A Man Without Mercy

Daryl trailed several paces after his fiancée, sipping a glass of champagne, not having noticed Vivienne as yet. He was looking back over his shoulder at a striking brunette who was smiling invitingly after him. Leopards didn’t change their spots, Vivienne realised ruefully as her gaze swung from the brunette back to her ex.

There was no doubt Daryl was elegantly handsome in his black dinner suit and bow tie, but not nearly as impressive as Jack. As he made his way slowly across the expansive lobby, Vivienne began to see the weakness in Daryl’s features, and foppishness in his walk. She even found new criticism in the way he wore his hair, the streaked blond locks flopping onto his forehead in a style way too young for a man in his thirties.

It pleased Vivienne that she no longer felt one ounce of unhappiness, or jealousy, or envy, over the situation. If anything, she felt a little sorry for Courtney, having Daryl’s baby. He would make a horrible father.

‘Jack!’ Courtney gushed, and reached up to give him a slightly too-long kiss on the cheek, at the same time throwing Vivienne a sharp glance, as though trying to place her. ‘How lovely to see you again. Thank you so much for coming. And thank you for the lovely present you sent.’

Vivienne’s eyebrows arched. He’d sent them a present?

‘My mother always says a girl can’t have too many irons,’ Jack said with a brilliantly straight face whilst Vivienne suppressed a gasp. He’d sent her an iron, this billionaire’s daughter who’d never ironed a thing in her life?

Courtney looked startled, betraying that she’d had no idea what he’d actually sent. There were probably myriad unwrapped presents piled high in one of the myriad bedrooms.

Daryl finally caught up with his fiancée, only to see his ex-fiancée standing in front of him.

‘My God!’ he exclaimed, his voice thin and high. ‘Vivienne!’

Courtney’s blonde head jerked back as she stared at Vivienne, then Daryl, then Jack.

‘Is this some kind of cruel joke?’ she demanded to know, her porcelain-like cheeks flushing with anger.

‘Not at all, Courtney,’ Jack replied as smooth as silk. ‘Daryl’s moved on, and so has Vivienne. She and I have become...good friends. There’s no hard feelings over your stealing her fiancé, are there, Vivienne?’

‘None at all, darling,’ she replied, glad when Jack didn’t bat an eyelid at her endearment. She’d decided on the spur of the moment not to bother tearing verbal strips off Daryl. Just being here with Jack by her side was the best revenge. She could see Daryl was shocked, and most put out. And so was Courtney, which meant she’d known about her all along. She might not have recognised her, the same way her self-absorbed and self-centred father hadn’t recognised her. But she had known. Suddenly, Vivienne didn’t feel sorry for her at all. She was getting what she deserved: Daryl as a husband, with all his vanity, greed and selfishness.

‘You did me a good turn, Courtney,’ Vivienne added with a brilliant smile as she touched Jack tenderly on the arm.

Courtney’s blue eyes darkened appreciably. ‘Really,’ she bit out.

Her father joining them rather stopped any further conversation on the subject.

‘Don’t stand around in the foyer, folks,’ Frank said expansively. ‘Let’s go down to where all the food and wine are being served. I would be totally miffed if you didn’t taste some of the specialities I ordered in, Jack. And you too, Vivienne. Caviar from Russia and truffles from France, not to mention several cases of their best champagne. Nothing like champagne.’

The next half hour went quite well—which meant without anyone creating a scene—with a none-the-wiser Frank plying Jack and Vivienne with champagne and caviar, whilst Courtney eventually took Daryl off somewhere, hopefully to have a lover’s spat. Vivienne wasn’t blind. She could see that Courtney was totally miffed. Vivienne was glad that she’d gone to so much trouble with her appearance. She knew she looked good.

Frank finally left them alone and they wandered out onto the massive back terrace, Vivienne happy not to have to make further chitchat with the kind of people Frank courted: all rich snobs who thought they were better than everyone else, just because they could afford habourside mansions and more than one Picasso.

‘So I’m darling now, am I?’ were Jack’s first words as they strolled alongside the well-lit, Olympic-sized pool. There was no one else around. A pool party, it was not, though there were several portable heaters dotted around for warmth.