The Billionaire Banker(5)

It is such a warm evening that Lana carries her coat in her hands. Rupert gives the address to the cab driver and they climb in. Lana’s dress has ridden up her thighs, but when she tries to pull it back down, he puts his meaty, white hand over hers and in a firm voice orders, ‘Leave it.’

Embarrassed, Lana looks into the rearview mirror. The taxi driver is observing them. Wordlessly, she drapes her coat over her knees and turns her face away from Rupert, to stare out. Damn him. As she gazes unseeingly out she feels his hand slide under her coat and settle on her thighs.

Biting her lip she tries to ignore the hand, but it is slithering up her thigh. When it is almost at her crotch she catches the offending hand in hers. She turns to him and looks him in the eye.

‘We don’t have a deal yet.’

‘True,’ he says, and retracts his hand, but the smile on his face is taunting and smug. He knows she needs the money.

The rest of the journey passes in silence while Lana’s stomach churns. She is so nervous she actually feels afraid she will lose the few vegetables she has eaten on the floor of the cab. Fortunately, the taxi turns into Bishop’s Avenue and they come to a stop outside a large, white, three-story Regency house. There are fancy cars parked bumper to bumper along the length of the street. Rupert pays the cab driver and they walk up a short flight of steps to a set of black doors. Rupert rings the bel and through the tall windows Lana sees the kind of people that she has only seen in magazines. Immaculately dressed and dripping in jewelry. She looks down upon her cheap orange dress in dismay. She pulls at the hem, but her efforts at modesty are counter-productive, as more of her cleavage falls into view.

‘Don’t worry,’ Rupert lies cheerfully. ‘You’ll do.’

A round man in an old-fashioned butler’s uniform opens the door. His manner suggests disdain. He can tell instantly they do not belong. Rupert haughtily informs him that they are guests of Blake Barrington. The man eyes register recognition. A glimmer of a smile surfaces.

He nods politely and stands aside to welcome them in.

Lana takes a deep breath, enters the grand hallway and stifles a gasp at her splendid surroundings.

From outside it did not appear so large and spacious.

She has never been anywhere so beautiful. Now she understands what Rupert meant by the smell of old money. The walls are covered with museum quality paintings. She gazes up at the cherubs and Madonna-like women looking down at her with awe. They are so beautiful that she wants a closer look, but Rupert is guiding her firmly by the elbow towards a sort of anteroom where a young woman takes her coat in exchange for a ticket.

From two open doorways live classical music and voices emanate. A waiter carrying a tray of champagne stops in front of them. Lana has hardly drunk at the restaurant in an effort to remain sober and level-headed, but now she knows she must be drunk or she will never be able to go through her deal with the devil. A pasty white devil with dandruff.

Lana takes a glass, and with a restraining hand on the surprised waiter’s arm, drains the tall flute. The bubbles hit her at the back of her throat and make her eyes water.

She returns the empty glass to the tray and snags another two.

‘Thanks,’ she says breathlessly, and the waiter, a young Mediterranean type, allows his dark, restless eyes to wander down to her chest.

Rupert watches her with feral, excited eyes. He wants her drunk. He has plans for her. He guides her by the small of her back into one of the rooms. Lana looks at the other women’s clothes. They probably cost more than she makes in a year. Lana feels many pairs of eyes on her. She is aware that she stands out like a sore thumb. She looks towards the string quartet and finds their eyes on her too.

Damn that Barrington guy for inviting them here. She sucks her champagne glass dry. Another waiter passes and she pulls another glass from the tray.

‘Go easy,’ Rupert warns.

She turned towards him with a bright smile. ‘I thought you wanted me drunk and pliable.’

He takes her elbow and leads her deeper into the room close to a large palm plant. With his back to the party he says, ‘I don’t like fucking inert bodies.’

Her eyes widen. The champagne has already gone to her head. No time better than now. She feels courageous again. ‘OK, I’m ready to talk terms now. ‘Right, you don’t want inert bodies. What do you want?’

From the camel’s lips came cold breath. ‘Have you read Fifty Shades Of Grey?’

Almost all the other girls at the agency have read the book and she has been present while they have raved about it, but she has been confused by its popularity. Did women really have a secret desire to be owned by a powerful man? Could it be love when a man wants to tie you up and flog you raw? When she mentioned it to her mother, her mother had smiled and astutely remarked, ‘The Western woman sneered at the woman in the purdah and now she dons a dog collar and worships at the same altar.’ Lana looks into his pale eyes. ‘No, but isn’t it about a sick man who abuses his lover?’