her baby’s freedom from a bad man. She was better off without a father, as the judge apparently concurred.
Leslie and Coco had been told that Ian Kingston had moved into his new London home in mid-March. They heard no complaints and no compliments, and assumed that meant he was satisfied. So they were surprised to hear from him in the first week of April. He called and asked if he could drop by and Leslie agreed. She forgot to tell Coco, and two days later he showed up. He was tall, slim, had hair as dark as Coco’s, dark smoldering eyes, was wearing jeans, a white T-shirt, a black leather jacket, and motorcycle boots. He had just bought a vintage Ducati motorcycle in Italy and had ridden it back to London. He looked like the perfect bad boy, with a warm, slightly crooked smile and perfect teeth. Coco didn’t know who he was when he walked in, but Leslie recognized him immediately and got up to greet him. He thanked her for the perfect home, and said he wanted a ten-year extension. She laughed and introduced him to Coco, who had been trying not to stare at him. He was fatally handsome. Leslie credited Coco with finding the place for him.
“I’ve been sending photographs of the kitchen to my architect in New York,” he said to her. “I want him to duplicate it exactly. I looked up the chef who lives there when I was in Rome last week. He’s a terrific guy. I had dinner at his family restaurant, and warned him that he may end up homeless if I refuse to move.” Leslie and Coco were both pleased to know he was so happy. He said they were starting to film the movie of his book in a few days, and it was chaos on the set. But once things settled down, he could go back to writing the new book he had already started.
He didn’t stay long, but his visit made a powerful impression on both women. He was one of the top two or three writers in the States. His huge success had given him movie star status, and his looks didn’t hurt. He was sexy more than handsome, and there was an aloofness to him which made him seem just out of reach. He looked like a storm cloud, and then he smiled and the ice around him melted.
“Wow, he’s a looker, isn’t he?” Leslie said after he left and Coco agreed. Women couldn’t help but be affected by him. He was a powerful presence.
“Did you see the way he looked at you?” Leslie asked Coco. “He couldn’t take his eyes off you.” She would have been jealous of Coco if she didn’t like her so much. She worked so hard that one forgot how beautiful she was, or became inured to it, since she was oblivious to it herself and never played on her looks.
“He looked at you exactly the same way,” Coco insisted.
“No, he didn’t.” Leslie smiled. “Guys like him always go after younger women. I’m nearly his age.” She was pretty, but nothing like Coco, who was stunningly lovely and unconsciously sexy. It didn’t bother Leslie. She was finally recovering from her own divorce and dating a new man, who was crazy about her, and she liked him a lot. She had an easy, uncomplicated nature, and was not given to jealousy. They were work partners and friends and not in competition with each other.
Coco was surprised when Ian Kingston called her later that afternoon.
“I wanted to thank you again for finding me the perfect home,” he said in a deep voice that added to his mystique. “Can I buy you a drink sometime?”
“Sure,” she said casually. She didn’t imagine for a minute that he was attracted to her. She wasn’t in his league. He was much too glamorous, very famous, and could go out with anyone he wanted. She was five months pregnant now, so he thought she was either fat, or off-limits and probably married. Leslie had read a lot about him, since she loved his books, and she said he was omnivorous and dated everything from teenagers to sixty-year-old movie stars, who were twenty years older than he was. But most of the time, he dated beautiful young girls like Coco.
“How about tomorrow?” he suggested, and they agreed to meet at a trendy bar in Notting Hill that Coco had heard about and never been to.