Читать книгу The Dating Mr Darcy Trilogy - Katie Oliver - Страница 25
ОглавлениеAs Rhys and Natalie arrived at the restaurant, Natalie’s mobile rang. She paused on the steps and glanced at the screen. Dominic.
“Sorry, I have to take this,” she told Rhys. “Go ahead in, I won’t be a minute.”
“Dominic!” she hissed into her mobile as Rhys went inside. “Where are you? You’re all over the tabloids—”
“Never mind that,” he interrupted tersely. “I’m standing by the post box.”
“What—?” Puzzled, Natalie glanced around. “I only see a dodgy-looking bloke in a cap and sunglasses—”
“That’s me! I don’t want to be recognised, do I?”
Doubtfully she approached him. “Dominic—?”
“Shh!” He grabbed her arm and pulled her around the corner. He slid his sunglasses down his nose. “I’ve really fucked things up this time, Nat.”
“Oh, Dominic,” Natalie said in exasperation, “why do you always do this?”
“Do what?”
“Self destruct! If something’s good, you always screw it up. I mean, look at us – we were happy once, weren’t we?”
He nodded.
“But you trashed it all, with your cheating and your constant lies. Now you’ve gone and trashed things with Keeley, too. Why?”
“Oh, well – what can I say? I fancied Victoria. And she wanted it as much as I did.”
Natalie rolled her eyes. “The point is, Dominic, you don’t do those sorts of things if you love someone.”
“I don’t love Keeley,” he snorted. “We used each other for publicity.” Dominic scowled. “Only now her music career’s skyrocketed, and mine’s gone straight into the crapper.”
“You must’ve known you’d get caught in that broom closet, especially so close to the start of the ceremony.”
“I was drunk, Nat! I only wanted a quick shag before I got myself shackled for life to Keeley.”
“She’s furious, you know. She’s saying all manner of nasty things about you to the press.” Nat smirked. “She told the Sun that you need sat nav and both hands to find your willy.”
“Bitch.” But there wasn’t any venom behind it; Dominic was too gutted to muster any real anger. He sighed. “I know I humiliated her, and I don’t blame her for retaliating. I don’t even blame her for suing me. I deserve it.”
Natalie raised her brow. “Do you think?”
“All I’ve got left is the ad campaign for Klaus…and he’s not best pleased with me now, either.”
“You’re all over the media, isn’t that what he wants?”
“Yeah, but it’s not exactly the kind of publicity he wants for Dissolute.”
“Look, I’m sorry for your problems, Dom, but I’ve got to go. Rhys is waiting.”
“Don’t want to keep Rhys waiting, do we?” Dominic snapped.
She thrust her mobile back in her handbag. “Look, Dominic, I don’t know what to tell you, except to ride it out and hope it goes away eventually.” She smirked. “Rather like your bridesmaid, Victoria.” She started to walk away.
“Nat – wait.” He grabbed her hand. “You’re not really serious about Gordon, are you?”
She turned back and stared at him in surprise. “Rhys? No, of course not! We work together. That’s all.”
“I know when a bloke’s interested in someone, Nat. And he’s definitely interested in you.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she scoffed, even as she blushed. “It’s none of your business, anyway. Why do you even care?”
“I’ll always care about you, Nat,” he said staunchly. “We go back a long way, you and me. We were mates before we ever…well, you know. I just don’t want to see you get hurt by that Scottish plonker, that’s all.”
“Rhys is all right, Dom. Really.” Her indignation faded. “So you needn’t worry.” She turned to go, then paused. “By the way, I’ve a favour to ask. A huge favour.”
“Sure. Whatever you need. Unless it involves Gordon,” he added with a scowl. “Then all bets are off.”
Briefly Nat explained about the re-launch and their need for a few big names to draw customers in. “And no one’s more famous than you,” she pointed out. “Except, perhaps, Keeley.”
“What is it you want me to, exactly? Put on a show in the middle of the menswear department?”
“No, of course not! We’ll film a commercial, with you kitted out in clothing from the store, and we’ll do a print ad. There’s to be a fashion show, and a concert – starring you.”
Just then, Rhys appeared on the restaurant’s steps. He cast Dominic a glacial glare. “Are you coming, Natalie?”
“I’ll be right there.” She turned back to Dominic. “So, are you in, Dom? Will you do it?”
Dominic cast a dark look in Rhys’ direction. “I’ll do it,” he said, and added more loudly, “for you, Nat. Not for him.”
She squealed and threw her arms around him. “Thanks so much, Dom – you’re a star! Truly, you won’t be sorry. It’ll be great publicity for you and for the stores.”
“Yeah, right, whatever. Just text me the date and I’ll clear it with Max.”
Max, Natalie knew, was his long-suffering agent. “I’ll send you the details tomorrow,” she promised.
“Natalie?” Rhys snapped. “If you don’t come in soon, they’ll be serving bloody breakfast.”
“Sorry.” She gave Dominic an apologetic smile and turned to go. “Thanks again, Dom,” she said over her shoulder.
“Yeah, no problem. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he called after her ominously, and jerked his head in Gordon’s direction.
As she went up the stairs into the restaurant, Natalie couldn’t help wondering if Dominic was, perhaps, right. Did Rhys fancy her? And more to the point – how would she feel about it if he did?
Patrons crowded the bar at the Bull and Feather on Friday night as Natalie arrived at the pub after work. She went in search of a table, narrowly avoiding a baptism in stout from an over-friendly drunk.
“Are you OK? That was close.”
Natalie looked up to see Holly James, Alastair’s eldest daughter, standing at a nearby table. “Holly! I’m fine, no thanks to that great ginger-haired lout over there.” She glared at the man who’d nearly ruined her new ‘Poppy’ handbag. “What are you doing here?”
“I came with a mate from work. She’s here somewhere. Want to join us? There’s plenty of room.”
“If you don’t mind hanging with us old folk,” Natalie joked as she slid into a seat. “Thanks.”
“What do you lot want?” Holly James called out as Nat’s sister Caro, trailed by Tarquin and Wren, arrived.
“A pint. And crisps! I’m starving.” Natalie hadn’t eaten since her lunch with Rhys, and she’d only nibbled at a salad.
“Same for me,” Tarquin said.
“Water with lemon for me,” Wren, Tarquin’s fiancée, said. “I’m on detox this week. No alcohol.”
As they sat down, Tarquin asked, “How’s your new job, Nat?”
“I’ve been insanely busy. Rhys runs me off my feet.”
“What’s he like?” Caro asked. “According to the newpapers, he’s more exacting than Gordon Ramsay.”
But Natalie didn’t answer. She’d just spotted Rhys, leaning against the bar talking to a long-legged brunette. A dove-grey coat was draped over her arm, and a black sheath emphasised her curves; but her towering Perspex heels cheapened the look. She laughed at something Rhys said.
Nat’s eyes narrowed. What was Rhys doing here, chatting up that half-baked Carla Bruni wannabe? She was plainly out of place in the Bull. The girls here wore high-street clothes, not Céline or Chanel…and they didn’t wear Perspex heels.
She was probably a call girl, Natalie decided, meeting her client – Rhys – to make arrangements for a night of hot monkey sex together—
“Earth to Nat,” Caro prodded as Natalie sank down into a chair. “I said, what’s your new boss like?”
Natalie couldn’t take her eyes away from the bar. “Rhys? He’s full of…surprises.” She stood up as not-Carla laid her slim, no-wedding-ring hand on Rhys’s sleeve. “Excuse me.”
As she wove her way through the crowd and arrived at the bar, Natalie feigned surprise. “Rhys! I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Natalie.” He didn’t look particularly pleased. “I didn’t expect to see you, either.”
“Obviously.” She cast a pointed glance at the brunette and waited for Rhys to introduce them. He didn’t.
“Nina,” she said in a soft French accent as she offered Natalie her hand. “We were just discussing business.”
Right, then, even worse. She was a French call girl!
“Business,” Natalie echoed, plainly unconvinced. “Are you a lawyer, then,” she prodded the girl, “or an advertising executive?” Surely there was a reasonable explanation.
“Nina isn’t a lawyer, or an advertising executive,” Rhys said, and popped a crisp in his mouth. “She’s a stripper.”
Natalie’s eyes widened. That explained the tacky shoes, then. She couldn’t seem to formulate a proper response. Was there a proper response?
“I’ve just hired her for my best mate’s stag party next Friday night,” Rhys told her. “We’re hammering out the details.” At her look of outrage, he added, “You did ask.”
“Yes,” Natalie said tightly, “and I wish I hadn’t.”
Rhys smiled. “Remember what I said about making assumptions?” he murmured in her ear. Aloud he said, “Nina does a striptease act. Very tasteful, so I’m told.”
“I didn’t realise a striptease act could be tasteful,” Natalie said with as much dignity as she could muster. “Well, I’d best get back to my friends. Nina,” she added with a frosty nod of her head, and stalked away.
“What was that about?” her sister asked when she returned.
“Nothing. I saw Rhys, and I stopped to say hello.” Desperate to change the subject, she added, “He and I met with Klaus von Richter yesterday.”
Wren leaned forward, intrigued. “Klaus von Richter, the fashion designer? How did that go?”
“Not well.” Natalie paused as Holly returned with drinks and packets of crisps. “Rhys asked him if we might carry his clothing line in the flagship store. He turned us down flat.”
“The nerve!” Caro exclaimed. “Why?”
“He said Dashwood and James is second rate.” Natalie took a long sip of her pint. “He couldn’t be arsed to even consider letting us carry his precious couture line.”
“Klaus is a prat,” Holly agreed as she sat down next to Natalie. “Thinks he’s Yves St. Laurent and Karl Lagerfeld rolled into one.”
“Well, I shut him down,” Natalie said smugly. “I told him we wanted a younger, edgier vibe, and that we were in talks with Phillip Pryce. Of course we’re not – not yet, anyway – but Klaus didn’t know that. He was livid.”
“Who’s Phillip Pryce?” Wren asked, curious.
“He’s the Next Big Thing, according to Sasha Davis.” Holly took a crisp from the bag. “Sasha’s my boss – the psychotic bitch – and editor-in-chief of BritTEEN. She’s right about one thing, though – Phillips’s very talented. He’s having a moment. There’s a party at his place tonight—”
Natalie grabbed her arm. “You know him?” she demanded.
“He did a shoot last month for the magazine. We featured his envelope clutch.” Holly sighed. “It’s brilliant.”
Natalie squealed in excitement. “I need to set up a meeting with him. Do you have his mobile number?”
“Hang on.” Holly picked up her mobile and scrolled to a number. “Phillip!” she said brightly after a moment. “Hi, it’s Holly James. Yes, the intern from BritTEEN. You remembered!” She beamed. “I’m sitting here with Natalie Dashwood. What? Yes, that Natalie Dashwood!” She covered the phone. “He knows who you are, from the tabloids.”
“Oh, my God,” Natalie groaned. “Tell him I’m NOT having an affair with Rhys!”
Holly obligingly relayed the info to Phillip. She giggled. “Phillip says if you’re not interested, he is. He says Rhys’s quite the gay icon… What? Well, Natalie wants to discuss a possible business partnership with you—”
They all heard an ear-splitting shriek of excitement emanate from Holly’s mobile.
“Great Portland Street? Okay, see you soon – and thanks!” Holly said goodbye and disconnected. “The party’s at his atelier, it’s on right now, and we’re all invited.”
“Oh, Hols, thanks!” Natalie leaned over and kissed her. “You’re brilliant. You’ve just solved my problem. Well, one of them, anyway. Now I just have to convince Phillip to partner with Dashwood and James on his first clothing line.”
“It won’t take much convincing. Phillip’s desperate to get his own line started, but he doesn’t have financial backing yet. You’ll be the answer to his prayers.”
They finished their drinks and stood up to leave, and Natalie’s gaze flickered to the bar. Nina and Rhys were gone.
She didn’t know whether she was disappointed or relieved.
They arrived at Phillip’s warehouse on Great Portland Street twenty minutes later. They heard the party before they found it; thumping bass emanated from the ground floor of the three-story building. Phillip wore black leather trousers and a jacket with skinny lapels, and his trademark Louboutin trainers.
“Lovely to meet you!” he shouted at Natalie as Holly introduced her. “Come upstairs, it’s quieter there.”
“I’ve followed you in the tabloids, Natalie,” Phillip said as they trooped after him up the narrow stairs to his top-floor workroom. He beamed at her over his shoulder. “I’m inspired by you. You’re even on a couple of my mood boards.”
She blinked. “Inspired by…me?” Blimey.
“Oh, yes. Your style – it’s refreshing, very Audrey-Hepburn-meets-Charlotte Gainsbourg.”
“Thanks,” she managed lamely. “I do my best.”
The truth was, mixing off-the-rack pieces with designer ones was a financial necessity. She had Gemma Astley – and several afternoons spent in High Street shops – to thank for her eclectic new look. Although their shopping expeditions began out of necessity – Rhys ordered Gemma to show Nat how to shop more frugally – by the time they’d hit Zara and Topshop and H&M, their frosty relationship thawed into a cautious friendship.
Phillip grabbed a bottle of champagne as his partner, Jacques, brought glasses and poured them all drinks. “Von Richter’s a genius, no question. When it comes to fashion, he’s not only brilliant; he’s an icon.” Phillip paused. “But he’s also a vindictive prick. And he hates me.”
“Why?” Natalie asked, surprised. “He was your mentor, after all. You interned with him at Maison Laroche, didn’t you?”
Phillip nodded. “Klaus designs haute couture pieces that cost thousands of pounds. The workmanship is superb and the materials are exquisite, and there’s a tiny group of women who can afford his clothing. But my fashion philosophy is quite different to his.”
“I see. And what’s yours?” Natalie asked, intrigued.
“I believe everyone should have access to beautiful, wearable clothes, not just the ladies-who-lunch set. There’s no reason clothing can’t be well made without costing the earth. Don’t get me wrong, I won’t put my name on a watered-down collection, and I don’t like cheap clothing or knock-offs, either. If you were to sum up my philosophy, I suppose you could say I’m a fashion egalitarian.”
“Liberté, égalité, Rodarte,” Jacques said dryly.
“Ooh, I like that!” Phillip exclaimed. He held up his glass in a mock salute. “Liberté, égalité, Versace!”
“What Phillip hasn’t told you,” Jacques added, “aside from the fact that he’s had a bit too much to drink, is that he dumped the old German queen to set up shop – and house – with me. So neither of us is at the top of Klaus’s hit parade.”
Natalie winced. “Oh. No wonder he looked like a thundercloud about to rupture when I mentioned Phillip’s name.”
“Don’t worry, chickpea.” Phillip clinked his glass of champagne against hers. “You and I will make beautiful clothes together…with or without Klaus von Arsehole’s approval.”
After concluding his business with Nina, Rhys accompanied her outside and flagged down a taxi. “Where to?” he asked her as he held the door open.
“My hotel room,” she said, and slid inside the cab. She eyed him expectantly. The invitation was plain.
“St. Giles Hotel, Heathrow,” he instructed the driver, and leaned back down. “Sorry, love. I’m…involved with someone. I’ll see you on Friday.” He shut the door.
“Are you sure you won’t reconsider?” she pouted.
He nodded. “I’m sure. Goodnight.”
“Bonne nuit.” With a sigh of regret, she rolled the window up, and the taxi pulled away.
As he re-entered the Bull and Feathers for a nightcap before he returned to his hotel room, Rhys’s glance skimmed over the crowded interior.
He squeezed in at the bar and his glance strayed to the back corner table. A rowdy group of young men and women had replaced Natalie and her friends.
As he signalled the publican for his bill, Rhys couldn’t decide if he was disappointed or relieved that she was gone.
Relieved, he told himself as he paid his tab. He could’ve had Nina in his bed tonight; that was plain enough. She was young, certainly, and lovely, and undeniably willing; but there was one thing she wasn’t.
She wasn’t Natalie.
