Greg glances up from his newspaper and looks towards the hotel’s revolving doors. Taxis come and go, and each time one pulls up his pulse races a little faster. It’s busy in the foyer and several of the female guests have noticed the attractive, well-dressed man sitting on his own reading a newspaper and nursing a cup of coffee.
The hotel attracts a glamorous, upper-class clientele and Greg feels comfortable in its surroundings. He glances at his gold Rolex. It won’t be long before she’s here. He checks himself. It’s important he sets the right tone. He mustn’t make a fast move; he doesn’t want to scare her off. It’s going to be hard, though, because something about Cara makes him sweat.
A couple of ladies make eye contact as they pass by on their way to the lift. Greg acknowledges them with a nod but doesn’t offer any further encouragement. Both women are attractive and elegantly dressed, and either one would look good on his arm. Used to moving in the upper echelons of New York society, Greg oozes worldly sophistication. There’s a sense of order about him too. He’s in control. Well-versed in polite small talk, he can turn on the charm if he so chooses. Today, however, Greg has no such desire to waste time on these women. He has another prize in his sight.
A taxi pulls up, and even before the car door opens he knows it’s her. She gets out and lifts a small travel bag onto the pavement. Greg reins himself in. Cara is casually dressed in black leggings, leather ankle boots and a long coat, her long blonde hair glistening in the afternoon sun. As she walks towards the revolving entrance doors, Greg neatly folds the newspaper and places it on the table next to the half-empty coffee cup. He watches as she enters the hotel. Even though the foyer is full of perfumed, coiffed and cultivated women, not one is a match for Cara. As with the first time he saw her standing at her studio window in that little Cornish cove, she represents a breath of fresh air to him. Her beauty is natural and sun-kissed, stirring memories of carefree, hazy summer days. Sure, she’s unsophisticated, but he and Marietta discussed that. Slowly, he is putting into action their plans for creating an acceptable artist worthy of the wider art world… and one who is worthy of him.
Greg rises to his feet and walks towards her. ‘Cara.’ He kisses her on both cheeks. He’d like to kiss her on the mouth but he doesn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention to himself in these surroundings. ‘Did you have a good journey?’
‘Yes, thanks.’ She gazes around the grand entrance hall.
‘Let’s get you booked in,’ he says, guiding her by the elbow towards the reception desk.
Registration is handled quickly and efficiently, and the front office receptionist calls to a porter to carry Cara’s travel bag to her room. Greg swiftly intervenes. Informing the man it’s unnecessary, he picks up the bag himself and walks Cara towards the awaiting lift.
‘Once you’ve settled in I thought we would have afternoon tea here,’ says Greg, pressing the fifth-floor button. ‘I’ve also booked a couple of tickets for a show this evening.’ As the lift doors close, he smiles at her. ‘I thought we should have some fun before the work begins tomorrow. Elliot and Kat expect us around ten. We will spend most of the day going through the arrangements for the exhibition.’
Cara smiles, feeling nervous and jittery in the unfamiliar surroundings, but he’s got it all organised. All she has to do is turn up and perform.
The lift doors open and – ever the gent – Greg motions Cara to exit first. Arriving at her room, Cara slots the key card into the lock, opens the door and enters. She swallows the gasp in her throat. Decorated in an elegant Edwardian style and retaining much of its original character, the luxurious room directly overlooks the River Thames.
‘Wonderful views, aren’t they?’ says Greg, placing her bag on the floor and walking to the windows. ‘That’s the South Bank over there.’
‘Spectacular,’ agrees Cara.
Greg glances at his watch. ‘I’ll leave you to it. Is half an hour long enough for you to unpack and freshen up?’
‘Yes, that’s fine.’
‘I’m in the next room should you want anything.’
Cara nods. ‘I won’t be long. I’ll just change out of these clothes.’
Greg turns away, curbing his excitement at the thought. It’s been a long time since he’s had her all to himself. Of course, he made sure he was with her when she won the Threadneedle Prize and he paid for her to stay in the same hotel as him, but he was married to Marietta then and nothing happened. This time, however, there is no such obstacle. They are both consenting adults. As long as he doesn’t frighten her off, the evening should end as he has imagined.
As soon as Greg leaves the room Cara jumps onto the mountainous king-sized bed. She sinks back into its comfortable mattress and laughs out loud. The room is so extravagant. It’s a world away from anything she’s experienced before. She sits up and looks around at the custom-made furnishings. There’s a writing desk, armchair and sofa, an enormous flat-screen television, DVD player and an iPod docking station. There’s also a personal bar, and complimentary tea-and-coffee-making facilities. Her gaze moves to the river view and London’s most recognisable landmarks. It’s very generous of Greg to pay for her, but she knows he expects a lot in return. She hopes she can deliver. A tap at the door distracts her from her thoughts. Has he remembered something else to tell her? Scrambling off the bed, Cara opens the door to a young man dressed in hotel uniform and holding aloft an exquisite bouquet.
‘For me?’ she asks.
‘Yes, madam.’
‘Thank you.’ Cara casts around the room. ‘Perhaps on the table by the window.’
The man does as instructed before quickly retreating.
Cara approaches the elaborate floral display of cascading gypsophilia, cornflowers and stunning pale pink, Savoy Hotel roses. The bouquet is pretty and delicate and she sniffs the roses. Their fragrance is light. She removes a card.
A beautiful bouquet for a special lady, G x
Cara frowns. Tapping the card against her mouth, lost in thought, she gazes again at the mighty Thames. Pulling herself together, she quickly unpacks her bag and hangs her suit and shirt on the hangers in the wardrobe. Then, grabbing her wash bag, she walks to the bathroom. Again she gasps, only this time out loud. You could have a party in here! The luxurious and generously proportioned marble bathroom is completely opulent with a large walk-in shower as well as a free-standing claw-foot tub. She can’t wait to have a long, hot soak in that! Cara laughs, thinking of her small en-suite shower room at The Lookout.
Knowing that Greg hates to be kept waiting, Cara washes and changes into a pair of smart black trousers and a flattering, floral tunic with gorgeous ruching and front pockets. She brushes her hair, applies more mascara and a fresh coat of lipstick, and emerges from the bathroom just as there’s a knock at the door.
‘Ready?’ Greg asks, as she opens the door.
‘I am,’ Cara says. ‘Thank you for the flowers, but you shouldn’t have.’
‘Indulge me, Cara,’ Greg says with a smile. Cupping her elbow, he guides her towards the lift. ‘Now, let us enjoy this hotel’s world-famous afternoon tea while being serenaded by a pianist from the winter garden gazebo. I hope you are hungry because there’s plenty of choice.’