The Valentine Affair. Mary Lyons
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who do you think you’re kidding? The ghostly voice in her head had demanded with a scornful laugh. You may not have told a one hundred per cent lie. But you were definitely being economical with the truth—right? Because Leo is only a sort of stepbrother—or should it be stepbrother by marriage? And you haven’t set eyes on the rotten man, or the rest of his horrid family, for almost eight years.
‘OK...OK,’ she’d muttered under her breath, resolutely banishing her conscience to the far, dark recesses of her mind as she’d tried to concentrate on the Herculean task before her.
First and foremost Alex had realised that she needed a lot of background information—almost as important to a journalist as water in the Sahara Desert. After all, she knew absolutely nothing about Fiona Bliss, and had virtually no knowledge of what her stepbrother had been up to during the past eight years.
However, just over an hour later, she’d been feeling quite pleased with herself. The Chronicle’s library had produced a pile of news cuttings on Leo and his family, while a quick phone call to her old school friend Sophie would hopefully provide a whole host of material about his new fiancée, Fiona Bliss.
Unfortunately, Sophie—who rented the basement flat of Alex’s house, and worked on a glamorous monthly magazine mostly devoted to fashion and the lives of those prominent in society—had proved an unexpectedly hard nut to crack. It was only after promising to lend the other girl her best long gown for a deathly smart St Valentine’s Ball—and her favourite pair of high-heeled gold sandals and matching bag—that Sophie had reluctantly agreed to raid the files in her office.
‘Great!’ Alex had grinned down the phone. ‘So, how about meeting me for a late lunch in the pub around the corner from your office, and you can give me the details then. OK?’
‘No, it’s not OK,’ her friend had protested. ‘I’ll need a lot more time than just a few hours. Who do you think I am? Mata Hari?’
Alex had gritted her teeth in frustration. ‘Look...do you want to be the belle of the ball, and make that ex-boyfriend of yours as jealous as hell, or what?’ she demanded. ‘Of course, if you’re happy to wear your tatty old black dress, and don’t mind looking like something the cat dragged in...’
‘Oh, all right!’ Sophie had ground out, before slamming down her phone.
So far, so good. But with so little time in which to both complete her interviews and write the article, Alex knew that time was of the essence. Which was why, striving to keep calm and banish her rising panic, she’d swallowed her pride and begged James Boswell for his help.
Clearly aggrieved that he hadn’t known of her relationship to Leo Hamilton, the paper’s social editor still didn’t think she had much of a chance of gaining the glamorous banker’s cooperation.
‘Especially now that the guy has the modern equivalent of a shotgun wedding in front of him,’ James had added with a sour grin.
‘You don’t mean...?’
‘No, of course I don’t think his girlfriend is pregnant,’ he’d retorted curtly. ‘But your stepbrother is going to find it almost impossible to extricate himself from the clutches of Fiona’s mother, Ethel Bliss. Believe me, that’s one really tough, hard woman—who’s ruthlessly ambitious for her only child. Don’t forget, it was Ethel who tipped me off about the “engagement”. So, even if Leo wanted to extricate himself from the situation—and I’ve no reason to think that he does—I’ll lay any money that he’s going to find himself standing at the altar, firmly anchored to a heavy ball and chain!’
James had also let fall the information that her stepbrother lived in a large, glamorous penthouse apartment in Knightsbridge, overlooking Hyde Park.
‘With a tough doorman, and more intruder alarms than the Bank of England, none of my contacts has been able to put a foot over the threshold. I still don’t think Leo will agree to help with your article,’ he’d added, with a bad-tempered shrug. ‘But, since you’re a member of the family, at least getting in to see the guy will be a piece of cake, right?’
‘Er...right,’ she’d murmured, hoping she’d sounded more confident than she felt, and quickly realising that her only hope was to try and catch Leo off guard, in his office at the bank.
‘Nothing ventured—nothing gained!’ Alex now told herself firmly. But, as she drove slowly past the Mansion House, keeping a sharp lookout for a space in which to park her car, she couldn’t help worrying about the forthcoming interview.
After a frantic dash home to change out of the jeans which she normally wore in the newspaper office, Alex still wasn’t at all sure whether she’d picked the right sort of ‘stuffy’ outfit. Maybe the black wool suit, with its tightly fitted jacket over sheer black stockings and high-heeled black court shoes, was a bit too funereal for a bank?
Still...what the heck? she told herself defiantly as she finally managed to find a free parking meter. Because, quite frankly, the chances of her actually managing to get as far as Leo’s office were so slim as to be practically anorexic!
In fact, even getting through the bank’s front door was likely to be almost impossible, she realised, walking slowly up the street towards the large Victorian building, and noting the figure of a burly, uniformed commissionaire filling the doorway. Desperately trying to suppress the sudden urge to turn tail and buy a one-way ticket to South America, Alex gradually noticed that a steady stream of people seemed to be approaching the bank.
Surely that wasn’t...? Oh, wow! It really was turning out to be her lucky day, she told herself with a slightly hysterical giggle, before running swiftly across the road.
‘Hi, Ben,’ she smiled breathlessly at the Chronicle’s financial editor.
‘Good heavens! What on earth are you doing in this neck of the woods, Alex? I didn’t know you were interested in City finance.’
‘Of course I’m interested,’ she assured him earnestly, firmly clutching hold of his arm. ‘In fact, I find the whole concept of world trade simply fascinating!’
‘That’s great!’ he exclaimed, his cheeks flushing slightly as he gallantly led her up the steps. ‘Today’s meeting is only a public relations exercise. But it will be interesting to hear more details of Hamilton’s partial merger with a German bank.’
‘Absolutely!’ she agreed, almost unable to believe her luck. If she could swan in with Ben, she was almost home and dry!
‘So, after we’ve heard what they’ve got to say, maybe you’d let me take you out to lunch? I’m writing a feature on some recent corporate takeovers, which I think you’ll find quite thought provoking.’
‘Oh, dear—I don’t think I can make lunch,’ Alex murmured, softening the blow with a beaming smile as they walked up the steps. ‘But I’m looking forward to reading your article. It sounds absolutely riveting!’ she added, both amazed and slightly ashamed at her sudden, unexpected ability to lie her head off.
‘Here we are,’ he announced as they approached the open door of the bank. ‘Got your press card?’
‘Of course.’ She flashed the small plastic folder at the commissionaire, who happily waved them onwards into the large building.
Hoping to remain as inconspicuous as possible, Alex led Ben to the far side of the room, where rows of gilt chairs were set well back, facing a large table at the other end.
Staring up at the amount of gold leaf on the ornately decorated ceiling, she let her gaze move on to take in the enormous glass chandelier, clearly lit to banish the grey February morning beyond the windows, around which were draped thick crimson brocade curtains. In fact—with its dark crimson plush covered walls heavily encrusted with large gloomy oil paintings—it looked more like a gentlemen’s club or a grand drawing room than a modern working environment.
Well, well! It certainly looked as if these merchant bankers believed in making themselves very comfortable. Nice work if you can get it! Alex mused caustically,