you, James. You’re doing a great job.’ Alex addressed one of the waiters and took two glasses of champagne from the young man’s tray.
Libby accepted a glass, noticing that James made no eye contact and rushed away more quickly than perhaps he should have.
‘The waiting staff are all kids from the Able-Active programme,’ Alex murmured. ‘James has autism.’
Libby nodded and glanced around the room. These young, smartly dressed waiters and waitresses weren’t, she guessed, typical for the Ritz.
Molly arrived by their side. ‘They’re ready when you are, Mr Lancaster.’
Alex nodded and handed his PA his glass of champagne. Turning to Libby, he brushed her temple with his and whispered, ‘Wish me luck.’
Before she could reply, he made his way to the front of the crowd, where a small podium had been set up.
Libby watched, heat pooling in her belly, as he took his place behind the microphone and commanded the room to silence, his demeanour relaxed and engaging. He didn’t need luck. His determination and enthusiasm alone could win over the entire room. No wonder he was so successful. His passion and drive were infectious.
‘Ladies and gentlemen—friends.’ The dazzle of his confident smile traversed the crowd, landing here and there in recognition and greeting. ‘Thank you all for coming tonight to the launch party for Able-Active. Many of you—business associates, mates from uni, partners in crime—know me well.’
His genuine smile made an appearance. Not the reserved, polite one that lent him an air of authority, but the wider, unrestrained version that deepened the grooved dimple in his cheek and showed his playful side.
Libby felt her belly flutter, remembering that smile trained on her this morning in the jet boat.
‘You know what this charity means to me, but most of you don’t know why.’ He indicated a framed photo of a teenage girl on the dais beside him. ‘If Jenny, my sister, was alive, she’d be thirty-five years old now.’
The room fell deathly silent. Libby’s pulse thrummed in her throat.
Alex sobered, his chin dipping and his voice deepening to a reflective rumble. ‘I often wonder what kind of adult life she’d have had. Would she have fallen in love? What kind of job would she have enjoyed?’ A pause, his eyes scanning every member of the audience. ‘Did she dream of being a mother? Have aspirations to help others, or want to run the London Marathon?’
Alex glanced again at the photograph, his eyes dimming.
‘I was fifteen when eighteen-year-old Jenny died. I don’t recall her goals, her passions, her ambitions, aside from the fact that she wanted what the rest of us have. Opportunity, choice, equality.’
He touched the edge of the frame holding his sister’s image.
‘Jenny’s short life was good. She laughed a lot, she smiled all the time and she loved to dance.’
He gave a small smile—intimate, as if he were alone in the room.
‘But it could have been better. The only employment opportunity open to her when she left school was a few hours a week volunteer work. She required help and support to do many of the things other teenagers take for granted, and many things, due to lack of trained carers or simply lack of facilities, weren’t an option for her and others like her.’
His throat worked, Adam’s apple bobbing.
‘I could have been a better brother.’
A long silent pause filled the room with skin-crawling discomfort.
‘I want a better future for teens like Jenny, and with your help, your support, Able-Active will be a starting block towards a level playing field and opportunities for all. Thank you.’
Libby’s gaze, glued to Alex, travelled the room with him as he became swallowed up into the crowd, accepting handshakes and back-slaps. He’d mesmerised her—mesmerised everyone in the room, no doubt—with his heartfelt and humbling speech.
She wanted to find him. To kiss him just because her mouth missed his and she couldn’t think of a single reason not to. But Molly touched her arm, reminding her of her own presentation.
She dragged her eyes away from Alex, handsome in his dark suit, smiling and working the room with practised skill.
Molly spoke first. ‘Ladies and gentlemen. Can we please have a round of applause for the waiting staff this evening, who are all participants on the Able-Active programme and have been trained by the staff here at The Ritz?’
Libby’s palms stung as she joined the applause, her cheeks aching with the depth of her smile.
‘And now I present Libby Noble, from the New York firm Noble and Pullman, to tell us a little more about Able-Active and Mr Lancaster’s vision for the future.’
Libby swallowed, flicking the remote to begin her presentation, which would be projected onto the screen behind her. Following Alex’s speech was going to be daunting, and she had no hope of matching the impact he’d had on the room. Her goal was to add to it, to complement the picture he’d painted with her own impressions, throwing in a sprinkling of marketing jargon and creating a buzz among the assembled potential supporters.
She glanced down at her notes, stomach churning. The careful, measured words she’d prepared were dancing on the page, as if mocking her with their caution and their detachment.
She cleared her throat. ‘Able-Active isn’t a unique charity.’
A photo of kids enjoying a kayaking trip that Libby had lifted from the website appeared on the screen.
‘Worthwhile? Yes. Rewarding? Yes. Essential? Yes. But what is exceptional is the vision, passion and motivation of Alex Lancaster as their CEO.’
The image changed to a photo Libby had taken of herself on the hot air balloon. Her smile shone from her eyes, against a backdrop of the rolling green of Oxfordshire and the distant views of the city spires.
‘This is more than outward bound. This is real life opportunity. The chance for meaningful training, employment and recreation for vulnerable members of society who often get overlooked, pigeonholed as having nothing to contribute.’
The picture changed again to a shot of their trip power boating on the Thames. Libby’s eyes were scrunched closed as a blast of water sprayed her and Alex in the face, and Alex’s delighted grin was firmly on her.
Lifting her eyes, she homed in on his watchful stare across the room. She folded her notes in half, her throat tight but her chest expanding with words that came from her heart, not her head.
‘I came to London to work, with recreation the furthest thing from my mind. It’s been many years since I participated in anything that carried an element of risk or provided that slam of adrenaline.’
Her insides quivered, her breath stolen by his continued intense focus. The same focus he offered in the bedroom.
‘But I haven’t felt more alive, or had so much fun since I myself was a teenager.’
