CHAPTER 26
Harry
December 1993
The house was sold, and Katie and Maria had gone to Wales. His lawyer, Tom Wolston, advised not making a fuss if Harry wanted to see his daughter regularly.
Saying goodbye had been surprisingly painful. Cassandra had been giving Katie “counseling,” though she had precisely no qualifications in that area. Frankly, Harry couldn’t stand this new version of Cassandra. What was it with people who’d been through rehab and felt the need to evangelize their newfound knowledge of how to cope with life? Now Katie had been sucked into the whole ridiculous nonsense, talking about divesting herself of Harry’s “negative influence” and their “toxic relationship.”
While Harry would always remember Katie fondly, she was trying not to remember him at all.
From one problem woman to another. Harry had needed to talk to Merry about the South Ken flat. She’d been almost incoherent, alternately shrieking and crying, telling him he’d ruined her life and she’d make him pay. He’d put the phone down and told Wolston to speak to her on his behalf.
Now, it was only a matter of time before word spread about his split with Katie. He needed to preempt the gossip. Tonight was the office Christmas party, the time when tittle-tattle turned exponential. Tonight he’d bite the bullet.
He beckoned Janette into his office and asked her to shut the door. She looked surprised, and not a little excited.
“Janette, I know I can rely on your discretion.”
“Of course, Harry.” The seriousness of her expression was rather touching.
“Katie and I . . . we’re separating. Perhaps you already know.”
“I don’t listen to office gossip, Harry. But I’m very sorry to hear that.”
“We’ve sold the house, and I’ll be living in town. There will be gossip, of course, about the reason for our separation. It’s an irretrievable breakdown caused by Katie’s ongoing battle with depression, which I’m no longer able to help with. It’s amicable.”
“Gosh, Harry, I’m sure you’ve done your best to make her happy. These things are always sad, but if you’re making each other miserable, well . . .”
“Quite. Thank you, Janette.”
It was a dismissal, but she didn’t hear it that way.
“My sister was stuck in an unhappy marriage for years. She was afraid to leave because she didn’t want to be alone, and because of the money situation. When they finally split she was that much happier, and then she met this really nice man called Ken. I’m sure the same will happen to you, Harry.”
“Perhaps.”
“If you ever need to talk . . .”
“Thanks. That’s sweet of you. Where would I be without you? Better get on with it, though, eh?”
“Yes, of course, Harry. Loads to get through before the party tonight. Can’t wait! And you can rely on me. Mum’s the word.”
Ana
It was four o’clock, and work had been abandoned for the afternoon. Wine was already flowing, and the girls were trooping, a few at a time, to the loos, emerging transformed and glittery in clouds of perfume.
Ana cleared her desk, pondering the evening ahead. From tonight, she and Harry would be official. Out and about as a couple. And although neither had spoken the words, it was understood she’d be staying over at his place. The prospect hung between them like a delicious fruit. For the past week, every look, every glance they’d shared, had scorched a path through her. A tremor of anticipation rippled down her body. Again.
Knowing all eyes would be upon her, she’d chosen her dress for maximum impact. Because now, not only would she be Rose Corp.’s style queen, she’d be queen consort too. She’d spotted it in Vogue and had brokered a deal with Versace—a chunk of advertising space for the loan of the dress. It was gold lamé, and it shimmered with a life of its own. The neckline was draped low, and it was slit to the thigh. Her makeup would be gold, too, and she’d wear her hair loose, poker straight. She was aiming for nothing less than goddess.
Ana switched off her computer, unhooked the hanger from her office door, and headed for the ladies.
Harry
Harry was at the Hippodrome early. It was company tradition that he welcomed everyone personally as they arrived.
Janette was one of the first, looking pretty. She’d gone to town with her makeup and was wearing a dress that was far shorter than her usual style. She kept pulling at the hem, as if everyone was trying to see up it.
“Hello, you look lovely,” said Harry affectionately. He leaned forward to kiss her cheek.
Enormous blush.
“So do you! Happy Christmas!” she said in a high voice.
“Nice dress.”
“You don’t think it’s too short? I went shopping with Lesley from human resources. She talked me into it.”
“Is there such thing as a too-short dress?” said Harry cheekily. “Enjoy the party, sweetheart. Don’t drink too much.”
“I won’t!”
A few more arrived, and then a flood, and he carried on being jovial Santa Harry.
Terri appeared, in head-to-toe black. She’d done something spiky with her hair, there was a black velvet choker around her neck, and her eyeliner was deliberately smudged.
“You look terrifying,” said Harry. “Save a dance for me later. Something by the Cure, perhaps.”
“Very fookin’ funny, Harry . . . holy shit.”
“What?”
“It’s a walking bloody Oscar.”
Ana was coming through the doors, shimmering in a dress made of something filmy and gold that clung to her perfect body. A smooth, glistening leg peeped through a split up one side, and her hair fell to her waist like a glossy black curtain.
Harry’s composure flew right past her and out the door. Suddenly all he could think about was exploring inside that split.
Terri spoke in his ear. “Harry. Get a grip.”
“What? Yes, get a grip, man. It’s only a golden goddess.”
Nate was with Ana, and Harry went to greet them. Ana was wearing gold eye makeup, and more gold glittered on her cheeks.
He kissed her below the sparkle.
“Hello, art people. That’s quite a dress, Ana. Does it turn to rags at midnight?”
“I might have gone home by then. Depends if I find my prince.”
“Princes are vastly overrated. Company bosses are far better value.”
“‘Someday my boss shall come.’ Doesn’t have quite the same ring.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Harry grinned.
Ana blushed as she realized the double entendre.
“Also less liable to turn into frogs when kissed,” added Nate.
“I don’t know about that either,” said Harry. “But I’m willing to put it to the test. Ana?”
He kissed her again, this time on the lips. He’d intended a quick peck but found he couldn’t pull away.
“Harry, have you not heard of sexual harassment?” said Terri, after many seconds had passed.
Ana ended it.
“Sorry,” said Harry. “Got carried away. But then . . . Christmas.”
“Can I have one?” said Terri.
“Fuck no, you might turn me to stone,” said Harry.
“What makes you think I was talking to you?” said Terri, winking at Ana.
“Come on, Terri,” said Nate. “Let’s go and play.”
Harry slipped an arm around Ana’s waist. The gold material was thin and slithery, and he could feel the warmth of her skin beneath. “Let’s go find the bar. I’ve had enough of the meet and greet.”
He kept his arm there as they went through to where the dance floor was already pumping. Harry ordered champagne for himself, Ana, Terri, and Nate, then raised his glass toward them. “Merry Christmas, all. You’re top girls and boys, and I love you dearly. A toast to 1994. I have a feeling it’s going to be spectacular.”
His arm was still around Ana’s waist. Terri stared pointedly at it, then at his face, then cocked her head to one side. “Blatant favoritism, if you ask me. Just because she looks like Aphro-fookin’-dite.”
“Doesn’t she just,” said Harry, and lifted Ana’s hand to his lips. Her nails were gold too. “Ding dong. It’s the belle of the ball.”
“Harry . . .” said Ana, the question in her eyes.
“Nate, Terri, I’m happy for you two to be the first to know. Ana and I are a thing. An item. Whatever you want to call it. Feel free to light the gossip wildfire.”
“You what?” said Nate. “Ana?”
“As you know, Percy and I split up,” she said, as if she were delivering a company report. “Harry and his wife have separated too. So—”
“So no more eyes meeting across a crowded room but being too cautious to do anything about it,” interrupted Harry. “But as far as work goes, it’s business as usual. Nothing will change.”
Terri snorted, and Harry sensed a hostility in her reaction far beyond what he’d anticipated. What was that all about?
“Terri. You didn’t like it when I more or less ordered you to employ Ana, but I was right, wasn’t I?”
“Can’t deny it.”
“Well, Rose won’t be losing Ana because she’s dating the boss. OK? Get used to it and move on.”
“Right you are, boss. Message understood.”
Harry hoped it was. It might be business as usual, but he knew how sensitive Ana was about any implication her meteoric rise was down to anything other than talent and hard work.
“Nate, darling, come and shake your delicious booty with me,” said Terri.
“My pleasure. Lead on, Macduff.”
Harry and Ana were as alone as they were likely to be in the next hour or two.
“Come back to the flat with me tonight.”
“And spend Saturday in this?”
“Definitely. I think you should wear it every day, in fact.”
“It has to go back to Versace.”
“So I’m not allowed to rip it off?”
“No. Slow unzipping will do just fine.”
Harry went quiet for a moment, then took her hand again, holding it in his lap.
“Right now, I’m in danger of another wholly indiscreet show of affection.” He stroked her palm. “What shall we do about this, Ana?”
Her eyes, their gold lids glistening in the dim nightclub lighting, held his, and it was like being sucked into a whirlpool.
“Dance?”
“Yes. Dance.”
All eyes were on them as Harry led her to the dance floor.
They kept a respectable distance apart as they moved to the heavy beat of New Order. Ana’s dress flashed in the disco lights as she danced sinuously, feeling the music.
If he didn’t touch her soon, he’d implode.
Then “Last Christmas” came on, and he pulled her into his arms. In her heels she was almost as tall as him. He looked into her eyes, and it took an enormous force of will not to kiss her again, to resist obliterating every last millimeter of space between them. “Let’s go after this one.”
“Harry, you’re the boss, it wouldn’t be right. Let’s give it another hour.”
It was the longest hour of his life. They separated after the slow dance, then spent time mingling, Harry trying not to look at his watch.
Finally they were out among the Christmas throngs of Leicester Square, looking for a taxi. The atmosphere was infectious, people singing, wearing tinsel, kissing people they shouldn’t have been kissing.
“What’s in there?” Harry asked, noticing Ana’s oversized handbag.
“Tomorrow’s clothes,” she said with a grin.
“Oh really? Did you think I’d be so easy?”
He gathered her into his arms and kissed her hungrily. The noise and bustle of Leicester Square faded away and there was only Ana; her soft lips, her silky hair, her body warm as he slipped his arms inside her open coat.
“I want to look for a taxi, but I don’t want to stop kissing you,” he said.
“Find a taxi and kiss me some more.”
One pulled over and a trio of girls in tiny Santa dresses spilled out, giggling.
Harry talked to the driver, then turned to the girls and grinned. “Happy Christmas, Santa ladies.”
“Oooh, come with us, handsome!” replied one of them. “You can unwrap me anytime!”
“He’s with me,” said Ana.
“All right, don’t get your knickers in a twist,” said a second Santa. “If you’re wearing any, that is. Probably not.”
Harry guffawed, but Ana wasn’t amused. She got into the taxi.
He turned to the girls and shrugged. “Sorry, Santas. Another time, maybe.”
He was still grinning when he joined Ana.
“Harry, really,” she said.
“Bah humbug, Ana,” he replied, and took her in his arms.
They kissed all the way to Knightsbridge, Harry’s hand creeping inside the split in Ana’s dress, making its way higher, making her gasp, until she put her own over it. “Stop, Harry,” she whispered, “before I reach the point of no return.”
“Keep the change. Merry Christmas,” Harry said to the driver.
“Cheers, mate. Won’t be as merry as yours, I’m guessing.” He winked. “Bloody gorgeous.”
“Good night, Mr. Rose,” called the night manager as Harry led Ana to the penthouse lift. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your evening.”
“I have indeed, Ali,” he replied. “And this is Ana. You’ll be seeing a lot of her from now on.”
She was looking around her; he saw the penny dropping. “This isn’t . . . ?”
“No. I haven’t bought this yet,” he said, putting an arm around her waist and guiding her into the lift. “I wanted to make sure you approved first. Let’s call tonight a test drive.”
The doors opened directly into the enormous open-plan living area, a minimalist sea of white, with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out across the city.
“This is incredible,” she said, looking around her.
“I thought it was very you. Drink?”
“Bed?” she replied, throwing her coat on a chair.
“How very wanton of you. But OK, then.”
He led her by the hand into the bedroom, pressing a button to draw the curtains.
“You can unzip me now,” she said, standing close, her breath tickling his cheek.
He turned her around and pushed her hair aside, sweeping it over one shoulder. Her exposed neck was irresistible, and he bent to kiss it. She smelled of vanilla and musk.
Ignoring the zip, his hands slipped around to her front, cupping her breasts, and she moaned softly, tipping her head back.
His breathing quickened and he brought his hands back, taking hold of the zip and slowly lowering it. Her beautiful back was revealed, reminding him of the time when he’d ached to touch it, at the launch party. He’d waited so long.
The dress slithered to the floor, forming a puddle of gold, and now she was standing in her tiny lace panties and high heels. He trailed a finger down her back, and she shivered under his touch.
She turned around and began unbuttoning his shirt.
“Too slow,” he said, and pulled it over his head.
As they kissed, her fingers traced a path down his chest, then stroked him softly through his trousers. She unzipped him, and her fingers found their way through.
Soon they were naked, skin to skin, and she pulled him to the bed.
As they lay down he paused above her, searching her eyes, seeing his own hunger reflected in hers. Then he stopped thinking and there was just the touch of her, the scent of her, the sound of her moaning gently, whispering his name. He’d never lost himself so completely in a woman before, never experienced such passion. This was beyond anything he’d ever known. She kept her eyes locked on his as he entered her, making her gasp, and the heat in their dark depths took him to greater heights, then to someplace in his subconscious, beyond time, deeply recognized, strangely remembered. She cried out, finally closing her eyes as ecstasy flooded through him and he buried his face in her hair, muffling his cry.
They lay still and quiet for a while, their limbs entwined.
But not for long. They made love all night, their desire insatiable, their brief snatches of sleep interrupted by one or the other wanting more. Ana was like a woman possessed, kissing him with a ferocity he’d never known, matching his rhythm, digging her nails into his back.
So much for the Ice Queen.
“Going to have to rethink that nickname,” he said, during a lull.
“What, Ice Queen?”
“If only they knew.”
“You melted me. I’m a puddle now.”
“And I’m drowning in it.”
Next morning found Harry scrambling eggs and making coffee in the kitchen, like the stereotypical bloke in a rom-com after a big first night.
And just like the stereotypical girl, Ana appeared in the doorway dressed in the shirt he’d been wearing the night before. He took in her tousled hair, her sleepy eyes, her smile. If possible, she looked even sexier than she had last night.
“Come back,” she said.
He looked at his pan of eggs. “But three hens and I worked hard to make your breakfast.”
“Not forgetting the cock.”
Harry chuckled as he turned off the stove and scooped her up in his arms. “Saucy wench.”