Flawless (22 page)

Scarlett was about to protest that she couldn’t possibly impose on his mother and had she known he was asking her to a family dinner she’d never have come, when the passenger door opened and she found herself enveloped in the sensory explosion that was Minty Meyer.

“Lord above, there’s nothing of her! There’s nothing of you!” she screeched, wrapping two podgy arms around Scarlett’s rib cage and squeezing. The scent of Chanel No. 5 was overwhelming and her floral silk shirt so loud that if night weren’t falling Scarlett would have been tempted to put on sunglasses against the glare. “Jake, put the dog in the garden with Bella and get him some liver and water; you know where it is,” said Minty, grabbing Scarlett’s hand without drawing breath. “Come in, come in, come in! Look, she’s shivering with cold, the poor girl, and no wonder, not an ounce of fat on those bones. Doesn’t your mother feed you?”

“Scarlett doesn’t live at home, Mum,” said Jake, opening a side gate for a thoroughly overexcited Boxford. Bella turned out to be an eager little bulldog with a spring in her step that Boxford clearly felt boded well for their relationship. “She’s a jewelry designer—”

“I don’t care if she’s the Queen of Sheba; she needs a good meal,” said Minty firmly. “I wouldn’t let you or Danny out of the house looking like skeletons, now would I?”

Not much danger of that
, thought Scarlett, looking at Jake’s enormous trucker’s shoulders straining the cotton of his shirt as he strolled up the front steps.

“Now stop interrupting me please, Jacob, and go and tell your father to open the wine. And put the fire on!” she yelled after him, as he disappeared into the house, abandoning Scarlett to her clutches.

In fact, once she’d got used to the volume and the constant prodding and poking—Mrs. Meyer was clearly not a big believer in the idea of personal space and continued to grab, squeeze, and otherwise molest her throughout the course of the evening—Scarlett found herself warming to Jake’s mother. She might be loud and vulgar, but she was also kind and loving, and welcoming in a way that Scarlett’s own mother would never have been to a surprise dinner guest.

Ushered into a reception room almost the same size as Drumfernly’s Great Hall, but smothered in enough soft furnishings to fit out a Vegas hotel—thick velour curtains in a truly hideous cat-sick pink hung from the windows, tied back with enormous black-and-white silk bows, and every sofa was piled high with silk cushions in a dizzying array of colors and fabrics—Scarlett found herself being forced into a chair and plied with enough appetizers to feed a small African nation. By the time Jake finally reappeared, having fed and watered Boxford and fixed himself a large gin and tonic, she was already starting to feel like a French goose on a foie gras farm.

“Is she always like this? With the food, I mean,” she whispered, when Minty disappeared into the kitchen in search of yet more caviar blinis. “I’ve just been force-fed more than I normally eat in a week.”

“This is nothing,” he laughed. “Wait until we sit down to dinner.”

He wasn’t kidding. The dining room, an even more opulent space than the “lounge” (complete with baronial marble fireplace,
full-sized crystal chandelier, and, at the far end of the room, Minty’s astonishingly tiny wedding dress suspended from the ceiling in a glass case, like a sleeping Snow White), was dominated by a twenty-foot onyx table, on which was spread a feast that reminded Scarlett of childhood history-book pictures of Roman banquets. There were four people eating: Jake, herself, Minty, and Rudy. For this intimate, “casual” family gathering, Minty had laid on a roast chicken
each
, along with overflowing bowls of floury roast potatoes, parsnips, salads, butter-drenched sweet corn, and a gravy boat roughly the size of a child’s head filled to the brim with delicious-smelling, piping-hot gravy. Having thought she couldn’t manage another bite, Scarlett suddenly felt her stomach give an audible rumble and her mouth start to salivate.

“This looks incredible, Mrs. Meyer,” she said honestly, as Minty heaped a Ben Nevis of roast potato onto her plate. “I’m so sorry for imposing myself like this on your family meal. Jake never mentioned—”

“Nonsense, nonsense, we always have last-minute guests on Friday nights. Besides, I enjoy cooking, especially when my Jakey’s home.” She gazed at her son with unashamed admiration, and Scarlett saw in an instant where all the Meyer brothers’ cocksure confidence had come from. Her poor husband, plowing quietly through his own mountainous meal at the head of the table, barely got a look in. “Have you and Jakey been friends for long?”

“Well, we’re not exactly…” began Scarlett awkwardly, unsure how she might finish the sentence without either lying or being unforgivably rude.

“We’ve known each other a couple of years,” said Jake, coming to her rescue. “Scarlett’s a designer and a campaigner for mine workers’ rights. She thinks Dan and I are responsible for all the wars in Africa,” he added, mischievously.

“Don’t be silly, Jacob, why on earth would she think that?” said Minty, impaling a caramelized carrot on her fork and
dunking it in horseradish sauce. Turning to Scarlett, she added proudly, “My boys’ diamonds are the best on the market. Take a look at this.”

For one awful moment Scarlett thought she might have been about to remove the rainbow blouse, as her pudgy, diamond-encrusted fingers delved beneath the fabric, deep into the fjord of her cleavage. Instead, mercifully, she retrieved a platinum chain, on the end of which hung a pendant of such breathtaking vulgarity it was hard to put into words. A sunburst of yellow and pink diamonds, it looked like something 50 Cent might give to his girlfriend, or Indiana Jones might use to unlock the secrets of the Holy Grail.

“I’ll bet you’ve never seen anything quite like
that
,” she boasted, beaming from ear to ear.

“No, no, I haven’t,” said Scarlett truthfully. “Never.”

“I designed that myself, with the most stunning stones the boys bought me for my sixtieth. Just imagine how many Africans they must have helped with that piece alone.”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work quite like that,” began Scarlett tentatively, but Minty waved away her objections, steamrollering her way through the conversation with the same unstoppable good humor she used to silence Jake and his father, waxing lyrical about how her sixtieth birthday had been the best she’d ever had, and how it was all thanks to her darling, thoughtful boys.

“You look tired, my dear,” she said, changing the subject at last after a full five-minute monologue. “Is everything all right?”

“Scarlett’s had a bit of a shock recently,” said Jake, explaining about the break-in and arson attack at Bijoux. “Because of her charity work…”

“With the Africans?” asked Minty.

“Yeah, because of all that, she’s upset some of the big mine owners. So now they’re trying to get back at her.”

Scarlett looked surprised. Cameron and the police had been so dismissive of her suspicions of Brogan she hadn’t expected Jake to take them seriously either.

“You really think it could have been O’Donnell?” she asked him hopefully.

“After what you told me in the car about the threats you’ve been getting, I’d say it was odds on. Not that you’ll ever pin it on him. That bastard’s more slippery than a used condom.”

“Jake, language.” It was the first time Scarlett had heard his father speak—after forty years of marriage to Minty, he must be sorely out of practice—and even then he didn’t look up from his roast chicken.

“Yes, Jacob, really,” his mother agreed. “I’m sure Scarlett doesn’t want to hear that sort of talk, not after all she’s been through. I hope you were insured, my dear.”

“Oh, yes, yes, thank goodness,” said Scarlett. “It really wasn’t that bad. I can rebuild the business.” She felt unaccountably embarrassed discussing what had happened. Even her skin had started tingling with a very British urge to play down the situation, and she was pretty sure she was blushing.

“Jake’s had some business trouble of his own out in America,” said Minty. “More applesauce?”

“Er, no, thanks, I’m fine,” said Scarlett, intrigued. “What sort of trouble?”

“It’s nothing,” said Jake, shooting his mother a “for God’s sake put a sock in it” look. “A couple of down months, that’s all. Solomon Stones is doing fine.”

“Yes, dear, but Daniel’s numbers were more than twice yours in September, weren’t they?” said Minty. “That’s not normal.” Having missed the first dirty look he’d given her, she caught this second one but misinterpreted it as brotherly jealousy. “My boys are very competitive with each other,” she whispered conspiratorially to Scarlett. “Jake especially is used to being the best. He doesn’t like to be beaten by Danny, do you, sweetheart?”

Now it was Jake’s turn to blush. Scarlett, who couldn’t remember ever having seen him look unsure, couldn’t help but smile. It was tough to keep up one’s suave, Casanova image with
a mother like Minty. It occurred to her how surprising it was that he’d invited her to his family home and allowed her to see his carefully constructed public persona being debunked so remorselessly. For a passing moment, he went up in her estimation.

By the time dinner was finally over and Scarlett had gorged herself still further on apple pie and fresh whipped cream, she’d started to have sympathy for those poor fat people on Jerry Springer who had to be wedged out of their houses by a crane. It was late, but when Jake suggested a moonlit stroll to “walk things off,” she jumped at the chance, desperate for some cool night air and an opportunity to see if her limbs still functioned.

“If I die of a clogged artery in the night, I’m blaming you,” she said, following him out onto the street as they set out up the hill toward St. John’s Wood.

“Mum was right; you needed a good meal,” said Jake, taking off his coat and draping it over her shoulders. “You’ll sleep like a rock tonight.”

“I feel like a rock,” grumbled Scarlett. “I feel like Mount bloody Blanc.” But in fact the inner warming sensation of a full stomach and the gentle caress of the evening breeze on her cheeks was making her deeply content in a way that she hadn’t been since making love to Magnus. Christ, she really must stop thinking about Magnus.

“So what
is
your plan?” asked Jake, slowing his pace to give her time to catch up. “Are you going to reopen the shop?”

Scarlett’s face fell. “I honestly don’t know. I don’t think I can afford to, not immediately. Plus, I have so many commitments with the campaign—”

“Ah, of course. The campaign.” Jake rolled his eyes.

“I’m not giving it up, you know,” said Scarlett hotly. “Not on your life.”

“Has anyone ever told you you sound like a hall monitor when you get angry? From one of those posh schools?” said Jake.
“Not on your life,” he mimicked her cut-glass accent brilliantly. “Give me a break.”

Scarlett took the teasing in good part. “Your parents are lovely,” she said after a while.

“Thanks.” He gave her a broad, genuine smile. “Mum can be a bit much.”

“Oh, but I adore that; she’s so bubbly and warm. And she obviously dotes on you,” added Scarlett knowingly.

Jake shrugged. “She’s a Jewish mother; what can I say? She really liked you, by the way. She normally gives a major cold front to women she suspects of being interested in me or Danny. Especially
shiksas
.”

Scarlett stopped in her tracks. “I am not
interested
in you!” she said, horrified. “My God. The arrogance!”

“Calm down,” said Jake, walking on ahead. “I never said you were. I said Mum might have assumed you were, that’s all.”

“Why would she assume that?” spluttered Scarlett. “On what possible basis—”

“She thinks all women are after me,” said Jake matter-of-factly. “In fairness to her, most of them are.”

Not sure whether he was joking or not, Scarlett said nothing. He was almost at the top of the hill now and hadn’t looked back, leaving her little option but to run panting after him.

“Hold on,” she gasped, when she reached the top. “I need to catch my breath.” Sinking down onto a bench, she sat slumped forward, waiting for her lungs to recover. Jake, who seemed irritatingly amused by her exhaustion, came and sat beside her.

“I actually came by your shop today to make you a proposition,” he said.

Slowly, Scarlett sat up, fixing him with a deeply suspicious look.

“Oh, so
now
we get to it,” she said. “Somehow I thought tonight’s coziness must be too good to be true.”

Jake frowned. “Do you ever get down from that high horse of yours?”

The jab hit home, and for a moment Scarlett was silent.

“All right then,” she said eventually. “Prove me wrong. What’s your proposition?”

“You think O’Donnell’s out to get you,” said Jake. Scarlett nodded. “I agree. If we’re both right, this won’t be the last time he tries to pull something. He obviously has…people…in London he can use. People who don’t much care whom they hurt.”

“You’re depressing me,” said Scarlett. Under the lamplight her pale skin looked golden, bathed in an eerie, electric glow. “The proposition?”

“You want to rebuild your business, but you’re worried about money.”

She nodded again.

“You
don’t
want to wind down your Trade Fair campaign.”

“Absolutely not. If anything, this shows how much we’re rattling the big players like Brogan.”

“I agree,” said Jake. Catching her astonished look, he added, “Look, it’s not rocket science. I’m not saying I support what you’re doing. I think it’s all a load of old crap, if you want the truth. But if you didn’t matter to these guys, they’d leave you alone.”

Silence fell again. Jake was staring straight ahead, looking out over the treetops of Regent’s Park. Studying his profile, the strong jaw, perfectly straight nose, and slightly jutting chin, Scarlett was forced grudgingly to admit that he was quite revoltingly handsome, even if all he cared about was making a fast buck.

“So what’s your proposition?” she asked again. “If you don’t want me to drop Trade Fair?”

Jake turned and looked at her. “Come out to LA.”

“I’m sorry?” said Scarlett.