The stunning woman in a cerise dress who approached him with a wide welcoming smile was the Countess. She introduced herself as Sylvina and said, ‘How very kind of you to join us.’ William saw immediately that she had recognized him from the magazines and glanced round the room. He spotted the horrified expressions on the faces of the Baron and Baroness von Garten.
‘It’s the ghastly parvenu who was going to buy one of the factories.’ The Baroness’s stage whisper to her husband echoed round the room. The Baron’s lawyers had ceased all negotiations as soon as the scandal had become public. He had not wanted his family name tarnished by association with misdemeanour, particularly one with homosexual undertones.
William’s smile froze on his lips. The Baron had cost him a lot of money by withdrawing from their deal. Worse still, he had sold instead to William’s strongest competitor. It was not just a financial slap in the face, he had also lost out on a vast potential European market. He had not yet found another suitable site and, more infuriatingly still, the rival company that had bought the factory had made offers to the staff William had earmarked for positions and interviewed in Germany. The Baron and Baroness now turned their backs on him. If he compiled a list of people to take a swipe at, these two stuck-up sons-of-bitches would be close to the top.
Sylvina had noticed William’s embarrassment and now linked her arm through his and guided him towards the other guests. ‘I am sure you know Meryl Delaware?’ she purred.
William felt his belly turn over. It was bad enough to have the von Gartens cut him dead, but now he was faced with this fat, painted bitch with her gossip-tuned ears. Meryl, dressed in black lace with too many fake diamonds around her neck, turned to face him. Her red mouth dropped open in shock. Then she forced a brittle smile. Meryl Delaware had written one of the most unsavoury articles about him and Maynard for one of the glossy magazines. In it she had hinted that Sir William had appeared very close to his protégé, and had illustrated it with a photograph of William leaning forward to talk to Maynard. As with many other photographs, it had been doctored to exclude the other members of the party to make it look as if the two had been having an intimate, candlelit dinner. ‘How do you do?’ she said, before turning back to face the wall.
The atmosphere changed swiftly from sophisticated elegance to the deep silence of unease. Everyone but Sharee was fully aware of who William was and unsure how to react.
Sylvina gestured to Marta to refill her champagne glass, and told her to adjust the place settings. Sir William should sit next to her with Terence Hampton on his other side. Terence was a social ‘actor’: you could put him next to anyone and the conversation would never dry up, as long as it revolved principally around himself.
As the guests were ushered towards the dining room, Sylvina fell into step beside William. Suddenly the von Gartens were standing in front of her. As though William was not there, the Baroness announced, ‘I’m afraid it is inappropriate for us to dine here, after all.’
Nothing like this had ever happened to Sylvina. ‘I’m sorry, Baroness. Are you feeling unwell?’ she said. ‘Please do stay, dinner is served.’
‘Maybe if someone was asked to leave...’ said the Baron, eyeing William.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Sylvina. ‘Sir William is my own personal guest.’
William was appalled. He shifted from foot to foot and stammered, ‘It’s all right, I’ll go.’
Sylvina gripped his arm. ‘No way, baby.’
She was still smiling as the Baron and Baroness huffed and puffed their way out of the door. ‘I hope you don’t mind but I have seated you beside me, so we can get to know each other.’
William murmured that he could think of nothing he would like more. He felt even better when she patted the sleeve of his jacket. ‘This is from the new Armani collection, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it is,’ he said, flushing deeply.
‘I thought so, and so much more comfortable in this heat than a dinner-jacket.’ She whispered, ‘No smell of mothballs.’
He caught her warmth and her wonderful, genuine smile, and began to feel more confident.
‘I’m sorry about that little unpleasantness earlier.’ She leaned right into him and added, ‘The Baron is no paragon of virtue and neither is his wife. How odd that they should show such bad manners.’
But as the chilled avocado and mint soup was served, the conversation became stilted. The other guests were talking under their breath about the von Gartens’ exit or William’s tabloid exploits. Aware of the awful silences around the table, Sylvina told Marta to bring in a very special wine she had been saving for such an occasion. Her energy and charm immediately lifted the atmosphere, and Marta bustled off down to the wine cellar. She wasn’t sure what bottle of wine Sylvina was talking about but she scoured the shelves and selected a Château Margaux ’78. Leaving the cobwebs and thick layer of dust behind, she hurried back to the dining room and passed Sylvina the dusty bottle. ‘Marta! The cobwebs! You know I hate spiders.’ She rose to her feet and raised her arms above her head. ‘Never mind, at least we know it’s authentic. Now, dear, please decant it and let it stand. We are all eager to taste it.’
Marta left the dining room and immediately replaced the bottle with a vastly inferior one. She decanted it, as instructed, into a Victorian cut-glass decanter, which was taken to the table by one of the waiters. Sylvina had often laid wagers with her as to who would detect a first growth from a simple Médoc. She looked around at her dinner guests as they peered and sipped at the wine and discussed its attributes. William picked up his glass and turned to face her. ‘This really is so very kind of you,’ he said, and obviously meant every word.
‘It is my pleasure,’ she said huskily. She had to wriggle in her chair because the thought of his money made her feel orgasmic.
‘To our mutual friend, Justin Chalmers.’
They sipped their wine and smiled. When she asked him what he thought of it he held the stem of the glass loosely in his fingers. ‘Not too heavy or fruity, quite light for a Pomero.’
William reached for his water. The wine was ghastly. If he had ordered it in a restaurant, he would have sent it back. He felt unable to bring up the subject of Justin himself, and hoped someone else would do so, but the conversation remained on the quality of the wine. It amused him to see them sipping and nodding.
Sylvina leaned closer to him. ‘I’ve even started making my own cobwebs — you know, from that stuff they squirt over you at kiddies’ parties. It’s cheap plonk, but you knew that. I could tell from your face.’
He smiled, pleased, then leaned closer to her. ‘No one else seems to.’
‘Even if they did, dahling, they wouldn’t say so just in case they were wrong.’
‘Are you expecting Justin for the summer?’ Terence Hampton enquired, after enthusing loudly about the wine.
Sylvina shrugged. ‘Well, it is his villa, but you know Justin. I hear he’s in Europe, so perhaps he will appear at some point, unless...’ She turned pointedly to William. ‘What do you know of our Scarlet Pimpernel, William?’
‘They seek me here, they seek me there.’ Between the arched oak dining-room doors stood Justin Chalmers, his shadow from the flickering candlelight falling across the table. He was as blond as William remembered, but his hair was short now, almost in a crew-cut. He was deeply tanned and wore a black T-shirt with one sleeve almost ripped from the seam, a pair of tight black leather trousers and black motorcycle boots. He had a row of fine gold bracelets around his wrist and a slender gold watch. He shook the bracelets in a theatrical gesture then yawned. ‘Eat up, and excuse the interruption. I need to bath and shave before I join you.’