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The concierge buzzed her intercom to announce her visitor. Liz went to the bedroom, squirted bespoke scent between her breasts, applied a fresh layer of plum gloss, and smoothed her hands over her ink–black Balmain dress, so tight that it was just as well she was wearing no underwear. She surprised herself by how nervous she was feeling. They had scheduled a supper a week ago, and this was the first time Wendell had come to her apartment. Liz was sick of their low–key dinners in hotel suites or restaurants, whose only recommendation was that they were so far off the radar of fashionability that no one knew who they were. In the past Wendell had complained that her building, 15 Central Park West, was too high profile, too full of people he might bump into, but tonight he had agreed to come. Tonight could be the turning point in the relationship that she had been hoping for since that first fuck in the Hamptons. She was realistic enough to know that Wendell would not leave his wife for her, but she could name half a dozen rich, powerful men who had such long–term, stable relationships with their mistresses that the situation was a whisper away from bigamy. Was that what she wanted? Did Liz Asgill really want to tie herself to one man? She barely dared think of it, but what she did know with absolute certainty was that when she was with Wendell Billington, she was happy. That was the thought that scared her.
‘You cook?’ said Wendell, taking off his coat and putting it on the back of a chair. ‘I didn’t think you were the cooking kind.’
‘I can turn my hand to anything, darling,’ she smiled.
Liz lowered the lights, until the room just glowed with the candlelight from the expensive arrangement in the middle of the table. Taking the lamb from the oven, she put it on the table alongside china dishes of zucchini flowers, dauphinoise potatoes, and chestnut gravy. ‘Sit down and let me enjoy my Martha Stewart moment,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t come out on show very often.’
Wendell settled into one of the high–backed dining chairs, picking up a fork and rolling it around in his fingers.
‘So, how was Switzerland?’ she asked, leaning across and putting a perfect slice of meat onto his Wedgwood plate.
‘Cold and dull,’ he said taking a sip of the Château Margaux she had poured.
‘At least David will be having a good time,’ said Liz. ‘Brooke says he left for Vegas this morning. I thought you’d be going, although I didn’t quite think bachelor parties were your thing.’
‘Look Liz, we need to talk,’ he said, looking at her directly.
‘That’s one of the reasons you’re here,’ she smiled crisply. ‘There’re several Skin Plus matters that need discussing. I wanted to talk to you rather than the lawyers. I particularly want to run my first choice of CFO past you. Then, when we’ve agreed that, I’m going to give you the best sex you’ve had in your life.’
Cooking for Wendell was really just the window dressing for Liz. Really she was looking forward to the luxury of sex with him in her own bed. Momentarily she thought of Rav. She was still seeing him, although the only excuse she now had for keeping that relationship going was the smoke screen it provided for her affair with Wendell. As Rav had pointed out himself, their sex was becoming less frequent, less adventurous. But what did she need him for when she had Wendell, here, in her bed? She licked her lips with anticipation.
‘I don’t want to talk about business,’ said Wendell, his voice low and steady. Liz looked up sharply. She had always prided herself on razor–sharp instincts, and right now they were telling her to go on guard. Something was wrong.
‘So, what do you want to talk about?’ she said casually.
‘Us. I’m not sure it can continue.’
She sliced her knife through the tender lamb and did not look at him.
‘Liz, are you listening to me?’
She put down the knife, hoping he didn’t see her fingers tremble. ‘Yes, I’m simply waiting for your explanation.’
His dark, serious eyes looked away from her. ‘Robert spoke to me in private just before I left for Switzerland. He asked me straight out if we were seeing each other.’
She felt a jolt of illicit pleasure that their secret was out. ‘You denied it, of course,’ she said.
‘Of course I denied it,’ he said, his brows knitting together.
‘Then what’s the problem?’
‘The problem is, Liz, that he’s my son and he knew I was lying.’
‘So fucking what? You know as well as I do that your sons, your wife, everyone knows what you get up to.’
‘That’s right,’ he said laying his hand flat on the expensive table linen. ‘They do know my needs can’t be satisfied by their mother. So I have sex with a waitress or a shop girl. They turn a blind eye to it. But you are not some bar girl, Liz. You are about to be my son’s sister–in–law.’
‘That didn’t seem to bother you in the Hamptons,’ she said, taking a long, determined gulp of claret.
Wendell pushed his chair back and massaged his temples. ‘I care about you Liz. I enjoy spending time with you, but you know how it works. The press won’t touch me for fucking a cocktail waitress; half the men in this city are banging someone they shouldn’t. But this can be damaging.’
Their gaze lock
ed. She could tell that he was still holding something back and it made her skin suddenly chill.
‘What about Skin Plus?’ she said, addressing the elephant in the room.
He was squirming now. ‘What do you think.’ he said. It was not a question.
