know that too.’

  This time, Rafa didn’t move, not even to be polite. There was a long silence as both men squared up, the deference of employee to boss plainly gone.

  Clem heard the change in Gabriel’s breathing. ‘Whereas I can get a painter anywhere. There is a renowned specialist in Florence, I hear. But I could get someone from Bolivia, if that was what I wanted. It would really be very easy.’

  Rafa looked incandescent at the thinly veiled threat but Clem knew, from what Chiara had told her, that he needed this job. After an age, he nodded again.

  ‘So then, we understand each other,’ Gabriel replied in a more leisurely voice, his eyes scanning the mural with evident disinterest. ‘This is the last time there will be a problem.’ He looked back at Rafa, his eyes chillingly cold, before reaching for Clem’s hand and leading her out of the room after him.

  ‘Was that really necessary, Gabriel? You didn’t need to humiliate him like that,’ she whispered, trying to catch up with his long, haughty strides.

  ‘I simply treated him with the same disdain he shows you. Maybe now he’ll think twice.’

  ‘But it doesn’t offend me. That’s just his manner,’ she fibbed. ‘Besides, I’m tougher than I might look. I can fight my own battles.’

  ‘Why should you have to when you’ve got me?’ Gabriel replied, looking back over his shoulder as he led her down the stairs. ‘The message is loud and clear now: he either treats you with respect or he’s gone.’

  ‘But he’s the only person in the area who specializes in this kind of—’

  ‘That is irrelevant. He needs to know his place.’

  They were at the bottom of the staircase now, standing in the hallway opposite the front door. Gabriel rested one foot on the step above as he turned to face her, his hands resting on the giant oak corbel. ‘You think I am blind?’

  Clem felt her heart lose rhythm. What did he know? She couldn’t shake the fear that he knew more than he was showing.

  ‘I think you’re over-reacting to some perceived slights that I don’t even notice,’ she lied. ‘Besides, they need the money so badly. Please, just leave him be, for Chiara’s sake if nothing else. Please.’

  He looked down at her hand as she placed it on his chest, one finger sliding through the placket, her nail grazing his skin lightly. He looked back at her, knowing her ruse, but liking it too much to make her stop. He took her wrist and pulled her to him, kissing her – staking his claim again, she knew.

  ‘So that’s a yes?’

  He shrugged, his mood appeased now. ‘What does it really matter when we’re leaving this weekend anyway?’

  Clem inhaled nervously and bit her lip. He took in her expression and his face fell. ‘What now?’ He sighed, taking a step back.

  ‘It turns out I can’t go just yet after all.’

  Gabriel frowned, his displeasure evident. ‘Why not?’

  ‘There’s some wedding Chiara wants me to stay for, a family thing.’

  ‘Why must you go to that?’

  ‘I don’t know – because she’s my friend and she’s asked me to?’ She shrugged. ‘It doesn’t really matter, does it? It’s only a few extra weeks away, and as long as I’m back in London in good time to help Stella get ready for the baby . . .’ She looked up at him with pleading eyes.

  ‘A few more weeks and then we will be gone?’

  She nodded. ‘We’ll be gone, I promise.’ Gone from here. Gone from him.

  ‘I shall hold you to it,’ he murmured, his eyes travelling over her with the lust their kisses always awakened.

  ‘Thank you.’ She smiled, kissing him lightly again to seal the deal.

  She pulled away, more reassured. ‘What?’ she asked as he continued to gaze at her, his eyes dotting over her like tracks in the snow.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘That look is not nothing.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No.’

  He pinned her still with his eyes – as only he could – looking suddenly serious as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. He opened it, his eyes on her the whole time. She swallowed as she saw the ring inside. ‘I didn’t think I could wait too long. You’re a flight risk, Miss Alderton,’ he joked, but there was no joking in his eyes.

  ‘What is it?’ she mumbled, looking at it glistening in the box, reaching out one finger and stroking it tentatively.

  ‘A chocolate diamond flanked with aquamarines,’ he said in a low voice. ‘But that’s not what you really mean.’ He tilted her chin with the crook of his finger, so that she was forced to look at him. ‘What do you want it to be?’

  She blinked at him as they stared at each other – words wouldn’t come; thoughts wouldn’t form. Everything was a blank. She was too stunned, too surprised by this. She’d thought the biggest news tonight would be telling him she had to stay here until the wedding was over. But this . . .

  What would she choose? Right hand? Left hand? Massive life decisions represented by a simple cosmetic detail.

  ‘Then it’s a cocktail ring,’ he murmured finally as the silence stretched out and he saw how she had stalled somewhere deep inside herself.

  She exhaled involuntarily, her muscles softening as he took the ring out of the box and gently pushed it onto the ring finger of her right hand. It looked sensational against her deep tan, and she laughed suddenly with delight as she held it up to the flickering light. ‘It’s so beautiful,’ she gasped.

  ‘It is on you.’

  She held her hand up at different angles. ‘I’ve never even heard of a chocolate diamond before.’

  ‘They’re hard to come by,’ he murmured, raising her hand to his lips and kissing it again. ‘But I knew I had to find something extraordinary for you. You’re not a white diamonds kind of girl.’

  She looked over at him, hearing the pale shade of sorrow in his voice. ‘I’m sorry that, that I’m . . .’

  ‘Not ready?’ he finished for her. He looked at her for a long moment. ‘It is maybe too early. I just wanted you to be sure how serious I am.’ He kissed her hand again. ‘And for you to know, you wi
ll have to surrender to me eventually.’

  A shiver ran over her, but she hid it with a toss of her hair as he leaned in to kiss her once again, this time tenderly, his jealousies forgotten. She closed her eyes and tried to forget, too, but it was impossible when her past was standing just metres away, upstairs in the bedroom.

  Chad knocked as he entered the office. ‘Knock, knock,’ he said loudly.

  Clem stirred from her sleep on the sofa, her left cheek pink from where it had been resting on her arms.

  ‘Ay ay! Had a sleepover, did you?’ Chad’s eyes twinkled as she blearily lifted her head. She was wearing Gabriel’s shirt and boxers.

  ‘Ugh, what time is it?’ she mumbled, oblivious. The sun was streaming through the windows in blades of light; outside she could hear the boards along the scaffolding trembling as heavy-booted workmen stomped around on them. She blinked hard twice, remembering how she and Gabriel had been too lazy to go back to the folly in the middle of the night.

  Chad perched on the back of the gold sofa, looking down at her, his arms crossed, his eyes watchful. ‘I thought you should know we’ve had word the leather floor’s been passed through customs and it’ll be here later.’

  ‘Oh, right. Great.’ She yawned. ‘I can’t wait to see how it looks. Have you told Tom?’

  ‘I did, yeah.’

  ‘Is he here?’ Oh God, had her brother seen her sleeping on the job?

  ‘No. I stopped in at Chiara’s on the way over. He wanted to talk through some plans for the new dining room.’

  ‘Has he convinced her to go for it then?’ Clem asked, astonished, and not just to hear that Tom was already at Chiara’s place. He was known for never tabling meetings before 10 a.m. back home.

  ‘It appears so.’

  ‘Right.’ Clem felt vaguely deflated by the news that Tom had succeeded where she had failed.

  She swung her legs round and stood up, the clothes hanging off her slender body as if she’d been shrunk in the night.

  Chad’s eyes ran up and down her – he was happily engaged, but not so loved up that he couldn’t see the immediate appeal of a woman wearing her man’s clothes. ‘You might want to get changed before your appointment. That’s a pretty full-on statement you’re giving there.’