‘What’s down there?’ Ariana asked as they came out into the corridor and she saw that there was a door on the other side. ‘Is there another penthouse suite?’
‘No, there’s a butler’s room and kitchen and some storage space...’ His expression was grim as she wandered off to explore. What was now the butler’s room had been home for his many nannies. ‘What’s this one for?’ she asked, and peered into a dour windowless room, unaware it was where Gian had slept as a child. There were shelves holding spare laptops, computer screens, chargers, adaptors, magnifying mirrors, straightening irons, and anything else a guest might have forgotten or need. ‘Miscellaneous items.’ Ariana concluded.
‘Precisely.’
Oh, that frisson was back, only it felt different this time, and Ariana was quite sure that this time he really was displeased so she closed the door on the windowless room.
They were soon in the elevator. That clinging scent she wore was reaching him again, and he turned rather harshly towards her. ‘If you do commence work at La Fiordelise you should know that perfume is banned for staff. It is not pleasant for the guests as some have allergies.’
‘You wear cologne,’ Ariana rather belligerently pointed out, for those citrus and bergamot notes had long been the signature of his greeting and the scent she breathed once a year when they danced.
‘Yes, but I am not servicing the rooms. Please remember not to wear perfume for work.’
‘I don’t wear perfume.’
‘Oh, please.’
‘But I don’t.’ Ariana frowned. ‘My skin is too sensitive.’
He wanted to debate it, to point out that the small elevator smelt of sunshine and rain and an undernote that he could not define, but the doors opened and he stepped out to the relative neutrality of Reception. He would have a word with Vanda, Gian decided. She could talk to her about perfume and such, because policing Ariana would no doubt be a full-time job! ‘Are you sure you aren’t just coveting the suit and pearls that my guest services managers wear?’ Gian checked, as Bianca, one of his senior staff, smiled a greeting as she passed.
‘Of course, not.’ Ariana shook her head and flushed at her own lie, because the gorgeous blush tartan outfits were divine. ‘I’m not that shallow. I really want this, Gian.’
‘Well, I mean it, Ariana. If you blow this, I shall not be giving you another chance. You are to be here at seven on Monday morning,’ Gian said. ‘If you’re late, if you’re ill, if your arm is hanging off, I still don’t want to hear it. Any problems, any issues, any excuses are no longer my concern. Vanda shall deal with you.’
And no doubt Vanda would soon fire her. ‘I will say goodbye to you here,’ he said.
‘I need to collect my bag from your office.’
Of course she did!
He tried not to notice the feeling of the sun stepping into his office again as they walked in. ‘Thank you for the tour.’ Ariana smiled, ‘I absolutely loved hearing about the Duke and Duchess, and Fiordelise, even if I do not approve. I’m glad she never got to wear the ring.’
He should conclude the meeting. They were already running over her unallotted time and Svetlana was waiting impatiently in the Pianoforte Bar, yet such was her enthusiasm, so unexpected the brightness of her company that instead of dismissing her Gian headed to the safe hidden in his wall.
He rarely opened the safe. In it were documents and rolls of plans, and there were also the coroner’s and police reports from the deaths of his parents and brother, but there was also one thing of beauty nestled atop them.
‘Come here,’ Gian told her.
Those words sent an unfamiliar shiver through her, so unfamiliar that Ariana did not ask why, or what for. Instead, she followed his command and walked over.
He removed a faded velvet box from the safe. It might once have been gold, but it had faded now to a silver beige, yet it was beautiful still. The box was studded with gold tacks and the clasp was so intricate that she wondered how he flicked it open so easily.
‘Look,’ Gian said.
Fiordelise’s ring was the rarest of treasures. It was a swirl of stunning Italian rose gold, and in the centre was a ruby so deep and so vibrant it made her breath hitch.
‘I’ve never seen a ruby of that colour,’ Ariana breathed. ‘It’s the colour of a pomegranate kernel, although it’s bigger...’
‘It’s called pigeon-blood red,’ Gian corrected. ‘The colour of the first drops after a kill.’
‘Don’t.’ Ariana shuddered. ‘I like pomegranate better.’
‘Then pomegranate red it is.’ Gian smiled and then closed up the box. ‘I found this five years after I inherited the place.’
‘Where did you find it?’
‘Under the very spot you were seated a short while ago,’ Gian told her. ‘When the suite was being renovated they pulled up the floor. There was a hidden basement and in it was a box. There was a shawl and some sketches of Fiordelise, and also this...’
‘What happened to the sketches?’ Ariana asked.
‘I had them restored and framed.’
‘And the shawl?’
‘I gave that to an aunt. But this...’ He replaced the box in the safe. ‘God alone knows it would have been easier to have found this some five years earlier.’
‘You’d have sold it?’ Ariana frowned. She knew that he had inherited his estate from his family in the direst of conditions, and that La Fiordelise had been on the brink of collapse, yet she could not believe he would have sold something as precious and sentimental as this ring.
But Gian was adamant. ‘Absolutely I would have.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Then you don’t know me,’ Gian said, closing up the safe. He turned to her. ‘I shall have Luna bring your coat.’
‘Thank you,’ Ariana said, trying to quash the thud of disappointment that he hadn’t suggested, given the hour, that they have dinner together. Well, she would soon see about that.
