Reaching for the Empress Eugenia lilac-perfumed body lotion she smoothed it all over her body, sprayed herself with lilac perfume, one of Maxim’s favourite scents, and brushed her thick dark brown hair. After slipping on a silk robe, she walked into her bedroom.
Adriana seated herself at the dressing table, stared at herself in the mirror, wondering what kind of makeup would appeal to him tonight. Should she create a soft girlish look with a pretty pink foundation, blushes, powders and light pastel-coloured eye makeup, or turn herself into a more dramatic-looking woman?
Leaning forward, she examined herself closely. She had a wide, full face, with a broad forehead, slightly slanting eyes, shapely dark brows, and a rounded chin with a dimple. I’ll be myself, she thought, reaching for the pale almond foundation lotion, spreading it on across her high cheekbones. That’s who he fell for. Adriana Macklin. Anyway, I’m my most alluring when I’m myself. All thirty-five years of me.
FIFTY-SIX
Maxim braced himself before putting the key in the lock of his Fifth Avenue apartment and opening the door. He was intensely preoccupied with business and not in the mood to cope with Adriana tonight. But cope he must.
Apparently Adriana had heard him come in, and was rushing out of the library to greet him before he even had a chance to remove his trenchcoat.
‘There you are, angel!’ she exclaimed, gliding forward, her exquisite purple-and-gold caftan floating around her like a cloud.
‘Hello, Adriana,’ he said mildly, putting his briefcase on the small Louis XV bench in the foyer, giving her a half-smile.
She drew to a standstill in front of him, locked her arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his mouth. ‘Mmmm. Yummy.’
He winced inside, turned away, shrugged out of his coat and hung it in the hall closet, then retrieved his briefcase.
‘I have champagne on ice, a cold supper waiting,’ Adriana murmured in a silky voice, taking his arm, strolling along the vast hall with him. ‘I thought I’d open the champagne now, so that we can have a glass before dinner. Would you like that, honey?’
‘Not now, Adriana. I’m going to take a shower, change into something more comfortable, and then perhaps I’ll have a drink.’ As he spoke he veered to the left, walked towards his bedroom. ‘I’ll see you shortly,’ he added quietly.
‘I’ll be in the library, angel.’ She watched him disappear into his room, frowning to herself. He closed the door behind him, shutting her out rather pointedly, and she stood for a moment staring at it, trying to assess his current mood. Thank God, he seemed less bad-tempered and irritable, which was the way he had been for the past few weeks, since his return from Europe. If he was not in a good mood, he certainly wasn’t in a bad one. Neutral, she thought. He’s in a neutral frame of mind. She smiled to herself, confident that she would be able to handle him very well this evening. A little tender loving care, soothing words, champagne and caviar, soft music, a few gentle kisses. She would soon win him over about the redecoration of the apartment, she had no doubt about that. Later, once she had him in a mellower mood, she had every intention of taking him to bed.
***
Maxim undressed, went into his bathroom, took a steaming hot shower, stretching and flexing his arms above his head, twisting his shoulders from side to side, moving his neck in circles, attempting to ease some of the tension. It had been building in him throughout the long day at his office. He thought of the last conversation he had had with Graeme Longdon just before leaving tonight. She agreed they should drop the current deal they were working on, although Peter Heilbron had been against making any drastic moves for the time being. ‘Let’s not be rash,’ Peter had said, walking him to the elevator a short while ago. He had told Peter he would sleep on it. What he needed now, after his shower, was total relaxation. He wasn’t sure he would get this with Adriana, who was irritating him more than ever these days. But he must let go of this deal mentally, clear his head for several hours. He felt like a few drinks, a bit of mindless television, and six hours of deep sleep. It was imperative that he was fresh tomorrow morning when he was going to make a final decision about his latest business proposition. He was in the middle of a hostile takeover bid for a major American corporation, Palmyra-Kettelson, and suddenly he was not sure that he wished to continue.
Maxim reached for the soap; immediately the perfume of lilacs permeated the shower stall. Adriana really is too much, he thought. He laughed hollowly, acknowledging that she was extremely heavy-handed at times, in a variety of different, not to mention startling, ways. And yet she really was one of the most striking women he had ever seen, and he was unable to deny her dark exotic beauty.
The first moment he had set eyes on her in Monte Carlo he had been captivated, instantly swept off his feet. Her incredible face, so full of sensuality, her perfect body and long shapely legs, and the potent sexuality that seemed to pour out of her had excited him enormously. That summer, a year and a half ago, he had been ripe, an easy target. For the first time since Camilla’s death he had been ready to get involved, had truly wanted to bed down with a woman, become completely immersed in her. And this was exactly what he had done with Adriana. On one occasion, during their courtship of six weeks, they had stayed locked up in a suite at the Carlton Hotel in Cannes for three days and nights, unable to tear themselves away from each other sexually.
Adriana had been a departure for him, he had to admit, so very different from the other women he had known and married. He had always fallen for refined, gentle-looking blondes; she was a dark-haired, sloe-eyed siren with truly exotic overtones. And she was different in other ways, too; she had an earthy, almost raunchy, sense of humour, which at first he had found entertaining, but now abhorred, and he had quickly discovered a number of equally dismaying traits. She was opinionated, stubborn to the point of rigidity, abrasive, and even brash. Furthermore, that keen sense of business, her understanding of his world of finance, no longer fascinated him as it had initially. Underneath all that exotic beauty and glamour she was curiously masculine.
Masculine, he repeated under his breath. What an odd word for him to use in relationship to Adriana, but true, nonetheless, he realised with a jolt. Was that the reason he could no longer get an erection with her? Did she turn him off because of that streak of masculinity? His raging lust for her had been swiftly satisfied. Six months after their nuptials in Paris their marriage was over, at least as far as he was concerned. Taking her for his wife had been terribly flawed judgement on his part. He ought to have known that the burning rage to bed her, his immense lust fuelled by hers for him, would burn out with amazing swiftness.
His impotency with Adriana had come as something of a shock, and had worried him at first. He had even wondered if he was losing his touch, had considered going to see a doctor. But he had strayed one night with an old acquaintance, had discovered to his profound relief that his touch was as sure as it ever was. When he was with a blonde, he had commented to himself. The fault lay not with him but with Adriana apparently.
Now he no longer felt fragile about his ego. All of his mechanisms were in working order. He smiled to himself. A man never got an erection without having his mind and psyche at the back of that erection, as well as his body. Most men were much more delicate physically than most women, that’s why men and women were so different. There had to be at least a little desire in a man in order for him to get an erection, have a sexual encounter. But a woman could make love without desire. All she had to do was lie down and wait for the man to perform. If he couldn’t, she blamed him, never herself. Well, rarely herself.
Because he had become impotent with Adriana he avoided any kind of sexual contact with her these days, wishing to sidestep embarrassment. This was difficult, in that she was hot-blooded and forever on his trail, but fortunately he somehow managed to out-manoeuvre her. Most of the time.
A year ago he had thought of announcing his intention of getting a divorce, and then changed his mind. He had still not d
one so. He travelled a great deal, and was away far more than he was in New York. Having a wife was a safeguard, and certainly marvellous protection against other predatory females. Also, he was too involved and immersed in his business for emotional scenes or upheavals. He would bide his time, deal with Adriana later.
***
After dressing in dark grey flannel slacks, a black turtle-necked sweater and black cashmere sports jacket, Maxim left his bedroom, crossed the entrance foyer and strolled into the library.
Adriana was nowhere in sight.
Soft music played on the tape deck. A bottle of Dom Perignon stood open in the silver ice bucket on the small chest. The low coffee table in front of the fire burning in the hearth had been set for supper. No doubt Adriana was in the kitchen, preparing a tray of caviar, lemon wedges and toast, which she now served on the cook’s night off with boring regularity.
Stepping up to the chest, he lifted the bottle, poured himself a glass of champagne, and took a long swallow, savouring it. He blinked in the dim light, and realising the room was far too dark he walked over to the desk near the window, turned up the lamp. The yellow pad caught his attention at once, and he stood staring down at it, reading Adriana’s large scrawl. The name Valentine Lubbock leapt out, hit him between the eyes. Lubbock was the most expensive interior designer in the world. Bending his head, Maxim peered at the pad, continuing to read the long list she had made.
At this moment Adriana was returning from the kitchen with the tray of caviar. She stopped dead in her tracks in the doorway, cursed herself silently for being so stupid, for carelessly leaving the pad on the desk. Dismay swamped her, rapidly turned to alarm when he lifted his head and glared at her. His expression was one of such intense dislike it frightened her.
Maxim’s brilliant black eyes blazed in his face, which was livid. He waved the pad at her, demanded angrily, ‘What’s all this? Planning to redecorate, are you?’ He threw her a scathing look.
‘No, no, of course I’m not. It’s just that—’
‘Just what?’ he thundered, and not giving her a chance to respond, he rushed on furiously. ‘Under no circumstances are you going to make any changes in this apartment! It is perfectly beautiful, in superb taste, and it suits me very well! Not one single item is going to be removed or changed, do you hear me!’
‘You don’t have to shout. I only wanted to redecorate your study. As a birthday present for you,’ she said, improvising quickly, sidling into the room, placing the tray on the coffee table. She moved closer to the desk, gave him a wide, flashing smile, added, ‘The study is starting to look a bit shabby, Maxim, you must admit that.’
‘So what! I don’t give a damn. As for redecorating it for my birthday, that’s a load of crap! On this—’ he waved the pad in her face again, ‘you have listed every room. I’m not stupid you know. My mother-in-law is a decorator—’
‘Ex-mother-in-law!’ she exploded peremptorily, giving him an icy stare.
He ignored her comment, and continued in a frigid tone, ‘And through her I know Lubbock, who is also based in Paris. He wouldn’t touch one room with a barge pole. He only decorates entire apartments!’ He flung the pad down on the desk disdainfully. ‘You don’t learn, do you? I told you, I’m not going to have you turning this apartment into an expensive, over-decorated, glitzy imitation of some garish Miami hotel, with the help of the over-rated, over-priced and under-talented Mr Lubbock! Trust you to pick a flashy, tasteless shopper such as him.’
‘He is brilliant! Anyway, who the hell do you think you are? Suddenly you’re the great expert on decorating!’ she cried shrilly, losing her temper. ‘Some expert! I’ve only got to look around this cold, colourless, out-dated dump, this mausoleum, to understand you know nothing about decorating.’
He did not deign to respond, merely glared at her.
Shaking with rage, frustrated with him, she hissed, ‘It’s far too French. It has no style.’
He blinked, did a double-take, threw back his head and guffawed. ‘The French invented style, you nit-wit!’
‘I fully intend to make some changes in this apartment whatever you say,’ Adriana exclaimed, drawing herself up to her full height, hating him suddenly for his superiority and breeding.
He walked over to her and peered into her face, his eyes narrowing, said in the iciest voice, pitched very low, ‘If you have this compulsion to decorate an apartment, with the help of the over-rated Mr Lubbock, I suggest you find an apartment of your own. Tomorrow. You are not going to touch my apartment. Never. If and when it needs redoing, my mother-in-law will fly over from Paris, and she and Anastasia will take it in hand.’
‘You bastard! Always flinging that ex-wife of yours in my face,’ she screeched, all of the colour draining from her face. ‘I’m not going to stand for it.’
‘And what do you intend to do about it?’ He gulped down his champagne, put the glass on the end table, walked out of the library without looking at her again.
She ran after him, followed him down the hall, watched him as he opened the closet, took out his trenchcoat, threw it over his arm.
‘Where are you going?’ she cried, her eyes widening.
‘Out.’
‘Where?’
‘For a walk. I need fresh air.’
‘A walk! I don’t believe you. I know you, Maxim, know what a sexy, physical guy you are. You never sleep with me these days, so you must be sleeping with another woman. It’s obvious you have somebody stashed away. Some blonde hustler.’
‘This town is full of hustlers, Adriana. Blondes, brunettes and redheads. They come in all colours, sizes, and shapes.’ He walked out, slamming the door behind him.
***
His temper cooled within minutes of hitting the street.
He walked down Fifth Avenue at a moderate pace, more annoyed with himself than with her, in a sense, for flaring up in the way he had. Anger was such a waste of valuable energy. He needed his strength for more important things at this moment. A wry smile flickered on his mouth as he walked. Time, he mused, a commodity I cannot afford to squander at present. I didn’t spend enough time with Adriana to get to know her properly. Marry in haste, repent at leisure, he added under his breath, recalling Teddy’s words after his wedding. Deep within himself he knew that she had not approved of Adriana. But his dearest Teddy loved and respected him far too much to interfere in his life, tell him what to do. I need my brain tested, he thought dismally. I should never have married Adriana Smith Tucker Macklin, and I must extract myself as soon as I’ve solved my other problems. That’s the bottom line.
His mind, always sharp, zeroed in on his hostile takeover bid for Palmyra-Kettelson, a gargantuan beauty products company, and a major American corporation, international in scope. He had been buying its stock for some time, now owned twelve per cent of the company and had recently informed the chief executive officer he was prepared to purchase as many more shares as he needed to give him control of the company. The offer had been rejected. The executives had gone into a tailspin. A battle was underway. But he did not want to do battle, despite Peter Heilbron’s urging. The head of his acquisition team in New York was encouraging him to continue, predicted he would win, be the big winner ultimately.
Turning up the collar of his trenchcoat, and pushing his hands in his pockets, Maxim walked on, lost in concentration, which was one of his most formidable assets, part of his genius.
As he crossed Seventy-Second Street and continued on down Fifth he finally came to his decision. He would pass. Tomorrow morning he would phone the president of Palmyra and call off his hostile bid for the company, offer to sell his stock in the company back to them. He had about $500 million invested. He would probably come out with a huge profit, maybe $90 million, and he would probably be accused of greenmail. So what. He had to unload. He did not want the company. Peter would be disappointed, but he could not help that. Graeme would be relieved. She was with him on this, understood his reluctance to invest any further in Ame
rica at this moment.
He had a peculiar uneasiness about the economy here. Leveraged buyouts and junk bonds were beginning to sicken him; junk bonds were going to turn out to be just that: junk paper, worthless in the long run. West International was secure, the Allandale Group was secure, and the two huge conglomerates were profitable, completely in the black. He did not want to extend himself further.
Maxim’s mind switched to his personal investments in the American stock market. He had hundreds of millions of dollars tied up in stock in other companies. He would start unloading that tomorrow. Slowly, carefully. He did not want to start a panic in the street. He would sell his shares over a period of months, and by August or September he would be liquid. He had a strong suspicion that the economy in the States might possibly start lurching in the autumn of this year. He did not know how or why he suspected this, because he never knew where his premonitions about business came from. Gut instinct perhaps. And his gut instinct told him to sell. He did not want to be caught if the stock market should fail, God forbid.
Suddenly, he felt lighter, the heaviness in his chest dissipating. It came as no surprise. He generally experienced this rush of relief when he had made final decisions about business problems which had troubled him for weeks.
He lifted his head, saw to his surprise that he was at 57th Street and Fifth. He went to the nearest telephone, dropped a quarter in the box, dialled quickly.
‘Hello?’
‘It’s me, darling.’
‘Where are you, Maxim?’
‘On the corner of 57th and Fifth. I’m coming over.’
‘I can’t wait. I’ll give you a couple of minutes.’