Greg leans forwards in his seat. ‘Sloane Square,’ he instructs the taxi driver.
As the cab pulls away from the pavement, Cara looks back at Elliot and Kat standing in the gallery doorway and waves.
Greg eases back into his seat. ‘Congratulations, Cara. You’ve won them over. Both Elliot and Kat think you’re glorious!’
Breathing a sigh of relief, Cara relaxes. Her performance has paid off. She’s been taut and had to second-guess herself all day.
‘And now I’m going to treat you to a shopping spree,’ Greg says.
She gazes at his profile. ‘You don’t need to do that, Greg.’
He glances at her and places a hand lightly on her knee. Cara stiffens.
‘I want to, Cara.’
She looks out of the window at the people walking along the street, busy about their everyday lives. One more night in London and then she’ll be back in Cornwall with her lovely family. Suddenly overwhelmed, she feels like crying. Cara bites her lip.
Greg squeezes her knee and removes his hand. ‘I know this wonderful little boutique that stocks attire that’s perfect for a gallery opening. I’d like to buy something suitable for you.’
Doesn’t he think she’s capable of finding something for herself? Cara turns back to him. ‘Honestly, Greg, you don’t have to do this. I will buy it.’
Greg laughs. ‘Cara, as much as I appreciate the reasoning behind your sentiment, I’m afraid you wouldn’t be able to afford it. No, I am very happy to clothe you for this special occasion.’
Cara turns away and frowns. What might he consider a suitable outfit? Greg is a good twenty years older than her; his choice may not be hers. But it would be churlish to make a fuss.
As the taxi weaves its way through the London traffic, Greg calculates his next move. Cara’s outfit today has set his heart racing just that little bit faster. When she first emerged from her hotel room he could hardly take his eyes off her. Dressed in a smart and presentable navy suit with a crisp white shirt softened by ruffling, she looked not only fresh and businesslike but also totally feminine. The teasingly short skirt and sexy suede boots made him want to abandon their meeting with Elliot and Kat, march her straight back into the room and peel her out of them. He knows Elliot appreciated her outfit, too! He’s so pleased with the way she presented herself to the Kaplans. They instantly warmed to her. He omitted to tell Cara they were desperate to have her as their opening artist, and he enjoyed watching her efforts to clinch the deal.
Greg allows himself a hint of a smile, imagining the outfit he would like to buy her for the gallery opening. He knows the boutique’s style. Before Marietta fell ill she often purchased dresses from their sister branch in New York. That’s the beauty of wealth, thinks Greg. You have choices and can buy the best, knowing the money is well spent and your woman will look a million dollars. Fondly, he thinks of the wife who shared his life for almost twenty-five years. It was such a short time in the overall scheme of things. He glances sideways at Cara, still looking out of the window. This is his chance to recreate those heady days when he first discovered Marietta and carefully guided her to the critical acclaim she so justly deserved. His eyes slide down to Cara’s slim, shapely legs. Of course, Cara is much younger than him, but if he plays his cards right her overwhelming talent will assure him of an ongoing glittering life in the spotlight. He considers the baggage that comes with her: a third child now. He’s never wanted children and always made it patently clear to girlfriends from the outset of any relationship that children were not on the agenda, but at his age he knows he’d be foolish to stick by that rule and jeopardise an opportunity with Cara. This time, the possibilities her enormous talent offers him are enough to make him consider accommodating her children. Greg’s mouth twitches into a smile. Yes, he’s playing it right; successfully moulding her into a befitting partner. He’s already noticed the changes.
*
‘Just call me if your situation alters,’ says Sabrina from the agency doorway.
‘You’ll be the first to know,’ Oliver says, kissing her on the cheek. He turns away and acknowledges a couple of young women walking by looking at him with appreciation.
Sabrina grins. Oliver never fails to stop people in their tracks, particularly women. She notices his driver raise an eyebrow as he holds open the Mercedes’ door for the actor.
As the car pulls away into the afternoon traffic, Oliver looks back and smiles at his glamorous agent.
Sabrina climbs the stairs to her office, muttering to herself. ‘That foolish wife of his doesn’t know how lucky she is! I’d never risk trading marriage with Oliver Foxley for a possible career.’
Oliver gazes out of the window as the car makes its way slowly along Mount Street. The intricately detailed Queen Anne revival-style architecture and pristine red-brick shopfronts ooze a distinctly old-world charm. Relaxing back into the seat, he observes the crowds rushing back to their offices after a leisurely lunch, or window-shopping the street’s rich diversity of fashion houses and jewellers from some of the biggest talents of the twenty-first century. Although he enjoys the hustle and bustle of the city on occasion, he would not want to live here again. Lodging here as a student and during his early career was more than enough for him. Deanna has surprised him with her desire to relocate to London. Again, he wonders how their new living arrangements will work.
‘Apologies for dragging you into London, Terry,’ Oliver says.
‘No worries. As I said to Mrs Foxley, it’s all part of the service. Anyway, it’s good keeping my hand in with city driving.’ Terry swerves to avoid a van pulling out from the kerb. ‘Bloody idiot,’ he mutters under his breath, ‘and on a double yellow too!’
Oliver removes his mobile from his jacket pocket. Not wanting any interruptions during the lunch meeting with Sabrina, he switched it off. However, the lunch turned out to be not so much a meeting but more of a social occasion, and they covered a variety of subjects. But, then, it’s always like that with Sabrina. He wonders why his agent is still single. How has she escaped the net?
Married to her career, I suppose.
Switching on the phone, he sees a message from the Cornish property finder alerting him to four properties he might like to consider. Oliver calls her immediately.
‘Hello, Zennor, it’s Oliver Foxley,’ he says, thinking how so many Cornish women have lovely names. He recalls Morwenna explaining that her namesake was the patron saint of Morwenstow – almost in Devon – as if that fact made it somehow inferior! ‘So, you’ve found some suitable properties for me?’
‘I think I might have, Mr Foxley. I’ve emailed the brochures to you. Please take a look and tell me if I’m on the right track,’ says Zennor, her Cornish accent loud and clear.
‘I’m in London at present but I should be home in a couple of hours. I’ll get back to you as soon as I’ve studied the details. What time do you close?’
‘I don’t. I’m available twenty-four seven.’
‘That’s some service you offer!’ Oliver says with a smile.
‘We aim to please,’ Zennor says, giving a small, nervous laugh.
‘I’ll catch you later, then. Bye for now.’
Ending the call, Oliver looks out at the city as it gives way to the suburbs. If Deanna is determined to buy a property in London, then he will buy a second home in Cornwall. He can only hope that over time Cara will let him into her young family’s life. If she continues to deny him that opportunity then he will respect her decision, but having a base in Cornwall will enable him to keep a watchful eye on them all… from a discreet distance.