Original Sin

‘I’m not dressed.’

There was a low laugh. ‘I didn’t realize it was that sort of a date.’

‘Just stay in the car, Sean,’ she snapped. ‘I don’t want neighbours thinking I’m bringing strange men up to my apartment. I’ll be down in a sec.’

She released the button before Sean could say more and ran back to the bedroom, grabbing the red dress. As it slid down over her skin she felt a strange sort of illicit thrill.

Holding her coat and clutch she ran down on to the street. Sean was sitting in a sleek silver car.

‘Wow,’ he said admiringly, as she slid into the seat. ‘You look fantastic.’

She looked away from him to fasten her seat belt. Two months in New York had not yet taught her how to accept a compliment. New Yorkers did it extremely well, with a casual nonchalance – as if the praise was appreciated, but also expected.

‘I feel a bit overdressed. I wasn’t sure how smart it was going to be.’

‘It’s perfect,’ he smiled, gunning the engine. ‘You look the perfect date.’

His compliment both thrilled and annoyed her. ‘This isn’t a date, Sean,’ she said, a little too harshly, ‘It’s a business meeting.’

‘Of course,’ he smirked as the car leapt forward, leaving S–shaped marks on the road behind them.

The dinner was being held at the restaurant on top of one the City’s smartest tower blocks, The Overlook, a shard of glass that stretched three hundred metres into the air. The host for the night was Sir Raymond Greig, a retail tycoon who was quietly gobbling up Britain’s high street. His latest venture, a vast, multi–level store on Oxford Street called ‘Pop’, was one of the biggest retail sensations of the last five years. Aimed at young women, Pop was expanding into the provinces and America, while the London store was about to have its fifteen thousand square foot ground floor converted into a beauty boutique: every mid–market cosmetics label wanted to be stocked in it. Sean wanted to use the launch of the department to increase the profile of the new Lupin fragrance, but Asgill’s had its eye on a bigger prize – creating and manufacturing a range of Pop–branded cosmetics.

Tess had to admit, Sean was a natural at this. Seated next to Sir Raymond– in itself an impressive start – he had the billionaire in fits of laughter, regaling him with tales of debauchery and ill–doing after dark, but he also managed to skilfully drop in the odd boast about Asgill’s prowess as a manufacturer and mid–market sales force, plus a couple of allusions to the family’s influential position in the States. He was never explicit with promises or figures, but he was persuasive and charming, the sort of man you’d want to offer your business to. Tess was also able to hold her own, flirting and joking with Sir Raymond, teasing him with stories she’d picked up at the Globe about badly behaved celebrities. She did have the uncomfortable feeling, however, that Sean had told his host that Tess was his date, rather than his publicist.

‘Well, I have to say, that was a very enjoyable meal,’ said Sir Raymond, leaning over to Sean as the poached pear dessert was served. ‘How about a sticky?’

Sean shook his head.

‘Well, I wouldn’t mind something in a Tokay style, especially if it’s a Chambers Rosewood,’ said Tess casually. ‘The Aussies really do love their desserts, don’t they?’

Sir Raymond smiled appreciatively. ‘It’s rare you find a beautiful young lady who appreciates such things.’

Tess murmured modestly; dessert wines had been her father’s love, and he’d told her all about them once he’d opened his pub. Sir Raymond raised his hand for the sommelier, but Tess felt Sean’s foot knock against her leg under the table.

‘Actually Sir Raymond,’ said Tess quickly, ‘on second thoughts, it’s probably not wise on top of the jet lag.’

Sir Raymond nodded his agreement.

‘Well, perhaps we can all have a supper at Scott’s in the next couple of weeks,’ he said. ‘I’m sure Sean and I will have plenty to discuss by then.’

Outside, in the foyer, Tess and Sean had a fantastic view of London spread out below them like a carpet of lights.

‘You know, you weren’t nearly as bad in there as I thought you’d be,’ said Sean as they stepped into the lift.

‘Thanks,’ said Tess sarcastically. ‘There’s a compliment in there somewhere. I just can’t see it for the massive character slur.’

‘I dated a journalist once,’ he continued. ‘Magazine editor. Neurotic, very snappy. Only ate bean sprouts.’

‘I’ll pretend that last statement has nothing to do with me and move on,’ said Tess.

The lift slid down to the ground floor. As they walked outside, the early May air was balmy, offering a hint of the summer to come.

‘So how’s Dom?’

Tess was surprised that Sean even remembered Dom’s name.

‘Good,’ she said warily. ‘Actually, he’s in Dublin tonight, so I won’t be seeing him until tomorrow.’