True Colours Page 9

  Settling back into the sofa, leaning his elbow on the arm, chin cupped in one hand, his face blank, like he was embroiled in a game of poker, Sebastian nodded slowly. He shifted slightly in his seat, and catching a waft of his aftershave as he moved, Alex felt that kick to her stomach again, and moved on quickly.

  ‘The next one is the same purple with a paler cream, and navy as a highlight colour. The print is floral, combining all three colours.’

  ‘I like that one.’ Matter of fact, emotionless.

  She nodded, concentrating on the board, making sure she didn’t make eye contact with him. Ridiculously, she thanked her lucky stars that she’d taken the time to paint her nails last night. It had been a last-ditch attempt to relax, take her mind off the following morning’s meeting, but now, sitting so close to him, she knew her nails were on full view and right now, she was grateful for every little boost to her confidence. Alex cleared her throat and continued,

  ‘I like the florals. They are much more organic than the geometric prints, they suggest growth, like the business. I think they’re easier to live with, they create an environment rather than just making a statement, are less likely to date.’

  In her peripheral vision, she could see him nodding. Jocelyn cut in before she could say more.

  ‘Those fabrics are gorgeous aren’t they? And she’s quite right, the florals will be much easier on the eye, seem to suggest a nurturing environment. But they’re confident too. So many companies resort to dreadful abstracts, patterns that don’t mean anything to anyone. I always think they look like they’re trying to be too clever, don’t you? It doesn’t work for me at all.’

  Alex nodded, ‘I’d have to agree with you. It’s different if you get an artist to produce something that you feel summarises your business and then use it to link your whole corporate image, but more often than not imitations of abstract art get tired very quickly.’

  ‘And the last one?’ Sebastian sounded slightly impatient, like he thought the whole corporate image argument was a load of rubbish, women’s talk. Deliberately ignoring any hint of irritation, Alex continued calmly.

  ‘Then the final one is another floral, but this time monotone – purple on cream. We’d bring both colours in as plain wall coverings and also as a matching print in reverse. I like the purple and navy together as a print as well, it lifts the whole story.’ She paused to continue, but he interrupted her.

  ‘And cost? Is there any difference between the flowery ones and the angular prints?’

  ‘Not between the first two. The third one I designed with the fabric supplier. It’s a big building so you would need enough fabric and wallpaper to justify having your own printed, but it will be slightly more expensive. The pattern is actually a close-up of the branches of the tree in your logo. I blew it up until it became an abstract, although still unmistakably natural, organic.’

  ‘Fantastic. So clever! I love that one, don’t you?’ Alex could feel Jocelyn’s enthusiasm radiating from across the table. And Sebastian was nodding, grudgingly, but nodding. Like he hadn’t expected the pitch to be this good.

  ‘I think that third one is for us.’

  Alex drew in a deep breath,

  ‘I think it’s the most flexible. You can use a portion of the floral design on the back of your business cards and across your corporate literature, phasing it in when you reprint – it will sit well with what you already have.’

  ‘So, we don’t waste a load of money scrapping the existing stuff. Well that’s refreshing. So what do you think Joss?’

  ‘Love it. Absolutely super, I can’t wait to see it done…but I’m going to have to leave you and get prepped for your next meeting.’ Jocelyn stood up, shaking out her skirts, ‘Perhaps you’ll drop in to me Alex and we can talk through the next steps. We’ll need to discuss the budget and time frame.’

  Sebastian shook his head, ‘I like it; we won’t worry about the budget. Just give us an idea of how quickly you can implement the changes with the least amount of disruption to the staff.’

  Alex nodded, trying to keep her face neutral. She was delighted that he liked it, that he was impressed, but deep down a tiny part of her had been hoping he’d hate it and she could pack her bags and get out. No such luck.

  Putting her mug down, out of Sebastian’s vision Jocelyn rolled her eyes and mouthed Alex a silent ‘well done’. Out loud she said matter of factly, ‘So I’ll see you downstairs.’ And moments later the door closed on her rustling skirts.

  Alex turned from the door and found her eyes locked with Sebastian’s. And all the oxygen was sucked out of the room. They were alone. Again.

  ‘I’ll...’ she started to speak, stopping suddenly, blushing.

  ‘More coffee?’

  ‘Please.’ He picked up the pot as she passed him her mug, their fingers meeting for a second as he took it from her. Alex felt an explosion somewhere deep inside her, like all the tension of the last few minutes was trying to escape. He must have heard her involuntary gasp, have felt the electricity that was arcing from her fingertips. He didn’t speak, but looked at her, long and hard, then transferred his attention to the mug, topping it up. He didn’t hand it straight back to her, but placed it in front of her, carefully, twisting the handle around to face her, agonisingly slowly. Just like he made love, slowly and carefully, deliberately; sensations building until they exploded. Shocked at her thoughts, Alex reached for the mug, hesitating for a split second before she brought it to her lips, her eyes on his face.

  ‘I believe Joss explained that in addition to the offices, I need you to look at my apartment.’

  Sitting forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped in front of him, he looked half-embarrassed, his earlier brash confidence tempered somehow; perhaps he could read her mind. Hiding a blush she could feel creeping up from her chest, Alex began to feel incredibly hot, quickly unbuttoned her jacket, her voice unintentionally breathless.

  ‘Jocelyn mentioned the apartment in her fax, yes...’ She needed to focus on business, couldn’t let her emotions cloud the issue.

  Nodding, clearing his throat, he became practical again, like he was speaking to one of his foremen.

  ‘It needs an overhaul. It’s very comfortable, but it’s a bachelor pad and my fiancée’s very particular. She won’t have time to redecorate it herself after the wedding – she will have a lot of charity work to take on once we get married.’

  As he spoke, there was a buzzing from his desk and Jocelyn’s brisk voice filled the room,

  ‘Jackson’s on from New York. It’s all set up in the conference room. Geneva will be online when you’re ready.’

  Startled, Sebastian got up and, striding over to the desk, leaned over to depress the speaker button.

  ‘I’m on my way Joss. Bring up the files will you?’ He turned back to Alex, frowning, his face already clouded, moving from their meeting to his conference call. ‘Joss has a pile of pictures from interiors magazines – they’ll give you an idea of what she likes. But you’ll need to see it I want it to be a surprise. Talk to Joss will you, tomorrow morning at nine’s good, she’ll give you all the details.’

  FOURTEEN

  Sebastian’s apartment. Sebastian’s apartment. Alex pushed a corkscrew of hair out of her eyes, yanking it behind her ear, and started to chew on the edge of her nail, careful to avoid her nail polish.

  Sitting in her car outside the gated Eaton Square complex where Sebastian lived, only, shockingly as it turned out, a fifteen-minute drive from her own rented house in Dalkey, Alex could already feel the trepidation building in her stomach, expanding, growing like a virus until it threatened to engulf her. A stone’s throw to her left, over the DART train line, the sea lapped at a strip of white beach. It would have been beautiful if it hadn’t been drizzling, that incessant misty sort of rain that was a big feature of Ireland in spring, the type of rain that turned her hair to frizz. Instigated by some sort of sensor thing, Alex’s wipers flipped across her windscreen, making he
r jump. It was still only 8.50 a.m. She was early, too early, so determined had she been not to be late. Jocelyn had given her the address and the code for the gate, but she didn’t want to look eager or, for that matter, arrive early and spend any longer than was absolutely necessary in Sebastian’s apartment. It was bad enough that she had to come at all.

  Shifting in her seat, her jeans cutting into her, Alex thanked her stars that she was meeting Jocelyn. She was certainly larger than life, but Alex liked her, liked her crazy dress sense and warmth, liked the fact that she didn’t give a damn what people thought of her, liked the fact that she was efficient and just got the job done properly without a whole load of fuss. And, she thought, maybe this meeting would give her a chance to ask a few subtle questions, to find out exactly what Sebastian was up to, to see if he had revealed anything of their history.

  How could he ask her to redecorate his apartment? It was his private space, the apartment he was bringing his bride to… Did he want to be constantly reminded of her, reminded of that summer, of the flush of first love? Or more likely, did he just want to make her squirm, really rub her nose in his success, in his happiness, in the fact that he’d moved on. The wipers zipped across the windscreen, making her start all over again. Damn him. He must really hate her.

  8.55 a.m. Time to move.

  Pulling over to the security entry pad, Alex buzzed down her window and plugged in the code. The directions Jocelyn had given her were very clear. The penthouse apartment had a private entrance in the middle of the building which wrapped in a horseshoe around a central green. And, from what Alex could see, the lawns were predictably manicured, an ornate fountain sending a jet of water high into the air. The building itself was ultra-modern, but drawing on a classical design with Palladian pillars and porticoed doorways on either side. Pulling up in a designated visitor’s parking space, Alex could see the building was very smart, lots of glass and balconies, every apartment with an enviable view of the sea on one side, of the spires and elegant Georgian terraces of Monkstown on the other.

  And the interior was just as smart as the outside. In the narrow lobby housing the penthouse suite’s private lift, huge mirrors bounced the reflections of lush potted plants from one to another, making the space feel much larger and lighter than it really was, but, rather creepily Alex thought, sending the reflections of anyone waiting for the lift into infinity. It reminded her of something out of Star Trek, of Spock and Captain Kirk waiting to be teleported to another world. She smiled ironically to herself. ‘Beam me up Scotty’. If only he could.

  Alex had a quick look at her multiple reflections in the mirror. The damp air had played havoc with her hair, sending it into corkscrew spirals – she knew she should have tied it back. Running her fingers through it, she tried to calm it down a bit. She looked critically at her jeans. Fine in Barcelona, perfectly acceptable when you were out on a site visit, but here, in Dublin, where the women put on their makeup and designer clothes just to drop the kids to school? She really wasn’t sure. They were Juicy Couture jeans, hugged her figure perfectly, and teamed with a white Ralph Lauren shirt, a navy blazer and her high-heeled boots did look really smart. And she’d met Jocelyn several times at this stage, had been wearing a power suit on each occasion…so she should be okay, but… Before she had a chance to worry about it, the lift arrived with a delicate chime, and she stepped in, adjusting her briefcase on her shoulder, the doors closing soundlessly behind her.

  Alex had to hand it to him – this place was pretty impressive. Even the inside of the lift was polished to an immaculate shine, and smelled faintly of polish. A creeping feeling of curiosity began to worm its way through her nerves, widening the gap between the horror at having to go anywhere near anything to do with the Wingfields, and that part of her that absolutely loved looking at other people’s houses. Her friends in Spain had got used to her pacing out their bathrooms, asking where they had bought their furniture She’d got into the habit of apologising in advance for her insatiable curiosity. It was all just so interesting.

  But, what she couldn’t work out was why Sebastian, of all people, was living in a place like this. She could hear him now, his voice echoing through the dusty disused rooms in Kilfenora House, berating modern architecture, pulling the dust sheets off the Adam fireplaces in the bedrooms of the east wing like a magician, making her peer down the ingeniously concealed dumb waiter that linked the ballroom with the kitchens in the basement. And she couldn’t remember a day when he didn’t pause as he was passing the grand Jacobean- style staircase, his eye following the sweep of the intricately carved oak banisters, supported by hundreds of fluted columns, doubling back on themselves to reach the gallery above, admiring the craftsmanship that had created one of the finest staircases in the country. It was second only in his estimation to Kilfenora’s Palm House, designed by Joseph Paxton before he built the Crystal Palace for the Great Exhibition of 1851, modelled on the Great Conservatory he had built at Chatsworth for Queen Victoria, the hollow cast iron support structure inspired by the leaf of an Amazonian lily. Even then, Sebastian had sworn that he’d never live in a new building, would buy a Victorian or Georgian terraced house, or even a cottage, somewhere where he could hear the footsteps of his predecessors, where he could become a living part of history, a custodian of somewhere ancient and wonderful …which had started them talking about the Mill House…

  On the top floor, as the lift doors slid back to reveal a narrow corridor apparently running the length of the building, curving away to the right and left, Alex got her first glimpse of Sebastian’s inner sanctum. Directly opposite the lift, another huge mirror topped a long side table, black lacquer, dripping with gilt, Louis XVI; had to be. And on it a classical bust, white marble to contrast with the black, Nero or Caesar perhaps. This was more like what she had expected, tasteful luxury, one priceless piece setting off another. Perhaps he hadn’t changed all that much after all.

  Jocelyn had told her to turn left as she came out of the lift, so with a quick glance at her reflection, a final yank at her hair, she headed for a sturdy wooden door at the end of the corridor, boots silent on the deep-pile carpet, heart, despite her curiosity, beginning to beat hard.

  As well it might.

  Reaching the door, she realised that it was slightly ajar, the rich scent of coffee accompanied by the strains of a Mozart violin concerto inviting her in. Jocelyn must have arrived ahead of her. She rapped loudly.

  No reply. Perhaps she was on the phone.

  Alex strained her ears, listening for Jocelyn’s unmistakable tones. She couldn’t hear anything, but it was a big apartment, she could be anywhere inside. Tentatively, she pushed the door open. Still no sign of Jocelyn. But the door was open, so she was obviously expected.

  Crossing the threshold, Alex pushed the door wide, straight into an enormous open-plan living space, polished boards leading her eye to the far wall which was constructed almost entirely of glass, the only interruption to the magnificent view, narrow chrome uprights supporting the enormous panes. Outside, despite the rain and the soft interior lights, she could see a broad terrace spanning the entire length of the apartment, beyond it Dublin city to the left, the Wicklow Mountains to the right, the wide expanse of sea in between undulating gently like a satin sheet. Running an expert eye over the pristine cherry wood floor, the handmade leather sofas, she was absorbing the details when she heard a voice behind her.

  ‘Impressive isn’t it?’

  Spinning around, Alex gasped involuntarily; her eyes open wide with shock.

  ‘Don’t look so surprised. Who did you expect?’

  FIFTEEN

  Shopping in Brown Thomas’ eh? It didn’t take a rocket scientist to work out that Caroline Audiguet-O’Reilly would have an account in Dublin’s most exclusive department store, that she was a regular visitor.

  At the heart of Dublin’s famous Grafton Street, Brown Thomas was the Harrods of Dublin, well maybe a bit more Harvey Nichols, but still impressive. And Pet
er was pretty sure The Designer Rooms on the first floor would be where Caroline was heading.

  Peter shouldered on his blazer and flipped out the open collar of his crisp cotton baby blue shirt, took a glance in the huge mirror above the washstand in his hotel room’s well-lit bathroom. The sun was streaming in through the almost floor-to-ceiling sash window, dazzling where it reflected off the pristine marble and glass, bleaching his blonde hair to almost white. He ran his hand over his chin, smooth after his shave. He didn’t look too bad for a guy who’d been declared dead in a field hospital in the Balkans.

  The bathroom mirror, directly opposite the door to the bedroom, picked up the soft ochre walls of his suite – not that he had noticed the colour of the walls. He’d stayed in so many different places over the years that once there was a comfortable bed and hot water he really didn’t care if the bedspread was neon pink. Although he had to admit the Shelbourne was one of the best hotels he had stayed in, one he always looked forward to coming to. Of all the hotels in the world the Shelbourne in Dublin and the Barbizon in New York were his two favourites. In both of them he always booked the same room, was always recognised by the staff. It was like coming home.

  Peter had tossed his mobile phone and wallet next to the bed, now picked them up and slipped them into his jacket pocket. This room on the fifth floor was in a corner of the building overlooking St Stephen’s Green. Through the open window Peter could hear the roar of traffic intermingled with the clip-clop of horses’ hooves, the clatter and clamour of the city. He always slept with the window open, hated the stifling heat of a hotel room and now could smell the rain coming. He ambled over to look out the window, the muscles in his thighs stiff, not, he was sure, from his daily workout in the gym. He was almost back to peak fitness but last night with Caroline had used a whole set of muscles that hadn’t been worked out for a while. Beyond the window the sky had darkened, clouds angry and black gathering over the centre of the city like football hooligans on a street corner looking for trouble. Trouble. His middle name.