Chapter One PRESENT DAY

Chapter One

P RESENT D AY

Edith-Madeleine – who, aged twenty-nine, chose to be known simply as Madeleine – stared at her reflection in the vast gilt-framed mirror that filled the space between the marble sink and the ceiling. Turning first to the left, then right, she studied her profile in the flattering light, liking the slight curve of her bust inside her ivory silk shirt, which sat crisply over her lace bra. The top two buttons were undone to reveal her bronzed décolletage. Next came close-up scrutiny of her understated make-up, using the tip of her French-manicured finger to remove a fleck of mascara that had found its way to her highlighted cheekbone, and carefully wiping the corners of her mouth to make sure no spit or matt ‘café au lait’ had gathered there. Her teeth were white – white white. Her chestnut hair hung in artful waves around her face and her navy cigarette pants, paired with nude heels, elongated her slender legs.

She smiled twice, and laughed once, making a mental note not to open her mouth too widely or to wrinkle her nose – both habits she had worked hard to eradicate. Next, she moved closer to the mirror and whispered, ‘Nyor-keeee. Nyo-kee. Nyoki. I’ll have the gnocchi. No!’ She shook her head, and took a beat. ‘The gnocchi for me, please.’

As the door opened, allowing noise from the restaurant to filter in, she straightened and reached into her Lulu Guinness clutch for her perfume – Angelique Noir by Guerlain. The bottle felt reassuringly expensive as she spritzed her wrists and behind her ears.

A glossy blonde woman walked in and halted. ‘Oh! Your scent! That’s utterly divine! Love it!’ She inhaled deeply.

Madeleine gave her customary half-shrug of indifference while inside firecrackers of joy exploded in her gut.

She walked quickly from the bathroom, making her way back to the front of the restaurant, where she waited in the marble-floored foyer. The ma?tre d’ approached, as she had known he would, having been so accommodating when she’d rushed in and asked to use the loo before taking her table.

‘Hello again, madam.’ He gave a slight bow; she liked it.

‘Hello.’ She glanced at his face before looking past him into the dining room, where intimate tables were set with starched white linen and silverware. The whole place carried an air of refined sophistication.

‘And you’re having lunch with us?’

‘Yes.’ She looked back at him. ‘Table for two, under the name Woods – Madeleine Woods.’

He walked to the lectern, where a bespectacled girl stood with a pen in her hand and carried an air of authority. The gatekeeper. Ignoring his colleague, he ran his finger down the computer screen and beamed up at her, as if she’d won a prize.

‘Please follow me.’ Again that slight bow with the incline of the head.

He paused at a table that was sat in front of the bar – almost a thoroughfare, and not where she wanted to sit. Not at all.

‘No, thank you. Erm ... we’ll take that one.’ She pointed to a table set perfectly for two by the window.

‘Of course, madam.’ He did his best but failed to control the twitch of irritation under his left eye. ‘May we get you some water for the table?’ He clasped his hands at his chest, as if in prayer.

‘Yes. Sparkling, thank you.’

She glanced at him briefly before he walked away, keeping her smile small and her attitude professional, just like her ex-boss and mentor, Rebecca Swinton, would have done. Madeleine, having watched her every move in social situations, now understood that to allow people to flourish and perform it was best not to be over-friendly, to not break the boundary that kept everyone feeling secure. To do differently only smudged the lines of operation and muddled your responses. She took her seat and placed her bag on the windowsill, moving the cutlery to her right, to give her and her guest more space. She studied the small, printed menu in front of her, already knowing what she was going to choose, having looked up the options online this morning.

‘Madeleine!’

Nico called her name, unabashed and confident as he walked towards the table, two steps behind the ma?tre d’. There was the unmistakable flare of attraction in her gut that she’d felt the first time they’d seen each other across the boardroom table at Field and Gray – the lawyers who advised the agency on all manner of property law, both here and abroad. Nico’s mother, Belinda Yannis, was a partner; his maternal grandfather, Horatio Gray, one of the founders; and Nico was, according to the gossip flying around the bar of The Ned for their post-meeting analysis, being prepped to take over the reins when his mother retired – if she ever retired. From what Madeleine could tell, the immaculately groomed, wrinkle-free Belinda was more likely to collapse while poring over contracts in her office than bow out gracefully to tend to her garden or join the bowls club. Madeleine had been in awe and petrified of her in equal measure, noting the way she delicately and loosely rested her hands in front of her – Cartier tank catching the light, palms steady, wrists relaxed, no hint of tension – as if to sit at the head of the highly polished table was her absolute right, which of course, as Horatio Gray’s daughter, it was. Madeleine had taken a deep, slow breath, knowing that if this was the way the woman conducted herself, she would find any overt nerves in others less than attractive.

Nico didn’t have his mother’s stern presence. He was as handsome as she’d remembered, with short dark hair and brown eyes that crinkled at the sides as he smiled. His easy-going expression and manner were most alluring. His presence and initial interaction confirmed the connection between them that had been immediate and thrilling. It would also be a lie if she were to say that the stature and status of a man like this didn’t hold its very own attraction.

‘Lunch!’ He sat opposite her and leaned back in the chair, clearly comfortable in these surroundings, and picked up the menu, giving it only the briefest of considerations.

‘Yep, lunch!’

‘I must admit, my invitations to dinner don’t usually get demoted to lunch.’ He shook his head.

‘Is that right? Interesting you see it as a demotion. I much prefer lunch.’

‘How come?’ He sat forward, interested, as he placed the menu flat on the table.

‘Because if I’d said yes to dinner, and you were dull company or we didn’t get on, or you had some truly terrible habits that turned my stomach, then not only would I be trapped with you for hours, but it’d be a waste of a precious free evening. Whereas lunch ... What do you reckon, hour and a half, tops?’

‘Absolute tops,’ he agreed.

‘I can put up with just about anything for that short window. So if this turns out to be a disaster, the day is not entirely lost. And if we do get on – and you don’t reveal your horrid habits and you’re not a complete bore – we can progress to dinner. Whereas if we start there, we have nowhere to go.’

‘It feels like a test.’ He pulled a face.

‘I guess it is, for us both.’ She liked their level of eye contact, the ease of conversation, the shared humour, the way she set the rules and he went along with it, falling into step as she played hard to get. A ploy that she felt only enhanced her attractiveness.

‘Here’s the thing: based on our very flirty texts, I already like you. It’s been fun.’ He sounded sincere and she took the compliment, unwilling to admit that she’d read and re-read their exchanges before falling asleep for the last couple of nights.

‘Well, you should have said! We could have carried on texting and saved ourselves the price of lunch! This is probably a good time to point out that we’re going Dutch, just to make sure there’s no sense of obligation on either of our parts.’

‘Dutch it is, perfect.’ He laughed. ‘And you raise a good point, but, just so you know, I do think there’s somewhere to go if dinner goes well. I usually like to progress to a weekend at my cottage.’

‘Usually? So you do this a lot?’ she half-teased.

‘Actually, I really don’t.’ He dropped the humour and his expression became intense. She felt a shiver of longing ripple through her bones.

‘Hmmm, interesting. You see, I think a weekend away after one dinner is too big a leap for me, but a weekend away after one lunch and two dinners is just about acceptable.’

‘I can see you’ve given it some thought.’

‘I have,’ she admitted, ‘and this is also probably as good a time as any to tell you that I’m leaving for LA in two weeks. So don’t get too attached, as I’ll be jetting off into the sunset for the foreseeable future. I’m sure it’s going to be just like La La Land and I’ll probably get whisked off my feet by a budding actor, who ultimately will make it big and buy me diamonds.’

‘I can buy you diamonds right now.’

‘I don’t even like diamonds! Plus, I could buy my own,’ she emphasised.

‘Touché.’ He beamed. ‘I like LA. Maybe I’ll come visit you.’

‘Too soon! We haven’t finished lunch number one yet. We absolutely cannot be making those kinds of plans!’ She widened her eyes in mock horror, although her stomach flipped in excitement at the prospect, more than a little enamoured by the fact he could indeed come visit and buy diamonds – one of these a significantly more exciting prospect than the other. Diamonds – in fact baubles of any kind – had never impressed her.

‘Shall we order? I’m starving.’ He clapped his hands together.

She liked his honesty and his humour. She raised her hand and the waiter came over.

‘Madam?’ The moustachioed man stared at her.

‘The gnocchi for me, please.’ She ordered with confidence.

‘Oh, good shout. Yes, for me too, please.’

‘Certainly. And to drink?’

‘Just the water. Sparkling.’ She reminded the man of her drinks order, which was yet to materialise.

‘For me too.’ Nico smiled.

‘Copycat.’

The waiter walked away.

‘Oh God, have I failed already?’ Nico laughed.

‘No, you won’t know if you’ve failed or progressed to the next round until we leave. If it’s been great, I’ll text you a thumbs-up, and if it’s been rubbish then I won’t text you at all.’

‘Harsh!’ he fired back.

‘Yet clear, and I think clarity is important, don’t you?’

‘I do. And I shall adopt the same. A thumbs-up means you did well and no text ... well, means you’ll be back to swiping right.’

She laughed at his cheek, and they shared a moment – a lingering look, both aware of how they were using humour to further break the ice, relax, get over any nerves, and to see if the instant attraction might have anything more substantial behind it.

It was typical of her luck. She had been on numerous dates over the last year with people who had all held promise until she actually spent time with them. It had helped her realise that she often preferred the idea of spending time with someone to the reality of it. Not that she considered herself to be overly picky or demanding, just that her standards were high and her list of traits in a potential partner non-negotiable. The fact that it was a long and complicated list was neither here nor there.

An image of Richard entered her mind – gorgeous, funny Richard, who had shown much potential until he’d flashed her his tattoo of Dolly Parton, smack bang in the middle of his chest. Madeleine loved a blast of ‘Jolene’ as much as the next person, but a tattoo on his chest? The thought of being in a semi-naked state, staring down at the perfect curves of Dolly, against whom no woman could compare ... She’d blocked his number shortly after. Then there was Quentin, who was fabulous and flirty. A silver fox dentist with a classic Porsche who smelled as if his pores actually secreted Tom Ford’s Tobacco Vanille. She could have happily sat and sniffed him for hours. That was until she realised he started most sentences with, ‘I am not lying when I say ...’ or ‘To tell you the truth ...’ and ‘I swear to God ...’ which gave her the distinct impression that he was indeed lying, not telling her the truth and about to let God down badly. It put her right off. She had been with him in Covent Garden when she had bumped into her old best friend Trina, who she hadn’t seen for a while. It was a little awkward, yet still Trina knew her well enough to text her immediately with a thumbs-down symbol. It told her all she needed to know. So yes, typical of her luck to feel this attracted to Nico when she was about to fly across the pond for good. Not that it was going to stop her enjoying her time with him until she left. She would, she figured, be mad not to.

It was easy to make light of her dating disasters, simpler to concentrate on the frivolous. The truth, she suspected, when it came to her lack of success, was far more about not being able to be herself, not fully. Having to play a part and be wary – always wary – of when she would have to pull off her mask and tell all.

‘Have you been here before?’ She let her eyes rove the ornate dining hall with the frescoed walls and busy tables where men in tailored, starched, button-down shirts sipped wine, and the laughter was loud, bullish.

‘Yes. But only ever for working lunches.’

‘Me too.’

‘My parents are big foodies. My dad’s Greek, so food and wine are in our blood – big feasts for every celebration, and nearly everything warrants a celebration. My mother, who you have met of course ...’

‘I have indeed.’

She noticed how he paused for a second, as if inviting or expecting her to offer an opinion on Belinda Yannis, which of course she did not.

‘Yes, so my mother comes from a farming family.’

Madeleine was aware of the farm. Rumour had it that it covered most of the South Downs, and also that it was no ramshackle cottage in which they brewed tea and discussed their day, but rather a vast country house plonked in the middle of the estate. A house that came with a title, as far as she recalled.

‘She grew up hunting, fishing and foraging – eating what they caught, what they found, growing fruit and vegetables and baking for great parties.’

‘It sounds idyllic. So you grew up on the farm?’

‘Not really. I visited it.’ He raised his hand and smiled in acknowledgement of the bottle of sparkling water deposited on their table and the two tall glasses with ice, mouthing, ‘Thank you.’ She liked his respect for the waiter. Things like that were important to her. ‘But I spent most of my time away at school. During the holidays, which, thank goodness, felt endless, we went to Skiathos, where my father’s family has a home. It’s on a cliff with the most incredible view of the sea and sky I’ve ever seen. If you took me there blindfolded, I’d know it by the scent alone.’ He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. ‘The pine forests, the rosemary and thyme that’s abundant, ripe mandarins, the woody-scented bark of the olive trees, eucalyptus leaves – all underpinned with the fragrant incense and oils from the church. It’s like nothing else.’ He breathed in through his nose and she envied him the memory.

‘It sounds glorious.’

‘It really is.’ He nodded and sipped his water. ‘A special place.’

‘My upbringing was a little different. Not quite so privileged.’

The waft of dog shit on the breeze, the diesel fumes, the ripe fruit chucked off the roof by bored kids just to watch the splat, the scent of the overflowing communal bins, the weed being smoked on the balconies ... and the heady scent of piss wafting from the lift and stairwells.

She swallowed. Here it was. The thought that was always waiting in the wings. The awareness that if this attraction developed, she would need to tell him about her past. It was all a question of timing, and something she relished – it felt good to detail just how far she had come – yet dreaded in equal measure, knowing she had never once shared her story and not felt the sharp lance of judgement at her breast. It was, however, going to be hard to avoid if he stuck around; she felt the need to speak the truth, which she was certain would either see him scurrying for the hills or applauding her achievements, as if she were a shining example of rags to riches ... not that she was by Nico’s standards rich, but she was certainly comfortable. And not that she’d be telling him anything today – far, far too early in developments to be shedding skin.

‘But happy? A happy upbringing?’ he asked, with such a look of concern it was almost as if anything other than this would be hard for him to imagine, and even harder for him to bear.

‘Yes, happy.’ She quickly buried the pang of sadness that sprang up when she considered how things had changed.

‘And that’s all we can ask for, right?’ he asked softly.

She smiled and sipped her water, as the nyor-keeee / nyo-kee arrived.

‘God, I’m famished.’ She lifted her fork.

He smiled at her as she went in.

‘What?’ she asked, the delicious, soft gnocchi nestling on her tongue beneath the salty tang of parmesan.

‘I like a girl who eats.’ He nodded, as if in approval, and reached for his fork.

‘Oh, you’ll like me, then. A lot.’

‘I think you might be right ...’ He let this trail and her heart jumped with joy in her chest.

Eleven hours and twenty-five minutes.

That was the length of the flight from London Heathrow to LAX.

Not so long really. Not even a day.

After waving to Nico as he jumped in a cab, she texted him a thumbs-up.

It felt good, exciting, as it always did at this stage, when everything was flimsy, insubstantial, and therefore mattered little if it solidified into something more or not. It was a frivolous time in any courtship, and possibly her favourite part – without weighted conversations about the future or their wants, without deep analysis of where they were heading or whether they wanted to jump ship; without having to open up about the past, how they’d lived, how they’d got to this point and the experiences, good and bad, that had shaped them. It was enough that they wanted each other physically and that they made each other laugh. She was determined to live in the now and enjoy the moment, doing her level best not to think too far ahead – trying not to picture cosy winter walks wrapped in wide scarves as they strolled hand in hand, lazy summer days spent with the sun on their skin and cold, cold wine drunk al fresco. Of a more practical – some might say cynical – nature, she had never been a romantic and saw no reason to let her guard down now.

Dr Schoenfeld would be proud of how she remained present. Heading there now, she saw her therapist at least a couple of times a week – it was her me time, provided clarity to her jumbled thoughts, and was entirely necessary to keep her worries and anxieties in check.

Her phone beeped as Nico responded to her text in kind. She laughed loudly at the thumbs-up and swallowed the bubble of happiness that rose in her throat, feeling a lot like a giddy teen who has just heard third hand from a friend of a friend that the boy she liked might actually like her in return. The kind of moment she would have shared with Trina, if things were different. Quickly she suppressed the image of the girl who had been her best friend, her confidante, her sounding board. It happened like this sometimes – fleeting, crushing moments that reminded her of what she had lost. Not that this was a time for lament, not with things having gone so well with Nico and her so looking forward to her move to LA.

If the pavement had been empty and the street not nose-to-tail with cars, cabs, buses, and bikes, she might have skipped a little, not that she was the skipping kind, especially not in these heels. Well, that and the fact that she hadn’t skipped since she was a child. But that was one helluva good lunch. And she wasn’t referring to the overpriced gnocchi that had barely touched the sides.

Nico was smart, funny, and extremely attractive, and his aftershave was utterly divine ! She loved it! He was the full package and the kind of man she would be foolish not to invest in for a while at least. She’d suggest dinner. Dinner and whatever followed ... knowing she wouldn’t mind seeing what lurked beneath his crisp white shirt and sharp navy suit.

Her phone rang.

‘Tan, what’s up?’

She and Tan Shi had blurred the lines between colleague and friend. She had even witnessed his marriage to Ramon last Christmas – the only one present who had not sobbed and smudged her mascara on the steps of the Marylebone registry office. She’d done her best to mask her cynicism, knowing that marriage was not for her. It was to her mind a bizarre and outdated contract that made little sense. Her mum and dad, Marnie and Doug, were the one exception to the rule – deeply in love, bound by constraints that were not applicable to her – the grind of a hard life and a horizon that was always within reach. As if they didn’t have time or energy to question their commitment, far too busy earning enough to put bread on the table and never having to contend with the bigger life questions of promotion, exploration, and risk. Like goldfish. Happy, contented goldfish who never looked up and just kept on swimming. As a teenager, she didn’t know whether to pity or admire them, and that was the truth. As an adult, she only hoped that she might find a love so steadfast and unrelenting, knowing the kind of stability that could bring to a life, but she’d do so without putting on a big frock and organising a buffet. Theirs was indeed a steadfast and unrelenting love that they were happy to share with the little girl who sat at the centre of their world. Her wonderful, wonderful mum and dad ...

‘Couple of things.’ Tan broke her thoughts. ‘First, Stern has come back and he likes the chandelier!’

‘That’s great news!’

She felt a familiar flush of joy that their client had approved the expensive option, knowing it would make all the difference to the final appearance, and their bottom line. The mark-up was hefty. The ornate, coloured glass had a slight dapple and was almost iridescent – the perfect centrepiece for the open-plan foyer of the high-end apartments that would sit on top of the retail space of the renovated factory complex, only a stone’s throw from central Manchester. It was also vital she leave the agency, which specialised in the redevelopment and regeneration of commercial premises, on a high. This was her last commission before she took up the new position offered by her old boss, Rebecca Swinton, who was now based in LA. Madeleine couldn’t wait to fix up her new apartment, let the heat of the Californian sun warm her muscles, and wander the coast or hike the mountains of a weekend. A whole new life in a different environment. She was beyond excited.

‘I’m glad he likes it. We can talk about it when I get back – shan’t be much longer, an hour or so. What was the other thing?’ She came to a halt outside the narrow white stucco building with its grand Palladian-inspired porch and waited to end the call.

‘How did it go with Nico?’

‘Again, we can talk about it when I get back, but ... good.’ She smiled; their time together might be short, her flights already booked, but that didn’t mean she and Nico couldn’t have an amazing couple of weeks. Not to mention the fact her mind kept returning to the idea that it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that a man like Nico Yannis would pop up in LA now and then, although she tried not to get ahead of herself. It was, after all, only one lunch.

‘So when you say it was good, do you mean good or good good?’ he pushed.

‘Bye, Tan!’ She ended the call, and shook her head. He was such a gossip, a nosy gossip, but she loved him regardless.