‘Stop flirting, Nic,’ said Murat, ‘and introduce us to the lady.’
The lady was Niccolo’s Norwegian girlfriend, Lise, who, while looking exactly like a supermodel, turned out to be a financial wizard working in mergers and acquisitions. It was difficult not to be impressed by a woman who had made her first million by the age of twenty-five. And even harder not to feel a little second rate in the shining light of all that bright, blonde beauty. Catrin gave a slightly nervous smile as she sat down.
‘So what do you do, Catrin?’ Lise questioned, once drinks had been poured and the two men were engaged in a complicated conversation about wind farms.
Beneath the steady gaze of the other woman’s eyes, Catrin tried not to feel awkward. She always hated this bit. What could she possibly say in response to a question which everyone asked, wherever they went? That she used to work in the hotel industry until Murat had put his foot down and told her that her unsociable hours were keeping them apart and he wasn’t prepared to tolerate it?
And she had agreed. She had given up work because it had seemed crazy not to. Why would you waste your time working for peanuts, when your wealthy sultan was at home, drumming his fingers impatiently as he waited for you to finish your shift?
‘I used to work in the hospitality industry,’ she said. ‘But not at the moment.’
‘Gosh. Lucky you,’ said Lise lightly. ‘I’d give anything not to be ruled by the demands of the early-morning wake-up call.’
They ordered food and wine though Catrin stuck to water, just as she always did. They talked politics and about America’s enduring love affair with the British royal family, before the two men started discussing oil prices.
Lise turned to Catrin, elevating her brows in a comical expression.
‘Isn’t this where we zone out?’ she questioned. ‘And talk about the stuff women like to talk about?’
‘I guess so,’ said Catrin, though another faint flicker of disquiet fluttered down her spine.
At first they kept the conversation strictly neutral. Lise wanted to know the name of Catrin’s hairdresser and that bit was easy. Then she admired her lapis lazuli locket and asked where she’d got it from. Catrin ran her fingertips over the deep blue stone.
‘Murat bought it for my birthday.’
‘Did he? He has very good taste.’
‘Yes.’ Catrin felt the cool brush of the stone as it dangled between her breasts. She remembered the touch of Murat’s fingers the first time he had clipped it around her neck. She swallowed. ‘He has excellent taste.’
‘So I understand. Have you two been together a long time?’
‘Just over...’ Her fingers falling away from the necklace, Catrin picked up her glass and wished—as sometimes she did—that she possessed enough courage to drink a glass of wine. Because wouldn’t a drink take the edge off these gnawing feelings of unease? Wasn’t that why most people drank? Most people, she reminded herself as a shudder of memory whispered over her skin. ‘Just over a year,’ she said.
‘Mmm. Longer than I thought.’ There was a moment of silence before Lise slanted her a speculative look. ‘You are a very pragmatic woman, I think.’
Catrin felt a little taken aback at such an unexpected character assessment. It seemed a strange thing to be told by somebody she’d only just met. She glanced across the table towards Murat, but by now he was busy talking soccer with Niccolo and completely engrossed by the subject.