‘No, silly,’ smiled Chrissy, hooking her arm though his and leading him inside. ‘This is the surprise.’
Miles watched his wife speak to the manager in fluent French and the old man handed her a key.
‘Is this a joke?’ he hissed as they stepped inside the old-fashioned wrought-iron cage of the lift. ‘Give me thirty seconds and I can call the Crillon and see if the penthouse is available.’
‘It’s not a joke,’ said Chrissy, pulling open the concertina lift gate and leading him towards a pair of dark wood doors. Inside, it was like a miniature version of the king’s chamber at Versailles. A huge four-poster bed with turned gold-leaf uprights and red, dusty velvet drapes. Gold plaster cherubs surrounding a large oval mirror and a cracked crystal chandelier. Chrissy stripped off her coat and dropped it on a chair.
‘What are you doing?’ said Miles.
‘What do you think?’ she said, a sexy smile on her face. ‘We have dinner booked at a little brasserie just around the corner at eight. But first . . .’ She slid her hand inside his jacket and began to unbutton his shirt, planting a kiss on his neck.
‘In this shit-hole?’
She moved behind him and slid off his cashmere overcoat. ‘It’s romantic,’ she whispered into his neck.
‘It’s revolting,’ said Miles, looking at the bed and feeling his skin begin to itch. She pulled down the shoulders of her dress and let it slide down her lithe body. Underneath she was wearing a black push-up bra and stockings and suspenders – no panties. She was slim, boyish, with breasts he could cover with the palm of his hand. Holding his gaze as she moved, she slid down his body and unbuckled his trousers, reaching inside for his cock.
‘We are a team, honey,’ she whispered. ‘In life, in business, in bed.’
She took him into her mouth and he gasped. It had been so long since they had done anything sexual, but then it had been so long since he had felt a hint of the sexual chemistry he remembered from those heady days in Thailand.
She gently pushed him towards the bed and straddled him, pushing herself down on him, hot and wet.
‘Oh God,’ he moaned, falling back on to the bedcover.
‘Relax, honey, just relax,’ she whispered, undoing her bra and letting her hard nipples skate over his chest. ‘Imagine we’re back in Patong,’ she breathed into his ear. ‘We’re in my little flat. We didn’t get out of bed for days. We fucked and fucked.’
Miles tried to remember; he tried to send himself back to that hot, cramped apartment, to that time when they had been so happy, so together. She was grinding herself down on him now.
‘Come on,’ she gasped. ‘Fuck me.’
But he couldn’t. Suddenly he knew it was all wrong, and his erection ebbed away and slipped out of her.
‘I’m sorry, Chris,’ he said, pushing her off and quickly pulling his trousers back up. ‘I’m tired, tense. There’s too much stress at the moment.’
He looked back at her, sprawled on the bed, hugging her arms around herself protectively, her eyes hurt and pleading. It was the first time he could remember seeing her look vulnerable.
‘I’m going out,’ he said quietly.
‘Fine,’ she snapped, putting her clothes back on.
‘Don’t be like that, Chris. I just need some space.’
He got dressed and went out on to the street, where a taxi took him into the Marais. He was angry, frustrated and couldn’t even put his finger on why. Wandering the back streets, he found himself at a club which, from the clientele hanging around outside, he guessed would suit his needs. He turned and stepped inside, looking forward to an anonymous Frenchman finishing off the job that Chrissy had started in bed thirty minutes earlier.
48
September 2003
‘Do you think this is too daggy for school?’ asked Oliva, looking at herself in the mirror. She was wearing tight jeans, a candy-striped T-shirt and hot-pink baseball boots.
‘I know you don’t have to wear uniform, Liv,’ said Grace, ‘but it’s still school, not a fashion show.’
‘I’ve got to look good on my first day, haven’t I?’ said her daughter. ‘I bet you were the same.’
Grace frowned; now she thought about it, she couldn’t actually remember. She had blocked out so much of her early years; some parts had been completely erased from her memory. Maybe it was just the strain of the day, she thought as she looked at her watch for the third time in as many minutes.
Where is Julian? she thought, walking to the window. Calm down, Grace, she told herself. It’s not the end of the world. But it felt like it. Ever since she had left Parador, Liv and Joe had been her world, the reason she got up every morning. And now they were leaving for Danehurst, she felt as if she was waiting for a hospital operation. She’d have much preferred them to go to a local day school near their new home, a farmhouse on her mother’s Oxfordshire estate. But the twins had been adamant that they wanted to go to Danehurst.