‘This would make a perfect informal restaurant, spilling out onto the terrace in summer. We’d have the formal dining room for weddings, functions, parties and there are a couple of smaller rooms for other private parties.’
‘It would suit those small, high-level business conferences, too,’ she pointed out. ‘There are what? Ten, twelve bedrooms? A honeymoon suite for bridal parties…’
‘It has everything. And it will be completely different from all our other restaurants, too. Meridia’s Bella Lucia will be unique, total luxury.’
‘You already have a name for it?’
‘It names itself. And about the staff, I was wondering if they’d be prepared to stay on and train the new people?’
She smiled. ‘We could ask them.’
He nodded. ‘Maybe you’d like to talk to them tomorrow. While I’m inspecting the kitchens, cellar and the utilities. The public rooms will need very little work. I don’t think we’ll find anywhere else that we can take over so easily.’ He turned, touched her arm. ‘It’s a great start. Thank you, Louise.’
‘You’re welcome,’ she said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Looking at the ceiling, desperate not to show him how pleased she was.
He didn’t let go, didn’t stop looking at her.
‘Louise…’
She waited, certain he was going to say something important, not about business, but about them. But after a moment he shook his head, let her go.
‘I’d better take a shower before dinner,’ she said, needing to escape, catch her breath. ‘I’ll see you down here just before seven-thirty.’
She managed to walk from the room, but then bolted up the stairs, shutting the door behind her and leaning against it. Afraid he’d follow her. Afraid he wouldn’t…
The maid who was waiting for her kept her face carefully expressionless as she said, ‘Shall I draw you a bath, Miss Valentine?’
She took a breath, pulled herself together. A shower. She should take a cold shower…
She shivered at the thought. Rejected it.
‘Thank you…?’
‘Maria, miss.’
‘Thank you, Maria. That would be wonderful.’
‘Since you don’t have any luggage, miss, Her Royal Highness said you might like to choose a dress from the wardrobe.’
The girl opened up a huge walk-in closet lined with racks of dresses, shoes and everything that went with them.
‘Oh, my goodness…’ She walked along the racks looking at the elegant vintage gowns, touching the delicate fabrics. Black, beaded silk, sapphire lace, slipper silk in all colours…‘These are beautiful. Who owned them?’
The maid shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea, miss. The count used to have parties here. In the old days.’
Louise picked out an art deco sliver of pearl-grey silk, held it against her.
‘They shouldn’t be here. They should be in a museum.’ Then, ‘No…’ She’d seen gowns in museums. Dead things. Bits of cloth that looked nothing without a living, breathing person inside them.
‘Yes, miss?’ Louise shook her head. ‘I’ll run your bath.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, then picked up the phone, called Emma.
‘Hi, Lou! What do you think of our little castle?’
‘It’s absolutely beautiful, Emma, perfect, but, tell me, did you know there are dozens of fabulous vintage gowns, shoes, everything here?’
‘The mistress’s wardrobe? I’ve heard about it.’
‘My dear, you should see it! Have you any idea just how hot vintage clothes are right now? You were looking for something special for your ball-well, I think this could be it. A fashion show-I’m sure you could round up some celebrities for that. Then they could be auctioned off-it’s been done before. The press will be salivating, it will bring in all the Hollywood divas and your charity will raise a mint…’
‘Louise! You are a genius. I don’t suppose I could talk you into organising it for me?’
‘Oh, please! Try and stop me!’
‘There’s just one condition.’
‘Anything.’
‘You’ll be doing this for charity so you won’t get a fee, but I want you to have something.’
‘No, I’ll do it for…’ for the family, that was what she’d been going to say ‘…for you.’
‘You’ve already done so much for me, Lou. Now it’s my turn to repay the favour. My condition is that you wear one of those dresses tonight.’
‘But…But suppose I spill red wine down it?’
‘Drink white if it worries you, but that’s the deal.’
‘You know, Emma, since you got to be Queen, you have become so bossy!’ She smiled. ‘Thank you.’
Max, having been shown, with profound apologies for an error that had been no one’s fault but his own, to another room, found a footman laying out a slightly old-fashioned dinner jacket and dress shirt. His initial response was to say thanks, but no, thanks, but it occurred to him that they would have found something for Louise, too, and she wouldn’t hurt their feelings by rejecting it.
He was the only one she didn’t care about hurting. Telling him one thing with her eyes, another with everything she did, said. If she ever found out the truth…
He went downstairs at seven-fifteen so that she wouldn’t be left on her own, took the whisky the butler poured for him, but, too restless to sit in the drawing room, he paced the hall, his head full of the new restaurant, which of a number of world-class chefs he might tempt to take charge of the kitchen, the start-up costs…
All it took to distract him was a whisper of silk and he turned, looked up.
Louise, her hair twisted up and held in place with some kind of exotic jewelled clip, her hand trailing lightly on the banister rail, draped in a slender silk gown whose soft folds displayed every curve of her body, clung to her long thighs as she moved, was slowly descending the stairs.
For a moment he was transfixed.
He’d seen her dressed for an occasion countless times before; looking like a queen for some other man. But this time she’d dressed for no one but him…
Regaining the use of his limbs, he crossed to meet her and instead of the usual sarcastic remark-gauged to provoke a response guaranteed to leave them both despising the other-he said the first thing that came into his mind.
‘You look absolutely stunning, Louise.’
‘Thank you,’ she said as she reached the bottom step. ‘I didn’t intend my entrance to be quite such a Hollywood performance, but the dress is a little long and the footwear…’ she hitched up her skirt an inch or two to display a matching high-heeled sandal ‘…is a little on the large side. The stairs required extreme care.’
‘I enjoyed every moment of it,’ he assured her, then as a clock began to chime the half-hour the butler appeared to announce that dinner was served.
Max extended his arm. ‘May I escort you in to dinner, Miss Valentine?’
She smiled, laid her arm along his. ‘Thank you, Mr Valentine.’
Dinner was served to them in a small dining room that they had missed on their exploration. Richly decorated on the most intimate scale.
It was a room plainly made for lovers, yet despite their surroundings, the wonderful food, fine wines, exquisite clothes, he felt himself retreat a little, become more distant, determined to keep the conversation firmly fixed on the safe subject of business. He laid out his ideas, she offered marketing, PR strategies.
Neither of them wanted coffee, and when they moved to the drawing room so that the staff could clear away Louise didn’t settle, refused a nightcap. His overwhelming reaction was relief. The entire day had been a strain and he needed to escape from this brittle concord before he did, or said, something to shatter it.
‘I’m ready for bed, Max.’
‘It’s been a long day. We’ll take it easy tomorrow, just potter around. Take a load of photographs. Come on, I’ll see you to your room.’
