Chapter 41

ROMILY FLEW ON the family jet to Heathrow with only twenty-seven pieces of luggage and Carlo, her bodyguard. The British driver met her off the plane in the Mercedes and drove her to the family house in London, a beautiful seven-bedroomed white stucco mansion in Chester Square, Belgravia. It was smaller than most of the family houses but one of Romily’s favourites because of the beautiful garden it overlooked.

Once she’d arrived, she summoned her London beauty therapist and masseuse for a full treatment to help her recover from her journey. When she was feeling relaxed and revitalised, she set up her office in a small room leading off the first-floor drawing room that had a charming view over the garden square, and worked on the details of her stay.

Here, there was no Monica to oversee her diary and field calls, but in many ways that made things a great deal easier. Such privacy was useful when it came to conducting the business she kept concealed from everyone closest to her.

She spent her first afternoon working, using the internet to check on progress, emailing her closest contacts and making all the necessary arrangements. There was a lot to catch up on and she felt energised and raring to tackle it all. The most important email she sent simply read, I’m here.

When she was satisfied with what she’d achieved, she shut down her computer and went to bed for an early night.

*

Bianca came over the next day. She’d arrived a few days earlier and was staying at the Dorchester.

‘Such a bore,’ she said as she arrived wearing tight black leggings, stiletto boots and a mustard yellow tunic layered with grey and black knits. ‘Mariah Carey’s staying in the hotel. The noise is dreadful.’

‘She’s not that bad a singer,’ Romily joked, leading her through to the drawing room.

Bianca blinked, puzzled. ‘No, I mean from her fans. What a fuss. They scream every time she leaves the hotel.’

‘Of course.’ Romily’s mouth twitched at one corner.

Bianca shook out her hair and walked up to a mirror on the wall, gazing seriously at her reflection. ‘This party tonight, at the Joshis’ house in Kensington Palace Gardens … you’re coming, aren’t you?’

‘Oh, yes …’ Romily looked as though she wasn’t bothered much one way or the other. ‘I’ll drop in for a while anyway. I won’t stay late. I’m so tired.’

‘Did you bring your pink leopard-print Jimmy Choo clutch?’ enquired Bianca, tearing herself away from her reflection.

‘I think so.’ Romily frowned trying to remember. ‘Would you like to borrow it? I’ll go and see if it’s been unpacked. The maid did most of it yesterday.’

She left Bianca in the drawing room and went quickly upstairs where she found the evening bag sitting neatly on its shelf in her dressing room. She took it back to the drawing room and was surprised to find that her friend had disappeared.

‘Bianca?’ she called, frowning, looking around the room. There was nowhere for her to hide – it was a simple square room in tones of white, off-white and oatmeal: cool and serene.

‘In here,’ came the reply, and Romily realised that Bianca was in the anteroom that led off the drawing room, the one she had chosen for her study. She gasped and sprinted across to the doorway, seeing Bianca inside bending over the desk with its open laptop and neat piles of papers.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ barked Romily, her face burning. ‘Get away from there!’

Bianca jumped and looked up, startled. ‘Sorry, darling, I just wanted to check something on the Chanel website …’

‘Get away!’ Romily dashed over and pushed her aside, slamming the laptop shut and gathering up the papers around it. ‘This is private.’

Bianca blinked at her in her usual bemused way and shrugged, unruffled. ‘Sorry, sweetie, didn’t realise.’ Then she saw that Romily was holding the pink leopard-print clutch and her face lightened. ‘Oh, wonderful! You’ve got the bag. That’s great.’

She took it from her trembling hand and wandered back with it into the drawing room, leaving Romily panting and shaking behind her.

The Kensington Palace Gardens house glittered with beautiful lights: crystal chandeliers hung in shimmering tiers from brass chains, exquisite lamps burned in alcoves and niches, and twisting silver candelabra held up their shining wax offerings on every other surface.

Beautiful women and distinguished men moved through the huge rooms, stopping to greet each other or gathering in small circles to talk as they sipped the ice-cold Bollinger offered to them by waiters or plucked delicious morsels from the trays carried by waitresses.

Romily moved through them, drawing admiring glances as she passed. She was wearing a deep midnight-blue gown, tightly wrapped round her body, emphasising her tiny waist and rounded hips, before flaring out to the ground. The satin glowed against her warm olive skin and her long dark brown hair fell in glossy waves over her shoulders as she made her way through the room.

‘Ah, ma belle! How wonderful to see you, I had no idea you were in London!’ An older woman in bright purple silk, her dark tan sunk deep into her pores from years of sunbathing, stepped into her path and offered her pursed, coral-coloured lips for an air kiss.

Romily stopped reluctantly. ‘Francesca, hello.’ She turned her head politely for the pretend embrace. ‘I can’t stay, I’m looking for Bianca …’ She glanced about the room, looking for the familiar dark hair being tossed over one shoulder.

Francesca gestured towards a doorway. ‘She’s in the other salon, talking to some ambassador or other – someone with a big ribbon and medals anyway.’

‘If you’ll excuse me, then …’

‘Come back later, do you hear? I want to find out all your news! And ask about your dear mother, whom I’ve not seen for an age.’

‘Yes, yes, of course. Until then.’ Romily smiled firmly and walked purposefully away. That’s the trouble with these parties. There’s no one I want to talk to. It crossed her mind for a moment how much more fun it would have been to be here with Imogen or Allegra, able to giggle at the pomposity all around as well as to enjoy the luxury. But she pushed that thought away. That’s all over now.

She found Bianca in the red salon and drifted up to join her circle, greeting everyone with the usual kisses. A waiter brought her a glass of champagne and she sipped it as she listened to the conversation. Bianca had managed to extricate herself from the attentions of the ambassador and was complimenting Romily on her gown when she suddenly gave her a fierce nudge. ‘Do you know who that is?’ she hissed in a loud whisper, gazing across the throng.

‘Who?’ Romily asked, following the direction of her gaze. It was hard to make out anyone in particular in the ranks of dark-jacketed backs and vibrant silks and satins.

‘That devastatingly handsome man over there!’ Bianca said. ‘Next to Kevin Tong.’

Romily saw who she was talking about and immediately her insides seemed to turn to water. She felt as breathless as if she’d been running a mile. The tall man in the Gieves and Hawkes bespoke dinner jacket and sober black silk tie was none other than Mitch. He was talking to a younger man who looked Indian, and an elegant Chinese man sporting velvet evening slippers where most of the men were wearing patent leather shoes.

‘That’s Ted Mitchell, the mystery billionaire,’ Bianca said excitedly. ‘I saw him in the Dorchester last night – he was dining with Kevin then. I bet they’re talking about business … He’s American, and apparently he’s buying up the most glamorous clubs and restaurants in London. Maybe he wants to buy Kevin’s place.’ She sighed happily. ‘So rich and so good-looking. I just have to meet him!’ She pulled at Romily’s arm. ‘Come on, let’s go over, Kevin will introduce us.’

‘No, no,’ Romily protested weakly. She was still so stunned by the sight of Mitch that all the strength seemed to have left her body.

‘Come on,’ insisted Bianca, pulling her across the room. At that moment the men they were discussing seemed to feel their presence because Kevin turned round, saw Bianca and gave a broad smile.

‘The exquisite Countess Bianca! What joy. Come and talk to us, dear. And Romily de Lisle … I haven’t seen you in age, sweet thing!’ Kevin put out a hand to her and the next moment she was standing in their circle, only aware, as Kevin kissed her cheek, of Mitch just a foot or so away. She was blinded by confusion, unable to look up, seeing only dinner suits and the vibrant green of Bianca’s split-skirt Versace dress.

‘Now,’ Kevin said brightly, still holding her hand, ‘Romily, have you met Ted Mitchell? He’s the newest addition to the London scene and making rather a mark by buying up all our favourite watering holes!’

There was a pause where Romily was duly expected to smile and glitter, to say hello and how lovely to meet you and tell me all about it, but she couldn’t. As she fought her churning emotions, the pause lengthened into an awkward silence.

‘Well, I’m dying to meet you,’ gushed Bianca. ‘I’ve heard so much about you. Are you enjoying London?’

There was another pause as everyone waited for Mitch to answer. Kevin shifted uncomfortably.

‘I was enjoying it,’ Mitch said in an icy voice.

At the sound of it, a whirl of emotions rushed through Romily. That voice … how much it had meant to her! Oh God … she still remembered so much … a moment from their wedding day sprang into her mind and she heard his voice murmuring his vows.

‘Romily and I have met before, haven’t we?’ he said. She managed to look up and saw the cold smile that didn’t touch his brown eyes. She nodded and said nothing. The others swapped glances – the chilly, almost venomous atmosphere was unmistakable, though they clearly had no idea why it was so. ‘Oh, yes,’ he said harshly. ‘We’re old, old friends.’ Then Mitch glanced at the others in the circle. ‘I’m sorry, would you excuse me? I really must find our host. He’s expecting me in the library in five minutes.’

‘What was that all about?’ hissed Bianca, appalled and intrigued at the same time, as they made their way to the supper room quarter of an hour later.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, darling.’ Romily had recovered herself by now and spoke in an easy tone. She flicked a tiny piece of her satin gown between her fingers.

‘You and Ted Mitchell! How come you know each other?’

‘Oh, we don’t really, I don’t know why he said that.’ Romily shrugged carelessly and then allowed herself a tiny smile as she said, ‘I think he’s an old friend of my father. That must be it.’

She made her excuses as soon as she could, and summoned the Mercedes to the front of the house.

As the car glided away down the private road, she said to the driver, ‘We’re not going home, Walter. I have another appointment to go to first.’

Then she sat back on the seat and watched London sailing past, dark and shadowy in the autumn night.

The evening isn’t over quite yet …