Playing the Game

  “Marius is extremely possessive of you,” Laurie interjected. “Look how silly he was about Christopher Delaware, insisting Chris had a crush on you.”

  Annette stared at her sister and raised a brow. “You teased me about Chris as well, don’t forget. And there was no crush at all. Certainly we now know where his real interest lies. He and James Pollard are inseparable, and I for one am glad about that. Because Chris has a stable, more mature person in his life, one who can give him sound advice and guidance. But getting back to Marius, I found his anger a bit out of place, actually, and also he’s totally wrong about my breaking the story too early. It is the right time.”

  “I agree.” Malcolm took a sip of his red wine, a reflective expression settling on his face. After a moment, he gave Annette a knowing look when he said, “Marius flared up because Jack Chalmers went with you. That’s what the phone call was about.”

  “How silly he is!” Annette exclaimed, shaking her head. “He’s the one who selected Jack to do the interview with me in the first place. Actually, he forced the interview, and Jack, on me. I was reluctant all along about getting chummy with the press.”

  “And are you?” Malcolm asked, his eyes not leaving her face.

  Annette, far too astute to get trapped, said in a level voice, “Of course I’m not chummy with Jack, which is what you’re getting at. I like him, he’s been very nice. But we’ll see how nice he really is, and whether I still like him, after the profile appears on Sunday.”

  Leaning back against the chair, she lifted her glass of sparkling water and stared Malcolm down without flinching. Nor did she blush, which she was prone to do sometimes.

  “I don’t think you should pay much attention to Marius’s outburst. He’s undoubtedly working hard on his research, missing you and feeling lonely without you,” Laurie remarked, squeezing Annette’s arm.

  “Perhaps,” Annette conceded.

  Malcolm said, “I’ve got your back as always, Annette, but I think you should be careful. Tread cautiously.”

  “I know you’ve got my back, Malcolm, and for that I’m grateful. But why do you say I should be careful?”

  “There’s a bit of gossip in the air, a few Chinese whispers.”

  “About me?” she exclaimed, shocked.

  Malcolm nodded. “And Jack. Someone told me yesterday that your boyfriend had gone down with you to Kent, and that together, you’d unearthed lost Impressionists worth millions of pounds.”

  “My God, the things people conjure up!” Laurie cried, sounding angry. “And how did the person who told you know about Jack going to Knowle Court with my sister?”

  “I’ve no idea, but somebody said something to someone, and it got passed along. Also, Fenella Anderson told me herself that she’d seen you at Le Caprice having lunch with a very dishy man, and that the two of you seemed extremely cozy.”

  “We weren’t at all cozy!” Annette shot back, speaking the truth. She and Jack had been very discreet when they’d lunched together at the popular restaurant near the Ritz. She’d insisted on that, and he’d agreed, just as he had agreed to be well behaved tonight. “Not a flicker of an eyelash in my direction,” she had warned him, and he had solemnly promised to act with the utmost decorum.

  Laurie leaned across the table and said to Malcolm, “Is there any way Marius could have heard the Chinese whispers, darling?”

  “But he’s in Barcelona,” Annette muttered, staring at Laurie.

  “I don’t think he could have heard anything,” Malcolm said. “But how can I know for sure?” Turning to Annette, he took her hand, held it in his, and said in a quiet voice, “But just do as I say, be careful.”

  “But there isn’t anything between us,” she protested.

  “I believe you, but anything can be misinterpreted, and things do get blown out of proportion all the time.”

  “Here’s Jack now,” Laurie exclaimed, and beamed at him as he walked toward their table.

  Malcolm immediately stood up and shook Jack’s outstretched hand; after greetings had been exchanged by all, the two men sat down next to each other. Jack looked across at Annette, who was facing him, and smiled. “I hope you had a successful day with your American clients.”

  “I did indeed, thank you,” she answered. “They thought your story was great, and now they want to come to the auction in September.”

  Malcolm announced, “Actually, Jack’s story broke at exactly the right time, in my opinion. You have four months, more or less, Annette, in which to promote it. Actually a bit less time than you had for the Rembrandt.” Motioning to the waiter hovering nearby, Malcolm turned to Jack and asked, “What would you like to drink?”

  “I think I’ll have a glass of red wine, the same as you. Thank you, Malcolm.”

  Once the order had been given, Laurie said, “I can’t wait to read the profile of Annette on Sunday. I’m a big fan of yours, Jack.”

  He smiled at her warmly, realizing once again how beautiful she was, and how glamorous. Suddenly growing aware that he was staring at her, he said quickly, “I was rather taken with that Degas dancer, and believed it to be the real thing. Just goes to show what I know about art.”

  “I think a lot of people would have been deceived,” Laurie told him. “The average person doesn’t go around thinking a painting is a fake, and not the real thing. They don’t suspect anything.”

  “I understand that.” Jack turned and said to Malcolm, “Annette has been telling me about various forgers, the great ones, I mean, and I’m formulating an idea about writing a piece on fakes and forgers, and how it’s done, drawing on Elmyr de Hory and the John Drewe–John Myatt collaboration. She said you’d be able to help me.”

  “I’ll try,” Malcolm replied. “I know a few people who have been stung in the past.”

  Jack’s red wine arrived, and he lifted his glass to toast Laurie and Malcolm. “To the two of you. Congratulations on your engagement. And to you as well, Annette, and your next auction. May it be the greatest ever.”

  The dinner went smoothly, much to Annette’s relief. Malcolm and Jack hit it off immediately, and spent a lot of time talking about fakes, forgers, and crime in the art world. It was obvious he wanted to write about it. Both she and Laurie interjected occasionally, especially about the way John Drewe had so successfully penetrated the archives of the Tate. It was an act of such daring it defied belief.

  When the men went on to focus on sport, expressing their views about football, footballers, and their extraordinary antics with women when off the field, Annette and Laurie plunged into a long discussion about Laurie’s upcoming marriage. Veering from the venues for the reception to wedding dresses and which churches Laurie preferred, they then touched on the date. Finally they settled for the first Saturday in July. Laurie explained that she and Malcolm preferred this month, and Annette agreed it was the perfect time to have a wedding.

  Once the food had been served, they began to chat together as a group. Annette discovered that Jack shared quite a few of their interests, and this pleased her, as did his lovely sense of humor. He was irreverent and very funny in his comments about the famous, be it folk from the world of entertainment to politicians. He kept them laughing all through dinner.

  Toward the end of the evening, Jack suddenly said, “I’ll give you a lift, Annette, I have a car waiting. And what about you and Laurie, Malcolm? I can drop you off as well.”

  “Thanks, Jack,” Malcolm answered. “But I have a car and driver tonight, since there’s really nowhere to park down here.”

  Once they were outside, Jack got on his mobile, calling his driver; Annette said goodnight to Malcolm and thanked him, then hugged her sister. Jack did the same, promised to phone Malcolm to make a lunch date, and helped her into the car when it arrived.

  Once they were pulling away from the Ivy, Jack took hold of her hand and said, “I need to talk to you. Shall we go for a drink? How about Annabel’s? The Dorchester?”

  Annette hesitated, and shook
her head. “I think we’d better go somewhere private where we won’t be seen.”

  Jack stared at her intently in the dim light of the car, but made no comment. He gave the driver his address in Primrose Hill. Moving closer to her, he asked quietly, “Is something wrong?”

  Speaking in a low voice, she told him about Malcolm’s conversation earlier, the comments made to him about her taking her boyfriend to Knowle Court, and the report of their cozy behavior in Le Caprice.

  Jack was astonished. “But we’ve been so scrupulous! Not only at Knowle Court, but most definitely in the restaurant. God, people are terrible, the way they invent, embroider, and gossip.”

  “I agree. However, I think it’s wiser to heed Malcolm’s advice to be careful.”

  “He doesn’t know about us, does he?”

  “Of course not. Neither does Laurie. No one knows, actually, Jack. Those who spoke to Malcolm, passed on rumors, are making assumptions. He calls it Chinese whispers.”

  “Do you think Christopher’s said something to someone, about me coming with you to his house?”

  “No, I don’t, even though he is a bit of a chatterbox. He wouldn’t do anything like that. Also, he was the one who suggested I bring you down to Kent with me. In fact he insisted on it. I’ve no idea who’s spreading stuff. But why take any chances?”

  “You’re right.”

  “What do you want to talk to me about? You sounded very serious.”

  “Several things, but let’s wait until we get to my flat.”

  Annette leaned against him, and murmured, “It was a good story in the paper today, Jack, very well written and intriguing, and great promotion for the auction. So thank you again.”

  “My pleasure.” He lifted her face and kissed her lightly on the mouth, and for the rest of the way they were silent, their arms wrapped around each other, lost in their thoughts.

  When they arrived at his flat in Primrose Hill, Jack asked the driver to wait and escorted her into the building. “That’s a bit extravagant,” Annette said, peering at him. “Keeping the car.”

  “I realize that. But I know you won’t stay the night, and I do have to get you home safely. Sometimes taxis are hard to find around here.”

  Once they were inside his flat, Jack pulled her into his arms and kissed her, and she responded to him ardently. As they drew apart, he said, “That was a bit tough, being so formal with you earlier, but you were pretty good, you set the perfect tone.”

  Annette gave him a faint smile. “I think we’re both good actors, don’t you? We’ve missed our calling.”

  Jack laughed and led her into the living room, explaining, “Let’s sit here. Down at the other end I have my work area.” He guided her to the sofa, walked over to a drinks table, and asked, “Would you like a glass of wine? Anything?”

  “Nothing right now, thank you.”

  Jack poured himself a small cognac and went back to join her on the sofa. Immediately he plunged in and said, “I’m afraid I have to go away this weekend, and I want you to come with me.”

  Taken aback, Annette gaped at him. “Jack, you know I can’t go anywhere with you. I couldn’t even go to Clapham Common with you, if it meant being away from Eaton Square overnight. Anyway, where are you going all of a sudden?”

  “I have to go to Beaulieu. I got a call at four o’clock today. Amaury, my caretaker, had a bad fall down the cellar steps at the villa,” Jack explained. “He’s broken his left arm and left leg. Hortense, his wife, is a bit overwhelmed, and I think I must get down there to organize them. I need to find someone to do his work until he’s better. Also, Hortense seems to be so upset that I must hire a young woman to take over some of her chores.” Jack took a swallow of the brandy and continued, “I thought it would be nice if you joined me for a few days, and I do want you to see the villa.”

  “Jack, you know it’s an impossibility.” Taking a deep breath, she said, “Marius was very nasty on the phone this morning.”

  Looking at her, frowning, Jack said, “What do you mean?”

  Annette filled him in, repeating Marius’s comments to her, and explaining about his angry attitude, the way he had shouted at her.

  Jack sat back and closed his eyes for a moment, thinking. After a few seconds he sat up straight on the sofa, swiveled to face her, clasped her hand in his. “I want you to leave him. The sooner the better. I want us to live together until you’re divorced and then I want us to get married, Annette.”

  “Oh, Jack, you know that’s not possible.”

  “But I love you, and you love me. You do, don’t you?”

  When she remained silent, he said, “You know you love me, so say it. Please, Annette.” He was suddenly tense, anxious, and the strain echoed in his voice.

  “Yes, I’m in love with you, Jack. I’ve never been in love with anyone before you. . . .” She stopped, tears glistening in her bright blue eyes.

  “Not Marius? When you first got married?”

  “I loved him, yes. And I grew to love him even more as he looked after me, cherished me. And I love him now. But I wasn’t in love, not in this way. Never before, and that’s the truth.”

  “What about that man? The man who took you on your romantic trip to La Réserve all those years ago. Weren’t you in love with him?”

  “Very infatuated, very captivated, dizzy with emotions, but now that I look back, I don’t believe I was in love with him. Mind you, I thought I was then. We had such a short time together, it was so very brief.”

  Leaning forward, Jack drew her toward him, gazed into her face. “Our feelings for each other are overwhelming, and very genuine, Annette, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I’ll be honest, I’ve been engaged twice before and broken it off. Because I knew I wasn’t in love, just as I wasn’t in love with Lucy, and I’ve told her that now. I phoned her the other day. But I know that I’m in love with you, and I will be for the rest of my life. You are my life now.”

  “Oh, Jack, darling . . . he’ll never give me a divorce, and—”

  “I don’t care about that,” he swiftly cut in. “We can live together. We don’t need a piece of paper to make our love true. Anyway, those kinds of conventions don’t seem to matter these days. People live together, have children, make a family, without the benefit of a piece of paper. Why not us?”

  “I’m too old for you, Jack. I’ll be forty in June, and you will want children one day.”

  “You’re not too old! And if we don’t have children, I don’t care. It’s you I want, not children I don’t even know at this moment in time. You must ask him for a divorce when he gets back from Barcelona. At once, you mustn’t wait.”

  “Jack, please believe me, he’ll never let me go. He’ll be vindictive, make trouble for me, and for you.” Tears spilled, trickled down her cheeks.

  “Oh, darling, don’t, please don’t,” Jack said gently, wiping her tears with his fingertips. “We can be together, I promise you. I love you so much, my life won’t be worth living without you. . . . I know that sounds dramatic, but I mean it. We’re soul mates, we’re meant to be together. We fit in every way. I love you so very much.”

  Annette gazed back at him, knowing he meant every word. She also knew that Marius would hound them for as long as he lived. She didn’t really care what he did to her, but she couldn’t permit him to persecute and punish Jack. “Oh, darling, I love you in the same way. But it just can’t be.”

  “Yes, it can.” He put his hand into his pocket, brought out a small, rather worn red leather box, and handed it to her. “This is for you.”

  She opened it and gaped when she saw the diamond ring nestled on the black velvet. “Jack, I can’t take this! I can’t get engaged to you, and you know that. But I’m very moved, and I thank you for offering this to me. . . .”

  Jack took the box she was offering, slipped out the diamond ring, grasped her right hand, and slipped the ring on her third finger. “There. It’s done. One day you’ll wear it on your engagement
finger.”

  “I can’t take this, Jack, and I—”

  “It’s not an engagement ring,” he interrupted peremptorily. “It’s a friendship ring for the moment. It belonged to my mother, and I’ve never given it to any woman. Ever. It was my biological father who gave it to my mother, and when she married Peter she took it off and never wore it again. She gave it to me instead, and said this: ‘It was given to me in true love, Jack, and you must only give it to the woman you know you truly love.’ And that’s you, my darling.”

  Annette was immeasurably touched, moved to tears again. She did not want to fight him about the ring, or force him to take it back. Not at this highly charged moment. She would put it away and give it to him when he was able to accept it calmly.

  “Look how beautiful it is on your finger,” Jack murmured, suddenly smiling. Leaning over her, he began to kiss her passionately, and after a moment, he said against her neck, “Come on, let’s go and find a bed and seal our bargain with each other.”

  For the next three days they were inseparable, lived in what Annette called “their bubble of love.”

  On Thursday and Friday morning Annette went to the office, did some work, and then left around eleven. Each day she told Esther she was going on a shopping expedition, looking for a dress for herself for Laurie’s wedding, and also trying to create a trousseau for Laurie. She explained she wanted to put together a suitable selection of clothes for her honeymoon with Malcolm in Italy.

  Whether Esther believed this or not, Annette did not know. Her assistant seemed to accept it, and if there was anything pressing she would phone Annette on her mobile.

  Once she had left her office, she took a taxi to Jack’s apartment in Primrose Hill, where they talked, made love, ate, dozed, and made love again.

  Twice they went to his father’s house in Hampstead, so that he could check that everything was in order. Inevitably they always ended up in the room he had occupied as a boy, making passionate love on that narrow bed, besotted with each other.