A Man Without Mercy

‘Very much so,’ she said truthfully.

When Jack’s heart actually swelled with happiness, his mother’s words came back to haunt him.

You don’t do love, Jack. It just happens.

Dear God, he thought. But not altogether unhappily. Which was perverse. He’d always believed he didn’t want to be bothered with the whole love and marriage scenario, especially the children part. He’d wanted freedom from any more responsibility. But when love struck—as it obviously had—you actually wanted to embrace such things. He could think of nothing more desirable than being married to Vivienne and having children with her. How amazing was that?

Amazing, but also problematic. After all, she didn’t love him back, did she?

‘That’s good,’ he said, somewhat distractedly. ‘Look, the rain’s stopped.’ Which was just as well. Jack doubted that Francesco’s Folly would look as marvellous in the rain. And he wanted it always to look marvellous. Wanted Vivienne to fall in love with the place, as well as with him. It might take time but that was all right. She wasn’t going anywhere fast. She’d be signing that contract to work for him till the refurbishment was complete. That gave him several months to achieve his goal, though Jack suspected he would need every single one of them.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

SHE’D LIED TO Jack about being able to control her nerves over the party. Come the following Saturday morning, she woke with an already churning stomach which quickly worsened once it hit her that D-day had finally arrived: Daryl Day.

She hadn’t spent last night at Jack’s apartment, because she had an early appointment at the beauty salon just down the road from her own flat. Normally, she enjoyed the couple of hours she spent there every six weeks or so, having her hair trimmed, shampooed and blow-dried, after which she usually had a pedicure and manicure. The owner of the salon, a lady in her early forties, was a bright and breezy conversationalist who made all her clients feel better for their visit to her salon. But nothing was going to make Vivienne feel better that morning.

‘What colour do you want on your nails?’ the girl asked.

‘Red,’ Vivienne replied, thinking of the red evening gown which was hanging up on the front of her wardrobe. It was too long to hang inside, and had cost her a bomb. ‘A bright, dark red.’

‘This one is very popular,’ the girl said, holding up a bottle of dark red varnish that had a shimmer in it. ‘It’s called Scarlet Woman. There’s a lipstick to match, if you’d like to buy it.’

Vivienne suspected the girls got a commission if the clients bought some of their products. Usually, she didn’t say yes to their offers, preferring to buy her hair-care products and cosmetics online. But this time she said yes to the lipstick. She might not feel confident about tonight, but by golly she was going to look it!

* * *

The expression on Jack’s face when she opened her door to him at eight that evening was gratifying, even if the butterflies in her stomach had by then reached epic proportions. She was also grateful for the distraction of how fabulous he looked in his black-tie outfit. Not just tall, dark and handsome, but very sophisticated.

‘Heavens, Jack!’ she exclaimed before he could say a word about her. ‘You do scrub up well. And that tux is amazing. It looks like it was made for you.’ Which it did, fitting his broad-shouldered physique to perfection with not a wrinkle anywhere. She’d half-imagined he might look out of place in formal clothes but she was wrong.

He smiled. ‘It was, actually. I couldn’t find anything off the peg to fit me so I had no alternative. And might I say the same about your outfit? Red suits you.’

Strangely, it wasn’t a colour she’d worn before. She’d always thought it too in-your-face. But in-your-face was the look she was going for tonight, the red having extra impact because the material had a glitter effect, similar to her lipstick and nail varnish. The style of the dress was not her usual style either, being very tight. And, whilst it had long sleeves and a high neckline, the back was cut very low, along with a split in the back seam from the hem up to her knees—possibly put there so the occupant of the dress could actually walk.

‘You look like you’ve stepped out of one of those glamorous movies they used to make in the old days,’ Jack said. ‘Especially with your hair done that way.’

Vivienne’s hand lifted to pat the jewelled comb which anchored one side of her hair back from her face, the other side waving down over her shoulder in the way, yes, the movie stars of the forties used to do their hair.