When Julia turned around, Douglas was gone. A light was now on in what she knew was his study and she stuffed the notes in her purse as she walked to the doorway. He’d laid his briefcase on his desk and had the phone in his hand.
“Carter,” he said into the receiver, “we’ll meet you at the front door.” He turned his head to look at her as he replaced the receiver. “Are you ready?”
In response, Julia put her arms out slightly at the sides, looking down at herself.
“I see you are,” he said, his tone no longer businesslike but vastly different. He was looking at her, his eyes moving down her body in a lazy way.
From the look in his eyes, she felt that familiar tremor slide up her spine and her stomach lurched, then clenched and she felt pleasantly warm, unwelcomely so.
What was he playing at? He hadn’t even said, Hello, how were the last three days of your new life? Now he was eyeing her like she was dinner.
She didn’t have the time, or the energy, to think about it.
Instead, she said, “I’ll just run upstairs for my wrap.”
Then she turned and escaped, ascending the stairs to her room. She grabbed her pink pashmina from the bed and wrapped it around her, throwing a free end over her left shoulder. She took a deep breath and thought, I can do this, just a few hours, I can manage not to fall face forward in my soup and then it will be over and I can come back and sleep. Once she told herself this (and almost believed it), she headed back down the stairs.
At the curb, Carter opened the door to the Bentley for them, closed it behind them and they were whisked into the London night.
Julia stared out the window feeling strangely shy and decided to put it down to tiredness and Douglas’s earlier look. She had always been outgoing and found talking to anyone from any background easy. You just found out what their interests were and then asked questions. Nearly everyone loved to talk about themselves. Simple.
But she was so exhausted, she couldn’t think how to make small talk with Douglas and then she realised belatedly that Douglas wasn’t speaking either. She turned to look at him and saw he was staring at her legs which were crossed. It was too dark to see his expression but she sensed something in the car and that something made her cheeks warm.
“How was your week?” she asked in an attempt to dispel her bizarre feeling.
“Long,” he answered shortly, not offering any more information as he shifted his gaze from her legs to her face. “Yours?” he asked.
“The same.”
And that was it, the extent of their conversation. Not long after, they slid to a halt at the front of a fashionable restaurant, so fashionable that Julia had heard of it, even in Indiana, and all the celebrities that haunted it.
The place was a crush at the front but the moment the doors closed behind them it was serene, decorated with an overdose of trendy bamboo and lots of glass. The hostess immediately stiffened and came forward, oozing courtesy as she guided them to the table Charlotte and Oliver were already occupying.
Julia was pleasantly surprised when both the petite, slim, stylish, black-haired Charlotte and the tall, straight, sandy-haired Oliver greeted her with friendly familiarity.
They’d barely taken their seats when a waiter appeared at the table.
“Would you like drinks, Lord Ashton?” he asked reverentially.
Douglas didn’t even look at Julia before saying, “Miss Fairfax will have a dry vodka martini, up, with an olive. I’ll have the same, with gin, no olive.”
Julia was stunned speechless.
It was true, she had a strict regimen of drinking. Margaritas while eating Mexican or on hot summer evenings. Micro-brewed beer while watching sports. Spiced rum and diet cola while lounging at home with friends or on the rare occasions when she was at a beach. Dry red wine with dinner. Amaretto with coffee after dessert. Mojitos when she was feeling saucy or eating Texas chilli. And, on posh nights out, a dry vodka martini, up, with an olive.
She didn’t know what was more shocking, that Douglas knew her preferred drink or that he hadn’t bothered consulting her when ordering it. No man, not even Sean, had ordered for her without taking her request. The sensation was alarming because even though it was irritating, it was also somehow delicious.
She tried to hide her contradictorily pleased annoyance but when she glanced at Charlotte, the other woman was watching her closely.
“So!” Charlotte cried suddenly and Julia jumped. “How are you settling into the spooky manse? I see Monique hasn’t driven you to tearing your hair out yet, which, I must add, is a shining testament to you, my dear.” Then she lifted her drink in an amusing salute to Julia.
“Monique is on the Mediterranean,” Douglas announced, the waiter long gone, rushing to do the bidding of a very famous and powerful client.
“Oo, what luck. So, you’ve been spending this time counting your lucky stars,” Charlotte asked Julia, a twinkle in her eye.
Julia didn’t know what to make of Charlotte, nor how to respond, but was spared by Oliver who said warningly, “Charlie.”
“She’s been around long enough, I think she knows what she’s in for,” Charlotte told her husband with blithe unconcern at his warning and turned back to Julia. “I’m putting my money on you.” Her eyes still sparkled but there was something kindly speculative in them that told Julia that Charlotte Forsythe understood very well and not just about Monique.