dress was made for you,’ the assistant gushed in her best sales voice.
Stephen dragged his eyes away from Christina, who looked much older and more sophisticated in the elegant dress. ‘We’ll take it,’ he told the assistant, ignoring Christina’s shocked expression.
She was about to say ‘But you haven’t even asked the price’, then bit her tongue, thinking that the dress was probably more than the rental on her flat for a whole year. She knew which she would rather have.
‘Go on, get changed.’ Stephen pushed her back into the changing-room.
‘How much is it?’ she hissed.
‘Don’t worry about the price. You look beautiful in it.’
‘But, Stephen …’
‘Shush.’ He placed two fingers gently across her mouth, then walked towards the counter, putting a gold American Express card in the hand of the beaming shop assistant.
‘She looked stunning in it,’ the woman was saying as Christina emerged from the dressing-room and dropped the dress on the counter next to Stephen.
Sheets of tissue paper encased it before it was placed carefully in a smart black monogrammed carrier bag and handed to Christina, who was still flustered as they walked out onto Bond Street.
‘You really shouldn’t have done that.’
She sounded upset. He was surprised. He’d expected her to be pleased.
‘Why not?’
‘Because I know it must have been very expensive, and … it’s embarrassing.’
‘I really thought you’d be delighted. It was done only with that intent.’ He stared straight ahead.
Neither of them spoke for a few minutes until she broke the silence.
‘It’s a fantastic dress. Thank you very much, Stephen. But please, never ever think you can buy me.’
‘What?’ He rounded on her angrily, his own temper abating when he saw her beautiful dark-amber eyes flashing defiantly at him.
Christina, he was discovering, was very different to most of the girls he took out.
‘I have no intention of buying you! Christina, I mean that. I’m not being conceited when I tell you there are lots of beautiful women I could have who would be more than willing to be bought.’
She did not reply, but realized he was right. It would not be difficult for a man in his position.
They walked on in silence.
‘To be perfectly honest, Christina, I was so pleased to see you, and had such an amazing time with you last night, I simply wanted to please you. It’s a long time since I’ve felt that way about anyone.’
He lifted two fingers in the air. ‘Scout’s honour.’
‘I bet you were never a scout!’
‘I was. A sea scout, actually, for three years.’ He stopped walking and turned to face her.
‘Truce, Miss O’Neill?’
‘You’re impossible,’ she said, and then added, ‘Truce, Mr Reece-Carlton.’
Stephen took her to San Lorenzo for lunch, where they ate pasta and drank her favourite dry Italian Frascati. They walked to Harrods after lunch, where Stephen bought some new underwear, and Christina spent more than she ever had before on a pair of black suede shoes to match her new dress.
They arrived back at the flat at five.
Stephen busied himself making tea in the small black and chrome kitchen whilst Christina wandered around looking at books and studying photographs in antique frames.
‘Who is this beautiful child?’ she asked.
She was holding a photograph of Stephen pictured with a dark-haired little girl as he walked into the living-room bearing a tray of tea and fruit cake.
He placed the tray on the coffee table and took the frame from her hands.
‘Tea is served,’ he said, and sat on the sofa, patting a place for her to sit next to him.
He stared at the photograph. ‘This is Victoria when she was six years old.’
He said the child’s name with fondness.
‘Who’s Victoria?’ Christina poured the tea.
‘She’s my daughter.’
‘Oh.’ Christina sounded shocked. She splashed tea into the saucer, and onto the glass coffee table.
‘Look what a mess I’ve made.’ She began to mop up the spilt tea with a napkin.
‘Victoria is nearly eleven years old now, and you’re right when you say she’s beautiful.’
‘I wasn’t aware you had a child. Why didn’t you say before now?’ Christina sipped her tea and looked closely at Stephen.
His eyes shifted from her probing gaze and his face adopted the same enigmatic expression she had noticed the last time she had questioned him about his family.
‘I didn’t think it necessary. Anyway, you never asked.’ His voice was dismissive.
Christina was about to remind him that on their first date she had asked him about his family and he had told her then he had been married and his wife had died. Why had he not taken that opportunity to mention Victoria?
Stephen, perceptive as ever under scrutiny, sensed Christina’s unease, and reassured her.
‘I didn’t tell you because I am someone who needs to get to know people before I can open up to them. It’s that simple.’ He took a sip of tea. ‘Victoria lives in Sussex, in my country house, and rarely comes up to town. I have a housekeeper there, Mrs Barnes, who looks after her whilst I am away.
‘I do try to spend as much time as possible with Vicky at weekends. She and I have become very close since her mother’s unfortunate death.’
‘How did your wife die, Stephen?’ He hesitated, deep in thought for a few moments, then said, ‘Barbara killed herself. An overdose of alcohol and barbiturates.’
He closed his eyes as if to blot out a painful memory. They were still closed when he continued.
‘Barbara had a lot of problems, and I don’t think I helped. She was constantly accusing me of working too hard and neglecting her. She was an extremely demanding woman.’
His eyes were open now but staring straight ahead, unblinking. His voice was very quiet and resigned when he said, ‘I wasn’t capable of giving her everything she needed.’
He directed his brooding gaze at Christina. There was no pain visible now, only resignation. He looked away and poured himself another cup of tea, more for a distraction than anything else.
‘Well, we have something in common, Stephen,’ Christina murmured softly. ‘We’ve both lost loved ones in a tragic way.’
She pushed a cushion to one side and found his hand. He lifted it to his face and kissed her palm, then her fingertips, one by one.
The gesture sent a thrill through her entire body. She stared at his long, angular face, scrutinizing every one of his features individually so as to imprint them on her mind, never to forget his image.
It was that moment that she realized she was hopelessly in love with Stephen Reece-Carlton.
‘Where on earth did you find her?’
Nigel Sinclair stood with Stephen whilst both men watched Christina dancing with a huge red-faced bear of a man, who was sweating profusely and spinning her to and fro in a pathetic attempt at rock and roll.
‘In a shopping centre in Manchester,