Prada and Prejudice (Dating Mr Darcy - Book 1) (24 page)

“It’s a constant balancing act,” Alastair agreed. “What about you? Have you family in London?” he asked.

“No. I was born in Edinburgh and left my mam and half-brother behind to come here when I was seventeen. It’s nothing you can’t Google,” he added dryly. “No need to ply me with overpriced burgers and stout.”

Alastair smiled slightly. “No, I suppose not. I’m only curious. Is your mother still in Edinburgh?”

“Yes.” He offered no additional information.

Rhys pushed aside his plate and glanced at his watch. “Time I went. Check, please,” he called out to the bartender.

Alastair took out his wallet. “I’ve got it. Thank you for joining me.”

“Thanks for lunch.” Rhys stood and clapped a hand briefly on Alastair’s shoulder.

Just then, Rhys saw Alastair’s wife Cherie come in, accompanied by a handsome, sandy-haired man. His hand rested on Cherie’s back. A waiter led them into the restaurant area and seated them by a corner window.

She was attractive, Rhys noted, her dark hair short and stylishly cut, her smile warm and wide. He’d never guess her youngest daughter was about to go off to university.

Curious, he glanced at Alastair to gauge his reaction.

Alastair stared at the two of them, a muscle working in his jaw. Rhys felt a stab of sympathy. It couldn’t be easy for Alastair to see his wife and her lover, flaunting their affair – if that’s what it was – in the middle of a restaurant crowded with his coworkers…

Ah well, Rhys mused as he followed Alastair out of the restaurant, extramarital affairs almost always ended badly – as he well knew. But as the French said,
tant pis
.

Tough luck, that.

Halfway through lunch at her desk, Gemma’s phone rang. She held the receiver away from her ear as an angry flood of words assaulted her. “No need to shout!” she snapped. “Wait – Dominic wants
what
?” She lifted her finger to get Natalie’s attention and pressed the speakerphone on.

Over the squawk of guitars and ear-wrenching microphone feedback, the director yelled, “The little tit showed up on set with an attitude, and now he’s refusing to perform unless Miss Dashwood shows up.”

“But Natalie can’t come to the studio just because Dominic is having a meltdown—”

“She’d bloody well better,” the director said grimly, “or this’ll go down as the most expensive television commercial ever NOT made!” And he slammed down the phone.

Gemma rang off and looked at Natalie. “Sorry, but it sounds like you’re going out to the studio today.”

Natalie clutched her head in her hands. “I don’t have time for Dominic and his drama today!”

“I’ve an idea.” Gemma tapped a pencil against her lips. “Rhys is gone for the day, and I’m caught up. I’ll go with you. I wouldn’t mind seeing Dominic in action.”

Natalie gave a derisive snort as she stood and grabbed her bag. “Just imagine a two-year-old having a tantrum on the floor, and you’ve seen Dominic in action.”

They piled into Gemma’s Skoda and headed for Soho. They found the studio twenty minutes later, on a side street at the end of an alley.

“Thank God!” the director exclaimed as they arrived. He indicated the brightly lit soundstage set up with drums, amplifiers, guitar stands and microphones with a jerk of his head. “It’s the second day of shooting, and we haven’t nearly enough usable footage yet. I hope you can make the little sod see reason, because I can’t.”

Dominic strummed a loud, discordant chord on his guitar. “There’s more reverb in this place than my bloody bathroom!” he snarled, and kicked an amp cabinet. “How can we be expected to make music, much less film a commercial—”

He broke off as he saw Natalie and Gemma. “Nat! You’re here.”

“Yeah, I’m here,” she said crossly. “You’re costing us a fortune. What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? We could record in a garbage skip or inside a loo and sound better than we do in this echoing shithole, that’s what’s wrong.” He scowled. “I’m not putting out a crap commercial. It’s got to
sound
good, or what’s the point?”

Gemma raised one perfectly groomed brow. “What do you suggest?”

“How should I know!” he snapped. “Probably sound better in the alley than it does in here.” He regarded her through narrowed eyes. “Who are you, anyway?”

“Gemma Astley.” She crossed her arms against her chest and glared back at him. “Not that it’s your business, but I’m Rhys Gordon’s personal assistant.”

“Why aren’t you assisting him, then?” he snapped. “I didn’t know this was an open set, now they’re letting any random bird just walk in off the bloody street.”

“And I didn’t know you were such a noxious little twat.”

Before the conversation could deteriorate further, Natalie stepped between them and pulled Dominic aside. “I’ll speak to the director, see if we can sort out the permits and move you and the boys outside. OK?”

He nodded, his expression still surly as he glared at Gemma. “Bitch,” he muttered.

Gemma smirked. “Bit of advice, Dominic. Unless you fancy looking like a second-rate Alice Cooper in your video, you’d best get your eyeliner fixed while they’re moving your gear.”

He bridled. Natalie pulled him away before he could respond, and cast Gemma a quelling glare. “Come on, Dominic, let’s talk to the director about moving your kit, then we’ll get your eyeliner fixed.”

“Stroppy cow!” he muttered, still scowling at Gemma. “She’s toxic, just like that Gordon bloke.”

Natalie threaded her way through the cameras and lights, dragging Dominic in her wake. “Come on, let’s get this commercial made.”

“Nat, wait.” He stopped and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s not just the sound that’s got me crazy…it’s you.” He scowled down at his Converse trainers. “I miss you.”

“Dominic,” Nat said impatiently, “we’ve been through this! We don’t work together, we never have—”

“I dumped Victoria,” he interrupted. “That ought to count for something. It shouldn’t have happened, but after half a fifth of Chivas, the next thing I knew we were in the broom closet, shagging for England—”

“If this is meant to make me feel better, it’s not working,” Natalie snapped. She took a deep breath. “Listen, your ad for
Dissolute
is all anyone’s talking about. And your new single’s at number three.” She paused. “You need to focus on your career and forget about me.”

She almost told him about Rhys. Natalie couldn’t stop thinking about him, or the amazing kiss they’d so recently shared. Her thoughts drifted to Rhys Gordon at the oddest times…in a meeting, doing a Downward Dog in her Yoga class…

…or filling out a petty cash tracking spreadsheet.

“I’ll never forget you, Nat.” Dominic gave her a sulky glance. “But I’ll do the bloody commercial – if you promise to stay on and watch.”

“We had to beg Maison Laroche to be allowed to use you in our advert, so yes, I’m staying. And so are you. Now quit being a pain in the arse and make this commercial.”

With barricades erected at the entrance to the alley, the gear and equipment was moved outside. Sound technicians worked to minimise background noise as lights and camera tripods were adjusted. Dominic and the band picked up their instruments and rehearsed the new song. Everyone agreed the sound was much improved, and even Dominic was satisfied.

“He’s good,” Gemma shouted to Natalie as she watched Dominic slashing out guitar chords and singing into the microphone. “Too bad he’s such an arsehole.”

The music had attracted a crowd, small at first, but growing in size by the moment. Dominic and his band fed off the energy from the crowd, and their performance was electric. In the end the police arrived to disperse the crowds, and a handful of tabloid photographers showed up to snap photos.

“I’d say,” Natalie said as she and Gemma drove back to Knightsbridge late that afternoon, “it was a successful shoot.”

“The rough cut looked great,” Gemma agreed. “Dominic was amazing.” She shifted gears. “Shame he’s such a fuck-all.”

Natalie glanced at her. “He’s dumped Victoria, you know.”

Gemma gave her a withering glance. “And why, exactly, would I care?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I just thought I’d mention it.”

“Well, I don’t give a toss. I’ve no interest in Dominic bloody Heath.”

Natalie said nothing more, but she saw a tiny glimmer of a smile on Gemma’s lips.

Chapter 31

Dinner was finished and the dishes put away when Alastair came home that evening. Cherie folded the dishtowel atop the Aga and went into the foyer.

“Hello, darling, your dinner’s in the warmer. I’ll get it—”

“Don’t bother. I’ve eaten.” His words were clipped. “Where’s Hannah?”

“She went with Jo to a movie.”

“Good,” he said, as he laid his briefcase and keys on the hallway table. “Tell me – what did you do today?”

Something in his tone alerted Cherie that this was more than just an idle question. “Nothing much… Neil returned a shirt to Harrod’s. He asked me along. It was a bit spur of the moment, you know how these things are.”

“Does the man never work?”

“He’s a consultant for an engineering firm. He works from home two days a week.”

“I had lunch today at Thomas Cubitt.” He saw the quick, wary glance she cast his way. “I was with Rhys. I saw you come in with Neil.”

“Alastair—”

“Don’t bother to tell me it was nothing,” he warned her. “I’m not an idiot. Have the two of you slept together yet?”

“No!” she cried. Guilt at how close she’d come to doing just that – and, more tellingly, how much she’d
wanted
to do it – made her defensive. “Do you think we’d be brazen enough to go round the corner from Dashwood and James for lunch, where anyone might see us, if we were really having an affair?”

“I don’t know. Would you? Perhaps it’s like that Edgar Allen Poe story, where the letter’s hidden in plain view, yet no one sees it.” He looked at her. “I never saw it, until today.”

“Alastair,” she said, her voice trembling, “this is ridiculous! If I’m to be accused of sleeping with Neil, no matter that I haven’t, then perhaps I
should
sleep with him.”

“Perhaps you should.” He turned away and walked to the staircase.

Panic crossed her face. “Where are you going?”

He paused on the bottom step. “I’m going upstairs to change. Then I’m pouring myself a double scotch. After that, I’m moving my things into the guest bedroom.”

“Alastair, for God’s sake—”

“I’m not leaving, Cherie, if that’s what’s worrying you, or if that’s what you’re hoping. I’ve done nothing wrong. If anyone’s to leave, it’ll be you.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong?” she echoed, suddenly furious. “All you do is work, cancel dinners, miss important family events, and turn me down for sex time and again, because you’re always too bloody
tired—
”

“Because I’m too fucking busy trying to save the stores from bankruptcy!” he shouted. “Too busy trying to pay for this house, and the house in the country, and the school fees for Hannah’s education!”

There was a shocked silence.

“My God, Cherie, have you any idea of the stress I’ve been under? Every day I deal with endless demands from Rhys, losses and overheads and falling profits; my daughter barely speaks to me, and my wife jumps into bed with the first man who comes along, because I’m too busy killing myself working to keep her properly entertained!”

Neither of them heard Hannah come in the front door.

“Mum? Dad?” she said, her eyes wide with uncertainty, one hand on the doorknob. “What’s going on? Why are you shouting?”

Cherie cast Alastair a look of pure fury. “It’s nothing, darling, just an argument.” She forced a smile. “Go upstairs. I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

“So you can make me cocoa and tuck me up and read me a story about Jemima Puddle-Duck?” Hannah snapped. “I’m not a kid any more! Something’s wrong. I heard you shouting! Why won’t you just tell me the truth?”

“Hannah—”

But Hannah brushed past them both and stormed up the stairs to her room.

The television commercial featuring Dominic Heath aired four weeks later.

“Thanks to all of you,” Rhys Gordon told the store employees assembled in the conference room. “And thanks to Natalie and Gemma for coping with Dominic’s meltdown during the shoot. Good job, everyone.”

As the others left, Rhys asked Natalie to remain behind. “Are Phillip’s new designs ready for the re-launch? We haven’t much time, less than a month now. We can’t afford any delays.”

“Yes. The clothes are gorgeous, better than his original designs. He’s bringing samples today. Production starts soon.”

“Good. What about promotional materials?”

“Dominic’s record company’s giving access to download his new single – free, of course. We’re including store coupons and cosmetic samples in the swag bag as well.”

“What about invitations, publicity?”

“We’ve ads in the papers and social media. The after-party’s on a first-come, first-served basis. Oh, and there’s a big, splashy ad on our website.”

“Speaking of which, the site’s vastly improved,” Rhys observed as he gathered up his things. “Ian’s team really turned it around.”

Natalie’s smile faded. “Good. If there’s nothing else—”

“Actually, there is… Natalie, has Ian bothered you lately?” Rhys asked abruptly.

She looked at him, surprised. “No.” Almost a month had passed since she’d heard from Ian. Every day she lived in fear that he’d make good on his threat, and she’d see her father’s name splashed across every tabloid in London. But there’d been no phone calls, no press…nothing.

“Good. I’ve kept him busy.” He fixed his dark blue eyes on hers. “Gemma told me he’s harassed you at work. I had a word with him.”

She bristled. “She had no right to tell you that.”

“I’m glad she did,” he said sharply. “
You
should have told me. You can still file a complaint, you know.”

“I don’t want any trouble. He’s left me alone.”

“All right, I’ll drop it – for now.” He glanced at her. “What are you doing on Sunday? Fancy spending the day with me?”

“Doing what, exactly? Buying more furniture? You don’t have nearly enough, you know.”