“Oh God,” I said under my breath.
James tapped his fingers on the desk. “Did you book the car for me or not?”
I yanked myself out of the castle and into the office, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. James’s anal insistence his rental car in Valencia be smaller than average was typical of his tofflike behaviour.
“The Audi A1 is larger than the dimensions you specified but they have other sports cars,” I said, scanning my notes. “They’ve got an MG Midget.”
“Book it, and please ensure you reserve a room for me on Thursday night.”
And where would he be staying Wednesday night? “Greg and I are in the Valencia Hilton and you are...”
He didn’t fill in the blankety-blanks.
“You’re with us on Thursday night,” I confirmed. “And we’re all guests at Sr Doria’s country villa on Friday afternoon and evening. His secretary told me it’s a ‘ladies in red, gents in black’ occasion, whatever that means.”
James’s mouth tightened. “You’ll see.”
In Valencia James was polite and reserved, spending most of his time with our client. A charming yet wily tycoon in his early sixties, Sr Doria owned Bizarre Records S.A., the largest producer and distributor of music in Spain, plus several companies and farms dotted around Europe. Renegotiating Flintfire’s terms of business with him required subtle skills and astuteness. He wanted to, ahem, minimise his tax liability but he was unwilling to pay Flintfire’s steep fees. Advising him on his tax affairs was no simple task.
James disappeared straight after the last meeting on Wednesday afternoon, telling us to contact him on the mobile only if required. Greg made a snide remark about James visiting a secret lover and as I watched him drive off I wondered if it was true. Not that it was any of my business, of course, but couldn’t he have told me where he was going? It would be polite to share if he had a girlfriend in Valencia, wouldn’t it? Especially since he’d spent a night with me. On the sofa in my parents’ house, but technically it still counted as sleeping together, didn’t it?#p#分页标题#e#
And if he didn’t have a lover in Valencia, what was he doing so secretively? Not that it was any of my business.
You told me that one already, my mind sneered.
I made an effort not to think about James and enjoyed going out with Valencian friends that night. We ate late and danced until early, just as I used to. A part of me wished I’d never left Spain. It felt as though I was home in a way I didn’t feel in London and had never really felt in Brighton.
The highlight of our business dealings came the next day. We were seated in Bizarre Records’ boardroom with several Spanish lawyers and Sr Doria. James and Sr Doria had reached an agreement on his European companies and the talk had turned to the new EU legislation affecting Spanish firms. The meeting had been tax, tax, taxing me to sleep and I was glad when they broke to sign some paperwork.
Then Greg made a point of saying punto final. He repeated himself and the Spaniards raised their brows and looked at each other. Sr Doria was bemused but too polite to show it. He thought Greg was doing one of those typically British things Spaniards like to laugh at behind our backs. Sr Doria said punto final back to Greg, so Greg said it again, pleased at his response. Then the others joined in.
James caught my smile before I could hide it away.
<<A Spanish custom?>>
<<Sí señor.>>
The mischievous look we shared warmed my heart like the sun heated my skin. James transferred his attention back to business, a faint twitch at his lips whenever Greg said the magic words. Our brief rapport made me hopeful we’d get the chance to talk during dinner. If nothing else, I could thank him for his company after the funeral. If he showed any indication of warmth I could ask him about seeing Ryan again. Or invite him out for a friendly, non-romantic post-dinner stroll.