The Secrets She Must Tell - Lucy King Page 0,38
tiny son to go off gallivanting around one of the most romantic cities in the world in search of pleasure, oblivion and her old self?
Well, maybe it would and maybe many would judge her for that, but maybe she ought to give herself a break. Didn’t she deserve some fun? And how badly would her absence actually affect Josh? She’d only be away for three days max. Would he even notice? And if he did, would it scar him for life? She didn’t think so. She had the utmost faith in Mrs Gardiner, which was ironic when she thought about how suspicious of the whole idea of having a nanny she’d been initially, and there was always the phone. It wasn’t exactly difficult to get back from Paris, should for some reason she need to.
‘Well?’ Finn queried with an arch of an eyebrow that sent thrills of excitement skidding along her veins and a lovely warmth spreading through her body.
‘Oui, d’accord,’ she said, feeling the beginnings of a wide, silly smile spread across her face despite her best efforts to contain it. ‘I’d love to.’
At ten o’clock on the following Saturday evening—French time—Georgie was floating on the most incredible high.
She and Finn had arrived in Paris earlier, having caught the train in London and travelled first class. A car had picked them up at the station and had then smoothly whisked them to the latest addition to the Calvert Collection portfolio.
When they’d pulled up outside the Hotel Bellevue on the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré she’d had trouble keeping her jaw from hitting the floor. The pale, sand-coloured stone of the six-storey building gleamed in the afternoon sun. Each room had a black wrought-iron balcony from which spilled rich red flowers. Some had their red and white striped blinds down, some had their doors open to let in the warm spring breeze. Above the revolving glass and gold front door was a fine black awning, and either side of it stood a tub containing a perfectly clipped ball of a laurel tree. The doorman who tipped his black top hat to them as they approached was wearing a dark coat decorated with gold braid and polished brass. Inside, everything was soft whites and elegant eau-de-nil, marble floors and sparkling crystal. Beyond the reception desk, through a pair of huge patio doors, Georgie had seen a terrace where tables with bright white parasols had been placed around an area of emerald-green grass bordered with low, neat hedging.
‘What do you think?’ Finn had asked as they’d gone up in the lift to their suite.
‘Breathtakingly stunning.’
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ he’d replied, giving her a direct look that sent heat and desire stealing through her.
The honeymoon suite, which had been put at their disposal, was equally as beautiful with its calming off-white and taupe décor and gorgeous antique furniture. Disappointingly, Finn had disappeared pretty much immediately to go off and do things that, as owner of the hotel, he had to do. But Georgie had managed to occupy herself by exploring the vast suite and terrace, before kicking off her shoes and flopping onto the enormous bed to call Mrs Gardiner for quite possibly the twentieth time.
It hadn’t been easy leaving Josh. It had actually been rather more of a wrench than she’d expected. For one dithering moment, just before she’d walked out of the penthouse back in London, she’d genuinely considered going downstairs to where Finn was waiting and telling him to go ahead without her. But Mrs Gardiner had shooed her off, practically locking the door behind her, and so she’d slunk off, torn between wanting to go and guilt at leaving.
That guilt, which had accompanied her throughout the journey to Paris, hadn’t fully gone away but she’d been assured during every call she’d subsequently made that her son seemed to be taking their absence in his stride, and finally she’d been able to relax and enjoy the party.
And what a party it was. Five hundred guests, who’d earlier been divided into small groups and given an exclusive tour, now mingled in the ballroom. Members of the waiting staff wove through the journalists, upmarket travel company owners and anyone else lucky enough to have received a coveted invitation, offering up exquisite signature cocktails and the tiniest, most delicious canapés Georgie had ever tasted. She’d laughed and chatted all evening, remembering how much she’d once loved socialising and going giddy with the realisation that it was all coming back to her.
Having Finn at her