Keep Your Eyes on Me Page 9

  Aidan smirked at her suggestively. ‘I’ve enough excitement in my life, thank you. I know exactly what I want.’

  ‘Oh, stop. You are too bold.’

  ‘So bold,’ he corrected her, laughing and shaking his head. ‘I love the way you manage to make Irish phrases sound Italian.’

  She shot him a fiery look full of fun. ‘Sicilian.’

  ‘Ha, touché. Did Marcus tell you about the new sails we’re looking at? Kevlar, the fastest and lightest available. I want Danny Boy to win everything next season.’

  The waitress arrived with Vittoria’s tea and a pot of coffee for Aidan as she answered.

  ‘He hasn’t told me anything. He only got back from London late last night. He went to the gym at some godforsaken hour this morning. I haven’t seen him.’

  ‘I think he was pretty glad you didn’t stay in New York any longer – he got a call from the bank about your joint card being used.’

  It was Vittoria’s turn to smirk. ‘I had my phone switched off. They really are very good at checking for fraud. Did he say anything?’

  ‘He said a lot, none of it repeatable, and I’m guessing he’s not going to say any of it to you.’ He paused. ‘You were OK on your own?’ His voice was full of concern.

  Vittoria smiled. ‘Of course. You can’t fault The Calvert Vaux Hotel.’ Before she could say more there was a flurry of activity at the main door to the restaurant. From her seat beside the window, Vittoria watched as Marcus appeared in the doorway, greeting the staff like old friends.

  Aidan had noticed the signs of his arrival too, threw Vittoria a look across the table.

  The waitress had brought their order and just finished pouring Vittoria’s tea as Marcus began heading towards them. A moment later, the maître d’ was pulling out a chair for him.

  Wearing a black designer tracksuit, Marcus had his arms full of newspapers and bent forward to dump them into the middle of the table but Aidan caught them deftly and leaned across Marcus’s empty chair to put them on the window sill. ‘I’d rather not have coffee all over me at this time in the morning, thanks, mate.’

  ‘I bought all the papers so we can see if anyone else picked up on Vittoria’s moment.’

  Her moment? Vittoria resisted the temptation to throw her tea all over him.

  ‘We did guess.’ She raised her eyebrows over the rim of her tea cup, but he didn’t hear her, was greeting someone with a wave and a gestured conversation on the other side of the restaurant. From his hand movements it looked like it involved golf. ‘For God’s sake, sit down.’

  He gave Vittoria a belligerent look more suited to a teenager and sat. ‘Where’s my green tea?’

  A pretty blonde waitress appeared at his shoulder, carrying a tray laden with china. ‘That’s lovely, Sinéad – I hope you warmed the pot.’

  ‘Of course, Mr Devine. I know just how you like it.’

  Vittoria didn’t look at the waitress but carefully put her cup down, trying to control her emotions, her temper. This was the first time she’d seen him since her conversation with the detective and it was taking all her self-control to stay calm.

  Marcus reached for the papers, sorting through them. Without looking up, he waved the Sunday Inquirer in Vittoria’s direction while he flipped open the news section of the Sunday Times, disappearing behind it.

  ‘Did you get the Business Post?’ Her tone was clipped but he didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘Of course, in the pile.’ Marcus waved towards the window sill from behind the open broadsheet. He turned the pages as if he was looking to see if they had covered her ‘moment’.

  Aidan was about to lean across him to pass it over when, catching her eye, he raised an eyebrow, obviously picking up on her change in mood.

  She rolled her eyes and shook her head. She could look later. ‘Thank you.’ Vittoria glanced at the Inquirer masthead. They had a picture of Yana pirouetting across the top. She leafed through to find the article. It was opposite the gossip column, typical, the main focus on Yana’s love life. They’d used the picture of them both, though, taken outside the clinic and referenced her practice and Yana’s near death from starvation. Vittoria read it quickly and then scanned the opposite page.

  And a name caught her eye.

  It took her a moment to absorb the few lines.

  A few lines that rocked her to her core.

  Pursing her lips, she glanced quickly at Aidan. He raised his dark eyebrows, sending her a what’s up? look.

  ‘It seems I’m not the only person in the papers today.’ Catching the hard edge to Vittoria’s tone, Marcus flipped down the corner of the Sunday Times and looked at her over the top of it.

  ‘Huh?’

  She threw him a steely look. ‘I thought you were working hard in London all week – in meetings, training in the simulator?’

  ‘I was. I’ve got to go back tomorrow to finalise the assessments before I go to Sydney.’

  Vittoria pursed her lips, taking a moment to still the rage boiling inside her before she said, ‘But the simulator is in Heathrow, not the West End?’

  ‘It is.’ Marcus frowned, obviously irritated. ‘What are you talking about?’

  Vittoria straightened the paper, glaring at him before she read out the piece she’d found. She fought to keep her voice low.

  ‘Belle de Jour’s Italian successor, reality TV star and rumoured high-class London call girl Bellissima Serata, has been busy ahead of the rumoured launch of her explosive tell-all book, Stripped Back. The Sunday Inquirer has been exclusively told that the party girl, a twenty-something double-D brunette beauty, who is a regular at society parties, was spotted with TransGlobal Airways top pilot –’ Vittoria paused for emphasis ‘– Marcus Devine’s doppelganger sipping champagne in The Velvet Club, London’s famous strip venue, on Friday night. Bellissima’s hunky silver fox companion was surrounded by blondes until she arrived for more champagne and a cosy chat in one of the club’s private rooms.’

  ‘What?’ Marcus’s reaction was explosive. Several other diners turned to look at him. ‘What on earth’s that about? I wasn’t in The Velvet Club with anyone, never mind some tart …’

  Vittoria didn’t reply. Her face flaming, she folded the paper carefully and bent down to pick up her handbag. Slipping out of her seat, she stood up, her words hissed just loud enough for him to hear. ‘How dare you.’

  She threw the Inquirer at him, hitting the paper he still had in his hands with a satisfying thwack, and, without a backward glance, strode out of the restaurant. In the mirrors on the wall she could see people looking at her, could see there were copies of today’s newspapers on almost every table. And the blonde waitress who had served them was smirking beside the bar.

  She barrelled through the swing doors into the lobby, crossed the marble-tiled foyer and headed straight out through the rotating glass door, the uniformed doorman standing back to let her through. The late September sun was bright as she stopped on the broad granite step and took a breath, for a moment unsure what to do next. As if reading her mind, a second doorman took a step forward.

  ‘Cab, madam?’

  That was exactly what she needed.

  His hand was already raised as she nodded curtly. A taxi materialised seconds later, and as the doorman crossed the broad pavement to open the rear door for her, she smiled gratefully. He knew her well; no doubt he’d seen the paper long before she had. The very thought made her cringe. Next time she was here, she’d make sure she tipped him well, but right now she just wanted to get home as fast as possible. As he pushed the car door closed behind her, Vittoria heard her phone ring in her bag. The doorman leaned in to the passenger window to give the driver her address. Hardly noticing the driver’s backward glance at her, she pulled the phone out.

  Marcus.

  Well, he could go to hell.

  As if Stephanie fucking Carson wasn’t enough for him?

  She rejected the call and it rang again.

  Aidan this time.


  She really wasn’t ready to speak to him either.

  How could Marcus be so public? Her emotions swirled, shock and humiliation blending to make her feel positively sick.

  Until now, Marcus had always kept his dalliances impeccably discreet, understood the respect she was held in professionally. Valued her. Or so she’d thought. That had obviously all changed with Stephanie Carson’s arrival on the scene.

  Was this some sort of mid-life crisis? How could he be so blatant with, of all people, a celebrity escort? In a strip club of all places? Anger flared inside her as she found herself actually lost for words, her thoughts careering into each other so violently she felt like they were creating some sort of black hole in her head. A painful one that was spreading across her forehead with each pulse of her heartbeat. Jet lag always made her groggy, and right now she really wasn’t up to dealing with this. Vittoria felt tears pricking at her eyes.

  How had she not seen this coming? She’d given Marcus Devine her whole life; their relationship had cost her the dance career she’d worked so hard for, children, almost her mental health. And now this?

  The lights changed and the cab swung over Leeson Street Bridge and around the bend but Vittoria was hardly aware of it. It was all too much. She listened to people’s problems every day, but who could she tell her problems to? Aidan knew most of it but she held back even from him. Lily Power was the only person she had voiced her most personal concerns to, and now this …

  There was something inherently reckless about being seen in a club like that, with a woman like that. It didn’t exactly make you look sensible and dependable. How would TransGlobal feel about one of their top pilots acting like an irresponsible idiota? What would this do for their business, for his reputation, let alone his marriage? What on earth had he been thinking?

  His reputation.

  Vittoria’s whole thought process stopped for a moment. Stopped and recalibrated. And the feelings of humiliation and rage flowed away to be replaced by deep, quiet laughter.

  Lily Power.

  Why hadn’t she realised sooner? Fighting a smile, Vittoria pulled out her phone and searched for the report online. She read it again. ‘Have been told … exclusively … rumoured … doppelganger.’

  My God, Lily was good.

  It was all supposition and not one word was litigious, no matter how furious it made Marcus. Every word was carefully chosen to mislead. And if he tried to sue for defamation, he’d look even more guilty: the lady doth protest too much. Vittoria smiled. She switched her phone off and chuckled to herself, shaking her head, relief washing over her. She hadn’t expected anything this fast, but this was exactly the type of thing they’d discussed.

  Strike one.

  This put Marcus completely on the back foot and made her, Vittoria, look like a victim.

  Now it was her turn to do something for Lily.

  Chapter 13

  VITTORIA PUT HER elbows on her office desk and opened the file in front of her, the map of New York with No. 42’s headquarters ringed in blue still at the front. As she scanned the page her desk phone lit up with another incoming call. Thank goodness Ruby was on the ball downstairs. The article about Yana in Sunday’s paper had had an amazing effect on business: on top of her deferred clients from last week – she hadn’t stopped all day yesterday – people were literally queuing up for appointments. She’d finally left the office at ten last night, exhausted. She was going to need extra staff if the enquiries kept coming in like this. And thank God not one person had mentioned Marcus. She was sure they had made the connection, but they were all struggling with something in their own lives, so perhaps they understood.

  Today had been just as busy so far, but the ink-blue velvet couch behind her was now finally empty, for an hour at least. She’d made up her case notes, plumped the deep rose-coloured cushions and changed the tissue box ready for her next appointment, and now she had some time to breathe. Lily’s notes had been pulling her back since the whole debacle with Marcus on Sunday.

  The sun was streaming onto the desk and Vittoria leaned over to open the office window. Sunday felt like a long time ago now. She didn’t feel any less sick about it but, grazie Dio, Marcus had stayed out after they’d seen the paper, though God only knew where he’d gone – perhaps to Danny Boy, to the marina in Dun Laoghaire. Wherever he’d ended up, Vittoria had spent the afternoon working out in the studio, the stereo turned up as high as it could go as she spun across the boards.

  When she was dancing she could lose herself, it was the only time when she didn’t need to think. She became completely absorbed in the music, became part of it. Music was in her soul; dance was in her bones.

  But so was justice.

  She could have stayed in the studio all evening, but she knew Monday would be busy, so instead she’d finished up with a swim, star-like lights shining up through the water, deliciously warm. It had been almost six by the time she’d showered and had gone up to her bedroom. Marcus still wasn’t home. Which was probably a good thing. As she swam she’d been thinking about a way to make her position really clear. It wasn’t hard.

  Gathering his things from the bedroom, his clean uniform and meticulously polished shoes, she piled everything outside on the landing, dumping his jacket on top. Going back to the en suite, she added his black leather wash-bag to the pile, and then she’d gone down to the kitchen to grab salad and cold chicken from the fridge and brought it upstairs with her. And locked herself into the bedroom.

  He was sleeping in the guest room for the foreseeable future, no question.

  When he had finally got home late Sunday evening and had realised that the bedroom door was actually locked he’d got really mad. She’d smiled to herself. She could feel the heat of his fury coming through the closed door like a wildfire.

  ‘Vittoria? Are you in there? What the fuck are you playing at? Open this fucking door!’

  In her bedroom she’d plumped up the pillows behind her and texted Aidan:

  M back. Have locked him out of

  bedroom è molto arrabbiato.

  Very angry was an understatement. She couldn’t resist a smile as Aidan’s reply came straight back:

  Be careful xx

  Marcus had thumped the door so hard, the sound had echoed around the house. ‘Let me in, Vittoria. I know you’re in there. I can hear your phone. Who are you texting? You know that was all nonsense – it’s a tabloid, for Christ’s sake, they make it all up. I’ve no idea who that woman was. I wasn’t even there.’

  She’d been tempted to ask where he had been – curled up with Stephanie Carson, maybe, in their love nest in Notting Hill? But she knew silence was more powerful. And it made him even madder.

  ‘Will you open this fucking door? You’re totally overreacting. Typical bloody Italian, I should have known when I first met you!’

  Then she’d heard his footsteps as he stamped back across the hall and the texts had started.

  So she’d switched her phone off.

  Yesterday morning she’d woken up at five, had heard him accelerating down the drive, the engine of his Jaguar XK1 roaring. He was flying all this week, would have taken off from Heathrow for Singapore last night, heading for Sydney. With stop-overs, he wouldn’t be back until next Tuesday, and as she’d trotted down the winding staircase to the kitchen yesterday morning, she’d felt a lightness in her step she hadn’t felt for ages.

  He was obviously furious, although how any of this could be her fault she had no idea. She had no regrets about locking him out. It was about time he started to feel the real impact of his actions.

  In her office, Vittoria turned her face to the sunshine and listened to the surf breaking on the beach across the road. The sounds of the traffic on Strand Road blended with the call of seagulls. One thing she loved about Ireland was never being far from the sea. Much as she’d adored living in London, literally breathing dance, feeding off the energy of the city, she’d been brought up a stone’s throw from the sea an
d it always calmed her.

  After the accident, when she’d finally got out of hospital, Marcus had brought her home to his parents’ house to recuperate, his mother and the housekeeper fussing over her. But she’d realised it was the ocean that she needed to help her heal. Walks on the beach were an essential part of her physio, morning and evening, but also part of her mental healing.

  The housekeeper had had hot milk and nutmeg ready for her every night when she’d come in from her walk. As she’d held the mug in her cupped hands, warm, safe, healing, she’d decided going back to London, to university, was the next step. And from then on, Vittoria’s focus had been singular. She knew what she wanted, but it had taken every particle of her being to achieve it. Had she realised she was leaving Marcus behind? It didn’t matter; he hadn’t tried to keep up. Now she knew that, even then, he had been totally focused on his own career, on his friends. On the other women.

  After the accident she’d been in a bad place, had felt like she was in a dark tunnel, like everything she knew was being shaken and turned around her. She hadn’t expected to feel like that again, but then she’d got the news about Stephanie Carson and all those feelings had come right back.

  She’d always succeeded before, had worked hard, had had to overcome all sorts of obstacles – she’d always coped. But the Stephanie Carson thing had rocked her to her core, and until she’d got on that plane and spoken to Lily, she’d felt like things were slipping away from her, like her points of reference were changing. Too fast.

  Now, not only had Lily given her something to distract her, but their chat had relieved Vittoria of that crushing feeling that she was utterly powerless, that life was happening to her, rather than her taking part in controlling it. The relief that she finally had a way to fight back, that Marcus was getting what he deserved, at least in a small way, made her feel literally a thousand pounds lighter, even made the constant nagging pain in her back a mere irritant.

  What did they say about a problem shared?