know she’s dressed in a cocktail dress? A very nice cocktail dress, but it’s not exactly work wear. Is there something else you’ve forgotten to tell me?’
Like last month, when she’d only remembered to tell him he had to make an after-dinner speech at the International Women in Finance dinner an hour before the canapés were served. Or the time when he’d had to present a prize at a kindergarten they sponsored on the way home from the casino. It was getting to be a bit of a habit, her asking him these last-minute ‘favours’ now that she was neck-deep in charity work.
‘Ah. Now you mention it...’
Here it came.
‘I’m afraid I’m still in Senegal, and there is one tiny engagement that needs to be covered tonight. You’re in London anyway—so it’s right on your doorstop. And who knows? Maybe you’ll net some good press coverage from it too! Wouldn’t that be lovely? Matty? Are you still there?’
Matty’s fingers slid down the veneer of the door as one by the one all his party plans burst like bubbles in champagne.
‘It’s for charity, darling. The underprivileged.’
Of course it was. It was what she did. While he took care of the nuts and bolts of the business she got on with all the charity and philanthropy. She was amazing at getting the rich and famous to part with cash and favours for the various charities the bank sponsored. It worked perfectly well—if only she would remember to tell him when she needed him.
‘OK. You’ve guilt-tripped me. I’m in.’ He sighed. ‘What’s involved?’
‘It’s an arts benefit premiere at the King’s.’
‘As long as it’s not dance. You know I can’t stand men in tights.’
‘Did you say dance? Yes, it’s my favourite company—the British Ballet. Don’t groan, darling. All you have to do is a quick photo-call on the red carpet and shake some hands afterwards. Everything is arranged. I know you like to be prepared, so I’ve asked Ruby to look after things. She has your itinerary, and there’s nothing she doesn’t know about dance. She’s one of the British Ballet’s soloists, but she’s recovering from injury at the moment—a dreadful year she’s had, poor thing.’
He opened the door into the cabin and right on cue the gorgeous Ruby appeared. So she wasn’t agency staff—she was a dancer. Well, that checked out. Her posture was perfect...her body was perfect. But why on earth was she serving him iced water at twenty thousand feet?
Suddenly it all became clear.
He went back into the bedroom and closed over the door.
‘This is a roundabout way of saying that you met someone with another hard luck story and took her under your wing.’
‘I know what you’re thinking and I’m not going to lie. Ruby’s had a tough time, but she’s not a victim. This isn’t all a one-way street, so you can relax.’
‘Well, what is it, then?’
His mother was always feeling sorry for some waif or stray, and they didn’t all have the best of intentions. He’d had years rooting out the swindlers and the chancers from the genuinely broken people who seemed to flock towards her. For all she was a shrewd businesswoman, she was also immensely gullible when it came to anyone with a hard luck story.
‘Matty, there is nothing for you to worry about! Ruby is not going to trick me out of my millions. She’s completely dedicated to the British Ballet, but she’s off with an injury so this is her way of keeping involved. But if you’d rather have one of the men in tights I’m sure that can be arranged...?’
He shook his head in disbelief. Once again she’d twisted him around her little finger. How could he resist anything his mother said? After all she’d done for him, holding it together all these years. They were tight—a unit. They had been since his father’s death and always would be. It was that simple.
And if ever he had a moment when he doubted anything he heard his father’s voice—his conscience, whatever—whispering in his ear. There was no way his mother’s wishes would go unheeded. Ever.
‘OK. As long as she doesn’t get the wrong idea.’
‘That part’s entirely up to you, Matteo.’
He caught the slight note of censure in her voice—and the double meaning. She knew his vices as much as he did himself. The fact that he didn’t want a long-term relationship didn’t mean that he wanted to spend his evenings alone.
‘OK, Mamma. I didn’t mean with me, but we’ll let that pass.’
‘I’m sorry, darling, I don’t mean to have a dig. But it upsets me that women are so disposable to you. I know you could have a happy life if only you’d let yourself settle down with someone. At the end of the day I’m your mother, and I only want what’s best for you.’
‘What’s best for me is what’s best for the bank. That’s all I’m interested in. Not settling down with a woman. I’m not saying that I’ll always feel this way, but for now, until I’ve got past this hurdle, the bank is all there is.’
The words were out. As plain as numbers on a balance sheet. Irrevocable. No room for misinterpretation. Profit. Loss. Black. White. No shades of grey, no emotion colouring things. Just following the dream. His father’s dream. And now it was his. Like it or not.
FLIGHT AT SIX, land at seven-thirty, less an hour for time difference. Half-hour to get to the theatre. It would be a miracle if she pulled it off without a hitch.
Ruby stood in the middle of the cabin and stared—left to the cockpit and right, all the way to the firmly closed bedroom door, where Matteo Rossini, company sponsor, heart-throb and all-round Love Rat was still taking calls while the minutes ticked past.
She shook her head and stared down at her arms, where blotches and hives were beginning their stress march across her skin—a sure sign that she was out of her comfort zone.
It was bad enough that she’d been on the bench for months, waiting for this ligament damage to heal, but now she was hurtling towards London, and the world premiere of Two Loves, with the job of convincing their sponsor that the British Ballet was worth every penny of the money his private bank channelled their way.
So much responsibility—and she was the last person they should have trusted to do this.
If it had been Coral Rossini herself it would have been fine. She was the Grande Dame of Dance. She’d been a massive support to the company for years. She was loved and gave love in return, supporting them at every premiere. But not this time. This time her second-in-command was stepping in.
And when the director had passed Ruby that note, with a Who’s the lucky girl? look on his face, it had been all she could do to stop herself from groaning aloud, Hopefully not me...
She’d read Coral Rossini’s note.
